One Temple Court - Donely Penthouse

In the bedroom, Sean stuffed some clothes into a duffle bag. He carried the bag to his home office. He opened a large lock box inside a desk drawer. He had the only key. He removed some items from inside which he added to his bag - a pistol and some ammunition clips, several pre-paid phones and pre-loaded debit cards, packs of cash in small and large denominations. Next, he opened another desk drawer and removed some prescription bottles. He tossed them into the bag.

He left for his office. There was a hiding spot he'd decided on for his getaway bag. An operative always had to be prepared to either flee or fight. Fighting was not an option. If he fled, the bag would insure his immediate survival. Survive and live for another day and the next and the next. That's what an agent was taught. Dying for honor was for samurais. Agents had to be opportunists and survivors. Sean had many reasons to want to live.

"Okay, old man, you're an operative again," he said under his breath as waited for the elevator. "Start thinking like one."

The phone call from Chase had hinted at nothing beyond Chase confirming Sean's arrival in London. For Sean, it was the point of no return. He'd been busy putting his pieces on the game board and gathering as much information as he could. Now, ready or not, it was time to execute his plan. The spymaster had to enter the game. He really had no choice in the matter.

WSB Headquarters, NYC

Bureau chief Martin Ross slammed the phone down. "Crackpot!" He yelled at his administrative assistant to screen his calls more carefully. "Get Atwell on the line!"

A few minutes later Ross was speaking with Lorne Atwell, Moscow deputy chief. "Lorne, you know the drill. How did this happen?"

"They went around us, Ross. Before I could do anything, State had granted the blanket immunity AND asylum," said Lorne. "I did my best to put the fear of god into State on this end. They'll be running names and defectors through us going forward."

"Good. We need to keep control of the situation."

"You think there will be more coming our way?"

"Maybe," said Ross. "I've been hearing that things are hopping over there. Anything verified?"

"It's not hopping per se," said Lorne. "It's a … a lot of people going on vacation or not answering our inquiries, Ross. Three of our best informers have left the city and are confirmed at their various dachas with their families. Our other sources are not taking our calls, not even in person. They're afraid to talk."

"Afraid of what?"

"I don't know and not knowing has me concerned," said Lorne. "Paris, London, Berlin and Rome are having the same scenarios. Our sources have gone to ground."

"It could be nothing."

"The … informal channels are buzzing."

"Informal what?"

"The message boards and chat rooms where former operatives from all the services hang out."

"They talk about this?" asked a flabbergasted Ross.

"It's the Internet age, Ross. You can't stop people from talking and besides who else are they going to talk to but each other. Everyone uses aliases and mock personas. Half the fun is figuring who is who," said Lorne. "Anyway, the darndest rumors are swirling."

"What rumors?"

"The most ridiculous one is that there's some shadow outfit that's a lot bigger and badder than anything we've seen before. Something or someone that's been biding their time waiting to take over," said Lorne. "Online, it's referred to as Smoke."

"How corny," Ross chuckled. "There's always a megalomaniac around the corner. What else?"

"Chains are breaking up," said Lorne.

"Who cares? That's such an old concept starting as far back as the OSS, for god's sake," said Ross. "How trustworthy is information passed person to person? Lying is our business."

"I'll use whatever I can get," said Lorne. "It was working for us until about two weeks ago. The information got stale which means that new information wasn't being passed through. I asked around."

"And?"

"They're retiring in bunches, Ross. No notice just leaving for parts unknown and dismantling the chains as they went."

"Everyone gets tired of the business."

"I know but these people were pros. They live and breath this stuff. Whole families got involved. No one can replace them."

"Technology will. It's more reliable in the long run."

"Have you heard about the Vakalos mystery?"

"Um, rich Greek tycoon found dead on his yacht last week?"

"That's the one. Publicly, it's out that it was an overdose but privately no one has a clue how he died. His boat was cruising the Mediterranean with a loyal crew and he's offed with not a scratch on him," said Lorne. "He's related to the Cassadines by marriage. There's rumors about their family wars."

"Oh, yes, their ways of dealing with internal conflict are well known, They're the modern day Borgias."

"The message boards are saying that it was the Scarecrow's doing."

"He's gone and probably dead."

Lorne's tone was doubtful. "The scuttlebutt is that there's a new guy but same Scarecrow training, tactics, the works. They speculate that he's behind the Greek job."

"Assassins are a dime a dozen now."

"I thought we were using him. We're not?"

"Not for a long, long time and not in the future, if he really exists," said Ross. A message flashed on his computer screen. "I have to attend to something. You have your instructions."

"Right. No defectors get through," confirmed Lorne.

Ross disconnected the call and turned to look at his screen. The message said: AUDIT TRACE IN PROGRESS. TERMINAL IS DISCONNECTED FROM NETWORK.

Ross shook his head. "You're becoming a pest, Frisco. You're forcing me to have to do something."

Moscow, Russia

The three men settled into their seats for their usual quarterly ritual. The youngest and the most earnest flipped his notepad to a new page. The two older men talked about the latest reports from the field. They had never been friends but they were civil enough to each other.

"Constantine, I am concerned about the growing incidences of foreign operations on our soil," said Josef.

"We execute operations elsewhere. There is no difference," replied Constantine Korolev. He was the longest serving member of this unique committee. Over the years, his colleagues had changed but one thing each of them had was ambition. It was one trait he cultivated but never truly nurtured. It wouldn't do to be too visible. Visibility attracted attention and attention was a two-edged blade.

"I care only for what happens here. Look at this … this operation in Vladivostok-"

Arkady noted the topic of the conversation on his pad. "The American ambassador Coughlin assures us that it was a drug enforcement operation that-"

"That went wrong!" roared Josef. "I learned long ago that Americans use THAT as a common excuse. They cannot minimize their drug problems at home so they come here! I do not believe it."

"Whether you believe or not is useless, Josef. It is done," said Constantine. "Josef, I leave the military matters to you. Do the same for international relations and me. Everything is under control."

"I agree," said Arkady. "I would like to discuss the measures we are taking to counter the mafia."

Josef groaned. "You are obsessed. They are harmless!"

"They are infilitrating the organization. We MUST stop them," said Arkady. "They are becoming more … more bold." He passed a report to Josef. "Here were six men executed in a forest outside of Vladivostok. This is just the latest example. No, Josef, this is NOT a mafia execution. Three of the dead men were verified former intelligence agents and-"

"And now mercernaries," said Josef. "They are better off dead."

"My department believes that the mafia are becoming more sophisticated. Using technology to … do their work for them."

"What does that have to do with us?"

Arkady pushed his spectacles up his nose. "They are attacking us, Josef."

"What?"

"Did your contacts not inform you of the breach in satellite communications, Josef?" asked Constantine. "Page two on the daily brief."

Josef read the report quickly. "I did not know. I will verify. How long has this been possible?"

"Our experts detected the suspicious behavior only in the last twenty-four hours," said Arkady. "I have a team investigating the source and …" Arkady's voice trailed off as he spotted the man entering from a door that was normally kept locked during their meetings. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Forgive the intrusion but I have an urgent need to speak with you all," said Faison.

Constantine stood up nervously. "Cesar, you are … are unexpected."

Josef's bluster disappeared. He added another chair to the table.

"Introduce me," said Faison.

"Arkady, this is Cesar Faison, the … the fourth member of our committee," said Constantine.

Thin-lipped with disapproval, Arkady said, "We are three, only three."

"Times have changed. I must remember that." Faison removed a small pouch from inside his jacket.

"Let … let us all have a seat," said Josef.

"No. I want an explanation," said Arkady. "Who is this man?"

With a flourish, Faison emptied the pouch on to the tabletop. Four polished Roman coins tumbled out. "I believe we all know what these are."

Arkady fumbled for his own coin but Constantine and Josef barely moved. They eyed Faison as an antelope eyes the stalking tiger.

"Do not bother. You all have … fakes. I have the real ones. Don't I, Constantine? Josef?"

The two men said, "Yes, Faison."

"Symbols of office nothing more," said Arkady.

Faison took his seat. "In the old days, these meant many things - forgiveness, loyalty, acceptance, recognition, births and deaths. Josef and Constantine and their families know that the same applies today."

"Please, Arkady, sit down," urged Constantine.

"I don't understand," persisted Arkady.

Josef hissed. "Do as he says, you fool."

"No! I demand an explanation."

Faison sighed. "We were all young once." He took out a cigarette case and lighter.

"Arkady is a valuable addition to our committee," said Constantine. "One of … of the new men."

"Why is he here?" asked Arkady. "Someone answer me."

"I've been on vacation for … for a long time but that period of my life is ended," said Faison. He lit a clove cigarette. "Would you believe I even smoked less?"

"H-h-hard to believe," said Josef.

Unnerved by his colleagues' deference yet defiant as only the ignorant and righteous can be, Arkady said, "Coins mean nothing. You were not appointed to this committee. You do not belong here."

"The pup has a spine. Interesting," said Faison. "Will he bend?"

"He will. I will talk to him later," assured Constantine. "Other … other measures will not be necessary."

"Bend to what?" asked Arkady.

"I have been doing research about what the DVX has become in my absence," said Faison.

"You … you have?" asked Josef.

"Yes. It has degenerated." Faison held up a hand. "But the fault is not entirely yours. There was glasnost, perestroika and other annoyances. You have done well to retain the core of the organization."

"We have done our best to follow your plan," said Josef.

"I have been traveling for signings and appearances. I have used the opportunity to re-establish connections with my various networks and contacts."

"You have?" asked Constantine.

"An interesting picture formed the more I learned first hand."

"What picture is that?"

"Ideology alone can no longer guarantee an operative's loyalty. We must find other ways," said Faison. "It is time for a new plan but first we must kill the rats." He retrieved a list from his inside pocket. He handed the list to Constantine then said. "You know what to do."

"What is that?" asked Arkady.

Constantine accepted the list and scanned it. With trembling hands, he handed the paper to Josef.

"What is it?" repeated Arkady.

"Informers, traitors and those of questionable intent," said Faison. He turned to face Arkady. "Once a traitor, always a traitor. Like you."

"What?" Arkady rose to his feet. "Who are you to-"

PSSSFT!

The silenced bullet ripped through Arkady's chest and out through his back. He fell to the floor gurgling as blood seeped out of his mouth.

Faison spared the writhing man a glance as he returned the gun into his holster, "Say hello to Hans Reinhardt when you meet him next. And, you were correct about one thing. We are three, only three."

WSB Headquarters, NYC

Up on the roof, Frisco made another circuit of the helicopter landing pad. It was a good way to keep warm. He pressed the phone closer to his ear.

"I'm wrapping this case up as quickly as I can," said Frisco. "Connie needs me for another week or two."

"That's perfect timing," came Felicia's voice. "Bobbie's selling the brownstone so that's out. But I think you'll love Temple Court."

"What? We're living in a church?"

"No, it's this converted building that Tiffany and Dia bought. Most people just call it Temple Court," said Felicia. "It's close to everything and best of all, Maxie already lives here."

"How is she with us moving back?"

"She's open about it," said Felicia. "She's not putting up walls-"

"Or flinging insults and-"

"Frisco, stop. Those days are over. I have to believe that."

"Okay, okay, honey, whatever you say."

"She's giving us a chance. I'm not going to let anything ruin it not even your pessimistic attitude," said Felicia. "I really want this to work."

"Me, too," admitted Frisco. "It's past time I got out of here. It's … it's driving me nuts!"

"The sooner you're here the better I'll be," said Felicia. "I get a weird feeling each time I think about you and the Bureau."

"You're paranoid."

"It's a strange feeling like … like something bad is about to happen."

"Yeah, me unloading on Ross on my last day," said Frisco.

"Watch yourself especially around Ross. Please, Frisco? Don't do anything stupid. He's always been bad news for you."

"He's just everything that I hate about the Bureau, you know," said Frisco. "Don't worry. I'm cool. I'm not letting him get to me." He looked at his watch. "I gotta get back, honey. I'll check in again later. Bye. Love ya!"

As he descended the stairs, Frisco remembered the times that Ross had cost him nearly everything. Ross had played him like a conductor running an orchestra using his natural sense of responsibility and protectiveness to manipulate him time and again.

'A few more days and I'm outta here for good," he muttered.

The Scorpio Ranch, Australia

Robert strode over the packed earth to a small cottage which served as the foreman's office. He'd left Anna, Robin and Vincent at the main house getting settled in.

Middle-aged and leather-faced, ranch foreman Heath Carstairs opened the door with a cool beer in hand. Robert took the offering eagerly. "Looks like you'll be here for a while," said Heath.

"Yeah time for essential family bonding. We're going up to the hills once Andrew gets here."

"Okay. I'll pick out some good horses."

"Both Anna and Robin ride so get them some mounts with spirit," said Robert. He followed Heath into the living room which had been re-purposed into an office. Genji sat in front of a computer. He turned around when Robert came in.

"Everything normal at home," said Genji. "Radio silence in effect with one check in per day."

Robert grinned. "I want a little peace and quiet. I'm going to step away from operations for a while and so will Anna."

"We're on our own?"

Robert nodded. "Heath, I need someone to escort Holly back to England. The best one you've got and someone she knows. She's antsy to get home."

"Got it. I might do this one myself. There are few here now that Holly would know or vice versa," said Heath. "Leave it to me."

"The Foundation is out of the picture. Helena is off to god only knows where. I can't think of anything pressing happening. Unless the world is ending or some similar catastrophe is falling about your heads, I don't want to hear about it. For the next two weeks consider me and Anna on a family only vacation."