Thanks to Max2013, Caranth, Zenfrodo, and Guest.

For the first week after being approached by Bob, the door at the back of the comic book store remained locked and out of bounds. While Bob had been impressed with the 'fake' FBI badge, he told Frank he would need a few more samples of his work before allowing him access to the room. Accordingly, Frank provided badges from Interpol, the Internal Revenue Service, and, as a joke, the Village Centre Cinemas in town.

The invitation to enter came one night when the store was closing early due to a game tournament with a store a few towns away. As he had no intention of going, Frank offered to close up so Chuck could travel with the guys who were playing. When the owner gave him a puzzled look and thanked him, Frank snorted. "It's the only way I'll know it was done right. Getting ready for this thing has made you guys completely useless. Do you even know if anyone bought anything today?"

"Uh..." Chuck thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, no clue, but it's all good. We'll make more money tomorrow. The guys are always feel the need to buy more stuff after one of these events. I won't complain." He grinned.

Frank looked up at the ceiling, his hands open in front of his chest, and let out a long breath. Then closed his eyes and lowered his hands. "You people are pathetic."

When he opened his eyes, Chuck was still grinning at him. "But you have to admit, we know how to have fun. Want to come? Jack has room for one more in his car." When there was no answer, he continued. "Can't say I didn't try." The grin subsided a bit. "Seriously though, Zack, thanks for offering to close. The tournaments work better when we all get there together."

He was just about to turn off the lights in the store when he heard the sound of a lock turning. Senses tingling, he turned, trying to appear casual, and looked over his shoulder. Bob was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his barrel-shaped chest.

"Good ears." The man cocked an eyebrow. "Might almost think you were used to being caught out at… things."

Frank shrugged. "Glorious result of a misspent youth."

Bob made a 'Humph' sound. "Good album. You know it?"

"Joan Jett. Why?"

"Not too many kids your age know the good stuff." He pushed himself off the wall and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. Still scanning it, he said to Frank, "Come on. I want to see you do one more thing." He shoved the paper back in his pocket, and turned toward the door, motioning for Frank to follow. He flicked a switch on the wall, illuminating the front section of the room.

Inside were three computers, a scanner, and a laminating machine on a long table. Boxes were stacked up under the table with marks that Frank couldn't decipher. On either side of the table were Ott lights, one or two with magnifiers attached. Several high end digital cameras with powerful telephoto lenses sat on the table's surface. A shelving unit full of supplies hid whatever else might be in the dark room.

Bob indicated a chair in front of the first computer. "Have a seat, kid. I want to watch you do this one. Gives me a better idea of how you work."

And shows I'm actually the one doing the work and not someone else, Frank thought. He sat down at the computer Bob pointed to. "So? What've you got?"

"I'm gonna give you an ID. I want you to make a dup."

Frank shrugged again. "Boring, but if that's what you want. Sure. Nothing more interesting than that?"

Bob snorted. "Start with the basics, okay?"

For the next hour or so, Frank painstakingly duplicated a University of Idaho student ID card. Randy's, he noted with distaste. When satisfied the copy was nearly perfect, he made it into a template and started playing, substituting Randy's picture with one of Oscar the Grouch and a few past premiers of the former Soviet Union, changing the anticipated graduation date on each one to reflect the correct time period. Then he made one using a picture of Kara from their first day of training. He had just about finished with this last one when he heard footsteps coming up behind him.

"So, how did you…? Interesting." Bob's voice held a grudging note of respect. "You created a template."

"Why wouldn't you? Doing them one at a time takes too long. And it's how they make the real ones," Frank said, leaning back in the chair. "If you do it element by element, you make mistakes. There's a risk of too much variation. You get a good template and the right materials, and you can bang out as many as you want with almost no effort." He cocked his head to the side. "And I'm a fan of almost no effort."

Bob's eyes narrowed. "So you don't mind sloppy work."

Frank sat up. "'S'not what I said. There's no excuse for sloppy work. If you do it right the first time, it's all cut and paste afterwards." He relaxed back into the chair, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "'Cause there's no reason to work more than you absolutely need to."

The older man regarded him for a long minute, then barked out a laugh. "Punk kids don't know how lucky you've got it with all this technology. When I was in school, all this," he gestured at the computers and the scanner," had to be done by hand."

"And you had to deliver them by walking uphill in the snow in both directions, right?" Frank's voice held a mocking note. "I know, I know. It's my old man's favorite refrain, how easy I've got it. Please. The stuff that makes these," he waved a hand at the screen, "easier to make also makes it easier to get caught."

"Personal experience?" Bob was looking intently at Frank now, and Frank returned his gaze, still leaning back in the chair.

"I plead the fifth," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer.

Bob made a clicking noise with his teeth. "Same shit that makes it easier to get caught, also lets you throw your net wider." He grinned down at Frank. "Makes it more lucrative. And the challenge is part of the fun. That and sticking it to the folks who think they're in charge."

Frank made sure to keep his expression still. Then, slowly, he allowed one of his brother's feral grins to cover his face.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Kara sat at her usual table at the coffee shop, waiting for class to let out and someone to join her. Since the party a few weeks before, Carrie's circle of friends had grown exponentially and included the mysterious Jack with the fake ID made by the "new guy in the area." With a minimum of flirting and the promise of a six-pack for himself if he got one for her, Kara had gotten the boy to show off his new possession. A cursory look showed it was good enough to be from the guy they were chasing. A flood of excitement flowed through her as she handed the plastic card – a Michigan driver's license – back to Jack.

"I could use one of those," she said to him, stroking his arm. "Just think how much fun we could have hitting some of the bars in town. Where can I get one?"

Jack guffawed. "Darlin', if you had an ID saying you were twenty-one, they'd know it was fake. You barely look seventeen. Then we'd all get in trouble." He moved his arm out from under her hand and tried to drape it around her shoulders. "Just let ol' Jack take care of you. I'll get you what you need."

Anger bubbling in her veins, Kara stood, letting Jack's elbow crack against the back of her chair. "I prefer to take care of myself. Thanks anyway." She walked away from the table, her inner voice screeching that she had just been very stupid and that letting a comment about how young she looked bother her was an indulgence she couldn't afford. But, she thought, odds are Carrie wouldn't have stood for it either.

A hand reached out to touch her shoulder. She flinched from the contact and turned to find a guy in an overly large leather aviator jacket standing behind her.

"So, Carrie, you need an ID?" The guy was taller than she was – not as tall as Frank – but not so tall that she had far to look up to see his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn't place him.

"An' you know my name how?" She drew herself up to her full height, her arms crossed over her chest.

"You're Zack's sister," he said. "I've seen you at the store a few times. And at the party." His eyes flashed briefly then his expression calmed. "It looked like you were having a good time. And it looked like you'd be a fun person to hang out with. I'm Randall."

Kara nodded, trying to loosen the knot of anger in her gut. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks." She snorted. "What, is Zack hiring you guys to watch me now?"

"No." His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket. "Actually, he was pretty specific about my staying far away from you." He gave her a cocky grin, his head tilting to one side. "I'm not real good about following directions."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why does that not surprise me?"

His grin widened. "And it looks like you were talking to one of my customers over there." He nodded over to the cluster of students at the table she had just left.

"Customer?" Kara let her eyes widen. "You mean you're the one Jack got the..." Her voice trailed off as she saw him shake his head.

"Not here," he said. "Maybe I could interest you in a drink? We could talk over what I did for Jack then."

She lowered her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "That might just be the best idea I've heard from anyone since I moved here. When and where?"

Randy took a step back. "You Boston girls are direct, aren't you? I like that." He thought for a moment. "How about tomorrow night? I can meet you here at eight." He pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows. "We can talk. Get to know each other. See if there's anything I can do for you."

Kara smiled up at him. "Don't be late. See you then." She turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You what?" The question hissed out from between Frank's teeth.

"Set up an appointment with Randy," Kara said, holding out her arms. "Can you pass the potatoes?"

"And why exactly would you do that?" His hands were clamped the edge of the table, knuckles turning red, then white.

Kara let out a breath, then reached over him for the bowl holding the mashed potatoes. "Because we have an investigation going on. You're working it from your angle, and I'm working it from my angle."

"But..."

Agent Vickers cleared his throat. "I'll take those if you're done with them," he said, gesturing to the blue and white patterned bowl with his chin. "They're quite good." He used the spoon in the bowl to scoop some of the food onto his plate, then turned to Frank. "Having more than one way into this place can only be to our benefit. Is there a problem with Agent Malone's handling of herself so far?"

Frank shook his head. "Sir, it's not her I don't trust." He sighed.

"Really?" Kara asked. "Because you're doing an amazing job of acting like it. Didn't we clear this up already?

"Agent Malone." Vickers's voice held a warning note, his gray eyes hard. He held her gaze for a moment then turned back to Frank. "What is it about this boy that bothers you?"

Frank sat for a moment before answering. "He's arrogant."

Kara started to interrupt, but Vickers held up a hand to stop her. "And?"

"I don't think he's dangerous," Frank said, the words coming slowly from his mouth. "And he's not stupid. I saw some of his work in the lab. It's actually quite good for someone without much experience making false documents." He paused, lips pressed together, then blew out the breath he had been holding. "He's in over his head, and I get the feeling when everything comes crashing down on him people are going to get hurt." He looked at Kara. "I'd rather it not be you."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"I know," he said. "I know you think I'm being the over-protective big brother again, but there's something off about this." He had told them about his encounter with Bob the previous night. "I think… I think there's more to this than just fake IDs. I can't put my finger on it, but..." He growled, then looked at Kara. "Just be careful."

She looked at him for a long moment, her head cocked to one side. "Do you say that a lot?"

Frank's lips quirked. "A bit. Joe could probably give you a dissertation on it."

"If he's like you've described, I can see why you say it to him a lot." She smiled at him. "I'll keep in mind what you said, but I'm still meeting him." She turned to Vickers. "Mind if I take a couple of bottles with me when I go?"

The older man raised an eyebrow at her. "You do realize that according to your current identification, you're only eighteen years old. If you get caught..."

Kara looked at him. "Carrie McAllister get caught? Never." She smiled. "Given what big brother here told me about what he said about me at the party, I figured it would be safer to show up with my own beverage. And some for him, of course. What was it they said during World War II? Loose lips sink ships?"

Vickers nodded. "Good idea. Just be careful."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Buzz

Frank had almost been asleep when the vibration of his cell phone's silent mode went off. In the darkness, he fumbled for the device on the coffee table, squinting at the sudden brightness when the screen showed a text had been received. With clumsy hands, he got to the messaging application and opened the text.

It was from Bob.

I like your work and attitude, kid. Just got a big job and need more hands. $20/hr sound good? Let me know ASAP.

Suddenly wide awake, Frank sent a message back.

When do I start?

Tomorrow. Knock on the door in the morning. – Bob

He put the phone back on the table with a shaking hand. Things were starting to happen. He let out a long breath and relaxed back onto his pillow. Despite the dark, despite how tired he was, despite the fact it was past midnight, it took him a long time to fall asleep.