Soldiers and Detectives

The worst part was Harris' expressionless face and its pair of glittering eyes with enlarged pupils and a grain of madness in them.

'Can we talk?'

'We're going to the station.'

'I know…'

'There's a suspect. That's it.'

Joanna…'

Hearing her name caused a reaction. She looked at the mirror, though, not directly at him.

'Feel free to leave tomorrow, P… Mr. Caine. Your help has been much appreciated.'

Peter knew better than going into the deep with a woman whose gaze reminded The Exorcist. Even without Shaolin training he could figure something was amiss.

XXXXX

Back at Kermit's office the mood was in harmony with the weather outside – below zero. Kermit nested in his chair, Tara leaned on the desk and the three agents took chairs according to seniority – Marsters at the front, his partner, Scott Langue next, and Jordan quietly took the back seat.

'I see the rumours about you have not been exaggerated, Agent Jahn,' Marsters opened.

'It's chief now,' smiled Tara and gave him a warm look that made him shiver.

'Of course it is…'

'Guys, guys, we've got work to do,' interfered Kermit. 'I received the revised plan only this morning, Agent Marsters.'

Marsters grinned.

'We're quite busy, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.'

Tara opened the city plans she had with her.

'Shame we won't be using your plan, sorry about the wasted time.' She didn't even bother look at him.

'What?' Marsters jumped and Langue and Jordan looked at each other puzzled.

'Don't misunderstand me, Don,'

Tara finally looked at him and decided it was time the cocky Fed was put to his place with a clearer picture of who was in charge here. Evidently it was not him.

'I'm sure your folks have created a great plan, in the typical stuck-in-the-box fashion of FBI. Such a shame we don't work like that here, though, sorry for the wasted time,' purred Tara and started drawing on her plans.

Marsters was raging.

'Who gave you the right to talk… to….'

'Don,' Kermit was barely holding himself, 'calm down.'

'Right.' Tara brought the plans to Kermit's desk. 'You were intending to meet them at the first gate in of the station, right?'

'We still are,' said Langue drily.

'Good for you.'

Tara lifted the full plans, an item completely unknown to the three Feds. As far as they were concerned, Sloanville's abandoned train station, once meant to transport coal to Riverton and the Lake area, was a useless, unfinished construction, nowadays serving as nothing else but junkies hot-spot. The plans they had had been supplied by the Municipality, they were the official ones. The plans Tara had, had been supplied by Raphael Trohijo, the former lead engineer of the project, now enjoying his golden years in a retirement community by the lake Ontario.

Next to Marsters', Tara's preparation was a whole other level.

'Those plans are different,' remarked Jordan. 'Very different.'

'We noticed,' hissed Langue.

'Where did you get those?'

'Where you didn't,' shrugged Tara. 'As you see, there's a blind spot right under the clock. They were working from both sides intending to meet them in the middle, never went this far. It's invisible even if you're there, as I found out myself.'

'You've been there? In plain sight, to be seen by a possible look-out?' Marsters chuckled. 'Not very intelligent… Chief. My men are already in place and…'

'Who, the two morons at the parking and the other five at the depot? If they haven't seen me, I really doubt the traffickers' stooge has made me.'

Marsters gulped. Tara rolled eyes. Kermit's arms were shaking; he gave up a chuckle and wiped his eyes.

'So anyway, the blind spot is a tunnel that leads almost to the river, that's where they'll collect the cargo, weapons wasn't it?'

Nobody answered.

'Weapons it is. All we have to do is cut the way and trap them, it's kids' play.'

'You really believe yourself, don't you?'

Tara shrugged. 'Pretty much.'

'This is ridiculous,' whispered Langue, though loud enough for it to be heard by everyone.

Tara grabbed a chair, turned it the other way and casually sat.

'Don… Let me draw you the bigger picture. I'm acting on a hunch here, hunch.. and, pure, iron logic.'

'Chief,' Marsters leaned closer. 'I don't intend to regroup my people. This is a carefully planned operation.'

'...Which will turn into a carefully planned failure. Besides, your people can stay where they are. My people will take care of the rest.'

He laughed.

'Are you serious?'

'As a heart attack.' She and Kermit looked at each other. 'Look at it that way. If I'm wrong, you get the satisfaction at blaming it on the infamous Tara Jahn who completely failed at following simple instructions.'

Marsters licked lips, he was actually imagining it.

'And if I'm right, you add one more successful mission to your already long résumé. You win in both cases.'

Nobody could argue here. And Marsters would give more than a kingdom to see Tara fail. The agents conferred briefly but nobody disagreed – the presence of a previously unknown tunnel was a huge failure on FBI's side and Tara, whatever the outcome, had saved their butts.

XXXXX

James Jefferson, or JJ as he preferred, had not had time to emerge from the shock. Cradling back and forth on the cell bench, he was preoccupied to rethink his short life, so much so that even the dead rat under the leaking window went unnoticed.

He took the passing of his aunt and the transfer to the orphanage better than most kids. He was 14 then. Mature for his age, it was clear to him that nobody was coming to the rescue. It was also clear that he had two choices – either take to the streets and let others dispose with his life as they pleased, or buckle up, sit tight for a couple of years and make it at least to community college. JJ decided he wasn't going to let anybody use him as a pawn.

Eventually hard work, patience, and countless sleepless nights over the books brought him to Astra Insurances with a paid internship and a subsequent full-time job offer.

JJ looked around him.

...And to this fresh hell.

He spotted the dead rat. He acknowledged its presence with a chuckle.

On the way back form work yesterday (he was let go early due to amassed overtime) he met Tony Bolton, his pal from the orphanage. Tony had been trafficking and dealing heroine and occasionally meth since he was 15, many of his customers living and working at the orphanage. He never bothered finishing school – what's the point when you're making 2 grands a week. Years ago JJ had refused Tony's kind offer to join the business and yesterday he refused Tony's kinder offer to take him home in his new BMW. There was no rush, Tony was passing from there on the way to pick his supermodel-girlfriend and leave on a two-week holiday at the Maldives.

JJ curled on the bench. He, too, could have been lying on a golden beach with a super-model by his side now.

He went to college instead.

X

In a behaviour unknown to his previous self, Peter decided to let questions answer themselves. Obediently he followed Harris through the squad room; Captain Higgins met them at the stairs on the way to the cells.

'Cell 2,' he said with a peacockish air, casually leaning on the frame, arms crossed, wearing a not-so-subtle content grin.

'When did they bring him in?'

'Shortly after 9.' Higgins turned and headed for his office. 'I'm expecting your full report with the complete research by noon tomorrow.' He didn't bother look at her; she was halfway down the stairs by the time he finished his sentence.

Peter didn't make as much as a stir during that time. He only listened and followed.

Downstairs they arrived to a uniform leaving with a tray and a bowl with some soup in it; the tray contained the rest of the liquid.

'Stay hungry then,' he shouted, then negligently greeted the pair and mumbled an audible 'Asshole'.

'Did the suspect do that?' enquired Harris.

'You bet he did. His Majesty frowns at tomato soup. ...Get used to it, sucker!' shouted the uniform while trying to wipe the smell of tomato off himself.

Peter took a deep breath and covered his mouth.

'What's with you?'

'I hate tomato soup!'

Harris puffed and headed for the cell.

'James Jefferson?'

JJ came closer. His tie was rimming his head.

'Is it too late to say no?'

'I'm afraid so. Just as it's too late to plead insane.'

JJ shrugged and returned to his bench. Harris took some notes and headed for the exit.

'Wow, wow…' Peter was now seriously struggling to grasp what sort of rabbit hole he'd fallen into.

'That's it?!'

Harris looked around and nodded.

'Yeah.'

'That was your interrogation?'

'Yes!' she glared and demonstratively turned and headed for the exit.

'You've got 5 minutes.'

Peter approached the cell; he didn't say anything, just stared.

'Wha' ?' came a hoarse voice from inside.

A pause. It lasted long enough for the uniform to come over. Peter waved at him to stay put, his eyes never left the cell's contents.

'Would you come closer?'

JJ got up and came really close.

'When did they arrest you?'

'T'day.' JJ chuckled.

'I mean what time?' Peter's face was pure stone.

'9:15, I hadn't finished my coffee yet. Didn't even try the doughnut.'

JJ's morning routine was a ten-minute ritual of a double espresso and a glazed Krispy Kreme.

'You start at 9, yes?'

'...Yes….'

'How long were you on the job?'

JJ found no use in being polite any more. Towards anyone. Ever again.

' 't was gonna be a yea' next month. Anything else, nerd?'

'I…'

Harris' heels came down tic-tocking.

'Time's up, come 'ere.'

'In a minute.'

Harris was mad.

'Case is closed, Caine…'

'Caine?…' JJ's lips were moving silently.

'...You are coming upstairs now!'

'In. A. Minute!' Peter nearly roared. The uniform froze, JJ made a step back and Harris gaped.

The woman said nothing, there was no point. She simply bit lips and disappeared in the squad room.

Peter's eyes fixated again on the man behind bars.

'Now, you listen to me, I know you didn't do it.'

JJ was about to speak when a hand reached through the bars and cupped his mouth.

'Do you have a family?'

'No.'

'Girlfriend?'

'No.'

'No relatives?'

'My aunt died when I was 14. I spent the next 4 years at Pineridge, it's in Sloan…'

'I know.' The hand reached for the ruined tie and handed it to its ever more confused owner.

'Now you will sit tight and behave yourself… unless you want more tomato soup.'

'The orphanage fed me enough of that for a lifetime.'

Peter made a half-smile and the two men's eyes exchanged a glance that transcended prison and their brief acquaintance.

'...And I'll make sure you're out by the end of the week.'

'But…'

Peter stretched hand.

'Just behave yourself, OK?'

Tentatively JJ shook the offered hand.

'OK.' The prisoner's quite voice sent Peter out.

Was it possible? Caine?… The guy already stood out from the other cops. The orphan didn't succumb to the grain of hope that had sprouted at the back of his head, he returned to his bench and curled up.

XXXXX

The group was significantly quieter when they left Kermit's office. The squad room was the usual buzz, someone had even turned the radio on. The Feds frowned and Tara sought the culprit, also known as Morris.

'It brightens the mood, doesn't it,' said he dancing around the desks with a refilled cup of coffee.

The radio was playing Latino tunes.

'I heard they're coming to Sloanville,' said Jody while tapping fingers on her desk.

'Who's they?' casually asked Tara, revising a ridiculously detailed map of the city together with Blake and Mary Margaret.

'Los Mafiosos, of course,' smiled Mary Margaret.

'Mm, I don't think…'

In that moment the radio DJ's chirping voice announced his next guests.

'Yes, and yes again, they arehere! You broke the lines, so we listened! For the first time in America, the toughest mariachis, the men who played for the Mexican Godfather Thomas Ketonna the RIP, and survived!, Los… Mafiosos!

'Ola!…'

'Ola, gringos! Now, to set the mood, let's hear again your big hit, 'Por Amor' – 'For Luuuv'. Yeah!'

The contagious energy of the melody spread around quickly, only Tara didn't seem to be affected.

'Show me the plans again…' asked Blake while his legs took a life of their own and started moving with the catchy melody.

'They're...there…', choked Tara and hurried back to Kermit's office; he was following every move she made.

Kermit stayed and listened, curiosity took the better of him.

After a while the radio DJ was back.

'So, tell us about the song, guys.'

'It's a… a powerful song,' answered one of the band with heavy accent.

'Yes, yes, people dance, people like… Lovers like, they dance' added a second man.

'Oh, were there couples down there in Ketonna's house?'

'Yes, yes, and they loooved our music!'

'So…'

Kermit didn't hear the rest. He had to follow his new Chief, not entirely sure what to expect.

Inside the office Tara was close to getting palpitations, she was breathing heavy. She didn't care to turn when Kermit entered, her mind, just like Blake's legs earlier, had taken life of its own. The rushing images of her and Peter dancing this very same song was the cruel reminding that despite all, family ties and everything, she missed so much it hurt. She remembered his voice, his eyes, his strong arms holding her like nobody ever did before… In her memory those precious 4 or 5 minutes were the happiest, most perfect moment of her life. She chuckled and wiped her eyes but was still struggling with the weight in her chest.

For a few seconds Kermit didn't dare say anything.

'I… I take it… it wasn't all bad down there?…'

'Sure, it was hunky-dory.'

He closed the door and made a step.

'Was it… was there a party or something?….'

'There was a fiesta before the finals.'

'The finals that never happened…'

'Quite.' She looked at Kermit. Her reddened eyes wouldn't have impressed him but the gravely-pale skin made them stand out.

'Uhm….'

'And you know what?' Her voice as dry. 'That night, that… one dance was… the single best moment of my pointless existence.'

'Tara…'

'A five-minute dance, with a stranger, in the house of a mob godfather.'

Gently Kermit patted her arm.

'How sad is that?'

'These things are not in our hands.' He leaned on the desk next to her. 'The important thing is to remember that there are many perfect moments ahead for you…'

She grunted and prepared to leave.

'Come on…'

'It's not the time.'

'Won't you at least tell me what the freaking problem is?'

'He is Caine and my... f-family has made the Caines suffer a lot.'

'Family, ah, that little thing.'

'Yeah.'

'Are you Tan's daughter?'

'Who?'

'No, thank God, no. Who else – Bon Bon Hai?'

'Lord no!' She made a face of disgust.

'Then what's wrong with your family?'

'Lee Sung, Kermit, that's what's wrong.'

XXXXX

In the squad room Harris was frantically collecting papers in an already overloaded folder.

'I didn't know you were still here, Mr Caine.'

Peter didn't have a chance to reply as Higgins crept from behind and Harris replied for him.

'Mr Caine is about to go to the hotel and collect his stuff, Captain.'

'Is he?' Higgins examined the former cop. 'Very well.'

Peter felt like a marionette.

'Come on, Caine.'

'But…'

'In my car I said!'

Together with the local precinct's unabashed violation of the entire police protocol, Peter was failing to fathom the sudden change of heart with Detective Harris. He had not entirely lost interest in her but her openly flirtatious behaviour had turned 180o to become cold, formal, and even bossy. Frankly, he didn't think she had it in her.

Busy analysing, Peter stopped to sign out. Then he stopped altogether and listened.

'Coming?'

He made her sign not to talk. The radio. The music – it took hold of him, it was alive. He stared at a dot somewhere in front and started moving back and forth, than a turn, than back and forth again.

'Do you know the music?' asked the sergeant at reception.

'No idea…' answered the priest with his eyes closed. 'But I love it.'

Harris came closer.

'He couldn't know it, it's those Mexican mariachis, right?'

'Yeah, the song is premiering in the US only now. Ever been to Mexico, gringo?'

'Nope,' was the automatic reply. His eyes were still closed, he was smiling blissfully. The two cops looked at each other. Harris shrugged and headed for the door.

'Tell him I'll be in the car.'

Right at the exit she turned again and she could swear Peter looked like he was holding an invisible partner. She didn't even realize her tightened fist.

X

Finally out of the station and in Harris' car, Peter felt in the mood to try again.

'Funny as it was, I'm beginning to enjoy this whole charade less and less.'

Harris looked in the mirror.

'Sorry to hear that. 'Cus I had a blast.'

'So… I'm not getting any explanation, nothing?'

'Cops don't explain themselves to civilians.'

Suddenly she made a sharp right turn, then left, and then left again. They were back on the main street but in the other lane.

'You were running from the blue Ford?'

'What blue Ford?'

She took another small street and stopped.

'Get out, quick.'

Peter obeyed.

'Your hotel is a block behind, take the street to the right. Now give me your key.'

Too experienced to waste time in questions, he obeyed again.

'Go to reception, ask for the 2nd key and casually go to your room.'

Harris closed her window and disappeared off sight before Peter could react at all. He did as ordered. Ten minutes later he was back to his room.

Harris was waiting for him. Her coat was thrown on the armchair, the top of her shirt was unbuttoned. Peter didn't say anything. He looked at her, she was sitting on the bed, face hidden behind her hands. The contents of the thick folder she had collected earlier were lying scattered around.

Peter took a chair and sat opposite her. And waited.

Eventually Harris revealed her reddened face, her features now softer, her a mix of worry and guilt.

'I graduated from the Academy in the top 5 my class. I was immediately assigned to a big precincts in New York City. You're a rising star, they said. FBI or bust, they said. So I dreamt big. I wanted to pass the detective test at once, but my captain, Richard Goddard, advised against that. Know the streets first, know the people, know yourself, that's what he said.'

'Very wise.'

'It was. And I waited. I did learn a lot in the meantime, and as of the 6 that hurried to pass the test , one is still alive. In a wheelchair.'

Peter frowned.

'Anyway. I barely had time to crack my first case as a detective and Goddard got a transfer here. He asked us to join him, me and Weaver.'

'Aha…'

'Yeas, that's how we met. So, at that point I was ready to follow my captain to Hell.'

'I know the feeling,' smiled he.

'I thought he just wanted some quiet time before retirement. Turned out, they call Riverton The Last Frontier Before North.'

'I've heard.'

'All East Coast traffic channels pass from here before they reach Sloanville, Canada, and the across the Pond. The forests and the lakes make it a perfect shortcut. I never thought such a little town can have so much goin on. You name it – drugs, weapons, fur… And I'm pretty sure I must have piled more mileage than any detective in the area.'

'I'm not sure about that.'

'Oh, hush.' She finally smiled.

'Go on.'

'Right.' She gulped. 'January last year we got a signal about a major weapon shipment. We did as we knew. Then on a February morning, we hadn't finished our doughnuts yet, a SWAT team invaded the station and took Goddard. Later we were told they'd discovered an entire shipment of unmarked shotguns hidden in his basement, along with a bank account in the Caymans.'

'I suppose he was never interrogated?'

'He was tried and sentenced in 48 hours.'

'Man, that's some fast justice.' Peter got up.

'The same, the very same day Captain Higgins took charge.'

Peter sat next to her.

'Really…'

'By personal recommendation of the new mayor.'

'How new?'

'She took over in January.'

For a second Peter stared at the wall. And then it clicked. He started leafing through the disorderly file.

'Do we have the info on Franklin and Astra?'

'Yes, the plastic pocket at the bottom.'

'And… how many times…has your station had such quick-sentence cases? ...There it is!'

Harris blushed – this Caine guy was too good.

'Four times, counting this one.'

'Those cases' files should be checked, too…' said Peter absently, having found the paper he needed.

'It can be arranged…'

'A-ha!'

'What?'

'Our new friend Franklin has taken over Astra last year… in February.'

'I see.' She didn't.

'And the cold-blooded killer that is James Jefferson, was an intern and then officially an employee at Astra – since March last year.'

Harris preferred not to answer – she hated making herself look stupid.

'I mean… Had you taken at least 5 minutes to interrogate him, you'd know he's an orphan.'

She avoided his look.

'He's got no-bo-dy in this world…'

'OK, I get it, he's the perfect scapegoat!'

All this time Detective Joanna Harris had been waiting for the right moment, or person, to help her solve the case that had chained her to Riverton, and hopefully clear Goddard. But in her dedication she never looked further than the precinct, thus leaving an ex-cop make more progress in 10 minutes than she'd made in 10 months.

Annoyed and angry, she grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, then opened a can of Coke from the mini-bar. The local channel was on default; it was broadcasting the official opening of the new mall, personal venture of Mayor Blake.

'Yuck,' mumbled Harris and reached for the remote.

And then a hand grabbed hers, out of nowhere.

'What?'

A pair of double-sized hazel eyes were glued to the screen.

'This is your mayor?'

'Yes, that's Mayor Blake. Why?'

'Didn't even bother to come up with a new name, did we? This is some nerve!' he hissed and looked back at Harris. 'That was easy.'

It was Harris' turn to be the passive witness. She saw Peter get up, grab a peace of paper with the hotel logo on it and a random pen; he started dividing the paper in 4 squares. In the top left he wrote M. Blake, next to it – G. Franklin. Below he wrote Cpt. Higgins on one and James Jefferson & Cpt Goddard in the other square. In the middle he drew a square that took parts from the other four – with a large question mark in it.

'All we need is to find a name… or an event or anything at all that fits in the intersection.'

'What do you mean?' She looked closer. 'And how do you know the mayor's initials?

Peter stabbed and dragged fingers through the nearby folder, wrinkled pieces of paper came from beneath his nails.

'We go way back.'

X

Greg Franklin shut the phone.

'Well, that's case officially closed. Caine is already on his way and tomorrow little James Jefferson will follow. ...What's now?'

Five fingers with exquisite manicure were tapping on the desk.

'That was easy, way too easy.'

'You complain when it's difficult, you complain when it's not… What do you want?'

'I'm finding it hard to believe Peter Caine would leave just like that.'

'He is though.'

'Can Higgins be trusted?'

Both of Franklin's hands landed threateningly on the desk.

'At this point how can you doubt? After everything?'

'He's a crook, Greg, just like you and I. Crooks can't be trusted.'

The man grinned.

'Sure they can. When their saviour can become their executioner with one phone call – they can.'

Blake licked lips and got up.

'The opening went well. Make sure you're a frequent visitor at my new mall.'

'Our new mall, honey.'

'Don't…'

A hand pulled her abruptly and painfully.

'Saviour and executioner, Marilyn, it's two sides of the same coin. Don't you forget that!'

She pulled away.

'Tonight at 7…'

'Make it 8. My place.'

X

'I don't know, Peter…'

'What's the problem, you said you talk frequently.'

'Goddard is very cautious. With everything that happened… and his past… He talks to me and James only.'

'Are you sure?'

'I…'

Peter didn't wait for the reply; he was thinking.

'Past, you said… Do you know details?'

'A little. It's really nothing I can talk of openly.'

That was enough for him; Peter grabbed his phone and frantically selected a number set on speed dial then went to his new bedroom.

'Hello, darling, miss me already? Mel is meeting a candidate family tomorrow.'

'She's not going anywhere without my approval. And hello to you, too.'

'Well, you're not here, there's that.'

'Look, Kermi, I'm calling about something else.'

'I'm listening.'

'Just one thing – the mercenary world is apparently a small place. If so… do you happen to know a… colleague thaw goes with the name John Goddard?'

Silence.

'I might…'

'Thanks.'

As he shut Peter perceived the image of a massive bald man and the name Moses Flint. It hit him like a slap, he had to sit. He saw an air plane, he saw jungle. Then motorbikes.

'Peter?' A voice from the living room drew him out of the vision. Harris found him sitting still, staring at nowhere.

'Are you having a stroke?'

'Ehm…' He was seeing himself in the local police station, Melanie Winch was beside him; he had just promised to take her if nobody else did. 'Were you there when I brought a little girl to your station?'

'Not the whole time, I had to deal with formalities. Why?'

'I think… I think I've promised to take her if we found no foster home…'

'That's very noble. Is that what you called for?'

'N-no.' He finally came to his senses. 'Just do me that favour – tell Goddard that the son of Paul Blaisdell wants to talk to him.'

'Paul Blaisdell… Will do.' She disappeared.

Peter used the chance and sat on the old single bed. He thought of Mel and realised that quite a few memories had come back to him already – he just needed to try and order them if he were to be of any use to Harris and JJ.

At least Mel was safe and sound in Sloanville. Even more fortunately it was Cheryl that came to pick her up and not Kermit. She only told him that Kermit had found the ideal foster home, in the ideal neighbourhood, wherever that was. Though she sensed that something was not entirely well with him, he managed to earn some more time and convince her he'd be home in 2 days tops. And considering his latest discoveries, he might have told the truth after all.

XXXXX

The place was not too dark as the municipality wanted to pretend as much as possible that they had provided security and were generally taking care of it.

There was no security.

'You won't position yourself with your people, Marsters?'

'I thought I wanted to see with my own eyes how you work under pressure, Chief Jahn.'

The two didn't look at each other, they were both quite busy checking their weapons. Meanwhile the rest of the mission leaders arrived, Kermit bringing unexpected company.

'Chief Strenlich!' Jordan was pleasantly surprised.

'Agent Maguire,' was the sombre reply. Strenlich had requested to be part of the operation as soon as he learned about it. His little sabbatical was not going to stop him from completing the project he himself started. Truth was – he was not happy with others, even someone as gorgeous as Tara, take credit for his work.

Strenlich took a grainy image out of his inner pocket.

'Assim Kommar, he's supposed to be one of the gang leaders. We've… known each other since my days with the marines. I don't expect any reward for being here – just give me Kommar.'

Tara nodded and went to make a final check of her people. Kermit examined Frank's face, looking for something to hint, even a little, what the hell was going on. He saw nothing.

Behind him, to his best abilities, Marsters was trying to give himself an air of operation leader. He positioned his people, Jordan and Langue were going on an elevated old platform, himself and Strenlich would stand on the mezzanine, even higher; Marsters didn't like to see his hands get dirty. Opposite was another platform, iron one, where Mary Margaret and Morris were settled, each responsible for a different square of the room.

Tara was about to find herself a spot when Marsters had to offer another opinion.

'You do realize we're here nearly 2 hours too early, right?'

'Are we?' She was checking a temptingly looking giant cistern with half a ladder, nearly 2 metres off the ground.

'I have a hunch.'

'Having a hunch doesn't suit someone with your reputation.'

She giggled. 'OK, I have a theory. Better?'

'I won't be responsible for any of my people ending up with a hypothermia.'

Kermit finally appeared.

'OK, blame it one me,' she added randomly. 'Captain, could you give me a lift?'

Before he even knew what was happening, Tara leaned on his shoulder, stepped on his hip and jumped onto the ladder. Completely untouched by the sudden silence in the dusty tunnel, she climbed on top of the cistern and a minute later the thin rope she always had with her found one of its ends at Kermit's feet.

'Coming?'

It was Tara's iron rule that on assignments she'd either let someone she trusted implicitly cover her back, or she'd be alone. The past 8 months had made Kermit on of the very few people, ever, to qualify for the task.

'You're a pest, you know that?' puffed Kermit as he was collecting the rope behind him.

'A bit rusty, aren't we?'

'Winter is slow here,' said he coldly and checked his Desert Eagle.

'Whatever you say,' said she impressed and leaned to check the black beauty in her captain's hands.

'Want one?'

'Nah, I'm not into weapons,' she said quietly and coughed.

Kermit knew well Ketonna's tournament had a shooting round, but he was still not entirely aware of his new Chief's misgivings regarding the exercise.

'Oh, right, you're into cooking…' teased Kermit.

'But of course. I make the best sizzling duck on this side of the Pond.'

Tara took her radio.

'All teams – set and ready?' She listened the reports.

'You should give me the recipe,' winked Kermit.

Less than a minute later the 101 team at the back of the tunnel reported five figures coming out of a rusty, silver-brown van.

'Sure.' She shrugged. 'OK, you know what to do, wait to see the merchandise.' She tuned it off. 'And by the way, I'm not much of a shooter.'

'Come again?'

Marsters had ordered his team to act as planned, 1-0-1's role was merely the back-up.

Gunfire echoed from the other gallery.

'Stay put, children,' ordered Tara to her team. Loud steps were running, coming closer. 'They missed them,' she told Kermit, but mostly she was remarking on the idiocy that seemed to be so common with certain crime-prevention organizations.

She had warned Marsters that the main dealers would be backed up. Langue insisted it was going to be not more than 4-5 people on each side. All they were supposed to do was exchange several millions for several crates of weaponry of unknown kind. Tara expected more people, personal guards of the dealers who'd have the money; she was certain when scared off, their guards would take the fall so the 5 leaders could sneak through the tunnel.

She was right.

None of the three FBI agents had joined their team in the shoot out. But Marsters decided it was time just as the sound of running steps was approaching.

'Teams 4 and 5, start closing, donot fire!...The rest stay put!' hissed in the end Tara. In vain. While Mary Margaret and Morris obeyed, Langue and Jordan decided to listen to Marsters and left their hideout. They were about to head for the main hall when right by the exit the dealers appeared.

Tara had chosen their hideout deliberately as to close the intended circle around the traffickers. FBI decided they had to start the fire before the deal was almost completed. This is where Marsters abandoned his judgement of a professional - apparently he would much rather send the mission to hell than allow former Agent Jahn be right.

Now two of his agents were about to pay with their lives because of that. Between them the 5 men had more weapons than the hiding remaining agents and the cops; Scalany and Morris were not even in range. Morris was ready to run but he was not faster than a bullet. The criminals also intended to run, unaware of the trap that awaited them, but taking two Feds was an opportunity not to be missed.

In the face of the looming disaster, Tara didn't even give it a second thought. As a quite annoyed Kermit was trying to communicate with Marsters, Tara was leaning on the edge.

'What the…'

She didn't have time to answer. The group of five was right under the cistern. She jumped.

X

Later both Marsters and Strenlich would rave how Tara's thoughtlessness had prevented them from taking the suspects. None of them would voluntarily admit they owed the capture of 5 convicted criminals, five heavy, strong men, to one woman.

Perfectly aware of both the advantages and disadvantages of female physique, Tara's fighting was usually minimal and adhering to the rule of "less is more".

With 5 armed men so close to one another she had to aim for maximum damage in minimum time. At the brief afterwards both Strenlich and agent Marsters had to note it took them longer to climb down from their hideout than it took Tara to thrash a group of five.

She jumped.

XXXXX

As far as Captain Higgins was concerned, Peter Caine did leave Riverton, he personally checked the hotel. As far as truth was concerned, Peter had moved at Harris' place. Only Detective James Weaver knew of it and he took it about as warm as the Falcons took the loss from the Broncos. At present he was pacing around his ex's living room.

'Here's your tea.'

'What were you thinking getting him involved?'

'Sugar?'

He didn't answer and as a result his tea got two times more sugar than he'd wished for. He drank.

'Any better ideas?'

'We could have done it on our own,' roared he in a low voice.

'….Because we did so much already…' She raised voice but quickly checked herself. 'Now keep quiet.'

'Goddard will never speak to him.'

'Goddard already agreed.'

'?!'

'They're on the phone right now.'

X

It had never been completely clear to him how convicted low-enforcement officers managed behind bars, and yet Peter spent more time wondering how none of his connections had been sufficient to get him out of there.

The phone rang.

At least he never wondered how a prisoner could have a phone – luckily corruption in prisons goes well beyond that.

'Good evening!'

'She said a man wanted to speak to me,' called a voice from the other side; it sounded like its owner was on a cough-syrup treatment that was not working.

'I only have a few questions.'

'She said you're the son of one of the Apostles.'

Peter's memory was racing. Apostles… Paul… Apostles…

'I am,' he answered, mentally thanking his good judgement to refresh his Holy Books knowledge when he took to the priesthood.

'Nice. Are you calling from Hell, are have you risen?'

Peter shook head – so many were the things he wanted to remember, and so many were those we wished he couldn't.

'Many lose sons, but some get to call the sons of others their own. Isn't life but a miracle?'

He grinned at himself, he was already a veteran at inspirational mumbo-jumbo.

'And did you get to know him well?'

'Quite so,' lied Peter.

'Good. He really liked Sesame Street, I remember, he was watching it with the girls.'

'He still is, actually, we both are. And our favourite muppet is still Kermit the Frog. Aren't he and Miss Piggy adorable?'

There was a pause; Peter didn't breathe out, trying to figure if Goddard was still on the phone.

'How can I help?'

It occurred to him to say that maybe he could help, but he decided ice was too thin anyway to push his luck any further.

'Before they came for you, you'd discovered something…'

The voice on the other side sighed.

'It started as a classic trafficking case, only it turned out some of my old acquaintances were behind it. I mean people who supposedly should have gotten the chair only months ago.'

'I see. What's Greg Franklin got to do with all this?'

'He's a former lawyer. Not a good one, so he needed a new part-time job to make him better buck.'

'Has he ever worked in Sloanville as a lawyer?'

'Yes, a mob lawyer. He left after a big case in 93rd.'

Peter made a mental note.

'Do you have any idea how they set you up, Captain?'

Goddard appreciated that Peter called him Captain.

'My theory is somebody out there got caught for evading tax and their accounts suddenly got my name on them, most likely with Franklin's help.'

'Where do you suggest I should start first?'

'My home, definitely! A week before they arrested me I got a weird problem with the pipes. Only now do I realise my mistake. The place should be still behind the yellow tape, as far as I know. You should go there first.'

'Anything else I should know that may help?'

'If I'm right there should be a big shipment to or from Sloanville these days. Keep an eye on my place and look for silver-brown vans.'

'Did you say silver-brown?'

'That's their signature colour.'

'OK. ...And one last thing before I go – do the names Weiss and Hansen ring a bell?'

'I can't tell about Hansen, but as far as I know Weiss is the surname of the new mayor's sister.'

'Oh, boy…'

'Yes?'

'That… That's all. I really appreciate your time, Captain.'

'Don't mention it. Ehm, one more thing though…'

'What?'

'Take care of my people, young man. They're wasting their lives in this God-forsaken shithole for me alone.

'I'll make sure they don't get hurt,' said he softly.

The connection broke.

Without a warning Peter entered the kitchen and stumbled upon Harris and Weaver staring at each other intently, nobody was talking.

'Sorry to interrupt…'

'We just finished,' said Joanna.

'Anything else?' asked Weaver with even colder voice.

'Actually, yes,' interfered Peter. Two pairs of eyes measure him inquisitively. 'Can you, guys, check again one of your victims, Mrs Hansen?'

'What do you need?'

'Her family tree.'

'She's got no relatives, we've checked that,' asserted Harris.

'What about Weiss?'

'Nor does she…' Harris didn't sound so sure this time.

'Guys, guys, take it easy.' Weaver turned out better prepared than Peter gave him credit. 'Higgins wants the completed file only tomorrow, we've got plenty of time.'

The massive folder from earlier was in his satchel. Amongst other things it contained detailed information on the two murder victims that started the whole thing. Peter had printed civil status documents and everything he could get his hands on, he just never came around to reading them; nobody did, as a matter of fact.

'Let us see what you got for us, Mr Caine…'

'Can't believe you actually have all of this stuff here!'

'Thank Higgins and his obsession to conceal evidence,' added Harris and stretched for the scotch bottle. 'Don't mean to look unprofessional, but something stronger is in order.'

Weaver opened the folder and found the small compartment on the two murder victims.

'Jane Hansen… Married Lloyd Hansen in '57, widowed '97…'

Weaver was a slow reader and Peter was a Shaolin with amnesia. Nervously the ex-cop pulled another paper from beneath the one Weaver was still mumbling.

'Here – Jane Hansen, née Franklin.'

'So?'

Everything was adding up.

'Where's Weiss'? ….Aha! Married Alan Weiss… bla-bla…no children... He died in '97, too, in a car crash… and was owner of AW Constructions, look at that.' He grinned. 'There we go – Trisha Weiss, née Blake.'

'So?!' Weaver's tone was getting annoyed but Harris' seemed to work better with alcohol as a boost.

'Blake and Franklin? Let me see that…'

'If you happen to have estranged relatives..' Peter was thinking aloud. '...who also happen to have juicy insurance policies…' He sipped from Joanna's glass. 'There's always a way.'

Harris reclaimed her glass and finished it.

'Imagine you're making uncomfortable amount of cash from trafficking…'

'...You'll need even more cash so you can get yourself involved into something legal and respectful…'

'Like a mall?' Sleepy Weaver had finally put the thinking caps on. At vain – he still felt useless. He had to watch Peter and his former lover share the same glass and cheer on the new discovery.

'I should better go.'

'Hold on, Weaver…' Peter, on the other hand, felt guilty. 'We need some plan for tomorrow. Please…'

He was beginning to resemble a baby sitter stuck with two squabbling children.

'Can you, guys, work together… for a while…?'

They were pouting

'For Goddard?'

'I guess…'

Weaver grabbed the bottle with scotch and added a worrying amount of it to his lukewarm tea.

'Let's get this over with.'

XXXXX

The jump was meant to knock the lankiest of them out. While landing, Tara took another one, stumping her hand on the back of his head.

That was 2 down in a bit under 5 seconds.

The man to her left was the closest, she slapped him with the back of her hand cracking both of his lips. She couldn't do much because a muscular arm sucked onto her neck from behind. Not succumbing to panic she used the arm as a lever, lifted both legs and with her weight transferred to the upper body she spun, landing a second later behind her attacker. Her 4 fingers, straighter than a plank, found his kidney and he groaned. She used him as a human shield against the 5th attacker coming from her right. Her arm wrapped a bit tighter around the heavy man's neck and a loud crack indicated he was no longer conscious. While falling she collected his short rifle, bent with him and got up sharply to the left where the rogue she had slapped was preparing to shoot her. She slapped and punched him, put a leg under him and defying all logic, using the arm that was holding the rifle she threw him on top of the others, the criminal making a full salto with his body before landing heavily on his back. Not having any intention to shoot, she used a spin kick to come closer to the last attacker, blood and teeth shooting from his mouth as her foot reached it. He didn't give up though, so she used the thinner part of the rifle to hit his jaw from bellow, then the thicker part to hit the neck. She landed in a beautiful, long stance, remaining frozen for a second, just enough to make sure that none of her victims was moving.

The 5th attacker slowly losing conscience, she quickly helped him fall on top of his mates, thus forming a peculiar and slightly amusing pile of human scum with arms and legs sticking out of it.

The whole thing took 2 minutes, maybe 3.

The rest of her crew were all there, staring, some of them gaping. Strenlich had to look several times first at the pile, then at Tara, than back, just to comprehend what he had seen. The new Chief saw him and remembered. With her leg she stirred the pile and recognised her pre-last victim.

'Chief Strenlich, I believe this one's yours.' She was not even panting.

Strenlich saw the man he needed and said nothing further, his was a whole other investigation, a private one.

Marsters was about to say something but Tara was way too impatient to get out of the dreaded fed clothes lest someone mistook her for one of them. She welcomed the FBI agent by handing him the short rifle, right against the chest.

'Agent Marsters, congratulations for yet another successful operation.' She blew an annoying flock of hair that had managed to escape her 'fighting hairstyle' as she called it, then patronisingly tapped his arm.

Marsters said nothing.

Kermit appeared from behind, still not completely convinced there was nobody else left to shoot. The place was swarming with cops and Feds and though really fond of making a mess, Griffin dearly hated cleaning it. Of the whole company he was the only one who didn't look like he had just seen a ghost. In fact, he was sporting the biggest and oiliest grin he was capable of.

'That's my gal,' he said proudly with a hand casually in the pocket, the other leaning the shining Desert Eagle on his shoulder.

'Now, the secret to a perfect duck, is how you prepare your bird beforehand…'

'Can't wait to try,' replied the ex-mercenary while carefully collecting his weapon. 'What was that thing about you and weapons again?'

'Care for a drink?'

'Oh, yeah.' The two now good friends casually hugged and headed for the exit, Tara politely nodding at the numb Jordan and Langue; Kermit made a sign to Morris and Scalany that they'll be waiting them at Chandler's.

XXXXX