Airplane on the tarmac at Kennedy International

Passersby noticed the two handsome if haggard men sitting in first class. Though obviously of different generations, both men seemed stamped with a certain unconscious authority and certainty. The older man sat by the window reading from a legal pad. The younger man, in his mid-thirties, sat engrossed reading documents inside a manila folder.

"Times like this is when I really miss the Concorde," said Robert.

"Hmm?" asked Vincent.

"Sorry. Go back to your reading."

Vincent put the folder down and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "I am not having much success piecing things together. There are too many little gaps."

"Tell me about it," groused Robert. "Too many inconsistencies among the players."

"Eve was consistently Robin though. I find it very difficult to believe that Eve could have so seamlessly become Robin. I ... I could tell no difference."

"By your own admission you'd only known and been with Robin a few weeks. I, on the other hand, should have seen something off," said Robert. "In a lot of ways, they were very similar. Once they put their minds to something, they did it. Eve was the perfect chameleon."

"There is a question I must ask but it may be too personal."

"Go ahead. I bought the two seats behind us to ensure some privacy on this trip. We can speak somewhat freely."

"Why is Anna staying behind?"

"To tie up loose ends at home."

"Based on the information I have on her and seeing her with her children, I cannot believe that is the sole reason."

"It's a reason. I won't mince words and say that it's easy for her to stay home, it's not. But we're still in the discovery phase. When we know more, she'll join us," said Robert. "Once before when our child was taken, Anna worked herself to exhaustion. She couldn't think only react. The toll on her was terrible. This time around, her guilt overrides her emotions. The trail is years old, Vincent. The puzzle pieces lie everywhere and I'm sure there's more for us to find. Anna and I will take turns. For now, it's mine. When I'm close to the end of my rope, she'll take over."

"That sounds very logical but is it not a ploy to shield Anna from ... unpleasantness?"

"I want to be optimistic but I have to be realistic, too. Robin could be dead. I don't think she is but she could be," said Robert. "I'd like to find out first."

"And keep Anna away from our friend Faison?"

"Sharp man."

"I've analyzed everything you've given me about him. I've visited his home, looked through his papers. I feel like I know him."

"Anna wants his head on a platter and she wants to be the one to have put it there," said Robert. "She blames herself for ever bringing our friend into Robin's life. But that's another thing that puzzles me."

"What?"

"He would sooner kill himself before he would harm Anna. Doing harm to her children is the same as hurting Anna," explained Robert. "Our friend is capable of inflicting harm but on a short term and expedient basis but he's no sadist. He couldn't harm Robin because of Anna and Andrew. I believe the kidnapping because he's done that before. But I can't wrap my head around the double angle. It's not his style."

"The mastermind need not do the dirty work."

"But how could he treat one child one way and the other another way? It makes no sense and he always makes sense somehow," said Robert. "Since he knew Anna was alive, there exists the possibility that she would one day want the truth out of him. Why do something guaranteed to make her hate him?"

Vincent rifled through the folder. He stopped at one document with a grainy, black and white clipping of Dr. Peter Krieg. "Perhaps, that is where HE fits into the puzzle? His drug plus a subject and a victim ... "

"Maybe. But why do the double in the first place? Why not return Robin after they questioned her? Why keep her all this time? What is Robin's involvement at the Foundation?" asked Robert with evident frustration. "I keep going in circles in my head."

"You are too close, Robert."

"As are you."

"I have the advantage of not having just buried someone I love," said Vincent gently. "You should give yourself some time."

"Yeah." Robert lapsed into silence. He looked out the window. Vincent was right. His emotions were too close to the surface. He had to remain objective no matter what.

"The team is working. Information should be coming in soon."

"More puzzle pieces. Unfortunately, we don't know what the ultimate picture looks like."

"Where would the challenge be if we did."

"True. Since we have hours to look forward to, could you tell me about you and Robin?" asked Robert.

"Beyond what I told you and Anna before?" asked Vincent.

"Those were just dates and places. I want more. By our calculations, you and Anna were the last persons to see her. I want as many details and textures as you can provide to me. Is that asking too much?"

"In your place, I don't believe I could have been as patient," said Vincent. He settled into his seat. His mind went back in time. "We were acquainted two weeks and lovers for only a few days. Unforgettable, intense days but brief."

"It can happen like that in our line of work. Go on."

"I remember Robin taking one picture of the two us and many of my boat. She wrote in her journal often. Perhaps, she wrote enough for Eve to understand our acquaintance. I assume so," said Vincent.

"You hadn't seen each other in years. People change," added Robert.

"When I met Robin she was using her, in her words, road trip, to decide about the rest of her life. At twenty-three, she felt that it was her time to make some decisions. Her goal was to have those decisions made by the time she returned to Paris."

"What kind of decisions?"

"She was to start her third year of medical school. She had secured a position as a learning intern at a very prestigious research hospital in Paris. She loved France and Europe. She told me that ... there was nothing left for her in Port Charles. She was deciding whether to practice medicine in France permanently after she received her degree."

"This was before she knew Anna was alive." An expression of sad regret flashed across Robert's face.

"Robin was ready to, as she said, to get on with life instead of watching it pass by."

"And you?"

"I was tired and disillusioned. I joined Interpol with the same hopes that most of us have. The chance to be of influence and help the world. But when you're out in the field, things are never clear. The more successful you are, the more you question. At least that was so for me," said Vincent.

"It's nothing like the movies," added Robert dryly.

"You know me as a shepherd for lost or missing sheep. Back then, I was a combined lamplighter and scalphunter running courier duty with a license to get very rough when it was called for. No operation was ever a simple courier run," said Vincent. "After too many battle scars, one becomes an animal. I wanted to remain a man, a sane man."

"You were burnt out?"

"Yes, though I did not recognize it at the time. I know some men grow to enjoy that type of work. The more jobs I did, the more disappointed I became with myself and my purpose," said Vincent. "I needed a ... a fresh perspective. Robin gave me far more than I gave her in return I fear."

"Would you have become serious with her? Did you want to?" asked Robert bluntly.

Vincent took a few moments to answer. "I learnt very early in the game to be wary of parcelling out commitments to anyone. We are committed to our service first. Everything and everyone comes second, third or fourth in the line."

"The rare exception does happen."

"She was no casual affair of the heart. Never. But we met too early, Robert. I could not commit. Her life was just beginning to form. Who knew what shape it would take or if I had a place in it? She deserved a chance to mold her life into one of HER choosing. That was ... was more important."

"Any regrets?"

"Only one. In May and June of that year, I sent one letter and called her twice. None were acknowledged."

"She was meeting Anna in Pine Valley," said Robert.

"I received a short card in August. She wanted to part as friends and I respected that. I never attempted to contact her again. Perhaps I should have been more persistent. If I had been, perhaps, things would have been different."

"Eve wrote that card."

Vincent nodded. "Being new in her role, she could not risk a face to face meeting with me. I buried myself in work. I trained to be a shepherd full time. I do not regret our time together. But I do regret not being a true friend in a time that she truly needed one." He patted his coat pocket. "I plan to make amends for that."

"How?"

"By presenting my letter of resignation to Interpol after we land in England. I am committed to the search, Robert, in every way. This time I will be there for her."

"And afterwards?"

"Hmm, I find the quiet life of a farmer appealing."

Robert smiled. "There's plenty of properties available around the Villa."

"You are several steps ahead of me, Robert."

"I'm trying to be optimistic here," replied Robert. "The service is losing a good man."

"It's not what it was," said Vincent. "I cannot explain this feeling I have. Fear, I suppose. These are dark days in the service. Friends turning on friends. Informants are being more cautious or refusing to say anything at all."

"I haven't heard anything of significance happening."

"It is too quiet. The calm before the storm," said Vincent. "My mother still stays in touch with a few of her old ... acquaintances. Many of them are retiring. They come by the house to rest and think before resuming their new lives."

"They're able to retire now?"

"Even the DVX can change. Much more useful to have their old memories than not at all. Technology has not obsoleted their knowledge," said Vincent. "When they visit, they tell her things. Something is not right is all she tells me."

"Something blowing in the wind?"

"This Hans business is a symptom, I believe," said Vincent. "I will feel better out of it. I was never one for political intrigues."

"I've never met Pavla but I know her previous reputation. Would you mind if I passed this bit of information to someone on my side of the pond?" asked Robert.

"I don't mind. It is anecdotal only. Perhaps it will be useful to someone else."

The hum of powerful engines became pronounced. Their plane began to move to the runway.

"Let me return to my story. It was April in 2001. I had just finished a difficult case and was forced to take a long vacation. I decided to drive south from Paris to Chalon-sur-Saône where my houseboat the Joli Coeur was moored. Robin was cycling on her baby Harley north from Nice with detours to Torino, San Remo and Lyon. She was taking the backroads on an impromptu tour of the Burgundy regions. I passed her on the side of the road. She was pushing her bike seemingly to the next town. I offered her a ride to Chalon and she accepted," explained Vincent. "I don't believe we stopped talking on the way. One topic ignited another."

"You clicked right away."

"I didn't even notice it. It just happened."

"Why did you tell her you were in the service?" asked Robert.

Vincent chuckled. "She found out almost from the beginning. I had no choice but to tell her. This is how it happened."

Chalon-sur-Saône, April 2001

Rap, rap.

Vincent looked up from his unpacking at the sound. He was not expecting any visitors. Cautiously, he opened the front door to see Robin holding a grocery bag.

"Hi, Vincent," said Robin with a bright smile.

"Hello. Come in, please. How is Baby?"

"My poor bike is going to be in the shop for the rest of today and maybe tomorrow. The mechanic said he didn't like the way she sounded. I think he just wants to work on a Harley Davidson. He told me where you lived." Robin stepped insode. "I thought I'd cook you dinner to say thank you for the ride. Have you had dinner?"

"No. I was going to a cafe."

Robin angled the bag so he could see inside. "I have fresh-baked bread, cheese, fruit and pasta. I'm pretty good with basic stuff."

"I like basic stuff," said Vincent. He took the grocery bag from her and led her to the galley. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Robin taking in the living room.

The galley was compact as it would be on any boat. It had a small stove, refrigerator, sink, a microwave and a granite counter. But it exuded a quaint charm with its warm wood tones and the bright tiles around the sink.

"I like it. It's cozy."

"You are too kind." Vincent removed items out of the bag and put them on the counter.

"In the car, you made it sound like the Joli Couer was falling apart," said Robin surveying the kitchen with approval. She took down a large pot from a suspended rack of pots and pans. The spice rack was full and obviously well-used.

"You have not walked out on its deck. Planks are missing or warped. Dangerous."

Robin turned the faucet on to fill the pot with water. "It's nice in here."

"I've made it livable. And, the boat is river-worthy, of course. However, it is not luxurious. Yet," said Vincent. He opened the refrigerator. There wasn't much to see. "I have not stocked supplies, Robin."

Robin peered into the refrigerator. "You have onions, garlic, cream cheese. Eclectic. I have fresh tomatoes and fresh herbs. I can manage penne pasta. Is that all right?"

"Perfect." Vincent perused his wine rack. He picked one white Viognier and one Burgundy red. "I'll just chill the Viognier."

"Vincent, where's the bathroom?"

Vincent pulled out a large ice bucket. "It's in the bedroom. To your left. I'm going to get some ice at the cafe. I'll be back."

Ten minutes later, Vincent was greeted by Robin in the living room holding his holster and gun.

"I guess you're not a businessman. Careless leaving this on your bed by your luggage," said Robin.

"Yes, it was. I must have been tired."

"So, what are you? If you're in the Mafia, you can tell me. I won't judge. I'd just like to know where you stand. What Italian crime family has your loyalty? Or is it the Russian side? Is there a French mafia?"

Vincent put the ice bucket down beside him. "Not organized crime. I am on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. May I have my things back?"

"Not yet. Hands up where I can see them." Robin stepped back. "Not mafia. You don't seem to me to be a policeman and you lied too well. Like a good spy. Are you WSB? DVX? Interpol? MI5? French Securite?"

Vincent raised his hands and stayed where he was. "I am astonished a medical student should know those-"

"Answer the question. Please." Robin tapped the handle of his Beretta sitting snug in its holster. The safety was off. "I do know how to use this."

A little dazed by having the tables turned on him, Vincent answered softly, "Interpol."

"ID?"

"In my pocket," said Vincent. With slow movements, he reached behind him for his wallet.

"Put it on the table," instructed Robin. "Then step away. Three steps."

Vincent did as she said. He watched as she felt for the wallet while never taking her eyes off him. Her movements were precise and sure as if she'd done this sort of thing before. She read his ID and matched his picture.

She handed his wallet, gun and holster to him. She smiled as if it handling firearms was an everyday occurrence. "Sorry. I've learned to make sure people are who they say they are."

"How would someone from small town America know about the WSB or the DVX?"

"That is such a long story," said Robin.

"We have time. I'd like to know if you will tell me."

Robin smiled. "Okay. Let's get cooking and I'll tell you some things about me. Can I ask a favor first?"

"Of course."

"Could we speak in Italian?"

"You speak it?"

"I was born in San Remo. I used to speak it fluently when I was little because of my grandmother. But she died when I was young. I can understand it now but I'm hopelessly out of practice in conversation."

"Naturalmente, possiamo parlare italiano. Siete una donna sorprendente." said Vincent in his normal rapid-fire Italian.

"That is so fast," said Robin in English. "What have I gotten myself into?"