In Europe and America, there's a growing feeling of hysteria

Conditioned to respond to all the threats I

n the rhetorical speeches of the Soviets Mr. Krushchev said we will bury you

I don't subscribe to this point of view

It would be such an ignorant thing to do

Robert wanted to hate the music. He expected only rock-and-roll, too loud, too mindless. Instead, the soundtrack for the party was remarkably mixed. There was rock, of course, but there was also Sinatra. Broadway selections rubbed elbows with soft jazz and Elvis Presley. There did not, at first, seem to be any common thread to the musical selections.

The longer he listened, though, the more Robert understood that the songs did, indeed, have a theme. They were all about one of two things: being a spy, in all its incarnations, or being far from the ones you love, far from home. The first batch, he was willing to bet, had come from the office staff. The second were the longings of field ops.

He looked around the room. Their lives, set to music. Indeed. It was more than background music.

One wordy ballad he was half-ignoring, until the refrain stopped him dead in his tracks.

But what might save us, me and you, is if the Russians love their children, too.

A simple sentiment, and profound as well. Perhaps this pop music had more to say than McCall had given it credit for.

The world was changing, he mused, changing profoundly at this very moment. Perhaps it was fitting if he changed just a bit, too.

Espionage is a serious business,
Well I've had enough of this serious business,
That dancing girl is making eyes at me,
I'm sure she's working for the KGB

James Simms arrived at the party directly form the airport. He had had a grand time in Berlin, but he was exhausted. He intended just to put in a token appearance and take himself home to a hot shower and a warm bed. The minute he hit the door, though, Walker was at his elbow. "Thank God you're here, I'll have somebody to talk to."

Simms looked out over the sizable crowd. Three or four hundred people here, and Walker couldn't find anyone to talk to? "You need a woman," he muttered.

"Oh, yeah," Walker snorted. "Catch me dating one of the help. You know how fast Control would bounce my ass?"

Simms shrugged. His colleague had a point. Down in the ranks, a little fraternization was fine. Expected, even. At their level, it would be career suicide.

He caught a glimpse of Lily Romanov moving through the crowd. She had on a little black dress, and she wore the hell out of it. Here's to falling on your own sword, Simms thought grimly. But it wasn't an issue. Lily was friendly and helpful and sometimes insanely cheerful about her job, but as far as he could tell, she didn't date the people she worked with. Any of them.

There had been that matter with Harley Gage, but that had been years ago. Maybe it had been enough to put her off Company men entirely.

He shrugged again. "I'm going to get a drink," he announced, and did.

Swear allegiance to the flag, whatever flag they offer.
Never hint at what you really feel.
Teach the children quietly for someday sons and daughters,
will rise and fight while we stood still.

Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, McCall found himself in the back corner of the room, at a table hidden in shadows, behind the speakers. Control was already there, comfortably sipping a Scotch with Charlie McGuinn. They'd had the foresight to bring the bottle with them.

Control gestured to a chair. "Welcome to the senior center," he rumbled genially.

Robert grunted and graciously accepted a refill of his glass. "At least it's half-way quiet."

Pete O'Phelan arrived, with Ellen in tow. She brought a second bottle with her. "Is this the dinosaur table?"

"It is," Charlie told her. "Make yourselves at home."

"The children seem to be having a good time," Ellen commented, pouring herself a hefty refill from the open bottle.

Control gazed out over the crowd. There was dancing and drinking and a lot of arm-waving story-telling. He wondered sardonically how many of the stories were exaggerations, and how many were out-right lies. Half? More? It didn't matter.

It was easy to find Lily, despite her petite stature. All he had to do was find the biggest collection of young men, and she'd be in the middle of it. Like Scarlett O'Hara taking barbeque. The Marine had disappeared, thankfully. She could have any of them, he thought. Or any five or six of them, for that matter. What in the world was she doing with him?

It was far from the first time he'd had that thought.

He looked away, and found Robert gazing at him with a knowing expression. His old friend knew who he'd been looking at, and probably guessed what he'd been thinking. Control half-shrugged.

"When did they all get so young?" Charlie mused.

"All the old ones died off," Ellen answered.

Pete shook her head. "Or they're all at home in bed, with their heating pads and their Ovaltine."

"Not all of them," Control countered. He nodded towards the dance floor. In the middle of it, the mailroom attendant was gleefully wheeling his chair among the writhing bodies. It didn't seem to matter, to him or anyone else, that he'd lost both legs on a Company mission years and years before.

"Walker looks a little awkward, though," McGuinn observed.

It took Control a moment to locate his lieutenant. The man was on the far fringe of the crowd, pretending half-heartedly to dance. He still had his tie and jacket on. "I wonder if Jason will put in an appearance."

"Was he invited?" Robert asked.

"No one was invited," Ellen answered. "It was all word-of-mouth, wasn't it?"

"I was invited," Pete said. "Repeatedly."

McCall nodded. "Me, too. But I doubt anyone would have spread the word to Mr. Masur."

"You'd think a security chief would find out on his own," Charlie replied. "Walker, now, he reminds me of someone."

"Reiser," Control said immediately.

The table collectively groaned. "That's it," Charlie agreed.

"What an asshole," Ellen pronounced with her usual directness.

"The perfect combination of ambition and incompetence," Robert agreed. "There was a time when I was genuinely afraid he'd be made a Director."

"And then he vanished," McGuinn mused. "I wonder what really happened to him.

There was a moment on conspiratorial silence around the table. Finally, quietly, Pete said, "Equipment failure."

"Oh." Charlie considered her for a moment. He'd half-forgotten that she'd once been the head of development. "Bless your heart." He took her hand and kissed it.

"I think Jason could do with a little equipment failure," Ellen snorted. She gestured to Control. "You were right, he did have my office bugged. Thanks for the heads-up."

He nodded grimly. He was still angry over the incident.

"As I understand it," Robert ventured carefully, "Jason does have occasional bouts of, er, personal equipment failure."

"Do tell," Pete urged.

"We must know," Ellen insisted.

McCall chuckled. "It seems that our Jason has a problem with color-changing urine." To the women's questioning looks, he added, "Bright blue, day-glo orange, chartreuse."

The table erupted in laughter. "How did you manage that?" Charlie demanded.

"Not me," Robert replied innocently. "I am only reporting what I've heard."

"Who, then?" Ellen wanted to know.

"I really can't say."

McGuinn turned to Control. "This has your fingerprints all over it."

Control shook his head. "I have absolutely no knowledge of any of this." He looked up, a little startled, as Lily Romanov came to the table. "Speak of the devil."

Lily grinned. "Talking about me again?"

"We were most emphatically not talking about you and your relationship to Jason Masur's medical issues."

She shrugged. "It's his mental issues I'm more concerned with." She pulled up a chair, sat, and stuck her glass out.

Charlie filled her glass, emptying the first of their bottles. "Well, there's another soldier done," he said. "You've done well, soldier." He kissed the empty bottle on its label, passed it to Control, who did the same and passed it on. When the bottle had made it around the table and been properly thanked by the gathered company, he tossed it over his shoulder.

"Have you lost the Marine already?" Ellen asked.

Lily shook her head. "He's out with Vanessa, smoking and talking about contracts and career possibilities."

"You're just a walking recruitment drive, aren't you?" McGuinn said. "That's what, ten this year?"

"Twelve," Lily answered. "I do so love my signing bonuses."

Ellen shook her head. "I don't know. The problem with a Marine is, you can't make a decent agent out of him until you get the stick out of his ass."

"Ah, but she's just the girl to do it," Charlie countered.

Pete nodded across the room. The Marine, immaculate posture and all, had returned. "Four days," she speculated.

"Three, at least," Ellen agreed. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd take a run at that one myself."

"Something about a man in uniform," Lily sighed. "Even when he's not." She turned to study her latest recruit. "Maybe two days," she said, turning back to the table, "if I ever get my handcuffs back."

"You have handcuffs?" Pete asked.

"And more to the point, dear," Charlie added eagerly, "where did you leave them?"

"I handcuffed Kostmayer to a bed in West Berlin."

Control's eyebrow shot up, but he managed to keep the rest of his face blank. "Why?" he asked, his voice half a pitch higher than usual.

"He was having marital problems," Lily answered sweetly.

"He's not married," Pete pointed out.

"That's the problem," Lily agreed. "He proposed to Anne Keller. She said no."

"Really?" Robert asked. "That's a surprise."

"It was to him," Lily answered.

"So," Charlie ventured, "how do the handcuffs help that?"

"I gave Annie the key," Lily answered, as if that explained everything. He frowned, still puzzled, so she went on. "I told her she could keep him chained up until they talked through their issues."

"Tough love," Ellen observed. "Think it'll work?"

Lily sighed. "Too close to call. But it was the only option I saw."

Control templed his fingers. "How did Mickey take all of this?"

"Wellll …" Lily smiled nervously, "he wasn't happy about it. If it works out, then it's fine. If it doesn't, I'm gonna need to avoid him for … oh, five or six years."

"That's delightful, Lily," he said dryly. "He will break your pretty little neck for this."

She shrugged uneasily. "He has to catch me first."

"I'm sure Mickey wouldn't …" Robert began. Then he reconsidered the reassurance he'd been about to offer. "I'll talk to him for you."

"Can't hurt," Lily agreed. Her eyes never left Control's. For all the lightness of the banter, they both knew how serious the situation could become. But only his eyes showed how furious he was at the chance she'd taken, and they showed it only to her. "It'll be okay," she said softly.

Control straightened, changed the subject. "About Miss Keller. I understand she's been traveling on Company credentials."

"You told me to get really good pictures of the Wall," Lily answered. "Anne Keller is the best there is."

"I didn't tell you to take a civilian with you."

"You didn't tell me not to."

"You didn't ask."

"No," Lily admitted. "I didn't."

There was a discernable pause.

Charlie leaned over the table. "Are you sure she's not really a politician?" he asked.

"I brought you something," Lily told Control, changing the subject. "But you have to promise not to ask any questions."

"Asking questions is what I do," he answered firmly.

The woman sighed. "Fine. Then I'll just keep it." She reached into the v-neck of her dress and drew a parcel from her cleavage, rather more slowly than was strictly necessary. It was small enough to be concealed by her hand, wrapped in a white handkerchief. She cupped her hands on each side of the item and waited.

There was a long pause. "He can't resist it," Ellen ventured.

"No," Robert agreed. "He's like a cat. Now that he's seen it, he must know what's in it."

Control scowled at him. "I am not like a cat." He turned his most commanding gaze on Lily. She continued to wait.

"He has the patience of a cat, too," Ellen added, after another pause. "He'll sit there all night if he needs to."

"He'll give in, sooner or later," Pete predicted.

"Look, I want to know what that thing is," Charlie said with exasperation. "Just tell her you won't ask any questions. You can always renege later."

"No, he can't," Lily answered. She sat perfectly still, watching, waiting, her eyes bright with mischief.

Teasing, and Control knew it. He would have his revenge for it later, in private. He loved being teased by Lily, and teasing her back. He loved being playful, a trait he thought he'd lost years before. The episode with Kostmayer was fading into the background, no doubt exactly as she'd planned. No matter what she did – including baiting one of his most lethal agents – he couldn't stay angry with her. He was utterly, unreservedly besotted with the woman.

But here and now, he needed to hide it.

He tore his eyes away from hers and regarded the tiny parcel again. She had handled it like it was heavy for its size. It would be something quite remarkable, he was sure of that. But he couldn't imagine what it was.

He wondered if he was fast enough to reach across the table and grab it.

He caught her watchful eyes again and knew he wasn't …

… unless he distracted her.

Control shifted his gaze over her left shoulder and tensed ever so slightly. "Kostmayer," he said quietly.

Lily tensed, too, but she didn't turn. "I doubt it," she answered. His expression revealed the trick, and she grinned. "Nice try, though."

They fell into stand-off silence for a third time.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Robert finally exclaimed. He leaned and whispered briefly in Control's ear.

His friend considered, then nodded. "Yes. Good." He looked back to Lily. "I will not ask any questions about that object. I promise."

The agent regarded him with considerable suspicion. She glanced at McCall, who put on his most harmless and innocent face. With an unconvinced sigh, she reached across the table and placed the parcel gently in his hand.

Control received it cautiously, curiously. It did not move, which he considered a great relief. It was heavy, cool, lumpy. His slender fingers trembled as he peeled back the corners of the handkerchief.

When he finally saw the contents, he could only say, "Oh."

The other seniors leaned forward for a look. There on the bed of white in his hand lay the most ordinary of objects: a padlock. This one was bulky and oversized, built for heavy duty. It was pitted and rusty with age, testimony to its three decades of exposure to the elements. It was also savagely broken, the hasp cut and twisted with bolt cutters, the stark wounds shiny on the rusted body.

An old, common, broken padlock.

"Oh, my," Robert breathed.

"That can't be," Pete whispered.

"Good Lord, child," Charlie said, very softly, "how did you get your hands on that?"

Control barely heard them. He stared across the table into the eyes of his lover. For one unguarded moment he could see in her face the depth of her love for him. This most ordinary lock, this most extraordinary gift from the most extraordinary woman he had ever known. And how in the world …

"It's the last lock, isn't it?" McCall said softly. He reached two fingers out to touch it, as if it were a sacred relic. In a way, it was.

"It is," Lily answered, her face returning to its customary composure. "Last on, first off."

The last permanent lock on the last gate closed in the Berlin wall. Checkpoint Charlie's locks didn't count; they opened and closed on a regular basis. This lock had been locked, and stayed locked, the entire time the Wall had stood. This had been the last lock, the lock that broke the hearts of a city – and a world.

Charlie McGuinn reached out and touched it as well. "How in the world did you get this?" he asked again.

Control shook off his wonder and nudged McCall. Robert sat up. "Right then. How exactly did you come by this?"

Lily Romanov just shook her head. "Questions through surrogates are still questions. I'm not telling you how I got it."

Pete took her turn touching the artifact. "It belongs in a museum, really."

Control grunted. "I'll leave it to one in my will." His hand, the one with the lock in it, was still shaking. How in hell had she managed this?

"Are they dead," Ellen asked, her own fingers brushing the lock, "or just very, very satisfied?"

Lily smiled sweetly. For a moment she looked like an innocent ten-year-old who'd finally managed to really surprise someone on Christmas morning. Then she stood up. "I've got a party to liven up," she announced, "and a Marine to de-stick." The walk, as she left the table, was definitely not that of a ten-year-old.

"Remarkable," Robert said, though whether he was commenting on the lock or the walk was unclear.

"You know," Charlie mused, opening the second Scotch bottle, "I've never taken an interest in a much younger woman, but that one could change my mind."

McCall grinned slyly. "Well, she does seem to be the adventurous type. You could take a run at her, see what happens."

McGuinn poured himself a drink. "I just might do that."

"You wouldn't know what to do with her if you caught her," Ellen snorted, holding her own glass out for a refill.

"And I suppose you would?" Charlie retorted.

The senior spy took a long, slow drink of Scotch, watching the younger woman cross the room. "Well, I don't usually swing that way. But if I did, I think I'd start with the handcuffs."

Control glanced up at her. "What?" Ellen protested. "For God's sake, Control, would you look at that woman? If you had a pulse you'd be chasing her, too."

"Hmmm," Control allowed. He carefully folded the handkerchief back over the lock.

"I thought you were, for a while, Robert," Pete said cheerfully.

McCall shook his head ruefully. "Ah, no. Not that particular young lady, no. I am far too old and wise to join in that chase."

Control glanced at him sideways. "And when are we going to meet the new lady, old son?"

"Never," Robert answered crisply. "I am keeping her well away from all of you pirates." He watched while his friend tucked his gift away in his shirt pocket. There was a curiously serene look on Control's face, a look that said he was planning something. Robert could always hear the gears turning when his friend's face took on that expression. "Give it up, Control," he advised. "She'll never tell you how she got it."

Control smiled tightly. "We'll see. We'll see."