Jacobs' heart leapt into his throat. He forced himself to remain outwardly impassive as the blood began to pound in his ears. Pushing himself away from the bar, he started back into the room, looking for Collyer, shoving people out of the way.

The sergeant hadn't moved, his penetrating yet outwardly nonchalant gaze sweeping the room, eventually coming to rest on Jacobs. The inspector's eyes widened and he cocked his head quickly in the direction of the far end of the bar, then closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Collyer's face fell and he froze momentarily; he knew exactly what Jacobs was telling him.

Nodding towards the bathrooms on his right, Collyer began to push his way through the crowd, needing to get to the bar and see for himself. Jacobs continued his slog towards the bathrooms, even though in his heart he knew the lieutenant wouldn't be there.

Collyer finally managed to work his way around to the far end of the bar. The crowd was still three deep and he was having trouble seeing through the throng to those now occupying the stools. Finally breaking through, his heart leapt briefly when he saw a figure on the stool closest to the wall, only to sink again when he realized the new occupant wasn't Mike.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath, quickly scanning the faces around him. He turned back towards the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Homicide lieutenant making his way to the exit. But all he could see were the slack, flushed faces of Coopers' drunken revelers.

He spotted the John Deere cap making its way through the crowd towards him again and moved closer. Their eyes met and Jacobs shook his head slightly, eyes wide. Collyer exhaled sharply and glanced up in frustration, then made eye contact with his colleague once more, gesturing casually with his head in the direction of the front door. Jacobs nodded subtly, turning and working his way back into the crowd, his eyes raking the room as best he could as Collyer started towards the exit.

# # # # #

"There's a lot more activity on the street, I think they're starting to toss people out," Jenkins announced to the others, the binoculars to his eyes.

Kneeling between the seats, Cox turned his wrist to see his watch in the streetlight bleeding through the windshield. "They don't close for another couple of hours – they must've run out of beer."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Jenkins offered with a short laugh. "If we didn't have this operation going on we'da shut the place down hours ago." He glanced towards the passenger seat. "How are you doing?"

Steve managed to turn his head in the lieutenant's direction. "I'm okay. The Tylenols kicked in," he said slowly and carefully, one arm still around his chest. He was having a hard time finding the least painful sitting position but he was determined to stay until his partner was by his side; only then would he consent to going home.

"Well, we're gonna have to have a little talk later about what happened in there, you understand? You've left your partner out to dry, you realize that, right?" Jenkins didn't want to add to the young man's guilt but he had to exercise his command authority.

Steve took as deep a breath as he dared, closing his eyes and nodding. "Yes, sir," he replied quietly.

Jenkins raised the binoculars. "What the hell… ?" he began and the others stiffened to full alert. A dark figure, silhouetted against the streetlight, was briskly jogging up the street towards them. "I think that's Dave…"

Cox crawled over to open the side door of the van as a breathless Collyer slid to stop on the sidewalk. "We can't find him," he said quickly, gasping for air, his hands on his hips. "Mike… he's gone…"

The passenger door shot open. "What do you mean he's gone?" Steve demanded as he turned as fast as he could on the seat, trying not to moan in pain.

Collyer looked at him first in surprise then guilt. "He just, ah, we were checking on him as best we could – you know how crowded it is in there – and then he just… disappeared. Shaun checked the bathrooms," he dropped his head, shaking it in frustration and regret. "We can't find him," he finished softly.

"Okay, okay," Jenkins said decisively from the driver's seat, "we move into Phase Two, right? We knew this might happen. Dave, you stay here. Bobby, you get back in there and I want you and Jacobs to suss the place out completely, see if there's anything you missed but, for god's sake, don't tip your hand. If they have Mike I want them to think that nobody else knows so they do everything just the way they would normally do it."

Cox nodded, hopping out of the van and starting down the street at a brisk walk. Jenkins picked up the walkie-talkie. "Gord?"

"Yeah?"

"We can't find Mike. Anything happening in the alley?"

Gord Downie was slumped down in the front seat of a nondescript brown sedan at the end of the alley behind Coopers. He had been there all night. He sat up a little straighter and raised his binoculars. "No, it's been quiet. They threw some big guy out about three hours ago and they've taken out some garbage but nothing else."

"Okay, keep sharp."

"You got it!"

Collyer had crawled into the back of the van and was kneeling between Jenkins and Steve. The walkie-talkie crackled to life again. It was Gary Newman.

"Kyle, I heard. Is Dave with you?"

"Yeah. Shaun's still inside and I just sent Bobby back down there."

"Okay, get Dave back down to Coopers as well and have him hang around the front while it empties out. Keep Shaun and Bobby inside if you can. I'm gonna get on the horn to the Coast Guard and get them standing by. I want you to get in touch with Olsen and Condon and let them know what's going on and that we're going to need more back-up."

"You got it."

Collyer was already getting out of the van, avoiding eye contact with the anxious young man in the passenger seat as he started back towards Coopers.

The Coast Guard had been in the loop well before this operation had actually gone into execution. Brainstorming sessions had led to the hypothesis that any boat leaving San Francisco with abductees on board would most likely be a fishing trawler. Their size alone, and with the added feature of the somewhat spacious cargo hold, made them the likely choice; and with the number of boats in the fleet, finding the odd one out would be a challenge.

Steve glared at Jenkins as he lowered the walkie-talkie and turned to him.

"I've got to use that payphone back on the corner," the lieutenant explained, not even attempting to mask the worry in his voice. "You are to stay here, do you understand me? You are in no condition to do anything anyway, and if you think going back to the bar will help Mike, you're wrong. If you show up there now they'll know something's up. And I know you don't want to be responsible for getting your partner killed, now do you?"

Jenkins opened the door and started to exit. "If I get back here and you're gone, I'll have your badge. And you can count on that." He got out of the van and shut the door behind him with a resonant thud, starting across the street at a brisk jog.

Seething with anger and worry, Steve put his right hand on the handle and pulled. The door was halfway open when he stopped, Jenkins words washing over him again. With a frustrated sigh, he slammed the door closed and sank back onto the seat, wincing in pain.

# # # # #

Jacobs had worked his way to the far side of the bar and gotten fairly close to the stool Mike had been occupying. He was trying very hard to make his journey seem casual and was pretty sure he had succeeded. It had taken awhile, but now he was finally behind the little grey-haired haired man who had both hands wrapped around a bottle of beer, obviously grateful to have finally gotten a seat.

Jacobs leaned past the little man and waited to get a bartender's attention. When Danny finally made his way over, he ordered a shot of whiskey. He tossed a few bills on the counter as Danny moved away to pour it, glancing at the man beside him and taking off his ball cap. When the bartender returned, he nodded his thanks, threw back the shot and stepped away from the bar.

Dropping the hat, he bent down, using the movement to glance towards the stool where Mike had been sitting. Pushed against the dark wood front facing of the bar, almost unseen, was the briefcase the lieutenant had been carrying as part of his disguise.

Jacobs briefly closed his eyes before straightening up with the cap in his hand. Any doubt that Mike's disappearance was not of his own accord had vanished with that one discovery.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch, squinting to make out the face in the dim light. 2:53. He glanced at Jenkins then through the windshield again.

The walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Kyle, it's Gord."

"Go ahead, Gord."

"The bartender just brought the last of the garbage out to the dumpster and locked the back door. He got into his car out on the street here and just drove away, alone."

"Thanks, Gord. Listen, ah, wait there, will ya? I want someone on that door all night so I'm gonna send Benny over to spell ya. Sit tight."

"You got it, thanks."

Jenkins looked at Steve but neither said anything. There was a soft rap on the side panel and back door opened. Bobby Cox and Shaun Jacobs crawled into the cargo bay.

"They just locked up – everybody's gone. Dave's still there, across the street in a doorway. Nobody can see him," Cox relayed with a heavy sigh. "Anything from Gord?"

Jenkins shook his head. "The bartender just locked the back door and drove off… alone. There's no sign of Mike." He glanced at Steve. "Listen, ah, is there anyway he could have left by the front door without any of you guys seeing him?"

Cox and Jacobs shook their heads. "No, sir," Jacobs said, "between the three of us, we had that door covered. We may not have been able to get there in time to stop it, but one of us would've seen it."

"Then how the hell did they get him off the stool and out of sight without any of you guys seeing it. Somebody screwed up!" Steve growled with barely contained fury, pain, guilt and worry getting the better of him.

The other three stared at him silently for several beats, Cox and Jacobs taking furtive glances at Jenkins, who was glaring almost coldly at the Homicide inspector. The uncomfortable silence inside the van lengthened; eventually Steve squirmed slightly and dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered almost fiercely.

"You think maybe the, ah, the altercation you got into might not have helped the situation?" Jenkins asked pointedly, keeping his eyes on his young colleague. He watched as Mike's partner closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Look," he continued, his voice softening, "I know you're worried, we all are. But we can't start blaming each other for what's happened, now can we? We have a job to do. We have to get Mike - and perhaps a bunch of other guys - back and we have to keep our wits about us to do it." He paused, watching Steve's downturned head, knowing his words were hitting their mark. "So can I count on you, or do I send you home? And believe me, I will."