----------------------------------------
Always a Thief
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

"Hsst. Mac. Hurry it up."

Mac ignored his partner, who was standing near the study door, keeping an 
eye out for any unexpected guests. Mac focused on the safe, slowly 
turning the dial. Vic had learned the skills of a good thief quickly, 
over the last three years, but when it came to speed and finesse on a 
lock or safe, Mac still had him beat. If they'd had a larger window of 
opportunity, though, he would have had Vic try first, for the experience, 
but they didn't have the time.

On the other hand, Vic did a *much* better job than him at electronic 
security systems, like the one at the DeSalvo compound.

"Relax, Vic," he said under his breath, starting to turn the dial in the 
opposite direction. "We *know* we're not going to be interrupted, the 
security system is disarmed, and I'll have this safe open in just... 
a..." He gave the dial a last twist, and the safe door popped open. "A 
jiff. Damn, I'm good." He pulled out a velvet box, and flipped it open, 
smiling as he poked at the tumble of gems inside.

Vic just rolled his eyes, and handed him the bag to fill. Mac didn't 
bother sorting through the rest of the contents. There would be time to 
do that when they got home. He just tossed everything into the bag, then 
shut the safe. He gave the dial a twirl, then carefully returned the 
setting to its original place.

"All right," he said, standing up. "Now we can go."

He took a quick look around the study. It was an impressive display of 
money and taste. The furniture was all antique, of excellent quality, and 
Mac knew that the artwork on the walls and pedestals would sell for a 
pretty penny on the black market. However, he left them where they were, 
even though some of the smaller pieces would be easy to carry away. The 
whole point to resetting the safe to its original setting, and re-arming 
the security system as they left, was to delay the discovery of their 
safe-cleaning, at least long enough to get out of the country. Senor 
DeSalvo wouldn't know he'd been had until the next time he opened the 
safe.

The trip out of the compound was a breeze. DeSalvo was overseeing an 
operation in Madrid, so the Barcelona home's security was not as high as 
it might have been. Vic rearmed the security system, again setting it 
back *exactly* the way it had been before. Then they stripped off their 
gloves and masks and sweaters, sticking them in the same bag as their 
loot, and they slipped out towards the main streets, just two more 
American tourists in Spain.

"So, Vic," Mac said, tucking an arm around his partner's waist. "We've 
still got three more days in our vacation. Whatever shall we do?"

Vic grinned at him. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find *something* for us to do."

Arm in arm, they headed for the heart of the Barcelona tourist district, 
and the high-end hotel they were staying in.

Life was good.

* * * * *

"What is the report on the Sherren Op?"

The Director tapped on her desktop, looking at her two chief aides. 
Dobrinsky, a large, bald black man, checked his electronic datapad.

"The Ebola virus was recovered. Gregor Sherren, and two of his men, were 
killed. None of our agents were injured. The rest of his people are in 
our custody, currently spilling their guts about everything they know on 
Sherrin's operations and plans. The virus has been returned to the Center 
for Disease Control in Atlanta. They were most appreciative."

"Good." The Director pulled off the wire-rim glasses that she'd had to 
wear more and more often, recently. She turned to her other aide.

"And what is the word from Asia?"

LiAnn frowned. The young Chinese woman was only in her mid-twenties, but 
her eyes were much older. If an observer looked carefully, they would be 
able to see the faint tracery of scars near the hairline on one side of 
her face. More scars could be seen one of her hands, below the long sleeves 
that she wore now. There were more on her arm and back, beneath her 
clothing. Three years ago, she might have been wearing a sleeveless top, 
but since the explosion that had left her scarred, and killed her two 
partners, she had worn only long-sleeved shirts. The Director had tried 
to convince her that the scars were barely noticeable, unless you know 
where to look, but LiAnn refused to be convinced.

"Director Chiu's death is still keeping things confused. The 
investigation is ongoing, but it doesn't look like they are going to 
solve it. It's been nearly a week, without a single valid lead to follow 
up on."

Director Chiu, head of the Agency's China and area operations, had been 
found dead in his own study. The study was at the center of his compound, 
with only one way in or out. The door was locked, and a guard was 
standing outside all night. When Chiu didn't emerge, the next morning, 
the guard had gone in to find the man. His body was slumped over his 
desk, a dagger in his back. The dagger was a generic make, available 
world-wide, and it had been scrubbed clean. No inappropriate, or even 
unexpected, fingerprints had been found in the room, and the security 
cameras confirmed that no one had gone into the room. Unfortunately, 
there were no security cameras in Chiu's office, any more than there were 
in the Director's own.

"Has there been any response to our offer to send someone to help the 
investigation?"

LiAnn snorted. "They said that they were quite capable of running their 
own investigation, and that we should keep our over-sized, western noses 
out of their business. The language used was bordering on insulting, 
without *quite* crossing over the line."

The Director sighed. She had hoped that the Asian office might accept, 
but hadn't really expected them to. They didn't quite understand that an 
alternative point of view could be a very good thing. But she couldn't 
force them to accept. All she could do was watch and wait.

"Now, what about that circus that we think is smuggling stolen plutonium?"

* * * * *

Victor was checking their security system, while Mac threw his bags in 
the corner of the entryway, and headed for the kitchen. Victor shook his 
head at the mess, but ignored it.

The system said that there had been no intrusions, so Victor grabbed the 
discarded bags, and carried them into the main room. Mac was opening up 
the icebox, pulling out frozen meals.

With their travel schedule, it just didn't make sense to keep a lot of 
fresh food in the fridge. Instead, Victor would periodically spend a 
couple of days making a variety of meals, then freeze them in one-meal 
sizes. Mac's cooking skills had improved, but Victor still did the 
majority of their cooking.

"What do you want?" Mac called through the door.

"Any of the chicken chili left?"

"Yep, but I haven't a clue *why* you'd want to eat that."

Victor smiled. He had learned to make a variety of authentic Chinese-
style dishes to Mac's standards, but he also made the dishes *he* liked. 
After all, no one said that Mac had to eat them. That was the reason he 
did the cooking. While he was willing to cook Mac's favorite dishes 
(though he drew the line at squid), Mac didn't cook anything that *he* 
didn't like.

Mac emerged, carrying a wine bottle and a couple of glasses. Victor 
could hear the whir of the microwave heating their meals. Thank god for 
microwaves. He took the glass that Mac held out to him, and waited for 
his lover to finish opening the bottle and pour him a glass. One of the 
benefits of living in the Bordeaux valley - French wine country - was a 
plentiful supply of excellent wines. Now if only beer were as easy to 
obtain...

"Well, let's see what we've got," Mac said, plopping down on the floor 
next to Victor's chair. Victor pulled over the knapsack with the contents 
of DeSalvo's safe.

"Well," he said, pulling it open. "We have this." He pulled out the gem 
case and opened it up. The majority of the gems were the standard 
diamonds, no doubt intended to be used as untraceable currency in the 
European underground. Mixed in among the diamonds were a variety of high-
quality sapphires and emeralds.

Mac pulled out a jeweler's loop to give the gems a closer inspection. 
After the first couple, he gave a whistle. "Veeerrrry nice stones," he 
said putting the little eye-piece down. "Those will fetch a pretty price."

After all, if they were good enough for DeSalvo to use as currency, they 
were certainly good enough for two high-class thieves, Victor thought to 
himself.

The next thing checked were the ledger books, and they were a revelation. 
"Marseilles. A bordello, with client information, an illegal gambling 
casino, complete with details on which tables are fixed on a given night. 
And payments to an assassin for services rendered," he read off. His 
foreign language skills, especially reading, had improved a lot over the 
last few years. He put the book aside. The other ledgers would, no doubt, 
include equally damning information about DeSalvo's crime syndicate. 
Victor shook his head. How could the man be so smart, running one of the 
top families in Europe, yet still be stupid enough to have the evidence 
in writing? And he was willing to bet that it was DeSalvo's own 
handwriting, too.

"We'll send these off to Interpol, next time we get the chance," he said, 
satisfied. Over the years, they had sent similar information in, 
anonymously. Mac had originally suggested the idea to keep Victor happy, 
but he thought that Mac got a thrill out of it too, now. Every so often, 
they would read in the papers about a high-profile arrest or conviction 
and *know* that the information they had supplied was crucial in the 
case. It was a good feeling.

"Oo, la, la," Mac said, opening one of the thick envelopes that made up 
the balance of their 'loot'. He pulled out several photographs. Still in 
the envelope was a video tape. "Get a load of these, Vic. I didn't think 
someone his age could be that flexible."

Victor took a look at the picture being held out. It showed a prominent 
German politician in bed with a beautiful blonde. Unfortunately, said 
blonde was *not* his equally prominent society wife.

"Pack that one up, too. We'll mail it off to the man with a note 
suggesting that he be a little more discreet in the future."

"Right."

Mac continued going through the envelopes. Each was marked with a name 
and money amount. DeSalvo obviously wasn't above a little blackmail. Some 
of the envelopes would be sent to the victims. Those were the minor 
indiscretions. Others would be included in the package that was sent to 
Interpol, when the indiscretions were of the illegal sort. Victor opened 
one envelope that fell in the second category. The pictures inside showed 
a businessman in bed, but this one was frolicking with minor boys. The 
pictures looked to have been taken during a recent EEC junta to 
Singapore, which the businessman had been a leader of. If the press found 
out what he'd been doing while traveling on public funds...

A ping sounded from the kitchen, and Mac stood up. "Put that away for 
now," he ordered. "Dinner is ready."

Dinner was the chicken chili for Victor, and a spicy oriental beef dish 
for Mac. His lover even insisted on pulling out the fancy chopsticks for 
it. As always, he paid extravagant compliments to Victor, suggesting that 
he should open a restaurant. Victor knew he was exaggerating, but the 
regular compliment did raise his spirits after those photos.

As they ate, they discussed their next job. It was difficult to make a 
living as a thief without attracting the wrong sort of attention, so they 
side-lined as security consultants. In fact, they had reached the point 
where they could make a pretty good living *just* as consultants. As a 
result, their criminal jobs were only a handful over the course of a 
year, with carefully selected targets.

This time, they were one of several sets of security specialists 
providing services at a conference in Amsterdam. The subject of the 
conference was oil, and there had been bomb threats already. They were to 
arrange the security for a couple of the formal receptions. All of the 
preliminaries had been arranged before they had gone to Spain. They 
wouldn't have bothered with the Spanish job, but a chance to clean out 
the safe of someone like DeSalvo did not come along very often. So, in 
two days they would be off to Amsterdam to make final arrangements on the 
security job. The packages would be mailed from Paris, on their way north.

But, until then...

Victor smiled at Mac across the dinner table. His own meal was gone, and 
Mac was just finishing. With a full stomach, he was starting to feel very 
relaxed.

After dinner, by an unspoken but mutual agreement, they did not go back 
to sorting through DeSalvo's safe contents. Instead, the files were 
locked in their own safe (which was a lot better concealed. None of this 
safe-behind-the-painting cliche for *them*.).

Once they were done, they climbed into bed. As Victor stretched out, full 
length on top of his lover, he breathed a small prayer in thanks. They 
had plenty of money, a beautiful home, and work that they both *chose* 
and enjoyed. Life was good.

He pressed Mac down, into the mattress, and teased the other man's mouth 
with his tongue. After nearly four years as lovers, each time they made 
love was still as exciting as the first. Or at least the first time that 
they had both been in full possession of their senses. Victor still 
smiled at the thought that all of this happiness had come about because 
he had gotten drunk, after being dumped by LiAnn, and dragged his other 
partner into bed. It had taken time, once he had realized that he was in 
love with Mac, to convince the other man that he was sincere, but it had 
been worth the time and effort.

A thrust upwards from Mac brought him back to the present. Neither one 
of them had the energy for anything too complicated, so they settled for 
a slow rubbing, and exchanging of kisses. The rest would wait until they 
woke, refreshed, in the morning.

By this point, each of them knew the other's body and reactions as well 
as they knew their own. Sensitive areas were sought out and manipulated. 
Much spit was swapped (no matter how unromantic that might sound). Coming 
was a sweet delight.

Victor rolled to the side, and reached for the damp cloth that they had 
left on the bedside table. The worse of the stickiness was cleaned up, 
then he tossed the cloth into a corner of the room, and wrapped himself 
around his lover. Mac was already mostly asleep, and rubbed his cheek 
against Victor's chest, murmuring barely decipherable endearments. Victor 
rubbed his face against the dark hair, and followed his lover into 
slumber.

Life was uncomplicated.

Life was good.

That was about to change.


----------------------------------------
Hints of Trouble
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

LiAnn wandered along the park path, following the Director's lead. 
Normally, a walk in the park with the older woman would be a pleasant 
interlude in two hectic lives, but today was different. The first death 
had changed everything.

Two more weeks had gone by, and there had been no more movement in the 
investigation into Chiu's death. In fact, two more directors had been 
killed, the directors of the South African and South-Western States/
Mexico operations. Security and paranoia inside the Agency had reached an 
all-time high, and for the Agency, that was pretty damned paranoid.

In both cases, the same MO was used. Both directors were killed in their 
own homes, inside apparently locked rooms, using untraceable weapons. One 
was killed with a Beretta gun, left behind. The second was poisoned. 
There were hopes that the method the poison was delivered might provide 
some clues, but LiAnn wasn't holding her breath.

That was why they were in the park to talk. Each new death reinforced the 
feeling that the killings were an inside job. Someone who knew all the 
details of the directors' habits, homes and security.

They had been discussing options for a while before LiAnn finally asked 
the one question that had been nagging her for a while. "Di... Just how 
many directors are there?"

LiAnn waited while her companion considered whether or not to answer. 
Over the years, she'd fallen into the habit of calling the woman Di, 
short for Director. She still didn't know the woman's real name. Back 
when she had first started working for the Agency, she and the boys had 
been ordered to work with a teenaged delinquent whose mother had been a 
friend of the Director's. She had called the woman "Aunt Di", and the 
name had stuck in LiAnn's mind.

"Thirteen," the Director finally said. "Two each in Asia, South America, 
Europe and Africa. One each in Australia and Antarctica. Three in North 
America."

Antarctica? LiAnn wondered what there was in Antarctica that the Agency 
could possibly be interested in, other than a few science stations.

Unless... The Agency had funded Dr. Fry's research. He had been hired to 
develop a drug that would create the perfect agent - at least in the 
Agency's mind. Absolutely no conscience, willing to kill at an order. Di 
had objected, and fed information to a woman who kept a conspiracy web-
page. Because of that, LiAnn and her former partners had ended up 
shutting Fry down, and destroying his flawed drug. The Director had set 
Fry to developing an antidote, both for his three human guinea pigs who'd 
ended up going on a mindless crime spree, and for himself. The 'drogues', 
as they'd been called, had addicted him to his own drug in order to force 
him to make more of the drug for them. Maybe the Agency were doing 
research at the bottom of the world, where there were fewer prying eyes, 
fewer chances of failures getting loose. LiAnn shivered, slightly. She 
didn't like that idea.

"An appropriate number," she said with a wry smile, though.

The Director grinned at her. "A baker's dozen? Just the right number for 
a coven? It's been commented on before. But the Head remains above that."

LiAnn frowned for a moment. "The Head. Where did he come from?"

"No one is quite sure. We don't even know if it's the same person who 
founded the Agency, originally. He always wears hooded robes, and uses a 
voice distorter, so I can't even be sure of the gender. Hell, I can't 
even be sure that I'm seeing the same person from visit to visit. It 
might be a group of people. Or a series of people."

LiAnn was even more disturbed by *that*. They worked for a person or 
persons unknown? With an agenda they knew nothing about? And the 
directors *accepted* it? Considering what a paranoid lot they were, that 
didn't seem likely.

"Does the Head have anything to say about the deaths?"

The Director stopped dead in her tracks, with a worried look on her face. 
"No one has been able to contact the Head for a while. The last confirmed 
contact was just before Chiu's death. Since then... nothing."

LiAnn was starting to get *very* worried about this. Either the person 
behind the deaths had managed to take the Head out, either killing or 
kidnapping the person or persons, or else...

Or else the Head was the one behind this. But why?

She told her companion her suspicions, and found the woman unsurprised.

"You're not the first person to suggest the possibility, but there's not 
much we can do, at the moment. All we can do is try to track down the 
person or persons who *committed* the murders, and hope that leads us to 
whoever is behind the killings. And step up security even higher, 
although that doesn't seem to be doing much good." LiAnn nodded.

They had reached the center of the park. Families wandered around, 
enjoying the sunny afternoon. Children were sailing their toy sailboats 
in the fountain. The picnic tables were all occupied. It was all so 
normal.

But that can change quickly.

Shots rang out. A man standing near the two women went down, blood 
flowing from the hole in his chest. LiAnn grabbed the Director, and 
pulled her to the ground, covering her. Frantically, she tried to figure 
out where the shots were coming from. People were running in panic. LiAnn 
heard two more shots, and a woman went down. LiAnn noted, in the back of 
her mind, that the woman was dressed in a style similar to what the 
Director was wearing.

The second shot let her find the shooter. He was running. LiAnn got up 
and took off after him, gun drawn. As she reached the parking lot, she saw 
a car pulling out onto the street at high speed. It was too far away to 
read the license plate. In the distance, she heard the screech of tires, 
as the shooter narrowly avoided an accident. She was a little confused, 
though. If this was related to the murders, then whoever had arranged this 
had decided to change his or her pattern. This attempt did *not* match the 
MO of the other killings.

"This is not good," panted the Director as she caught up with LiAnn, 
seeming to echo her thoughts. High-heels were not a good idea when running. 
"Not good at all. We need more help. Outside help."

LiAnn turned at the strange tone in the other woman's voice.

"We need Mac and Victor."

* * * * *

Mac stood at the edge of the ballroom, in a position where he would have 
a perfect view of every entrance. The guards that he and Vic had hired 
for this were all in their proper positions and alert. These were people 
that they had met in their early days in Europe, when they worked as 
bodyguards, and every one of them was someone that the two of them 
trusted.

Mac adjusted his tuxedo jacket, and set out to make another circuit. The 
scanners were working properly, scanning for weapons made of either metal 
or carbon-fiber. Carbon-fiber guns and knives had been popular with 
terrorists for a while, but the technicians had finally found a way to 
scan for them, and their was use declining. Things were stable, now. At 
least until the *next* new weapon was developed.

"Anything, Jacques?" he murmured in an ear.

"Non, Matt. Other than the environmentalist with a balloon filled with 
oil that she wanted to throw at the Exxon president, it's been quiet."

"Good." He continued on his circuit. Exxon was getting a lot of flack in 
the world press, lately. Yet another one of their oil tankers had run 
aground, spilling tons of oil into the ocean eco-system. They were 
blaming the captain, and trying to get out of doing more than the 
sketchiest of cleanups. Just one more reasons why this conference had so 
much security.

He checked with the rest of the guards stationed at the room's entrances, 
and checked to make sure that all the doors to the building, other that 
the main door, were closed, locked and the security systems armed.

When he and Vic had arrived in Europe, and had gone into the security 
business, they had decided that they couldn't exactly use their real 
names. Instead, they had built identities under new name, making sure 
that if they slipped and used their real names, no one would notice. So 
Mac had become Matthew Blake, Matt for short, and Vic had become Richard 
Thornton, Dick for short. Mac and Vic. Matt and Dick. It had worked, so 
far.

Mac had just finished his rounds when Vic arrived. His partner had been 
out to check one of their mail drops. Mac stopped for a moment to admire 
the way that the older man filled out his tux. Vic didn't go in for the 
dressy clothing the way Mac did, but he looked *damn* good. They met near 
the buffet table.

"Nothing much. A letter from Alice, though," Vic said, not waiting for 
Mac to ask the obvious question.

Alice was Vic's little sister, one of the few people they'd kept in touch 
with since leaving the Agency. About a year after their "deaths", they'd 
contacted her through the aid group she was working with in Indonesia. 
Despite her frequent moves, and their secrecy, Vic had managed to keep in 
touch with his sister through the occasional letter.

"What's she up to now?" Mac asked, with a smile. "Building bridges in 
Bangkok? Disarming landmines in Croatia?"

Vic frowned. "Don't even joke about it. Actually, she's back in Canada, 
going to University."

"Really?" Mac was surprised. Alice, or Allegra as she preferred to be 
called, had been avoiding school as much as possible in the time since 
he'd met her. She said that the school system was designed to churn out 
happy little consumers, and she wanted nothing to do with it. "What is 
she studying?"

"Political Sciences."

Mac could feel his jaw drop in amazement, and Vic's grin said that he 
looked as shocked as he felt. Mac knew few people who were more anti-
establishment than his sister-in-law, as he liked to refer to her as.

"My reaction too. She says she wants to 'know her enemy'."

Mac grinned in relief. "Now *that* sounds like her."

As they made a pass through the room, Mac noticed something that 
disturbed him. One of the photographers that had been allowed into the 
reception, was sweating. Now, it *was* warm in the room, but this guy was 
almost dripping. And he was fidgeting more than would be normally 
expected.

"Vic," he whispered in his partner's ear. "See the guy over there in the 
brown suit and orange tie?" He paused to shudder at the image the man 
made. He had always loved fine clothes, and the man's fashion sense 
offended him, highly. Vic took a brief look, careful not to be obvious 
about it. He was a lot better at that than he used to be, too.

"I see him. He's a little *too* nervous, isn't he?"

"Definitely." Mac split off, with a nod, and went to talk to one of the 
roving guards. When he went back to Vic's side, the guard started to ease 
his way towards the reporters' section.

Unfortunately, the man was *so* nervous, that he noticed, and assumed the 
worse. Of course, he *was* right about that.

"Hold it!" the man screeched, twisting the lens off of his camera. As 
silence fell across the room, he gave the sections of the lens a twist, 
and Mac could faintly hear the ticking of a timer. 'Not a bomb!' he 
groaned to himself. 'How the hell did he get *that* past the scanners?'

At that moment, the guard coming up on the nutcases *other* side tackled 
the man, and he lost his grip on the lens... bomb... whatever. Screams 
could be heard as it rolled across the floor. While Vic tackled the 
downed man, Mac grabbed the lens/bomb and ran for the balcony doors. As 
he remembered, there was a pool right below the balcony, and there was no 
one in or around it. He tossed the bomb, then hit the ground, covering 
his head. A moment later, he was soaked by the water thrown up by the 
explosion.

When he lifted his head and looked around, he found that no one had been 
hurt. The nutcase was already being carted away by the constabulary. 
Checking over the edge of the balcony, he winced at the sight of the 
damage to the pool. The host was *not* going to like *that*, and the 
insurance company was probably going to make *them* pay for it. Oh well, 
he sighed to himself. At least they had the money for it.

"Matt! Are you okay?" Vic called, heading for him, managing to remember 
to use the right name.

Mac gave a wry nod. "I'm fine. You?"

Vic snarled. "I'm pissed off. We're going to have to figure out just 
*how* he got that thing past us. This does not look good."

Mac sighed, then looked over to where the would-be bomber had been 
standing. He was greeted by a storm of flashes from the photographers 
standing there.

"Shit."

"No kidding," Vic said. Three years of avoiding publicity, keeping their 
faces out of the papers and news. But now... now they weren't going to be 
able to avoid it. All they could do was pray that the wrong people didn't 
see it.

* * * * *

LiAnn was staring out the window when the pilot announced that they were 
about to land in Paris. Despite the long flight from Toronto, she was 
still wide awake. Her mind was turning over too quickly to let her sleep. 
What the hell was she doing in Europe?

Looking for two dead men, it seemed.


----------------------------------------
Lost and Found
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

"This is your suite, Mademoiselle Tsei. Enjoy your stay." The young man 
set down her bags and waited, with an expectant look on his face.

LiAnn gave the bellhop a generous tip, then turned around to face the 
room. It was lush and expensive, as befitted the five-star hotel that the 
Director had checked her into in Paris, but she didn't really see the 
room, or the view from the window.

Instead, she was back in the park, the day before.

* * * * *

"What do you mean, we need Mac and Victor? In case your memory is playing 
tricks on you, they're *dead*." LiAnn flinched at her own words, and 
without noticing it, she reached with her hand to caress one of the scars 
on her other arm. In her mind, she could still hear Victor yelling for 
them to run, followed by the roar of the explosion. This was followed by 
pain, and unclear images until she woke in the hospital, more than a day 
later.

The Director looked uneasy. For once, she seemed to be having trouble 
meeting LiAnn's eyes.

"Maybe not. There were things I didn't tell you. We... never found their 
bodies. Now, the fire was extremely hot, and they might have been so 
thoroughly cremated that there *were* no remains to find, but..."

"But what?" LiAnn demanded in a tight voice. She was having trouble 
believing that she was hearing this.

"Both the boys had caches. Money, fake ids, clothing, in case they ever 
decided to leave. They probably thought we didn't know about them, but I 
knew exactly where they were. A day after the explosion, Dobrinsky 
decided to check them. They had been cleaned out."

LiAnn was beginning to wish she was sitting down, but the Director 
continued. "We still didn't have any proof of *who* cleaned out their 
getaway funds, but I *wanted* to believe it was them."

The Director sighed, then started heading for her car. "The boys never 
made any attempt to hide the fact that they didn't want to work for the 
Agency. Hell, I blackmailed them into it. Subtle, and not-so-subtle 
threats, promises. And you were all at that warehouse because of me. I 
should have gone along with the three of you, with the idea of setting a 
trap for Pouchie. If they were dead, it was my fault. So... If they were 
alive, and leaving, I decided to give them that chance. I had Dobrinsky 
erase all traces of them from the Agency's files. I couldn't completely 
protect them, but I could do whatever was possible."

LiAnn was shocked, partly by the revelation and partly by the open sorrow 
of her companion's face. The Director had a reputation for being cold and 
manipulative, and while she knew that wasn't completely true, Di was a 
master in managing people, and her own emotions.

"Is there any evidence that they *are* alive?" she asked

"A couple of agents have said they saw two men who *looked* like Mac and 
Victor, when they were on assignment in Europe. And there have been 
pictures of dignitaries where the bodyguards in the background *might* 
have been them. But no, there's not *definite* proof."

"But why didn't you *tell* me?" LiAnn demanded, pulling up short as they 
got near the Director's limo. "Didn't I have the right to know?"

The Director looked up into her face, and LiAnn wondered what was showing 
there. Di took her arm and steered her towards a nearby bench.

"There were a lot of reasons not to, and I still don't know if they were 
right. You were badly injured, and looking at months of rehabilitation, 
and you didn't need any more shocks. There was no *proof* that they were 
alive, and I didn't want to raise your hopes. And... if they *were* 
alive, they had chosen to leave. Leave the Agency, and leave *you*. You 
were depressed enough, and I didn't know how you would react."

Di sat down next to her and started stroking the back of her hand, where 
it lay on her thigh. It was soothing, and she found herself grateful for 
the contact. While she was angry that she had been left grieving for 
three years, without cause, she could understand the reasoning. Hell, she 
might have done the same thing in Di's place.

"Maybe I should have told you later, but you had... adjusted, and I 
wasn't sure how you would react." Then she stood, and headed for the car. 
"But this situation isn't good. We're all in danger. The *Agency* is in 
danger, and no matter what you might think of its methods, it does good. 
We need help, and two men that are believed dead are *exactly* what we 
need."

She turned back to face LiAnn. "We believe that three years ago, Mac and 
Victor headed for Paris first. I want you to go there, and track them 
down. Tell them that I am *asking* for their help. And if they say no..."

She turned to open the limo door.

"If they say no, come home. We'll figure *something* out."

* * * * *

LiAnn pulled a change of clothing from her suitcase, and went to shower. 
She stood under the warm spray and wondered what she would say to Mac and 
Victor, assuming she found them. The Director was right about one thing. 
She did feel abandoned by the fact that they had never bothered to 
contact her. Three years, without a word. She would have thought that they 
were closer than that.

Still feeling jetlagged, but far more relaxed, LiAnn headed back to the 
sitting room to plan her next move. All she had were rumors of 
sightings. It was going to take a minor miracle to find two men in 
Europe. Especially two men who didn't *want* to be found.

She ordered room-service, and picked up one of the Paris newspapers, left 
by the hotel for their guests, to read while she waited. The picture on 
the first page nearly made her choke.

Mac. Sopping wet. Wearing a tuxedo. And Victor in the background.

She scanned through the article, translating from the French easily. 
There had been an attempted hostage-taking at a meeting of oil companies 
and producers in Amsterdam the night before. A radical environmentalist 
had managed to sneak a new type of grenade in, disguised as a camera 
lens, using legitimate press credentials. He had been thwarted by the 
quick thinking and reflexes of Matthew Blake, a security consultant. 
Blake and his partner, Richard Thornton, were in charge of the security 
at the reception where the incident occurred.

Matthew and Richard. Matt and Dick. Mac and Vic. How appropriate.

Well, she'd been thinking that it would take a miracle, and here it was. 
She had her starting point.

There was a knock at her door. Breakfast had arrived. She signed the slip 
for it, and sat down to start eating. She didn't really taste the gourmet 
fare, though. She was too busy making notes about her next move.

* * * * *

Mac opened the door, and Victor disarmed their security system. It had 
been a long week. Talking to the Dutch police, the conference organizers. 
Figuring out how the man had gotten an explosive device past all the 
security scanners.

It was quite ingenious, in fact. To a scanner, the lens looked like just 
that. A camera lens. But twisting one of the parts, as though focusing  
the camera, was the equivalent of pulling the pin from a grenade. There 
was no way that conventional scanners would have caught it.

And then there were the other two receptions that they were providing 
security for. They'd had to come up with a few new twists to make sure 
that no more grenades-in-disguise made it in. They weren't really 
surprised that everything had gone smoothly. After all, who in their 
right mind would try something after a failed attempt? But paranoia had 
already been raised to new heights.

Victor turned from the control panel, just as Mac dropped their laundry 
bag in a corner of the hallway. It could wait. He couldn't.

"I swear," Mac was grumbling. "If I don't see a tux for three months, 
it'll still be too soon."

Victor growled in agreement - although it wasn't something he heard from 
his clothes-horse partner very often - and pinned the unresisting man 
against a handy wall. God, but he loved the man. Mac just snorted, and 
grabbed the back of Victor's head, then pulled him in and kissed him hard.

"I kinda figured you'd be horny. Danger always does that to you, and we 
haven't had the time for more than a quickie since the reception. So... 
Are we going to the bedroom, or do want me right here?"

"Right here, I think," he replied with a grin.

He dived in again to capture that gorgeous, grinning, seductive mouth, 
and was just starting to rub against the increasingly aroused body of his 
partner, pulling at his shirt buttons, when they heard a throat clear.

Both of them drawing their guns, they whirled towards the living room 
door. They stood in shock at the sight. For long moments, no one made a 
sound. Finally Mac spoke up, one hand coming up to pull his shirt closed.

"LiAnn?"

* * * * *

Mac tumbled into bed, feeling like he'd just gone three rounds with a 
heavy-weight boxer. Physically, he was rested and strong. Mentally... 

Vic joined him, crawling under the covers. Mac rolled over, into his 
lover's arms. LiAnn had left for the night, gone back to her hotel. They 
hadn't given her their answer yet, but Vic had already said he wanted to 
go, and Mac had reluctantly agreed. Still, he was uneasy.

"Are we doing the right thing?"

"I... don't know," Vic replied. "I just know that it's what I need to do. 
You don't have to come, Mac."

Mac glared at him, then gave him a gentle slap to the side of the head. 
"Riiight. Like I'm going to let you go back to Canada on your own. I 
don't think so. Wither thou goest, love, and all that bullshit."

Mac smiled at Vic, but the smile faded. Coming home to find LiAnn waiting 
for them had completely disrupted the new life they had built together. 
Hearing that the Director had known they were alive, and had covered up 
for them had been surprising, but not completely so. And... gratifying, 
knowing that she cared so much. But it was still scary, just how easily 
they had been found. 

Hearing about the problems *within* the Agency... Directors killed. 
*Their* director the target of a near assassination...

Mac sighed. Vic was right. They *needed* to do this. Sure, they hadn't 
wanted to work for the Agency. They'd taken the first chance they got to 
get away. After all, the Director had threatened to have the prison 
release Mac onto the streets of Hong Kong, where his life expectancy 
would have been measured in minutes. And Vic... well, the life of a cop 
in prison was about the same, which is why he'd been in solitary when 
she'd seen him.

But it had given them a second chance. An opportunity to do good, even 
though it often seemed more like almost an accidental by-product of what 
the Agency did. And... it had brought them together. If it hadn't been for 
the Agency, they probably would have never even met, and Mac shuddered at 
the thought.

But still, that was a part of their lives that they thought that they'd 
put behind them permanently, and he was still resenting the intrusion.

"You know," he told Vic, rolling on top of the older man. "You have this 
depressing habit of being right. We do owe her, and while I don't give a 
shit about what happens to the Agency, I do care about what happens to 
the people. The Director, LiAnn, Nathan, Murphy and Camier, Jackie. Hell, 
I even care about what happens to *Dobrinsky*!" Vic snorted at the fake 
tone of amazement that Mac was using.

"So we both go?" Vic asked.

"We both go," Mac confirmed, then dipped his head for a lingering kiss.

"Now... where were we?"

Mac looked at the wall, above the headboard of their deliberately over-
sized bed. He cocked his head to the side. "About to take a nap?"

Victor snickered.

"Doing the two weeks worth of laundry?"

Vic rolled them over, and started nibbling at the sensitive skin beneath 
his left ear. "Try again, gorgeous."

"I know!" Mac said brightly. "About to have some nuclear-meltdown sex?"

"Bingo," Vic growled, before kissing him senseless.

Mac stretched and purred, as Vic slowly rubbed his body all over his 
partner's. Sometimes Mac wondered why he was never bothered at being held 
down by Vic. You would think that it would give him panic attacks, 
considering the ways that his foster-brother Michael had restrained him, 
back when they were teens. In fact, with his bad experiences, it was a 
wonder that he was able to even think of having sex with another man at 
all.

But it wasn't *just* another man. It was Vic. Vic, who had saved his life 
countless times. Vic, who was endlessly patient with him while he *was* 
still getting over the memories. Vic, who loved him in ways he didn't 
know were possible.

Vic, who *he* loved in ways he didn't even know he was capable of. Mac 
had been in love with LiAnn, back before they left the Tang Family, but 
what he had felt for her paled in comparison to what he felt for Vic.

Mac smiled. "Have I told you lately just how much I love you?"

"Hmmm. Yes, but I can never hear it often enough," Vic replied. Then he 
was slithering down Mac's body, going for maximum contact all the way, 
until he reached the erection that was arching up over Mac's belly. "Of 
course, this fellow tells me every day," he added.

Mac gasped as Vic's breath caressed his cock. Warm air was followed by a 
warmer tongue, which bathed every square millimeter of flesh. After more 
than three years of learning his reactions, Vic was far too good at this. 
He knew just what touches and caresses would reduce Mac to quivering 
jelly, something he did on a regular basis.

"Vic..." he breathed, then yelped as his partner's mouth descended to 
swallow him whole. "Oh god, Vic. Please."

His partner raised his head, a wicked grin on his face. "Please what, 
Mac?" he asked, tracing lazy pattern's on Mac's balls with a fingertip.

Mac didn't have the breath to answer, so he simply spread his legs, in an 
open invitation that he knew Vic would never turn down.

And he didn't. Lube was retrieved from the bedside table, and Vic 
prepared them both, ever so carefully. Then he was pressing in, filling 
the space that always felt empty when they were apart. Mac had trouble 
remembering that there had ever been a time when this had scared the hell 
out of him.

But now... Now the only thing better than having Vic inside him this way 
was being inside Vic. It was perfect. It was right. It was everything he 
wanted. And he was scared that he might lose it.

* * * * *

Mac lay in bed, curled up against Vic, looking out into the darkness. He 
should sleep. In the morning they would be packing for the trip to 
Canada. But sleep wouldn't come.

In a way, making love tonight had been like saying goodbye to their home. 
They'd gotten away from the Agency once. Who knew if they would again. And 
even if they did return to Europe, it probably wouldn't be safe to come 
back to this house. They'd been found here once, after all.

They'd been so happy here, and Mac worried that they wouldn't have 
another chance like this again.

He spooned up around Vic, waiting for the dawn to come and worrying. 
Nothing would ever be the same.


----------------------------------------
Questions and Answers
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

The Director shuffled the papers in front of her. She hated keeping 
information on paper, but it was safer than electronics now.

"Any trace on the hacker who nearly got in?" She asked the blonde sitting 
in front of her. Jackie Janczyk shook her head.

"Nothing. Nathan is still working on it. All he can tell us at this point 
is that the person was trying to get into the personnel files. He's also 
working at beefing up our firewall, whatever that is."

The Director gave a small smile. Jackie still stuck to her old image of 
the teenaged valley girl mob queen, but in the three and a half years 
since the Agency had brought her in, after bringing her down. But despite 
the act, the girl was brilliant. She soaked up knowledge, the way a 
sponge soaked up water. If she ever started picking up decent people-
skills, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But after her attempt 
to take over the Janczyk Family had ended with her in jail, and the 
family dissolved, she avoided leadership roles at all costs.

"If he finds out *anything*, I want to know," the Director said, tapping 
one fingernail on the desktop. She was starting to feel very 
uncomfortable. In the week since the attempt on her life, she had kept to 
the headquarters, rarely leaving except to go home and sleep. Between 
Jackie and Dobrinsky, she was almost never left alone. She was beginning 
to feel like a rat in a maze, and she did *not* like the feeling.

And the fact that personnel files were targeted might indicate that 
someone out there knew just what she was doing. Who she was calling on for 
help.

Jackie nodded. "Any word yet from LiAnn?" she asked, careful not to say 
anything about where LiAnn was, or why she had gone.

"She'll be back tomorrow evening," the Director respond, a faint tone of 
satisfaction creeping into her voice. Jackie grinned back at her. 

It wasn't just that LiAnn was the one person able to rein in the Director 
when she was off and running, according to Jackie and Dobrinsky. The fact 
that she was coming back after only a week said that she had found Mac 
and Victor. And the tone in her voice when she had called had told the 
Director that she was successful in convincing them to come back with her.

The Director was looking forward to seeing both men again. It wasn't just 
that she needed their help. It wasn't even the fact that she was 
attracted to both men. She smiled briefly at the memory of how much fun 
it had been to tease Mac, even though he was obviously uncomfortable and 
embarrassed by the attention. And it wasn't even the need to apologize 
for the last time they had been together, when she had almost gotten them 
killed because her own pride wouldn't let her take on Pouchie in a more 
sensible way.

No. She wanted to see what sort of men they had become on their own. What 
were they doing. Were they still happy together. If she didn't know 
better, she'd think that she was taking an almost *maternal* interest in 
their lives, and maternal was the last word *anyone* would ever use to 
describe her.

Maybe, when all this was over, they wouldn't cut themselves off quite so 
thoroughly again. Somehow she doubted she'd be able convince them to come 
back to work for the Agency, though.

Then she grinned to herself. She was going to have to find something... 
special to wear to their reunion. Something *very* special.

* * * * *

LiAnn wandered through the house that the two men shared, wondering at 
how much a *home* it seemed. Back when they were in the Agency, the boys 
had both lived in apartments assigned to them, just like she did. Those 
apartments had never felt like more than a temporary resting place. This 
house was home.

But this place... To those accustomed to modern hotels and condominiums, 
it would probably look shabby, but LiAnn found herself envious. It was a 
small stone cottage that they had updated to modern times. The plumbing, 
electrical and security systems were all top of the line. But the floors 
were stone, covered in worn rugs that looked like they'd been found a 
flea markets. The walls were whitewashed plaster, cracked in spots. The 
fireplace obviously got used a lot, as did the modern kitchen. Victor was 
out back, making sure that the generator was fueled, and ready to pick up 
in case of a power outage while they were gone.

LiAnn wandered into the one bedroom, where Mac was packing their bags for 
the trip. She could see the signs of domesticity there, especially. The 
armoire was open, and there didn't seem to be any separation between 
Mac's clothes and Victor's. On a table, up against the wall, were pictures 
of the two of them together, all over Europe. Mixed in were pictures of 
Victor's little sister. LiAnn started feeling a little upset again, when 
she realized that some of those pictures had to have been taken since 
they had left the Agency. Why had they kept in contact with Alice, but 
never let *her* know that they were even alive?

"Hey, LiAnn. We'll be ready in a couple minutes," Mac called from the 
bathroom that was obviously an add-on to the bedroom. He came out and 
dropped two shaving kits, and other toiletries on the bed. LiAnn found 
herself blushing when she recognized a tube of lubricant and condoms in 
the jumble. She picked up the tube, then looked at Mac.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked. "Why did I have to find out 
from *Jackie* that you two were... together?"

Mac blinked at her in surprise. "Jackie? How the hell did she know?"

"The business with the Rivers. Did you think we showed up in time to save 
you by accident? The Director was suspicious, so she assigned Jackie to 
monitor you. Did you know the apartments were bugged? Anyway, she got 
more of an earful than she expected. Later on, she got me to listen in. I 
think she just wanted to upset me."

Mac frowned at the suitcase lying open on the bed. "Damn. We swept for 
bugs and cameras on a regular basis. I guess we missed one."

"But why didn't you *tell* me? I thought we were friends, at least. Did 
you think I'd be upset?"

Mac sat down on the bed, and patted the spot beside him. LiAnn sat down 
next to him. "It's a little hard to explain."

LiAnn waited patiently while Mac collected his thoughts.

"The first time we ended up in bed together was the night you... dumped 
Vic. He got drunk, and I took him home. The next thing I knew, he was 
dragging me into bed. He didn't remember anything the next morning, so I 
thought that was it.

"But he figured it out, and decided he wanted a relationship. Basically, 
he seduced me. Pursued me until I gave in. But for the longest time, I 
told myself it was just sex. A fuck-buddy sort of relationship. It took a 
while for him to convince me that he really *was* in love with me. I 
finally figured out that I was in love with *him* when I was stuck in the 
coffin, listening to the gunfire, wondering if I was going to be shipped 
to Hong Kong.

"We were going to tell you, after that. We had both decided we were in it 
for the long haul. But before we could, Michael turned up, and everything 
went crazy. Then we had the chance to go, and we took it.

"The only person we got in contact with was Vic's sister, cause we knew 
she wouldn't tell anyone." Mac smiled. "She's got this major distrust for 
*anything* organized. Especially secret government agencies. But 
contacting you would have been too dangerous. Besides... we weren't sure 
that you'd *want* to hear from us."

"Of course I did! I spent three years grieving!!" At least Mac had the 
decency to look ashamed at that. Then he continued.

"And along with everything else, at the end, there was Michael. You were 
so ready to trust him. Anything I said, you chalked up to me being 
hostile towards him, but I couldn't tell you why. You wouldn't have 
believed me."

"Believe what?" LiAnn asked, feeling cold at the slightly pained look on 
her former brother/lover/partner's face.

"Back when we were teenagers, before you and I happened, Michael and I 
were... well, I lovers is *not* the right term for it. What he did to me 
had *nothing* to do with love. It was pain and domination and a lot of 
other things, but it was *not* love."

LiAnn blanched. She could *not* be hearing this. Mac stood up and started 
packing the last of his and Victor's bags.

"It ended about the time I convinced Father to let me have my own 
place. I said 'no' a couple of times, and Michael lost interest. You and 
I became lovers." He looked up at her. "That was why I worked so hard to 
convince you to leave with me. I *knew* what sort of a person Michael was. 
I didn't want to go through the same sort of thing that I did.

"So there I was. Ready to tell you about me and Vic. But Michael turns 
up, and you were so ready to believe he was telling the truth, that he 
had reformed, and I couldn't trust him. But if I told you, I was sure 
you'd say I was lying. Either that or try to convince me that he had 
changed that part of his personality too. Hell, he even had *Vic* fooled 
briefly, and Vic *knew* about what he'd done to me. But I couldn't believe 
that he'd really changed.

"You know," he said, zipping the carry-on bags and closing the suitcase. 
"Vic and I figure that he was the one behind Chang getting out of jail 
and into Canada. After all, the Tangs have the power to arrange that sort 
of thing, and Michael knew better than anyone else how to find me."

"I... never thought of that," LiAnn said, head reeling. She didn't want 
to believe this, but it made too much sense. He was right about Michael 
having the power and knowledge to set Chang after Mac, and when she 
thought about it, she could remember strange moods, sudden temper flares 
and all the signs of stress in Mac, back when they were still teens being 
trained as thieves. How could she have not known? How could she have been 
so blind? She went to Mac, and wrapped her arms around him. She couldn't 
think of anything to say. After a moment, Mac returned the hug.

There was a cough from the door, and they turned to see Victor. LiAnn was 
worried, for a moment, that he might be upset to see his lover with his 
arms around their mutual ex-lover, but he was smiling. "Ready to go, 
folks?" he said, heading to pick up the suitcase from the bed. He stopped 
briefly to give LiAnn a hug, and Mac a kiss. It wasn't an 'I want to fuck 
you' kiss. It was just an 'I love you' little kiss, the sort you see 
married couples exchanging. LiAnn felt a brief surge of jealousy, again.

"Yep," Mac said, picking up the carry-on bags. "Let's go."

They stopped at the door, while Victor armed the security system, then 
they climbed in the car for the drive to Paris and the international 
airport there.

* * * * *

LiAnn accepted a drink from the flight attendant with a smile, then sank 
back into her seat. The plane was mid-way over the Atlantic, headed for 
Toronto. Mac and Victor were also en-route, but taking a different route, 
in case she was being watched.

She was still amazed that she had actually found them. If it hadn't been 
for that one news article, she might not have. She was also surprised 
that they had actually agreed to come back to North America.

They were so obviously happy together, here. They'd made a home, and a 
life. She gave a small smile, thinking about that life. Security 
consultants, she could understand. Finding out that they also worked at 
thieves had left her with an undignified case of the giggles. She hadn't 
giggled like that since she was a child, and that was a very long time 
ago.

And the Robin Hood part of it... Targeting criminals and sending evidence 
to Interpol. That was so much like both of them. Victor would do because 
he had been a cop. Mac would do it for the sheer flamboyance of it. It 
was just so appropriate for the both of them.

She was glad that they'd kept up their skills, though. What was waiting 
for them, back in Canada, was going to be a test of everything they knew, 
everything they were.

She just prayed that they were *all* up to it.


----------------------------------------
Travel Plans
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

Mac tried to relax into his plane seat, but coach was not exactly a place 
for being comfortable. Not that it seemed to be bothering Vic. His 
partner could sleep anywhere. He looked adorable when he was asleep, too. 
His hair all spiky, and his mouth just slightly agape, soft snoring 
noises coming from it.

LiAnn was probably already in Toronto, flying direct and first class. But 
they had all worried that they might be watched, so Mac and Vic were 
taking a more circuitous route. They had driven to Berlin, and flown on a 
commuter flight to London. From there is was a cross-Atlantic flight to 
Dallas. Now they were flying coach from Dallas to Montreal, where they 
would rent a car for the drive to Toronto. Mac was hoping that Vic would 
agree to stopping for the night in the hotel at Mirabel Airport, because 
by the time they landed, he was going to be wiped. Vic, though, was 
probably going to be completely rested.

"Mac, relax."

Mac jumped in his seat as the hand came to rest on his. He had thought 
that Vic was completely asleep.

"Sorry. You know I hate to fly."

Vic gave a little laugh. "Liar. You're worrying. You do it all the time, 
until when we're on the job. You were a born worrier. It's going to be 
all right."

"How can you say that?" Mac said, twisting in his seat to look at his 
partner. "It took a miracle to get away from the Agency before, but now 
we're walking right back into the lion's den. They won't let us get away 
twice."

"You don't know that. The Director let us go once. Now she wants our 
help. I think she'll let us go a second time."

Mac slumped back. "If she has any say in the matter. I'm not going to go 
back to working for them again, Vic. I won't."

The hand holding his tightened, and Vic reached over with his other hand 
to turn Mac's face towards him. "I know. I feel the same way. But 
whatever happens, we do it together, right? You and me."

Mac found a faint smile inside of himself. "You and me," he replied, then 
leaned over to kiss Vic.

It was a long, leisurely kiss. Reassurance, love, passion and friendship, 
all mixed together with a healthy dose of tongue. Mac could hear the jerk 
in the seat across the aisle making gagging noises, but he didn't give a 
shit.

Finally, they broke apart and just looked at each other for a long moment. 
Then they were interrupted.

"Would you like something to drink before we serve dinner?"

Mac turned to the stewardess to order. He needed a stiff one. It was 
going to be a *long* flight.

* * * * *

LiAnn dropped her suitcase in a corner, then threw herself into an 
armchair. She was exhausted. Long flights always tired her out. Not to 
mention the fact that she hadn't been able to sleep at all. She'd been 
playing the conversation with Mac in her mind, over and over again.

"Did you find them?"

She turned her head to look at the Director, who was standing at the 
bedroom door.

"Yes. They'll be here in a few days. They decided to take a different 
route, just in case. Any news here?"

"There's been another attempt. This one unsuccessful. The director for 
Western Europe was nearly killed in her study. That attempt matches the 
MO of the killings. Her department works from an underground complex 
beneath an office building in downtown London. Only one entrance, 
guarded. She went into her office, through the only door, and sat down. 
Then she was attacked from behind.

"Unlike the others, she was able to fight her attacker off long enough to 
scream for help. When her guards came through the door, the attacker let 
go of her and rushed them. He got past, into the hallway, then 
disappeared. They're still not sure how he got out."

"He? They're sure it was a man?"

"As sure as they can be. He was built like a man, but that could be a 
disguise. He was dressed in black, with a ski mask, so the only 
description they had was that he was about 5'11". Other than that, still 
no clues."

LiAnn sighed. She had been hoping that *something* would have been 
discovered while she was away. The guys were going to be walking into a 
minefield without even a metal detector, at this rate.

"So, how are the boys?"

The Director's voice was a study in non-chalance, but LiAnn wasn't fooled.

"Happy. Together. Not happy about coming back, but they feel that they 
owe it to you."

"I'm glad. That they're happy, that is. What about you?"

LiAnn closed her eyes. "Conflicted. Glad that they're alive. Angry that 
they never told me. Glad that they're happy. Jealous at how happy they 
are. Upset at myself for being blind. Did you know about what happened 
between Mac and Michael?"

The Director sighed. "I had my suspicions. It didn't stop me from being 
fooled by Michael, though. You can't blame yourself for not knowing. 
Michael was a master of deception, and Mac... well, Mac was very good at 
hiding his emotions."

"Not any more. The Mac I saw this week was very open. Confident, where he 
used to be brash. Showing his emotions, where he used to hide behind 
walls so well constructed that you didn't even realize that that was what 
you were really seeing. He's changed a lot, and for the better."

LiAnn felt a hand reach to cup her cheek. "Can you work with them? If you 
can't, say so, and I'll let Jackie be their contact."

She leaned into the hand, eyes still closed. "That... might be a good 
idea. I hope there won't be a problem, but I don't know. I don't think 
I'd be working at full efficiency around them."

"Fine. Of course, admitting that is the first step to dealing with it."

LiAnn opened her eyes to look at the woman crouched in front of her. "How 
did you get so wise?" she asked, only slightly sarcastic. The Director 
smiled at her.

"Experience. Lots and lots of experience." She leaned forward and brushed 
her lips against LiAnn's.

LiAnn didn't respond for a moment, then melted into the offered embrace. 
This wasn't what she had expected in life. It wasn't even what she had 
expected, before that nightmarish stay in the hospital, when she had felt 
like she was carved from ice. After her release, she hadn't been able to 
take care of herself yet. Instead of insisting that she move in with 
Jackie, again, Di had brought her home. For the next few months, she had 
personally made sure that LiAnn ate, did her exercises, went to her 
therapy sessions, both physical and mental. And when LiAnn woke in the 
middle of the night, screaming from the nightmares, the Director was 
there to hold her, comfort her. That was when she'd gradually moved to 
calling the woman Di.

Maybe she should have seen it coming. In retrospect, Di had obviously 
made no attempts to hide her interest in LiAnn. But LiAnn had only seen a 
motherly/bossly interest in making her the best agent she could be. Then 
one night, after a particularly bad nightmare, Di had held her, stroked 
her, murmured reassurances, and finally kissed her.

Maybe, under other circumstances, she would have refused. But the 
nightmare was too fresh, and the comfort was too welcome. They had slept 
together before, but that night was the first time that they had *slept* 
together.

Momentarily lost in her memories, she almost didn't notice as her lover 
pulled her to her feet, and led her to the bedroom. Slowly, she was 
undressed, then pressed back into the bed. Soon she was joined by an 
equally naked body. Sometimes she wondered what the Director's motivation 
was for this, but usually she didn't care. When she needed her, Di was 
there.

She was being kissed again. A gentle control, unlike a man's kiss. The 
flesh that pressed against her was firm, but rounder, softer. The lips 
moved down her neck, carefully tracing the path of her scars. She hated 
them, but Di made them feel beautiful, a proper part of her, if only for 
a while.

The lips continued on to suckle at her breasts, coaxing her nipples to 
full hardness. She twisted on the sheets, gasping. She could already feel 
the pressure building, as finger reached for her clit. The small nub was 
stroked and rolled between fingers, before a mouth descended, and a 
tongue began its magic.

She could feel her orgasm building. Her toes curled, and her muscles 
tightened. Then she cried out as everything seemed to pulse.

She lay gasping, as Di moved up to kiss her. She could taste herself 
there. And after a moment's rest, she was ready to return the favor.

* * * * *

Klaus von dem Eberbach of Interpol sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette 
while he read the report sitting in front of him. Word had just come in 
that two surveillance targets had left Europe for North America. 
Normally, he wouldn't care. After all, the Americas were outside his 
jurisdiction. But these two...

Matthew Blake and Richard Thornton were definitely an unusual case. They 
were thieves, but their targets came exclusively from the criminal 
classes. They had been tentatively linked to break-ins at the homes of 
the heads of several of Europe's most powerful crime families. 
Interestingly enough, within a month or two of those break-ins, 
information on those syndicates' operations arrived at Interpol 
headquarters in anonymous packages, complete with proof. No two packages 
were mailed from the same city, but the connection was obvious to those 
who were looking.

Interpol was looking, and after the third package, they made the 
connection. At that point, Eberbach was assigned the case file.

Eberbach grimaced at the file. He thought that he'd gotten away from this 
sort of thing when he'd transferred to Interpol from the Intelligence 
branch of NATO. In Interpol, he could concentrate on putting thieves 
behind bars, he'd thought, not working *with* them.

But here he was again. Told not to interfere with *two* thieves, this 
time. They were too useful to put behind bars, he was told. And they were 
gay, too. At least they seemed focused on each other. The last thing he 
needed was another...

Never mind that. He preferred not to think about *that* little problem.

But now Blake and Thornton had left the continent, changing their names 
along the way. Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield had landed in Montreal, 
Canada, and rented a car. It looked like their final destination was 
Toronto.

Toronto. Their files suggested that Toronto was where they had come to 
Europe from. But for the last three years, the furthest they had gone was 
the middle east. So why were they heading back to Canada? Why now?

It was a mystery, and Eberbach *hated* mysteries. He stubbed out his 
cigarette, then picked up the phone and told the travel department to 
book him on a flight to Toronto.

Whatever those two were up to, he was going to find out.


----------------------------------------
Reunions
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, actually it wasn't. It was night, yes. And it was cloudy. But there 
hadn't been any rain for a week, and none was predicted for at least 
another two days. Still, the anticipation in the air was like the 
atmosphere right before a thunderstorm.

The Director waited outside the burnt-out remains of the Viceroy Soy 
Mill. Nothing had been done to either fix or tear down the blackened 
shell of a building since the explosion that had destroyed it, and nearly 
killed her three favorite agents three years ago. On the other hand, the 
building had been derelict for years before that, so the owners obviously 
didn't care.

In a way, this was the perfect place for this meeting. Not because it was 
difficult to spy on people here. Not because it was away from the Agency. 
No. Because it was all too appropriate for her first sight of her two 
former agents to be in the same place that she *last* saw them. The place ]
where she had nearly gotten them killed.

The Director found herself pacing as she waited. Part of her was certain 
that they weren't going to show. Part of her was worried that they would. 
She was nervous, and she *hated* being nervous.

Out in the shadows, Jackie and Dobrinsky were prowling, making sure that 
there was no one in the area that shouldn't be there. She gave a brief 
smile. *None* of them were supposed to be there. After all, the site had 
been condemned as unsafe.

LiAnn was leaning against the car, a picture of calm. Only someone who 
knew her well would see the coiled tension. The Director felt a flash of 
tenderness. In many ways, LiAnn was a much stronger person than she had 
been three years ago, and that was a *very* strong person. But in other 
ways, mainly emotionally, she was far more fragile. Perhaps she'd been 
wrong to hide Vic and Mac's survival from the young woman, but that was 
water under the bridge. It was too easy to look back and say 'I should 
have', when the time for decisions was past. Given the chance to do it 
all over again, she would probably make the same decisions.

A car growled in the distance, and LiAnn came to her feet. They both 
looked towards the parking lot entrance and saw the car pull in. When the 
two male figures got out, everything blurred for a moment, as though seen 
through a pool of water. She shook it off, then gave a small smile.

"Hello, boys."

* * * * *

Mac had a bad case of the jitters. Victor could tell. He had finally 
relaxed enough to sleep on the plane, but when they got to bed, at the 
hotel after landing, he hadn't slept at all, as far as Victor could tell. 
Instead, he had tossed and turned, until Victor had wrapped himself 
around Mac, holding him down. Pure self-defense. He couldn't sleep next 
to all that movement.

Okay, who was he kidding? He needed the contact just as much as Mac.

So here they were. Back at the scene of the crime. In his mind's eye, he 
could still see the flames, hear the explosion, feel the force that had 
knocked them off their feet. It was a miracle that they had survived at 
all. Over to the side was the spot where Michael's car had exploded into 
flames, killing the man. He wished that he had been the one to kill the 
sonofabitch, but rescuing Mac had been far more important. At least they 
knew for sure, this time, that the man was dead. From Europe, they had 
checked to make sure that a body *had* been recovered, and positively 
identified. The bastard was *not* coming back from the (apparent) dead a 
second time.

And just a short distance away was the alley where they had sat, 
discussing the future, deciding to make a run for it. It had probably 
been the scariest decision of his life. Scarier that leaving home, or 
fighting the corrupt cops who ended up framing him and put him in jail. 
No, that had been the scariest decision of his life and definitely the 
best choice he had ever made.

They were waiting. He could see LiAnn and the Director, standing next to 
a non-descript car that must be LiAnn's. The Director, he remembered, had 
a preference for chauffeur-driven limousines. They were waiting, but he 
didn't care. He turned and pulled Mac in for a hard, thorough kiss.

"I love you, Mac. I can *never* say that often enough. Whatever happens, 
remember that."

Mac smiled, and caressed his cheek. Then they got out of the car, and 
headed for the waiting women. The Director stepped forward with a smile.

"Hello, boys."

* * * * *

They looked good, the Director thought. Both of them. And LiAnn was 
right. Even though he was obviously nervous, Mac looked stronger, more 
confident, than he had before. The wounds that had made him so fragile 
when she recruited him were healed.

And Victor. He had always been confident, but uptight. A man who wasn't 
sure what he *really* wanted. Now he looked relaxed and happy. Like a man 
who had everything he wanted in life.

She wished she could take credit for molding them into the men they had 
become, but she couldn't. All she had been able to do was set them free 
to find out who they were, what they could be. She was glad that they had.

"Thank you for coming," she told them.

"We owed you," Victor said, to her surprise. She quirked an eyebrow in 
question and he grinned. "If nothing else, we never would have met, if it 
weren't for you. For that alone, we're in your debt."

She shook her head. Time to get down to business. "Not anymore. Right 
now, *I* need *your* help. LiAnn told you the basics about what is going 
on. Things are getting worse. There has been another attempt on a 
director, this time in London. It failed. And since we added security to 
the computer systems, someone has tried to break into the files. They 
were trying to pull the Agency personnel files when they were shut out. I 
think that whoever it was might have known I had called for you, but 
there's no way to tell. We don't know what *sort* of personnel files they 
were after."

Mac frowned. "What about the guy who tried to kill you? Any word on him?"

She shook her head. "We've been too busy, in the last week, to track him 
down. The police are on it, but they *say* they haven't found anything 
yet. And that attempt doesn't match *any* of the others."

"'They *say*'," Victor repeated, thoughtfully. "You don't believe them?"

The Director sighed. "Maybe I've been in this business too long. Maybe 
I'm too suspicious. But no, I don't believe them. The attempt was too 
clumsy and obvious for there not to have been witnesses. And it was 
probably local muscle, since an import would presumable do a better job."

"All right," Victor said. "We'll start there. What is the word inside the 
Agency?"

"Panic. Everyone is accusing everyone else, and the Head has disappeared."

Mac's eyes narrowed at that. "Any chance he's behind this?"

"It's one of the theories. Another is that whoever is behind it has 
kidnapped the Head. Everyone is looking at the directors, wondering if 
one of us is aiming to take over the his position."

"And?"

"No one has made a move yet."

"Tell me about the Head," Victor prompted, face intent.

"No one is sure who he is, or even if there's just one Head. He 
approached the Government Advisory Council about setting up a policing 
agency, years ago, and they agreed. I've only seen him a handful of 
times, and I can't even be sure that it was always the same person."

She started pacing, watching the ground at his feet, something she did 
when she was trying to remember every detail of something.

"He usually appears wearing a long hooded robe, usually orange. Like a 
far east holy man." Suddenly Victor was like a statue, tense and 
unmoving. "What?"

"Does he like to talk in riddles?"

The Director frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"My dreams..." Victor whispered, then suddenly the tension eased, 
somewhat. "That time, more than three years ago, when we woke up in that 
warehouse with no memory of how we got there. After that I had the 
occasional dream about a man in orange robes, with a strange voice, 
talking in riddles."

The Director frowned. "I don't remember anything, either. But Desmond was 
dying, and he remembered. He said that it was better that I *not* 
remember. Maybe... maybe he was trying to stage a takeover. If it *was* 
the Head in your dreams..."

"If it was the Head," Victor continued for her, "and he took care of one 
takeover attempt on his own, then I think he's more than capable of 
taking care of himself now. That is a point more in favor of him being 
behind this."

He shook his head. "Anyway, we had better work separate. Little contact. 
If people are as paranoid as you say, then they are going to be watching 
all of the directors. We should keep communication to a minimum. Mac and 
I will operate separately."

"Agreed. Jackie will be your contact. Discuss it with her."

The blonde agent popped out of the shadows, almost as if summoned by her 
name. "Like, are we almost finished here? Dobie and I have plans, you 
know."

"Dobie? Dobie?!?" Mac started laughing, and all the tension seemed to 
drain out of him. Dobrinsky turned up at the opposite side of the lot.

"Ace, if you *ever* call me that, I will..."

"Will what, *Dobie*?" Mac shot back, laughter gone. "We're not agents 
anymore. You're not in a position to discipline me."

The Director started heading towards the car with LiAnn. The banter was 
cute, and oh-so-familiar, but she didn't have the time. Victor called out 
to her.

"We aren't coming back, you realize. We're paying a debt, and then we are 
going back to our own lives."

She turned and gave a faint smile. "I know, Victor. I didn't expect 
anything less."

* * * * *

Mac tossed his suitcase on the first bed, then tossed himself onto the 
second. Though they had flown coach, they were going mid-grade for 
hotels. He would have preferred five-star, but they didn't want to 
attract attention. At least Vic hadn't insisted on some flea-ridden 
motel. He'd been around Mac too long to be willing to do that.

"All right, first step is to find out what the police have learned about 
the hit attempt on the Director. Suggestions?"

Mac propped himself up against the headboard. "Well, just asking is 
probably out. If they *do* know more than they're saying, someone is 
squashing the investigation, and they aren't going to want that to get 
out, not with how high-profile a crime it was. Break-in?"

Vic shook his head. "At a police station? I don't think so. They're never 
quiet, and the security is better. We need to get in a different way."

"Computers?"

"Computers. But neither of us know enough about computers to hack our way 
in."

"What about Nathan? He seemed like he'd do anything you asked."

Vic shook his head. "But his information was paper only. I don't think he 
knows enough about computers. But there was one guy I used when I was a 
cop..."

"Fine. We'll go see him, first thing in the morning," Mac said, holding 
out a hand. "It's late, I'm exhausted, and we've both got jet-lag." 
Besides, he thought. I want a cuddle.

Vic looked like he wanted to get going, right away. But after a moment he 
relaxed. "You're right. Neither of us is any shape to go running around tonight."

They undressed and climbed into one of the beds and cuddled against each 
other. Now that they were actually going to be *doing* something, Mac was 
feeling a lot better. Who knows, maybe he'd be able to sleep tonight.

* * * * *

"*Vic*tor *dar*ling, it's been a dog's age! And who is this *gorgeous* 
young man? And is he available?"

Victor could see Mac, out of the corner of his eye, trying very hard not 
to start laughing. Maybe he should have warned him about Maurie. The man 
was short. Shorter than even the Director. And he had pink hair and was 
wearing makeup. He was also dressed in a blue silk dressing robe, and 
nothing else.

"Mac Ramsey, meet Maurice Sondberg, Maurie to his friends. And no, 
Maurie, he is *not* available."

No matter how he might act, Maurie was *not* stupid. His grin got even 
wider, and it seemed to say 'it's about time you settled down, you lucky 
dog'.

"So, *Vic*tor. What is it you need from Maurie?"

Victor grinned. "Am I that obvious?"

The man pouted, an obviously practiced pout. "You *never* come see me 
unless you need something. Just once, I wish you'd come by just to say 
'hi'. In fact, it's been nearly *four* years! So, again, what is it you 
need?"

"There was a shooting in the park last week. I want to get into the 
police computers and find out why they aren't getting anywhere."

"Oooh. Not a *little* favor, is it? Interfering in police business can 
get you in *big* trouble, Victor."

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. The target of the gunman was a 
friend of mine, and the police haven't done anything, so she asked me to 
look into it. I just want to know what the cops have learned so far." 
Victor made pleading expressions. Maurie liked to play-act, and he was 
usually more cooperative if you played with him.

Maurie gave a theatrical sigh. "Well, in that case..."

Victor grinned again, as they were led over to the computer room.

* * * * *

"Hel-lo. This is interesting."

Victor sat up straight in the chair he'd been dozing in while Maurie 
worked his magic. "What?"

"The police have closed the file. According to this, they know who did 
it, too. But there is no record of a request for a warrant, or an arrest. 
They just... closed off the case."

Mac was frowning. "Takes someone with a lot of power to squash the 
investigation into a public shooting, where two civilians got killed. The 
public will be screaming for blood if they *don't* arrest someone."

"No kidding," Victor replied. "Maurie, is there a name or address for the 
shooter?"

"Offf course, gorgeous. Printing right now."

He leaned over to pluck the piece of paper from the laser printer as it 
emerged. He handed it to Victor with a theatrical flourish as he stood.

"Thanks, Maurie. I owe you one," Victor said, giving the man a quick kiss 
on his cheek. Maurie pouted again.

"Is that the best you can do, darling?"

Suddenly Mac gave a mischievous grin. "Maybe I can do better," he said, 
then swept the smaller man into a kiss. Not a standard kiss. No, the 
movie romance, bending the other man backwards, full french kiss, that 
went on and on and...

Finally, Victor gave a small cough, and Mac straightened up. Maurie was 
flushed and bright-eyed.

"Victor," he said, breathless. "I will do you favors *anytime*. Just make 
sure you bring *him* with you."

* * * * *

"Tease," Victor said with a smile as they stepped out into the sunlight.

"Never with you," Mac responded. "For you, and only you, I always follow 
through. So, what do we have?"

"Sam Jacobs. And an address. I think we need to pay Mr. Jacobs a little 
visit."

"Sounds like a plan to me."


----------------------------------------
Investigations
by Lianne Burwell
July 1998
----------------------------------------

LiAnn parked herself at the conference table with her laptop, then looked 
across the table at her boss.

"So. Where do you want to start?"

The Director frowned, deep in thought. "The director for East Europe."

LiAnn blinked in surprise. "She was nearly killed."

"With an emphasis on *nearly*. Why did *she* survive, when others didn't?"

"You did, too," LiAnn pointed out, but she wasn't really surprised. Di 
was a *very* paranoid woman, and surviving an attack was sometimes really 
misdirection. She was already tapping at her keyboard.

The Director waved off the comment. "Different MO. Possibly a different 
source. No. I want to know *why* she survived. It could have been 
designed to throw off suspicion."

LiAnn shrugged. "All right, that's where we'll start. Better send someone 
to get Nathan poking through his archives as well."

The Director smiled at that. Neither one of them was volunteering to go 
down themselves. "He still thinks you're a bug creature?"

"Yep. I buzz, apparently. And you are still the queen alien with a very 
good human disguise."

They both chuckled at that, then got to work.

* * * * *

Sam Jacobs was not very hard to track down. Vic checked with a few old 
sources, and found out that Jacobs was a petty muscle, available for 
hire. When he wasn't working - if you could call it that - he hung out at 
a pool hall called the Blue Rooster. Victor hadn't a clue why it was 
called that, and he didn't really *want* to know why.

So, the Blue Rooster it was. Victor and Mac dropped, by right before 
'happy hour'. The place could only be described as a dive. The air was 
full of cigarette smoke, half the lights were burnt out, and most of the 
pool tables had stains that you probably didn't want to look at too 
closely. Not to mention the stuffed and mounted rooster, behind the bar, 
that had been dyed an electric shade of blue.

Vic and Mac had dressed to fit in, wearing ragged blue jeans, t-shirts 
and leather jackets, but they still stood out like sore thumbs. Maybe it 
was that they were too clean, or that they still had all of their teeth.

Mac leaned against a pool table, keeping one eye on the door, and the 
other on the other patrons, while Vic went to talk to the bartender. At 
first the man shook his head, no doubt telling Vic that he didn't know 
anything about Jacobs. Vic slid a bill across the bar to the man. Mac 
couldn't see it, but it must have been a pretty high denomination bill, 
because the man's attitude made a sudden change. He pointed towards one 
of the tables near the front windows.

The man was pretty typical for the bar. His blue jeans were almost brown, 
looking like they hadn't been washed in a year. The t-shirt was stained 
and torn. His hair was greasy, and he was in dire need of a haircut. Mac 
did *not* want to get close enough to smell if he needed a bath as badly 
as he looked.

"Sam Jacobs?" Vic asked in a polite tone. The man turned towards them.

"Who wants ta know?" he said with a sneer.

"We'd like to talk to you about the shooting in the park, last week."

"I don't know nothing about it." Jacobs turned back to his solitary game 
of pool

"Oooh. A double negative," Mac pointed out. "That means he *does* know 
something, Vic."

Vic waved at him to turn the sarcasm down, while the other man just 
glared. "The police know you did it, Jacobs."

"So? They haven't done anything about it."

"And they aren't going to," Vic said. "But *we* aren't the police, and 
you're going to tell us *everything* about the hit, and who ordered it." 
The tone was still mild, but suddenly it was full of steel.

"Or else?" Jacobs was starting to sweat.

"Or else," Vic replied, not bothering to say what the 'or else' was.

Mac was impressed. He rarely ever go to see Vic do the intimidation 
routine. Usually, the other man was the picture of clean-cut and polite, 
but today... Well, Mac was starting to feel uncomfortable in his tight 
jeans, as they got tighter. Vic being masterful never failed to get his 
blood rushing to certain areas.

And it was working, too. Jacobs was sweating. Or was that grease rolling 
down from his hair?

"What makes you think I'm gonna talk to you?" he said is a show of 
obviously fake bravado.

"Because if you don't, your body's going to turn up in an alley tomorrow, 
and no one is going to care."

For a moment, Mac's blood ran cold. Vic was on *his* side, and he wasn't 
the target of the glare, but *he* was intimidated. Jacobs didn't stand a 
chance.

"All right, all right," he said, nervously fiddling with his pool cue. 
"Some woman hired me. Blonde, classy looking, with a limey accent. Real 
hoity toity. Paid up-front. Said that the cops would never investigate. 
She'd make sure of it."

"Name? Address?"

"Like she's gonna tell me her name," Jacobs said, with a snort. "She paid 
half up-front. Said she'd send the rest by mail to my place. And she 
found me."

"And you trusted her to send the rest."

"Hey, that half was more than I usually get."

Mac was starting to get a little impatient. "And what about now? After 
all, you blew it."

The man looked stubborn. "Hey, I can still get the bitch. I just need to 
try again."

Mac advanced, fist already clenching for the blow, when the front window 
shattered, and he felt a bullet whiz by. Jacobs fell to the ground, a 
small hole appearing, as if by magic, between his eyes. Mac and Vic hit 
the ground, too, but by their own choosing, along with everyone else in 
the room.

Silence. Cautiously, Vic poked his head up over the edge of the pool 
table they were sheltering behind. Another bullet whizzed by. When Vic 
dropped back down, there was a hole in his jacket sleeve, right near the 
shoulder. Mac pulled the jacket off the shoulder to check. There was a 
red streak, where the bullet had grazed Vic, but no blood. It had just 
*barely* missed him. Mac breathed a sigh of relief.

"So," he said, checking his own gun. "Now what?"

"Take your pick. Stay here, try again, or make a run for the back 
entrance."

Mac was considering the options when they heard a car screech as it 
pulled away. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Mac poked 
his head up. No shots. He stood. Nothing.

"Looks like whoever it was is gone," he said to Vic. His partner was 
going through the late Mr. Jacobs pockets.

"Damn," he muttered. "Nothing."

"Didn't sound like there was anything more he could tell us anyway."

"Right. Well, let's call Jackie. Give her what we have for the Director."

"And then?"

Suddenly, Mac found himself flat on his back on the pool table, with Vic 
leaning over him kissing him breathless, ignoring their audience. Then 
Vic pulled back and gave him a hungry grin. "Then we go back to the hotel 
and I fuck you into next week."

"Riiiight," Mac said, pulling himself upright. "I forgot. Bullets flying 
equals horny Vic. Let's go."

* * * * *

From his rental car, parked across the street, Klaus von dem Eberbach had 
a perfect view of the dirty little bar, and the two men he'd been 
watching.

Getting to Toronto had not been a problem, although his superiors were 
going to want to know *why* he had decided to follow two men all the way 
to Canada, which was out of his jurisdiction. Once there, it hadn't been 
too difficult to find the men. Knowing the names that the two men were 
using here, Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield, had allowed a search of 
credit card usage. He had been a little surprised to find out that the 
cards had existed for a while, but hadn't been used for more than three 
years, since before Blake and Thornton had turned up in Europe. Perhaps 
these were their real names? It would bear looking into.

But the credit cards had led him to a small, mid-scale hotel. He had 
checked into a room on a different floor from his two subjects, and he 
had followed the men. This morning they had stopped at a suburban home, 
so far out from town that he had been certain that they would see him. A 
tracking device might be a good idea.

And now they were at this place. What sort of name was The Blue Rooster 
anyway? And why were they talking to that greasy specimen of humanity?

Suddenly, a new question presented itself, as the bullets flew. Who was 
trying to kill Blake and Thornton? And more importantly, why?

* * * * *

"So, like, I told the Director what you told me, and she got *really* 
interested. She says that the guy sounds like he was describing the 
director over in London, the one that was nearly killed a few days ago. 
So she did some checking, and this director woman was missing from her 
office about the time that this Jacobs guy was hired."

Victor could feel his eyebrows go up. "Maybe it's the move that no one 
has seen yet, the move to take over the Agency. I wonder, though. Jacobs 
being killed, was that to cover her tracks or because he failed?"

Jackie gave a small shrug. "Who knows. So, whatcha going to do now?"

Victor looked at Mac, asking and getting a response. "I guess we head for 
London for a chat with this woman," he said.

"Cool."

* * * * *

Klaus loaded his bags into the backseat of his rental car. It was a good 
thing he had paid off two of the desk managers to let him know if Blake 
or Thornton - no, Ramsey or Mansfield - checked out. He could see them 
loading bags into *their* car, over at the other side of the parking lot.

Klaus got into the car, started it up, and lit a cigarette. As soon as 
the other two men pulled away, he was right behind them.

He quickly realized that the men were heading for the airport. Were they 
returning to France so soon? And he *still* didn't know why they had come 
to Toronto in the first place.

But no. They put most of their luggage into an airport locker, then 
immediately booked themselves onto a flight for London. Klaus waited 
until they were out of sight, then bought a ticket for the same flight.

Luckily there were still seats left.

* * * * *

"I have a job for you."

Murphy and Camier waited, silent. As the Cleaners, they were the best in 
their field, and their field was assassination. A lot of people wanted to 
hire them, but they were on an exclusive contract with the Agency.

"There are two men coming to London. They need to die. The details are in 
the envelope."

In synchronized motion, the two men nodded, then stood to leave.

Once in the hallway, they opened the envelope.

"Oh dear."

"Indeed, Mr. Murphy. I was under the impression that they were dead."

"As was I, Mr. Camier. A pity. I was quite fond of them."

"Indeed. However, we work for the Agency, and if the Agency wants them 
dead..."

"But *why* does the Agency want them dead?"

Camier stopped and considered the question. "I don't know. It might be 
interesting to find out. Still, we have plans to make. Shall we go, 
Mr. Murphy?"

The two men left the Agency's London office. Murphy was carrying the 
satchel containing the implements of their trade, and Camier carrying the 
envelope.

Inside the envelope were a slip of paper with a flight number and landing 
time, and two pictures. Pictures of Mac Ramsey and Victor Mansfield.


----------------------------------------
Jolly Old England
by Lianne Burwell
August 1998
----------------------------------------

Victor gave Mac a nudge to wake him up. Their flight would be landing in 
London in a few more minutes. It was funny, in a way. This flight was the 
opposite of the last one. Flying to Canada, Mac was the one who couldn't 
sleep, while Victor was out like a light. This time, Mac had slept most 
of the flight away.

But it was to be expected. Mac always relaxed once a job was underway, 
while Victor got tense, planning the next move. *Before* the job, Mac was 
tense, worrying about what they didn't know, while Victor was relaxed 
until he got the details.

So, Mac had been able to sleep on the flight, while Victor's mind was so 
busy going over plans that he couldn't doze off. In his bag he had what 
would look, to anyone flipping through it, like a book of plans, the type 
a person buys when dreaming of building a home. But, one of those houses, 
midway through the book, was actually the floorplan of building that 
housed the Agency, here in London. Details on security were sketchy, 
though, and the plans might be out of date, but it was the best that the 
Director could supply them with. Agency directors tended to be paranoid, 
and few knew many details about the others' home offices.

As a result, there were a lot of question marks. After all, they couldn't 
exactly walk up to the front door and ask to see the lady of the house, 
could they? Still, they'd figure something out.

The pilot announced final approach, and Victor nudged Mac again. Time to 
get this show on the road.

* * * * *

Mac shook his head, as they left the customs area. There hadn't been any 
trouble. Their French passports and the reputation of Thornton and Blake, 
Security Specialists, had been quite handy. Vic had suggested renting a 
car, but they decided against it. They would check into a hotel, a 
reasonable walking distance from the Agency headquarters here, and use 
the public transportation.

They were heading for the bus-stop, when Mac noticed something. "Um, Vic?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a guy over near the phones. I could swear I saw him in Toronto."

Vic looked over at the man. He was about the same height as Mac, wearing 
a suit and trenchcoat. His hair was dark and shoulder-length. His eyes 
flicked towards them, then away.

"He was on the plane with us. Of course he was in Toronto."

Mac frowned, trying to concentrate. "No... He was at the same hotel as 
us. I remember seeing him, while we were packing the car." A memory 
flickered past, and he grabbed onto it. "There was a car outside the Blue 
Rooster. I'm sure that was him, too."

Vic frowned. "You're sure? Never mind, of course you are. So what do we do 
now?"

Mac thought fast. "Head for the parking lot. See if he follows us. If he 
does, we grab him, and find out what he's up to."

Vic nodded. "Simple is usually best. Let's go."

They didn't have to collect any luggage, since they'd left most of their 
stuff in Toronto. All they had was a pair of carry-on bags with a couple 
changes of clothing. Mac wished they could have brought guns with them. 
They were going to need some before they went to see the local director.

They headed away from the terminal, aiming for the long-term parking lot.

* * * * *

Klaus followed the two men, wondering where they were going. It was not 
likely that they had a car parked here in case of a trip to London. Their 
last trip to London, according to the files, was nearly two years ago. So 
why...

Klaus stopped. He could kick himself. They had made him, and were leading 
him someplace isolated. He decided to head back to the terminal. He'd use 
Interpol resources to track them. Following their credit cards had worked 
once, after all.

He was heading away, when he saw the other two men, come from the other 
side of the lot. Tall and thin, almost cadaverous looking. He felt a shiver 
go through him at the sight. There was something about them. Something that 
made him stop and look back. Look, just as they drew guns, and aimed for 
Thornton and Blake. He drew a deep breath.

"Look out!"

* * * * *

At the shouted warning, Victor spun. Seeing guns, he grabbed Mac and dove 
behind a parked car.

"Isn't that..."

"The Cleaners," Victor finished off for Mac. "But why are they shooting 
at us?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "They work for the Agency. We're here to talk to an 
Agency director about an attempt on another director. Let's face it, Vic. 
We're in the middle of an intra-agency war."

"And we're unarmed." Victor was pissed. There was no way that they could 
have brought guns onto an international flight. He'd planned on getting a 
couple, illegally, before they went to 'see' the local director, but he 
hadn't expected to need them quite so soon. "Who shouted?"

Mac peeked over the hood of the car, noting the location of Murphy and 
Camier, as well as their mysterious benefactor, who was currently making 
tracks. "Our shadow," he said, ducking as a shot pinged off the car.

"Great. Suggestions?"

Mac thought about it. Unfortunately, the parking lot was deserted. After 
all, that was why *they* had picked it. He shook his head. "You circle 
right. Try to get behind them. I'll keep their attention."

Vic looked worried, but there weren't many options open to them. He 
grabbed Mac and kissed him, hard. "Be careful," he said, then headed to 
the next row of cars.

* * * * *

Victor weaved his way between the cars, angling for where the Cleaners 
were. It was disappointing, really. He *liked* the Cleaners, even if they 
were assassins. He'd played poker with them, usually losing to them and 
their stone faces. But they also followed orders. He'd gone against them 
before, when the Agency's orders and the Director's orders had conflicted.

"Guys! Can't we talk about this?" Mac's voice came from behind and to the 
side of him, as his partner tried to distract the two gunmen.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Ramsey. Our orders are quite clear on this." Camier. 
Always so polite. Actually, they both were. From the sound of the voice, 
he was just about even with them. Luckily, the parking lot was nearly full 
to capacity, so he was able to keep cars between him and his targets. 
Unfortunately, while they couldn't see him, he couldn't see them either.

Mac was staying out of sight, but kept talking. Both of the assassins were 
focused on him. Victor was coming up behind them, now. The only problem 
was how to take out two armed men when he was unarmed himself.

He'd have to wing it.

"Mr. Ramsey, if you and Mr. Mansfield would just step into view, we 
promise that it will be quick and painless. Must we prolong this?"

Yes, Camier, we must. Victor positioned himself, set himself, then sprang.

The Cleaners spun, the moment they heard him move, but it was too late. He 
had Camier by the throat, holding him between himself and Murphy. In his 
hand, he held Camier's gun, grabbed at the same time as its owner.

"Put it down, Murph," he said quietly, his gun pointed at the man. "You 
can't kill me without killing your partner, and I really doubt you're 
going to do that."

For several long, tense moments it was a standoff. Mac was coming up 
behind Murphy, but Victor didn't spare any attention from the assassin. He 
kept his grip on Camier tight.

Finally, Murphy released his gun, letting it dangle by the trigger guard 
from his finger. Mac quickly took it from him, then frisked him. Keeping a 
wary eye on the man, he then moved to their ever-present satchel, and 
gingerly flipped it open. Inside, he found ropes that he used to tie 
Murphy with. Once he was secure, Mac moved to Victor's side, and tied up 
Camier as well.

Victor was relieved, but knew better than to relax completely. Even tied 
up, the Cleaners were still dangerous.

"Well," he said, standing well back from the bound men. "Let me guess. The 
local director sent you to kill us." No response. "Did she, by any chance, 
mention that she sent someone to kill the Director? Our Director, that 
is." That got a small reaction, but he couldn't tell if it was upset about 
the attempted killing, or the fact that someone *else* was sent. "Opened 
fire on LiAnn and the Director in a crowded park."

*That* got a reaction, from Camier. "Is Miss Tsei all right?" the man 
asked in a worried tone. Victor felt his eyebrows go up in surprise.

"Yes, but it was close. Really, guys. I never would have expected the two 
of *you* to get pulled into internal conflicts."

"We were under the impression that you were not *in* the Agency anymore. 
In fact, until we were told you were targets, we were under the impression 
that you were *dead*."

Mac shrugged. "The rumors of our demise, etc. etc. You know, Vic, I wonder 
why we were able to take these two out? After all, they had the drop on 
us, long before we knew they were there."

Victor considered that. "You're right. We should have been dead much 
sooner. Unless, of course, they didn't really *want* to kill us." He 
looked at the two men, but they refused to meet his eyes. "Sentimentality?"

"Of course not!" Murphy replied, in an offended tone.

"Suuure," Mac said.

"Well, I suggest that you might want to stay out of this one. There's a 
war brewing inside the Agency."

"You're involved," Camier pointed out.

"Personal debts. When this is over, we're gone. Now, be good boy."

Victor picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it at the start of this, 
and dropped Camier's gun into it. Mac did the same with Murphy's gun. The 
satchel, they left behind, out of the reach of the two men. Who knew how 
many booby-traps that thing had. Still, this solved the problem of 
getting guns. Then they headed for the nearest bus stop, at a brisk walk.

"Any sign of our shadow?" he asked as they walked.

"Nope. Long gone. But what about the Cleaners? We're just going to leave 
them there?"

"Yep," Victor replied. "They'll get loose, soon enough. Besides, I think 
they'll stay out of it now."

"I hope you're right. But they knew we were coming. That means that the 
local director will be expecting us."

"Yeah, I know." It bothered Victor too, but there was little that they 
could do about. For now.

* * * * *

Mac dropped his bag in the corner and grimaced at the room. 
Unfortunately, the only room left in the area was one with two single 
beds. He hated single beds. His feet always hung over the end. And they 
were lousy for two people cuddling.

Or anything else for that matter.

Still, it wasn't for long. It was mid-afternoon. That night, they would 
sneak out to go see the local director. Tomorrow, they would probably be 
out of here. They had actually planned on spending a couple days, casing 
out the joint, but the welcoming committee at the airport told them that 
they better move fast.

Vic was checking all the corners and cubby-holes, worried about bugs or 
cameras. Finally he straightened up with a sigh, the room obviously 
passing *his* standards, which had little to do with comfort and much to 
do with paranoia. He turned to Mac, and gave him a lazy grin. Mac gave a 
dramatic sigh.

"Always the bullets," he grumbled, not really minding. Actually, if he had 
to admit it, nearly getting killed made him horny to. There was some sort 
of psychological reason for it, but he didn't really care. All he cared 
was that fights or bullets flying got him some great sex.

Vic was already stalking towards the bed, clothes dropping to the floor 
as he went. Damn, he was good at that. Mac had always thought that Vic 
would do great as part of one of those all-male strip groups. Especially 
when he went the 'full monty'. Mac had liked that movie.

Now naked, Vic pushed him onto his back on the undersized bed. "*You* are 
still dressed," he growled, tugging at Mac's suit jacket. Mac grinned up 
at him.

"But you have so much fun getting my clothes off. Who am I to disappoint 
you?"

Vic leaned down to kiss Mac's neck, followed by a lick. Mac's suit jacket 
was already gone, his pants undone, and his shirt was about to go too. 
"You never disappoint," Vic said in a serious voice, then plunged in for 
a deep, hard kiss.

Mac relaxed into the mattress. Yes. This was *definitely* what he was in 
the mood for, a nice hard fuck. He loved it long and slow and tender. He 
loved being inside Vic. But today he wanted to be pounded into oblivion 
by his lover.

By the time the kiss ended, his shirt was gone, and his pants and 
underwear had been pushed down to bunch around his ankles. He quickly 
disposed of them, while Vic went to their bags for the lube. Paranoid as 
always, Vic also paused long enough to grab one of the guns to slip under 
the pillow.

Mac rolled onto his stomach, then pushed up onto his hands and knees, 
deliberately waving his ass in the air. Behind him, he could hear his 
lover's deep growl. and he grinned at the sound. He could feel the 
mattress dip as Vic rejoined him.

"Oh *God*!" he cried out, as two slick fingers plunged inside him, with 
no preliminaries. He grimaced, the feeling riding that fine line between 
pleasure and pain. The pain disappeared quickly, though, and he pushed 
back against the fingers that were stretching him. They disappeared, but 
before he could protest, Vic's cock entered him in one hard thrust.

"Yes!" he hissed, trying to keep quiet. It was difficult, but he figured 
that the walls around here were probably pretty damn thin. It got even 
more difficult to stay quiet once Vic started up a steady, pounding 
rhythm, perfectly timed based on nearly four years as lovers. Vic knew 
exactly what he wanted and gave it to him.

Mac was practically whimpering by the time a hand reached to start 
milking his own neglected erection, and he was soon splattering the bed-
spread. In the tiny portion of his mind that was still coherent, he 
snickered at the thought of the maid who would have to change it, and 
what she would think. Then Vic gave a strangled cry, and he felt that 
extra bit of wet warmth filling him up.

Vic collapsed across his back, and he twisted so that they were spooned 
together on the narrow bed, Vic still embedded inside of him. Sure 
enough, his feet were hanging over the end, but he felt too good to care.

Just a short nap, he thought as his eyes drifted shut. Not even the wet 
spot under his hip was going to be able to keep him awake.

* * * * *

Victor smiled, and curled himself a little tighter around his partner. He 
was feeling *real* good right now. He closed his eyes, figuring that they 
had time for an hour's nap before they had to get moving.

<knock> <knock>

Victor groaned, then rolled over. Unfortunately he was a little to close 
to the edge, and he hit the floor with a thud. Whoever it was would know 
that *someone* was there. Mac was already on his feet, with the gun in 
his hand.

"Window?" Mac asked, suggesting that they make a run for it.

Victor shook his head. "There might be someone outside, and we aren't 
exactly dressed for it. No, let's see who it is."

He pulled on his boxers, then headed for the door. Holding his gun, Mac 
plastered himself to the wall, next to the door. He nodded, and Victor 
pulled the door open.

"Good day, Mr. Mansfield. Or should I say Mr. Thornton? I would like to 
talk to you."

It was their shadow from the airport.


----------------------------------------
Confrontations 
by Lianne Burwell
August 1998
----------------------------------------

Victor stared at the man, his mind racing frantically. Not only had the 
man been following them, he also knew *both* of the names that Victor 
used. Chances were good, then, that he also knew about Mac. So what the 
hell did he want?

Only one way to find out.

"I guess you'd better come in," he said, keeping his voice calm, waving 
the man in.

The man stepped through the door. Victor closed it behind him, and Mac was 
immediately there, gun pressed to the back of the stranger's neck. The man 
showed an impressive amount of self-control, not even flinching at the 
touch of cold metal.

"Let's start with just who the hell *you* are," Mac growled.

* * * * *

Klaus prided himself on not showing anything that he didn't want anyone to 
see, but it took all of his self-control not to flinch. The touch of a gun-
barrel was unmistakable, and he didn't doubt that the safety was off.

"My name is Klaus von dem Eberbach. I work for Interpol. And you are 
Matthew Blake and Richard Thornton. You are *also* Mac Ramsey and Victor 
Mansfield. I'm curious, though. Which are your real names?"

Holding his hands out from his sides, trying to look as unthreatening as 
he could, he turned around to face the two men. Both were rumpled and 
barely dressed. The condition of one of the beds told him *exactly* what 
he had interrupted. It also explained why they looked so relaxed after 
nearly being killed, earlier in the afternoon.

Blake/Ramsey also looked pissed. "None of your business," he snapped. 
Thornton/Mansfield put a hand on his shoulder, seeming to urge patience.

"Interpol, huh?" he said. "So why are you following us?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "You think Interpol doesn't know about you? Watch 
you?"

The man shrugged. "Maybe. But you followed us from Toronto. Canada is a 
*little* out of your jurisdiction, isn't it?"

Klaus gritted his teeth a little at that. He'd already heard the same 
thing from his superiors. "When two thieves suddenly, without warning, 
pick up and head across the Atlantic, I get curious. And what I saw there 
made me even *more* curious. Then, without warning, after nearly being 
killed in a hole-in-the-wall bar, you head for London. Arriving in 
London, you are nearly killed again. I want to know why."

The two men looked at each other, and he could almost *hear* the silent 
conversation going on between them. Finally, Thornton/Mansfield nodded, 
and his partner lowered his gun.

The first man shrugged. "Someone tried to kill an old friend of ours, a 
little more than a week ago. The police didn't seem to be doing anything 
about it, so she called us for help. We found the shooter, but he was 
killed."

Klaus frowned. The man at the bar.

"Before he was killed, he gave us information that led us here. We're 
going to have a talk with the woman who hired him, later this evening."

"And what do you intend to do with her?"

"Just talk," Blake/Ramsey said with an innocent expression. Klaus knew 
that his face was showing his disbelief. "Really. Of course, if *she* 
tries anything..."

Klaus filled in the rest. If 'she', whoever she was, tried anything, the 
two men would defend themselves, with deadly force need be.

There was more to the story. A *lot* more. He could practically taste it. 
But this was all they were going to tell him. He could see it in their 
eyes. There was only *sure* way to get more information.

"All right," he said, and the two men relaxed a fraction. "But I'm coming 
with you."

* * * * *

Mac slipped through the darkness, dressed in black. While he watched for 
unexpected guests, Vic disarmed the security system. Over the years, he 
had gotten *very* good at that.

Finally the system was disarmed, and they were slipping through the open 
door. All three of them.

Mac had argued long against letting this Klaus person come with them, but 
Vic had pulled him off into the corner and pointed out that if the guy 
really *was* an Interpol agent, then they were better off keeping him 
with them, where they could keep an eye on him. If they refused, his next 
act would probably be to call his bosses and have them arrested.

When put that way, Vic was right. So the German came with them.

Into the building they slipped. From the outside, it looked like the 
typical sort of home you find in the posh area of London, set on a large, 
tree-filled lot behind high walls. Inside, though, was a different matter.

Four below-ground levels housed the Agency's office for this area of the 
world. Would her office be on one of those levels? If so, then reaching 
her would be very difficult and dangerous.

But their guess was no. According to the Director, the director for 
Western Europe came from a noble family that had fallen down on their 
luck, more than a century ago. She liked to trade on her title, even 
though there was nothing much *behind* the title. That was why she had 
chosen an old manor-style house for the Agency office. No, her office was 
probably in the house itself.

The plans they had identified the room that had been office to the lord 
of the manor is days long gone. They would start there. If their guess 
was wrong... They would just improvise.

They found the room, easily enough, and the spill of light from beneath 
the door said that someone was there. So far, no alarms had been raised, 
but that was not likely to last. They needed to move fast.

Mac and Vic moved to opposite sides of the door, their borrowed guns at 
the ready, and glanced at each other. Klaus was against the wall, further 
back in the hallway. The signal was given, without a sound, and Vic 
kicked the door open, while Mac dived through, looking for targets.

There were two people in the room. The bulky man next to the door just 
screamed 'bodyguard', but he went down easily, a gun-butt strike behind 
the ear. Mac kept his gun on the other person, while Vic tied up the 
unconscious man.

"So, you're here to kill me too," the blonde said in a hauty tone. Mac 
had to hand it to her, she was a cool customer.

* * * * *

Victor blinked at the comment, thrown off by it. "What are you talking 
about?" he said. "We're here to find out why you tried to have our 
Director killed. Not to mention *us*, this afternoon."

The woman's expression had turned into a sneer. "Do you think I'm a 
fool?" she asked. "When two of her favorite agents are listed as dead, 
but are seen running around *my* territory, I start to wonder why. Then, 
when the first director was killed, I knew. She's moving to take over the 
Agency. She was already the Head's heir-apparent, but she obviously 
doesn't want to wait. She's killed him, and now she's killing off the 
competition. She's probably got her own people planted everywhere."

Mac groaned. "Give me a *break*! She is not trying to take over anything! 
And we were in Europe because we *left* the Agency, not because she's got 
some sort of Machiavellian plan for world domination. The only reason she 
called us is because *you* tried to have *her* killed."

"If she's behind it," Victor pointed out, "why would she offer to help 
with the investigations into the other deaths?"

The woman gave him a look, as though he were a very slow child. "Having 
her own people involved would let her make *sure* that the proof of her 
involvement would never be found."

"It wouldn't be found, because she *isn't* involved," Mac said. The woman 
just gave a snort of disbelief.

It was obvious that she wasn't going to believe them, Victor realized. No 
matter what they said, she was going to see it as more proof that the 
Director was trying to hoodwink everyone.

So what the *hell* did they do now?

* * * * *

Mac was starting to get antsy. It was already obvious that, while the 
woman *had* tried to kill their Director, she was *not* behind the deaths 
of the others. She was just really paranoid. A common affliction in the 
Agency, and one of the reasons that they had left as soon as they had the 
chance.

But now what did they do? They couldn't just walk away. After all, she 
did try to have them killed. Just leaving her would guarantee that she 
would try to kill them again, since she obviously didn't believe them 
when they said that they *weren't* the assassins. But killing her in cold 
blood...?

Mac could see that Vic was going through the same list of possibilities 
in *his* mind, and his guard dropped, ever-so-slightly. Mac saw it, and 
so did the woman. Out of nowhere, she suddenly had a knife in her hand, 
and she attacked Vic.

Despite her looks, she was obviously very strong. In no time, Vic's gun 
was on the floor, and he was pinned to the wall, trying keep the knife 
away from his throat. Heart in his mouth, Mac held his gun ready, waiting 
for an opening, and praying it would come quickly.

When it did, he barely had time to recognize it and act. Vic got a knee 
between them, and pushed with both arms and one leg. From the angle that 
Mac was at, that few extra inches of separation was all he needed to get 
a clear shot. Without thinking, he took it, and she crumpled to the 
ground, already dead.

He stared a Vic for a moment, until there was a hiss from the doorway. He 
went pale, as he realized that the Interpol guy had seen everything. 
Klaus had just seen him murder someone. They were in *deep* shit.

"Let's get out of here, before someone comes," the man was saying. Vic 
picked up his gun, not wanting to leave any evidence, and they ran.

* * * * *

Victor was cursing, under his breath, as they left the house. Killing the 
woman had *not* been planned, but there was little else that Mac could 
have done. That knife had been very sharp, from what he had seen, and for 
a moment he had thought that he was going to get a practical 
demonstration of how it could be used.

Alarms were going off, and they could hear men shouting, as they moved 
through the grounds. This time, they weren't going to bother re-arming 
the system as they left. They were just going to get the hell out.

They were almost to the wall, when there was an excited shout. They had 
been spotted. The three of them ducked behind trees, and prepared to 
fight, when the cry went up again. Then, amazingly enough, the security 
people started heading away from them.

Victor peeked around the tree, wondering what the heck was going on. The 
security guards were following a figure in black. For a moment, the long 
blonde hair made him think it was Jackie, sent by the Director as backup. 
But no. Jackie was a *lot* shorter than this person. Besides, despite the 
long curls, this person was very obviously male. Behind him, he could 
hear Klaus swearing in German. He didn't recognize the words, but the 
tone was unmistakable.

Then the guards were gone, and they were over the wall, heading away from 
the manor.

A kilometer away, they finally stopped, and Victor turned towards Klaus. 
"Now what?" he asked. If the man thought he was going to take Mac into 
custody, he had another thing coming. Klaus frowned, thoughtfully.

"You killed that woman," he said, and Victor tensed. "But she had already 
admitted to trying to kill *you*. As well, her attack made it a case of 
self-defense, I think." He stood silent for a moment. "I will look the 
other way," he finally said. "But do not count on that twice."

Victor felt Mac sag slightly in relief. He nodded his thanks, then 
grabbed Mac's arm and dragged him in the direction of their hotel.

They needed to head back to Toronto. Unfortunately, their trip to London 
had been a bust, in one way. While they had stopped the person 
responsible for the attempt on their Director, they were still no closer 
to finding out who was behind all the *other* deaths.

They were back at square one.

* * * * *

Klaus watched, as the two men headed towards their hotel. Following would 
be a waste of time, since he doubted that they would be there for long. 
Even though they said that their only involvement was to find the person 
responsible for the attack on their friend, and they had, he didn't think 
that they would be heading home. His bet was that they were headed back 
to Toronto, and he intended to be right behind them.

"And why are you hanging around two such *lovely* men, Major?" came an 
amused voice from a nearby alley. Klaus spun, reaching for his gun. 
Standing, leaning against the wall was a tall man, wearing black jeans 
and a black pull-over top. His blond hair hung in loose curls around his 
shoulders. "And helping them to break into a private residence, too."

Klaus slid his gun back into its holster. "None of your business, Earl."

The handsome nobleman pouted, ever so slightly. "Really, Major. You'd 
think that a person would be a little more polite to someone who just may 
have saved his life."

Klaus rolled his eyes. "Thank you," he said, in insincere tones. "And 
don't call me 'Major'. I'm not *in* NATO Intelligence anymore."

The other man smiled. "A pity. I liked the uniform. But do be a little 
more careful in the future. I *might* not always be around."

The blond slipped through his defenses, and before he could fend the man 
off, he had been soundly kissed. Then he was released, already alone in 
the area, leaving him to consider everything that had happened since he 
arrived in London.

What he had heard that night intrigued him. This 'Agency' that had been 
discussed. There are always rumors of international conspiracies, 
controlling the world, but most people scoffed at them, but as a member 
of Interpol, and a former NATO Intelligence officer, Klaus knew better. 
The Government Advisory Council was spoken of in whispers, both feared 
and respected, and this Agency... Klaus guessed that the Agency was 
connected to the GAC in some way.

Klaus lit a cigarette and headed off to collect his own bag. Next stop, 
the airport for a flight to Toronto. Even his superiors would not be able 
to deny that more information was needed. If this 'Agency' *was* an arm 
of the GAC, and it was going through some sort of internal battle, it was 
something to worry about.

Klaus was *very* worried..


----------------------------------------
Interludes
by Lianne Burwell
August 1998
----------------------------------------

Jackie Janczyk, former mob-queen turned secret agent and still only 
twenty-two, paced as she waited for her two contacts to arrive. Even 
after more than three years with the Agency it still felt weird, being on 
the side of the law. She'd been born a mob-princess, raised a mob-
princess, indulged in every way. Then at eighteen when her father had 
gone off the deep end, she'd become mob-queen, only to end up in jail 
*real* fast.

Sometimes it still cheesed her that she'd screwed up so bad. The Janczyk 
family had fallen apart as soon as she was gone. She now knew enough to 
realize that it was going to happen anyway, but she sometimes thought 
that if she'd just been a little smarter...

Still, it had. She'd gone to jail, and promptly been recruited by the 
Director. She'd liked that. Not only had she gotten out of jail, she'd 
also gotten to work with that cutie, Mac Ramsey again. Then she'd found 
out he was already taken. Pity. Of course, there was also Dobrinsky. He 
took a *little* longer to grow on her, but still, he'd turned out to be a 
lot of fun.

It had also taken a while for her to figure out just what Mac saw in that 
stiff, Vic Mansfield. The guy was *such* a square. But he was a *nice* 
square. Loyal, cute, and with a *great* ass. And hot in bed, from what 
she'd heard over the Director's bugs. She smiled briefly at the memory. 
Who would have thought that Vic Mansfield was a screamer?

Even better was getting LiAnn to listen in. She had been almost as much a 
stiff as Vic. And it was like she thought that both Mac and Vic were her 
own personal property, while telling them that she didn't *want* either 
of them. Sheesh, talk about mixed signals. It had taken almost getting 
blown up to turn the chick into a human. But, hey. The Director was good 
for her, and she was good for the Director. They made one hell of a pair.

Jackie heard the sound of footsteps, and she tensed, reaching for her 
gun. A girl can't be too careful, after all. Then she relaxed as she 
recognized the two men.

"You're late," she said, slipping the gun back into its holster.

"Traffic was *really* lousy," Mac said with a grin, then kissed her on 
the forehead. She smiled, and shook her head.

"Sorry, Mac. I'm taken. So are you, if I remember correctly." Vic 
snorted. "So what *happened*? Europe is like in *major* upheaval right 
now. The director you went to see is *dead*."

"I know," Vic said. "Mac had to kill her."

"What?!"

"Well, she had a knife at Vic's throat. What else could I do?" Mac said, 
shrugging. "We did find out that she was the one who hired the guy to 
kill the Director. Hell, she ordered the Cleaners to kill *us* at the 
airport."

Jackie blinked at that. "And they failed?" The Cleaners were the kings of 
assassins. That they would *fail* was almost unthinkable.

"I don't think their hearts were really in it," Vic said. "Plus, we had a 
little help." Jackie waited, but he didn't go any further on *that* 
subject.

"Anyway," Vic said. "She might have been behind the shooting attempt, but 
she *isn't* behind the other deaths. In fact, she was convinced that the 
Director is the one behind it, as part of a plan to take over the Agency. 
She was looking at it as more of a preemptive strike. Get your enemy 
before they get you."

"Damn," Jackie frowned. "That means we're back to square one, with no 
leads."

"Looks like," Mac said. "Listen, we are, like, *seriously* jet-lagged, so 
we're going to go check into a hotel or something. We'll start over again 
tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. I feel like I could sleep a *month*."

"Right," Jackie said in an absent-minded tone. She waved as they walked 
away, but the gears in her mind were turning at full-speed. The Director 
was *not* going to like this.

Damn, things were getting complicated.

* * * * *

Klaus watched them though binoculars, from a distance. It hadn't taken 
much to track the two men down again, and this time he decided to be a 
little more careful. A bug planted on the men's rental car had let him 
follow them without being noticed. Now that they had noticed him, he was 
going to have to be a bit more circumspect in his investigation.

But now he had a new avenue of investigation. Klaus grabbed his camera 
and took several photos of the blonde they were meeting with. The 
telephoto lens would provide some nice close-ups. She was new to him, and 
she was obviously very young. Quite pretty, in fact. But he'd probably 
have better luck in investigating through her.

First step. Find out who she was.

Klaus packed up his camera, and waited until everyone had left before 
starting his own car. He had work to do.

* * * * *

It was late, her eyes were burning, and she desperately wanted to go home 
to bed, but the Director stayed where she was. There wasn't *time* to rest.

Jackie had just left for the night. She'd relayed the information that 
the boys had given her, and it wasn't good. Their only *solid* lead had 
turned out to be a wild goose chase. And they'd been forced to take out 
the Western Europe director.

And now, word had arrived that the director for Australia had just been 
found dead in his own bed. Behind locked doors, with the security system 
armed. This one matched the other three deaths. Whoever was behind this 
was doing a damn good job of panicking the Agency. If they kept it up, 
there might not be an Agency *left*. Out of thirteen directors, five were 
now dead, with no time to replace them. Their deputies were struggling to 
keep everything moving, while also investigating the deaths.

And the only suspect they had was the Head. There was still no sign of 
him, and no sign that he'd been taken. Hell, there was no sign that he'd 
ever even *existed*. Even if he wasn't behind this, they needed to find 
him, and quickly.

She pulled off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, before reaching for 
another field report. It was going to be a long night.

* * * * *

By the time he pulled himself out of the shower, Mac was barely keeping 
to his feet. Crossing the Atlantic three times in less than a week was 
*not* his idea of a good time.

*His* idea of a good time was already in bed and half-asleep.

Mac finished drying his hair, then dropped his towels on the floor and 
crawled in next to Vic. Strong arms immediately came around him, and he 
was pulled into a warm embrace.

"Wanna make love to you," came a sleepy whisper. "But 'm too tired."

Mac rubbed his cheek against the smooth chest. "S'okay, Vic. Don't think 
I could get it up either."

"Love you."

Mac smiled. "Love you too," he replied, but the other man was already 
asleep.

He was exhausted, but it still took Mac a while to get to sleep. He'd 
hated having to kill the woman - after all, she'd *thought* she was 
protecting herself and the Agency - but it had been a choice between her 
and Vic, and Vic won, hands down. He would always win.

Because life without his lover was a scary thought. He didn't know what 
he'd do if Vic died before him, and he really didn't want to think about 
it.

He squeezed his lover a little closer, and rested his ear over the other 
man's heart. The reassuring sound of the beating of that heart finally 
lulled him into a peaceful sleep.

* * * * *

Alice "call me Allegra" Mansfield ducked through one of her favorite 
shortcuts on campus. Passing between buildings and through parking-lots 
got her from the library to her residence a lot faster than if she stuck 
to the main campus roads.

She was just starting her second year at university, and was enjoying 
herself immensely. Baiting professors had turned out to be great fun. 
Especially the more conservative ones in the PoliSci department at 
Queens. And her assignments and tests were so good that they couldn't 
even get back at her by flunking her. She grinned at the memory of one of 
her professors, the year before, and the expression on his face when he'd 
*had* to give her back her exam with an 'A' on it. It was worth the time 
and energy spent studying for it.

The wind picked up, and Allegra pulled her jacket tight around her. She'd 
ended up staying at the library until closing, and she'd been on such a 
inspired streak on her essay assignment that she'd parked herself on the 
steps outside, and just kept working. It wasn't until the temperature had 
started dropping that she'd realized that it was past midnight.

She was starting to shiver now. It also didn't help that her usual path 
was looking almost sinister, with the moon barely visible behind the 
clouds. During the daytime, the area was full of students, but right now 
it was completely deserted. She was beginning to wish that she'd called 
campus patrol for an escort. She was quite able to take care of herself, 
thank you very much, but she was a little weirded out by the way the 
place looked this late at night.

She was ducking through one of the parking lots, in behind one of the 
buildings - from the back, she couldn't even tell which one it was - when 
she stopped dead. She'd heard something. "Is somebody there?" she called 
out.

Silence answered her.

She started moving again, then stopped. She was sure that she had heard 
footsteps. They had stopped as soon as she had, but she was *sure* that 
they weren't just echoes of her own.

She was getting seriously weirded out. Not to mention a little panicky. 
Then she noticed the "help" button, over at the side of the parking lot. 
They had them all over the campus. If you were in trouble, you just 
pressed it, and the campus cops came to investigate.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she was beyond wanting to take 
chances. She headed towards the button at a run. Behind her, she heard 
the footsteps again, but this time they were obviously not echoes. By now 
she was gasping, but she was almost to the "help" button, when a hand 
grabbed her by the arm and swung her around.

She swung her book-bag at her attacker, but he was ready for her. He 
deflected the blow, easily, and yanked the bag from her hands. He tossed 
it away, and the contents went flying across the pavement. She tried to 
make a run for it, but his foot came out to trip her.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, and looked up into the 
face of her attacker. He was young, not even thirty, she thought. Dark 
hair tied back in a ponytail, close-cropped beard and mustache. And his 
eyes... They were empty. Allegra thought, for a moment, that she was 
going to be sick from fright.

"Wh... what do you want with me?" She finally asked.

"You?" The man smiled. It wasn't a very pleasant smile. "Nothing. You are 
bait. Nothing more, nothing less."

With that, he yanked her to her feet, making her stumbled. Before she 
could try to run again, a fist lashed out, and everything went black.


----------------------------------------
Cat and Mouse
by Lianne Burwell
September 1998
----------------------------------------

The phone was ringing, softly but insistently.

The Director shot up in her seat at the sound. She hadn't even realized 
that she'd fallen asleep. She picked up the phone, while wiping the sleep 
crust from her eyes.

"Yes?" she barked.

What she heard made her sit up even straighter in her chair.

"What? When? Are you sure? Yes. Yes."

She hung up the phone again. This was not good.

"Dobrinsky!" She shouted. He appeared at the doorway, looking fresh as a 
daisy, like he always did. Sometimes it annoyed her, but right now she 
was to busy to care. "We have a problem."

* * * * *

Victor groaned, and hit the alarm clock's off button. The annoying 
ringing didn't stop. He thought about it for a moment - a difficult thing 
to do when your brains feel like they've been replaced with cotton balls. 
Finally he realized that it was the phone ringing, and not the clock.

He fumbled for the phone, Mac already starting to stir next to him.

"Yes?" he mumbled into the receiver, once he had it up, and held against 
his ear properly.

"You two need to get here, right away." It was the Director. Suddenly, he 
was *very* awake.

"Come to the Agency? Why?" Mac sat up at that, with a worried look on his 
face.

"Somebody kidnapped your sister last night."

"What!?!"

* * * * *

Mac had to suppress a shudder as they passed through the doors into the 
local Agency headquarters. He hadn't been here in more than three years, 
since the night when he and Vic and LiAnn had gone after the Director in 
her confrontation with the assassin, Pouchie. The night that they had all 
nearly died. The night when he and Vic had cut their ties with the past 
and left to make a new life for themselves in Europe. He had thought - 
make that *hoped* - that he would never see this place again.

It hadn't changed a bit. The bright lights, yellow walls, echoing 
silence. Vic had commented once on how creepy the place was. How they 
almost never saw another soul.

Vic.

Vic was frantic. He had been since they got the call from the director. 
The only person who meant as much to him as Mac did was his sister. He 
felt responsible for her, and now she had disappeared, and Mac had a 
sinking feeling that it was because of their investigations here. Someone 
was trying to stop them. But there were too many questions to be sure.

Hopefully, they would now get answers.

The Director was waiting for them in the briefing room. It was exactly 
the same as it had been before. The large conference table, under dim 
lightly. The stairs leading up to... Well, he'd never actually found out 
what *was* up those stairs. LiAnn, Jackie and Dobrinsky were all there 
too.

"Talk," Vic said. He didn't seem to be able to say more than one word at 
a time, right now.

"There are people I keep an eye on, for various reasons. Your sister is 
one of them," the Director said. She looked like she hadn't slept in 
days. "This morning, I got a call. A police report went into the 
computers. Your sister never went back to her dorm last night. Her 
roommate didn't worry much. This morning, however, her bag was found in 
one of the campus parking lots, and there were signs of a struggle. The 
Kingston police are searching for her."

"I'm going."

Mac reached out and grabbed Vic's arm. Not a good idea. "Vic, *think*. If 
it were just some random psycho, they probably would have... found her 
already. If it isn't... she doesn't have enemies, but we do. That is 
probably why she was taken. We need to be someplace where they can 
contact us."

The expression on Vic's face said that he heard, and understood, but that 
he didn't care. He was operating on pure instinct. He tensed up, and Mac 
could tell that he was about to yank away, when the phone rang.

Everyone froze, except the Director. She walked over to look at the 
display and frowned.

"What?" Vic shouted.

"The number being called. It's the one I gave Michael Tang. He's the 
*only* one I've given that particular number to."

The phone was still ringing. Mac could feel a knot forming in his 
stomach. Michael Tang was dead. They *knew* that. His body had been 
positively identified, three years ago. So who the hell was using that 
number? The Director hit the intercom button.

"Yes?" she barked, her voice filled with a damn good imitation of 
irritation.

"You have something I want," a man's voice said. Mac frowned. There was 
something about the voice. Something very familiar.

"And that would be?"

"Mac Ramsey."

Mac jerked at that. So he was the target. But who the hell was the guy? 
The voice... he was sure he knew the voice.

"And?" the Director said, trying to sound bored.

"Ramsey goes to the hotel where old man Tang died. *Alone*. Once there, 
he follows instructions. If he does, little miss Mansfield gets released, 
unharmed. If he doesn't..."

There was a click, followed by a dial-tone. It was then that a three year-
old memory finally clicked for Mac.

"Mr. Conscience."

Everyone turned to look at him, confused expressions on their faces.

"Michael's new 'brother'. The guy who said he was Michael's conscience. 
That's who that was."

The Director looked murderous. "I told him what would happen if he 
stepped foot on this continent again. He doesn't get a second chance," 
she muttered. Mac was already heading for the door.

"Where the hell are you going," Vic called out.

"To do what I'm told," Mac said in a determined voice.

"He's going to try to kill you."

"She's my sister too, now. I'm not going to let her be hurt because of 
me. I think he's telling the truth when he says he'll let her go. 
Mr. Conscience wouldn't be who he is if he didn't." Mac smiled suddenly. 
"Besides. *First* we are planting a tracking device on me where it can't 
be removed. I'm sure the Agency has something appropriate. He said come 
alone, but I'm not going if my backup doesn't know how to find me."

Mac was relived to see a small smile cross Vic's face. Now he just needed 
to convince the butterflies in his stomach that he was as confident as he 
sounded.

* * * * *

Klaus sat back from the library computer and frowned. It hadn't taken 
long at all to track down the blonde woman that Blake and Thornton had 
contacted on their return to Toronto. Her name was Jackie Janczyk, and 
three and a half years ago, she had been convicted of a variety of mob-
related events. At the age of eighteen, she had become head of the 
Janczyk crime family, and had immediately gotten involved in a mob war 
with the Tang Family of Hong Kong. Naturally, considering how old and 
powerful the Tangs were, she had lost. The police had arrested her, and 
she had been sentenced to fifteen years in jail.

*But*. This was the interesting part. Only weeks into her sentence, she 
had been released from custody. He couldn't find any explanation of how 
or why. It had the GAC and this mysterious Agency written all over it.

Klaus hunched over the keyboard again, fingers already flying. This might 
be his chance to find a few more names in this little drama. All he had 
to do was find out *who* had arranged Janczyk's release from jail.

* * * * *

Vic pulled the car up, outside of the hotel. Mac stared at it for a long 
moment. In his mind, there was snow on the ground, and Christmas lights 
on the trees. Over, in front of the door was a black limousine, and a 
group of men were walking towards it. The driver got behind the wheel. 
Michael got into the back seat. Father stopped, and looked up. Saw Mac 
and LiAnn as they walked towards him. The expression in his eyes... Was 
it anger? Sorrow? Welcome?

They would never know. A car pulls in, tires screeching. Men jump out. 
Guns start firing. Father crumples to the ground. He's dying.

"Mac?"

Mac shook his head, the past disappearing. Instead, it was early fall, 
and the leaves were just beginning to turn color.

"I'm okay," he said, not sure how convincing he sounded.

"You don't have to..." The expression on Vic's face was torn. He was 
being asked to chose between his sister's safety and his lover's. Mac 
reached over and stroked a stubble-roughened cheek.

"Yes I do, Vic. Don't worry. I doubt he's going to do anything right 
away. You'll be there before he gets the chance."

He patted his stomach. Inside him was the latest in Agency toys, a homing 
beacon that you swallowed. The coating protected it from stomach acids 
for twenty-four hours. After that, the coating and its contents digested 
easily, with no harm to the system. Powerful, with a range of kilometers, 
and undetectable to common scanners.

"I still don't like this."

Mac leaned over and kissed Vic. It was a soft kiss. A promise. "Neither 
do I, but there aren't any other options."

He got out of the car, and watched as Vic drove away. Michael's pal - 
Paul, he finally remembered - was probably watching to make sure that he 
*was* alone. Vic would drive a kilometer or two away, then wait until 
the creep made his move. At least Mac *hoped* that he would wait. With 
Vic, you never knew.

Mac walked through the front doors, then frowned. The man had said to 
come here and follow the instructions, but what the hell were they? Now 
what was he supposed to do? He thought for a moment, then shrugged and 
headed for the main desk.

"Sorry to bug you," he said once he had one of the concierges' attention. 
"Do you have a message for Mac Ramsey?" He felt a little silly, but it 
was the only thing he could think of.

The man frowned, then his expression lightened. "Ah, yes I do." He 
turned, and pulled an envelope from a slot, then handed it to Mac. Mac 
nodded his thanks and walked away.

He opened the envelope. The paper inside had only one word written on it. 
"Kitchen," it said. Mac shrugged, and headed for the restaurant.

At this hour of the morning, between breakfast and lunch, the room was 
deserted, but he could hear the sound of lunch preparations coming from 
behind the swinging doors at the side of the room. He headed through 
them. On the other side of the doors was a scene of chaos, as white-clad 
figures rushed around. Others stood at table chopping and dicing and all 
the other stuff that cooks do. Mac had never really learned how to cook. 
Besides, Vic did such a great job, so why should he?

Okay. He was in the kitchen. Now what?

"Hey!" Mac turned to the man coming towards him, trying to figure out 
what sort of excuse he could use. "You Ramsey?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Through there." The man pointed towards doors at the back of the room. 
Mac nodded his thanks, and headed in that direction.

The doors turned out to lead to a small loading dock. This was where the 
food was delivered for the restaurant, he guessed. He looked around. All 
he saw was a van, parked at the dock, and a large laundry bag on the 
ground.

He was walking towards the van when he heard a noise. He started to turn 
around, but something hit the back of his head. He saw stars, then 
everything went black.

* * * * *

Victor sat behind the wheel of his car, absently chewing on a fingernail. 
He was worried about Alice. He'd never wanted his life to touch his 
sister. He'd done his best to shelter her, from his work as a cop, at the 
Agency, and his new life as a thief. But now she was in danger, and it 
was all his fault.

He was also worried about Mac. The Director had shown him the 
interrogation reports on this creep from three years ago. Cold, competent 
and angry over his boss's death. Reading between the lines, he guessed 
that the man was *more* than just Michael Tang's bodyguard. All of this 
did not say good things about his intentions towards Mac.

Fuck this.

Victor started the car. He was getting Mac out of there. They'd figure 
something else out.

The receiver tuned to Mac's homing beacon was very fine tuned, and it 
said that Mac was at the back of the building. As Victor came around, he 
saw a van pull away from one of the rear loading-bays. It took off with a 
screech.

Victor's first instinct was to follow the van, but there was a dark lump 
on the ground, near where the van had been. The lump was moving.

Worried, he pulled to a stop. It was a large laundry bag, but the 
contents looked to be too small to be Mac. Victor fumbled with the knot 
holding the bag shut. Finally, it came loose, and he pulled the neck down.

"Alice..." he breathed, relieved and scared at the same time.

"Moose!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. She burst into 
tears.

Victor held his sister tight, rocking her. He had Alice back, but Mac was 
gone, in the hands of a madman. He had to find Mac. Mac would be all 
right, he told himself. Mac was a survivor. He refused to think otherwise.

Mac...


----------------------------------------
Rescue
by Lianne Burwell
September 1998
----------------------------------------

The climb back to consciousness was slow and painful for Mac. His head 
throbbed, and he could *feel* the large lump at the back of his skull. He 
wanted to check it, but his arms didn't seem to be working.

When he opened his eyes, he found out why. He was tied to some sort of 
framework, that held his arms up and apart. He could already feel the 
bruises forming on his wrists from the weight of his body hanging against 
the ropes that held him.

He turned his head to look around the room, and immediately wished he 
hadn't. That small movement made his head throb even more. Mac bit off a 
moan.

It looked like he was in some sort of a warehouse. Old, and - considering 
the amount of dust - not used recently. Light streamed through the broken 
areas in the windows. The glass was too filthy to let much light through. 
He shivered in the cool fall air.

The shivers pointed out something else to him. His clothes were gone. 
This was *not* a good sign. He also didn't much like the fact that El 
Creepo was able to do it while he was unconscious. Made him wonder what 
else the man might have done. But, no. There was no soreness that might 
suggest that he had...

The over-sized room seemed to be empty. No sign of Mr. 'Out for 
Vengeance'. He thought about calling out, but decided not to. It might 
attract the *wrong* sort of attention. He checked his bonds, but they 
were tight, and the knots well made. He was *not* going to be able to 
get himself out of this one.

But that was all right. All he needed to do was hang on until Victor 
arrived. If Paul kept his word - and Mac had to believe that he would, or 
this was all for nothing - he would drop Alice off, or tell them where to 
find her. Vic would get her to safety, then come for Mac. All he had to 
do was hang on. Until then, the longer he went without being noticed, the 
better.

"Back among the living, Ramsey? How are you doing?"

So much for that plan. Gingerly, Mac turned his head to the side. 
Standing in the doorway was Michael's bodyguard, Paul. There was no 
expression on the bearded face, but the eyes were as cold as ice. Mac had 
to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Oh, you know. Just hanging around," he said, trying to cover up his 
nerves with bravado. The other man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"Save the lip, Ramsey. We both know that your friends are going to be 
coming, sooner or later. We need to have our fun before then."

"And what sort of fun would *that* be." Mac wanted to kick himself for 
asking. Somehow, he didn't think that he *really* wanted to know the 
answer to that question.

Paul walked over to him, and stopped right in front of him. A hand gently 
stroked his face, his neck. Then the fingers curved, and his fingernails 
raked down Mac's chest, leaving fiery red lines in their wake. He held up 
his hand to show Mac how the nails had been allowed to grow, then had 
been filed into points. Mac could feel small beads of blood welling up on 
his chest.

"Does that answer your question? Just imagine," he said, starting to pace 
in a circle around Mac. Mac tested the bonds again, trying not to show 
just how nervous he was getting. "I entertain myself with you," one sharp 
nail scraped a line across Mac's back, "until your partner gets here. 
Then, as he comes through the door, I kill him." Suddenly, a gun appeared 
in front of Mac's eyes. "You'll hang there, and watch as your lover dies, 
unable to do a thing. And if Miss Tsei comes with him, well, you can 
watch your *ex*-lover die as well. And then, when you think that you 
can't stand to live another moment, I will kill you."

"Why?" Mac was shaking now. Vic was smart, he told himself. Vic wouldn't 
walk into a trap that easily. Vic would be safe.

"You took my lover. I take yours. You destroyed my life, I *take* yours."

Mac wasn't surprised to hear his suspicions confirmed. He tried to keep 
an eye on the other man as he resumed his pacing. Paul was now holding a 
knife in his left hand. As he paced, he reached out and cut a small line 
across Mac's stomach. Mac felt a little queasy as a thin trickle of blood 
flowed down to his groin. The man was certifiable. He had to keep him 
distracted. He had to hold on until Vic arrived.

"So..." he said. His voice quavered, and he took a deep breath before 
trying again. "So, how did you get back into Canada? The Director was 
keeping an eye on you. You shouldn't have been able to get past her."

Paul smiled. "It helps to have friends in high places."

Mac frowned. That didn't make sense. Who could he possibly know that 
would have the power to get him into the country? The Tang holdings had 
disintegrated, and he wouldn't have enough clout with them anyway. It 
didn't make any sense.

"Why Alice? And how did you connect her to me?" The knife moved to run 
down the side of his throat. His breath caught, as it started to press 
in, the pressure stopping just short of breaking the skin.

"A little bird told me about you and Mansfield. Oh so sweet, the two of 
you are. Why should *you*," a snarl, and a deep cut across one nipple, 
"have *your* lover, when mine is *dead*? I was also told that Mansfield 
had a sister. I knew that you wouldn't let her die. After all, how could 
you face your lover if that was between you?"

"Where is she?" Please let her be all right. Please.

"I left her at the hotel, all bundled up with the laundry. Still 
breathing," he added.

Mac remembered the laundry bag next to the van, and breathed a sigh of 
relief. At least *she* was okay.

Paul stepped behind him again. Mac braced himself for another cut. 
Instead, he heard the sound of the knife hitting the ground, followed by 
a zipper being undone. His eyes widened, and he tensed up. There was a 
rustle of cloth, then the warmth of a body pressed up behind him, an 
erection pushing against him.

"But why should I wait any longer for my fun?" Paul said in a soft voice. 
The gun, which he was still holding in his other hand, came up to rest 
against Mac's cheek. "Hold still, Ramsey."

"Wait..."

"Shut up."

The gun lowered to rest against his genitals. Mac could feel the erection 
being aimed at his entrance, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to 
relax. If he relaxed, the damage wouldn't be as bad. This was not 
something he had counted on. He would survive this, he told himself. Vic 
loved him, and he *would* survive this. The pressure built.

A shot rang out, and two cries echoed through the room, but the expected 
pain didn't follow. Instead, a cool breeze ran across his suddenly bare 
back. Mac opened his eyes and twisted, trying to see what was going on.

"Mac!"

Mac looked up. Through one of the panes of broken glass, he could just 
barely make out the shape of his lover. Then one of the doors smashed 
open, and LiAnn and Jackie appeared, guns brandished. The other door flew 
open, and Dobrinsky was there as well.

Mac sagged against the ropes, dizzy with relief. Behind him, he could 
hear the cries of pain from his now *former* captor as he was restrained 
by Dobrinsky. LiAnn had the man's knife, and was cutting him down.

The ropes parted, just as Vic reached the floor. "Mac, are you all 
right?" he said, grabbing on to Mac before he could collapse to the 
ground.

"Oh, yeah. Just peachy," Mac said. Then everything went black again.

* * * * *

The next time that Mac came around, he was in the Agency infirmary. He 
was dressed, and he could feel the bandages covering his cuts and 
bruises. He turned his head, and saw Vic sitting in a chair at his 
bedside. On the other side of the room, he could see Alice, asleep on 
another bed. She looked okay. Good.

He cleared his throat, experimentally, and Vic's eyes flew open.

"How..." Mac swallowed, trying to get his throat moist. Vic grabbed a 
glass of water and held the straw for him. "How is she?" he asked, after 
a few grateful swallows.

"Fine. Just scared. How about you?"

"I've been better, but I've also been a hell of a lot worse. What about 
*him*?"

Vic gave a predatory smile. "The docs patched him up. He's with the 
Director, right now."

Mac shuddered. Being on the receiving end of one of the Director's 
interrogations was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. On 
second thought, he'd make an exception in this case.

The was a movement from the other side of the room, and Mac looked over 
to see Alice's eyes open. She looked over, then sat up in the other 
infirmary bed.

"You're awake!"

She came flying across the room, only to stop at the foot of the bed. Mac 
watched in confusion as she shifted nervously from foot to foot. Finally, 
he couldn't stand it any more.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Her face crumpled up. "I'm sorry," she said, tears starting to well up. 
"It's my fault that you got hurt."

Mac rolled his eyes, then held out his arms. "C'mere, kiddo." He waited 
until she worked up the nerve to come close enough for him to hug. "It's 
not your fault, Allegra. *I* was the one he wanted. If it wasn't you, he 
would have found something else, someone else. If anything, it's *my* 
fault that *you* went through this. Forgive me?"

Alice sniffed. "Of course. You're my brother-in-law, after all."

Mac could see the smile on Vic's face. "Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

* * * * *

"I warned you. I told you what would happen if you ever showed your face 
on this continent again. Didn't I?"

The Director paced in a circle around the chair that the man was tied to. 
A doctor had dealt with his wounds, and he now sat, stony-faced, staring 
straight ahead. He gave no sign of having heard her.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, not far from the spot where Victor had 
shot him, and squeezed. She was pleased to see him flinch. She was 
working very hard to restrain her anger.

"I want to know how you got into the country. I want to know how you knew 
to target Alice Mansfield. I want to know *everything*."

No answer, but she hadn't really expected one. She walked over to the 
table that sat against the wall. On it was a variety of objects. She 
passed over the cruder implements that she might have *preferred* to use, 
and picked up a hypodermic needle, already filled with a clear fluid.

"If you won't tell me what I need to know, willingly," she said, tapping 
the needle and squeezing out a single drop of liquid to make sure that 
there were no air bubbles, "then I guess you'll have to tell me 
*unwillingly*."

Now the man was showing some emotion. Despite his best efforts, his face 
showed nervousness as she plunged the needle into his arm and injected 
the liquid. Almost immediately, his body started to relax.

"This is a new development of the Agency. A variation on the ever-popular 
truth serum. Now, let's start again."

The would-be killer opened his mouth and started to talk.

* * * * *

The Director left the room, taking deep breaths as she went. LiAnn and 
Dobrinsky were waiting for her in the hall.

"Have that disposed of," she told Dobrinsky. The drug that she had 
injected the man with *was* a variation on the truth serum, cooked up by 
the Agency scientists. What she *hadn't* told him was that while the drug 
was a *very* effective truth serum, death was an... unfortunate side-effect.

"Well?" asked LiAnn. There was no censure on the young woman's face. 
Instead, just the same fierce determination that she knew was on her own. 
She'd had to keep LiAnn away from the man. Her reaction to Mac's injuries 
had been a rage that would have let her cheerfully kill the man, even 
though she might have regretted it later.

"He was approached by a man in Hong Kong. The man offered to arrange to 
get him into Canada. Gave him the information he needed to target 
Victor's sister."

"When?"

"Three days ago."

LiAnn frowned. The Director could almost see the gears turning. "Before 
the boys went to London, but after they arrived here. Someone knew they 
were investigating, and wanted them out of the way. Who?"

"From the description, I'd say that it was the Head. It certainly seems 
to match, and that confirms our suspicions."

The Director shut her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Now the question is 
why? And what do we do about it?"

There was no response. They were questions that didn't have answers.

At least, not yet.

* * * * *

Jackie drove away from the Agency headquarters, doing her best to 
concentrate on the road. She liked Mac. She liked him a lot. Seeing him 
hanging there, naked and bleeding, had left her seeing red. If they 
didn't need information from the creep, she would have killed him right 
there. At least she knew that the Director wasn't going to let him live. 
She'd made *that* quite clear.

Jackie was so distracted by the events of the day that she was almost 
home before she noticed that she'd picked up a tail. She could have 
kicked herself. Like she'd told Vic once, years ago, she'd been the 
subject of surveillance since she was in kindergarten. She should have 
seen him sooner.

She'd seen him now, so what did she do about it? That was easy. Lose him. 
Besides, she had a date with Dobrinsky, and she didn't have the time for 
this bullshit.

* * * * *

Klaus pulled into over at the side of the road, and hit the steering 
wheel. He obviously needed a refresher course in surveillance. She 
*never* should have seen him following her, but she had. And then she'd 
made losing him look like child's play.

Scratch one avenue of investigation. Like the Mansfield and Ramsey, 
Janczyk would now be on her guard. On the other hand, he now knew where 
they were based. At least, that was where he'd followed them to, twice 
that day, and where he'd followed the woman from.

Since he started following the two men, early that morning, he'd been 
more and more confused. First to this... place, then a hotel. Then 
Mansfield had come back here, with a young girl who bore a remarkable 
resemblance to him (a sister, maybe?). Then, along with Janczyk, a black 
man and an oriental woman, he'd taken off for an abandoned warehouse. 
Klaus had watched the four went in. There were shots, and when they came 
out, Mansfield was carrying an obviously battered Ramsey, and the black 
man was carrying a handcuffed and bleeding man.

He still wasn't sure what had gone down, but he hoped that Ramsey was all 
right. He wasn't sure why, but he liked the brash young man.


----------------------------------------
Running in Circles
by Lianne Burwell
September 1998
----------------------------------------

Mac rolled over in bed, reaching for his lover. His questing hand found 
only empty sheets, still warm from body-heat. He opened his eyes and 
frowned. Why was he alone in bed? The sound of liquid hitting porcelain, 
coming through the open bathroom door, answered his question. He 
stretched, wincing a little as his cuts and scrapes tried to reopen.

The doc had told him that he wouldn't have any permanent scars, at least 
not of the physical variety. He had suggested that Mac see some sort of 
shrink, but there was no way he was going to do *that*. Besides, he had 
Vic. That was all he needed.

So they now had confirmation that the Head was behind the attempt to get 
rid of him and Vic. That seemed to confirm that he was also behind the 
deaths of the directors around the world. The only problem was that they 
didn't have any idea how to find him. Mac was getting *really* tired of 
being a target.

The last confirmed sighting, now, was Hong Kong. It also seemed 
suggestive, considering the director for Asia was the first death. 
The Director had sent everything they knew to all of the remaingin Agency 
directors. He and Vic were no longer working on their own. Agency 
operatives around the world were on the hunt now.

As for the two of them, now that their involvement was common knowledge, 
they were no longer holed up in crummy hotel rooms. Instead, they were in 
an agency safehouse. Actually, they were in Vic's old apartment. Most of 
the furniture was the same, and the walls were even the same bright 
yellow. It was quite nostalgic, in a way. After all, this was the bed that 
they had first made love in, that drunken night after LiAnn had told Vic 
that she didn't want to marry him. This was the bed where he had offered 
Vic what he considered his virginity. He hadn't really been a virgin, but 
it was the first time that anyone had taken him with so much love and 
care, not violence and pain.

The light under the bathroom door went out, and the door opened. Mac 
waited until Vic had padded silently across the room and climbed back 
into bed before he turn and draped himself across the other man.

"Sorry," Vic whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't. I rolled over, and woke up when I realized that I was 
alone." That statement got him thoroughly kissed.

"What's wrong?" The quiet question came just as Mac was starting to drift 
off, cuddled in his lover's arms.

"Hmmm?"

"Don't give me that, Mac. I know you too well. Something is bothering 
you. Is it what happened today?"

Mac rolled his eyes. Vic would have to choose *now* for a heart-to-heart. 
"It's nothing."

Vic's eyes narrowed. "C'mon, Mac..."

"You won't get anything from me, copper," Mac growled is a movie-criminal 
voice, spoiled only by the grin on his face. Vic started to grin too.

"Well, if *that's* the way you want to play it..."

Vic rolled over, hard, and Mac found himself pinned to the mattress. Deft 
fingers roamed over his ribs, making him both laugh *and* writhe. He 
deliberately guided his motions so that they brought him into full 
contact with Vic's body. The large, heated object in the other man's 
briefs told him that he was successful. Finally, Vic simply dropped his 
full weight onto Mac, holding him immobile, and his mouth descended to 
plunder Mac's.

Mac moaned, deep in his throat, and responded with everything he had, 
despite the fact that he couldn't move. He was really getting into it 
when Vic pulled away, his face serious again.

"Viiiccc..."

"No more distractions, Mac. Give."

Mac gave a deep sigh, which ruffled his lover's bangs. "Fine. I'm just 
wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Before, the Director and company were still the only ones who knew we 
were alive. Now the entire Agency knows. We're not getting out of here, 
are we?"

Vic's face hardened. "I'm not going back, and neither are you. I'm sure 
that the Director will back us up. Besides, we don't even know if there's 
going to *be* an Agency much longer. If we don't find the Head..."

"Yeah. He kills off all the directors, and then... What if he starts on 
the agents next? Or sets someone else to do it? Hell, he's already tried 
to have us killed once! Next time it might work."

Mac continued to rant, trying to ignore the fact that Vic had started 
nuzzling at his neck. "Umm... Vic... I'm not feeling a lot of sympathy, 
here." No, but he *was* feeling something else, and it was pressing into 
his groin in a delicious way.

"Mac... All we can do is try to help resolve this mess, as quickly as 
possible. *Then* we can start worrying about the rest of it. Right now, 
all I care about is that I might have lost you today. I nearly died when 
I saw him holding that gun on you. I almost couldn't take that shot, I 
was so worried about hitting you, but I couldn't let him..." Vic's voice 
choked off.

Mac raised a hand, and wiped a stray tear from Vic's face. "I'm all 
right, love. I got hurt worse the time I took a spill down that hillside 
in Switzerland." Both men grinned at the memory of the 'caper' that had 
almost gone wrong, two years earlier.

Mac coaxed his lover back down into a slow, deep kiss. When they pulled 
apart, Vic was smiling again. He used a fingertip to trace Mac's lips.

"What do you want, Mac," he asked in a low voice. "Anything you want 
tonight."

"I want you to love me, long and slow."

Vic's smile got wider. "I can do that," he said, then lowered his face 
for another gentle kiss.

The kisses went on, until Mac felt like he was drifting on a gentle 
cloud, buoyed by the feeling of loving and being loved. He almost didn't 
notice when the kisses moved from his lips to his cheeks, and then the 
rest of his face.

Time ceased to have meaning, as every part of his face was explored. He 
realized that Vic's hands had joined in. Unlike earlier, this time they 
were gentle, soothing rather than arousing. Mac sighed as his nipples were 
stroked, then rolled between fingertips. Then he gasped as lips and tongue 
followed the fingers, teasing the buds of flesh until he was groaning at 
the sensation.

"Vic, please..."

"Shhh. Long and slow, you said."

So he had. Mac closed his eyes, and gave himself up to the sensations. 
Every portion of his body was examined, pampered, with fingers and lips 
and other parts of Vic's body. In the only coherent part of his brain, he 
marveled at the man's control. Mac undulated against the mattress, unable 
to stop himself.

Finally, Vic rolled him onto his side, and coaxed him into bending his 
top leg slightly. Then he was spooned up behind Mac, his lubricated cock 
pressing gently against Mac's rear entrance. Mac's body was so relaxed, 
and so used to Vic, that the muscle quickly relaxed so that Vic could 
gently push his way in. Once his pelvis was pressed tightly against Mac's 
ass, he paused. Mac could feel lips pressed against the back of his neck, 
and arms came around to cradle him against a muscular chest. He gave a 
slow roll, encouraging his lover to move.

Long, slow thrusts answered him, and he moaned quietly at the gentle 
motion. There was no rush, no worry. This was all that there was in the 
world, at that moment. Hand ran over his chest, not pushing, just 
touching.

Loved, as he knew himself to be, Mac had never felt so... cherished 
before. In Vic's arms, he didn't need to worry about the Agency, killer 
Heads, assassins, or anything else. As long as they were together, they 
would be all right.

Then a hand curled around his erection, and he was pulsing into it, small 
whimpers of pleasure the only sounds that he made. Behind him, Vic thrust 
in, all the way, and held still. Inside him, he could feel spread of 
liquid warmth.

When Vic started to move away, Mac reached back to grasp his hip, not 
wanting to loose the feeling of possession just yet. Vic's arms tightened 
around him, and they rested together.

"Love you..."

Mac drifted off to sleep, not quite sure which of them had spoken.

* * * * *

The hunt was on. The Asia office used the information extracted from Paul 
before his... unfortunate demise, to track down the Head's base in Hong 
Kong. Unfortunately, it was empty and had been for a days. The only thing 
left behind was a rather large bomb, which took out the entire Agency team 
sent to search the old office building. The explosion was big enough that 
it was reported on CNN, and led to speculation on Chinese terrorists.

Tracking led to Australia, but all leads *there* came up blank. After 
that, nothing.

Over the next few weeks, there were sightings reported all over the 
world, some of them simultaneous, and obviously impossible. After the 
fast pace of the start of the investigation, the Toronto group was 
getting twitchy, wondering what was going to happen and when.

* * * * *

Klaus hung up the phone, scowling in frustration. He'd just been ordered 
back to Europe. His superiors had told him that he was wasting his time 
in Canada, and that he was to get back to the work they paid him for.

Only weeks ago, they had been behind his investigation, especially after 
the death in London, they'd wanted to know everything about this 
mysterious 'Agency'. So why the sudden turnaround?

The only explanation that made any sense was the Government Advisory 
Council. No one liked them. In fact, most organizations in the world 
resented them, and their power. Governments fear them and law-enforcement 
agencies suspected their motives.

But when they said jump, *everyone* competed to see who could leap higher. 
Klaus sighed, and started packing his suitcase. He needed a cigarette.

* * * * *

The Director pushed back from her desk with a frown, and removed her 
glasses. The latest sighting, this time in Vancouver, could neither be 
confirmed, nor disproved. Her instincts were saying that it was a *real* 
sighting, and she had already assigned five operatives to check it out.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease their tension. She really should 
be home, but she felt like she needed to be right where she was. 
Something told her that they were at a crucial moment. There was nothing 
she could put her finger on, but the hairs on the back of her neck said 
that the end was coming, and soon.

She wasn't the only one who felt it. LiAnn and the boys were downstairs. 
They had showed up around lunchtime, and showed no signs of calling it 
quits for the night. It was like they also felt that here was were they 
needed to be.

She sighed, and pulled the papers back to in front of her. She was going 
over the records of all flights out of Vancouver since the sighting. It 
was a long-shot, but there might be something.

Her eyes were burning when she found it. Desmond Smiley was listed as 
being on a flight from Vancouver to... Toronto. It was so blatant, she 
knew she was supposed to find it. Desmond had been the previous director 
for the Eastern United States. He had also tried to overthrow the Head, 
using her as a programmed assassin. The Head had killed him, and wiped 
everyone else's memories. It had taken her weeks of investigation to 
piece together the details of what had happened, and she still didn't 
know everything about what had happened.

It was too obvious. Either it was misdirection, or he wanted her to 
know... The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end again.

She wasn't sure what alerted her. She didn't even make a conscious 
decision. She simply threw herself to the side, acting purely on instinct, 
and a knife went through the spot that her back had occupied only moments 
before.


----------------------------------------
Climax
by Lianne Burwell
September 1998
----------------------------------------

"Tell me again why we're here," Mac said, perched on the edge of the 
large conference table that dominated the room, swinging his leg to tap 
against one of the table supports. LiAnn looked up from the file she was 
reading, a slight frown on her face at the disturbance.

"Well, *I* am actually working, while I wait for Di," she said, one 
eyebrow arching up. Mac rolled his eyes, and looked over at Vic.

Vic was pacing back and forth, the length of the table, showing no signs 
of having heard anything that Mac had said. Mac waved his hand to get his 
lover's attention, and repeated the question.

"I... have a feeling," Vic finally said, a slightly confused expression on 
his face. "I just think that we need to be here." Green eyes pleaded for 
him to understand.

Mac sighed, and flopped into one of the chairs, and swung his legs up so 
that he could rest his feet on the tabletop. Fine. If Vic thought that 
this was where they should be, this is where they would be.

"Any more word on the head?" he asked, more for conversation than 
anything else. LiAnn sighed.

"Nope, nada, nothing. It's like he fell off the face of the earth. Of 
course, that's the way it was before, but *still*, it shouldn't be this 
difficult to find one man!" The frustration was getting to her. Mac could 
tell. LiAnn had never liked unsolved cases, and this one was a doozy.

He was considering suggesting that they send out for some takeout Chinese 
when they all sat up. Above them, in the Director's office, they heard a 
loud thud.

For a moment, they all froze. Mac wondered if she had thrown something 
across the room in frustration or something. Then common sense reasserted 
itself, and they were all running for the stairs, weapons being drawn.

He'd never been up the stairs. Despite a healthy amount of curiosity, 
he'd also had an equally healthy sense of self-preservation, and he'd 
never worked up the nerve to risk what the Director would mete out as 
punishment for invading her Sanctum Sanctorum.

At the top of the stairs was a short hallway. To one side was an open 
door, which led to some sort of posh meeting room, currently unoccupied. 
Mac guessed that this was where Michael had been sent, the one time. At 
the end of the hallway was another door, shut.

On the other side of the door, they could hear thumps and bangs. Not the 
sounds of a rage or frustration. A battle, more likely...

Vic tried the door handle. It was locked. LiAnn punched a code in the 
touch pad next to the door. It was still locked. If only the damn thing 
had a *normal* lock, Mac thought, he could pick it. But, noooo... The 
Agency had to be high-tech with their locks.

Mac was about to suggest that Vic go to work on the electric locking 
system, that being *his* specialty, but LiAnn obviously wasn't in the 
mood to wait. Instead, she proceeded to prove that the door lock might 
not be easy to pick, but it certainly wasn't bullet-proof.

The door could no longer resist a forcefully applied shoulder, and they 
piled through the door, all wondering what they were going to see.

* * * * *

The Director wasn't sure what had prompted her to throw herself out of 
the path of the knife that nearly ended her life. Was there a sound? Did 
she feel a change in the air currents? Whatever the reason, she did, and 
it saved her life, at least for the moment, so she wasn't inclined to 
over-analyze it.

She rolled as she hit the floor, and came up facing her attacker, and was 
not surprised by what she saw.

The figure was completely shrouded by voluminous orange robes. She 
couldn't tell his body type, the hood obscured his face. In fact, the 
only thing that even said that the person was a man was his hands, which 
held a knife. They were decidedly masculine.

Behind him was an open panel in the wall, and she immediately understood 
how it was that the other directors could have been killed in their 
locked offices. When the various headquarters were built, the Head must 
have quietly arranged to have secret passages built into each one, so 
that he would be able to come and go as he chose, no matter what the 
preferences of the individual directors, or whatever security systems 
they might have installed.

"Why?" she gasped out as she tried to figure out how to get back to her 
desk, and the gun in the drawer there. "Why do this?"

The man chuckled, and she instantly recognized the almost kindly sound as 
belonging the man that she had known as the Head. "Why not? I formed the 
Agency for a purpose, and it has served that purpose. Now that its 
purpose is finished, it is time to dismantle it."

The Director frowned. What purpose? "Then why start killing people?" she 
said, feinting a move around the desk. The man immediately moved to block 
her. She lashed out with a fist, and the man blocked, then countered with 
a blow that knocked her off her feet. She immediately moved out of reach. 
She kept one eye on the knife, but held ready. There was no telling what 
other weapons he might be hiding inside his robes.

The man tsked, and she could imagine the smile on the face that she had 
never seen. "The directors have grown accustomed to their power. They 
would never give it up, willingly. No. To end the Agency, the directors 
would have to be... disposed of. Like a snake, if you cut off the head, 
the body will die."

"The boys..." The boys. If she just made enough noise to get their 
attention. But the door locked automatically. She would have to get the 
door open.

"They were too much of a risk. They might have come close. And besides," 
he added with a shrug, "Mac shot me once. Did you *really* think I would 
let that go? Oh, but I forget, you don't remember that."

Actually, there had been fresh bloodstains in the warehouse when they had 
woken, memories wiped, but they hadn't matched anyone on record. Now she 
knew why. After all, the Head was not likely to let his blood type, DNA 
or fingerprints be in the Agency database.

She could hear hammering on the door, but it was locked. She moved 
towards it, but the Head got between her and it. "It really is a pity," 
he said in a sympathetic voice. "I really did like you. I planned to 
leave you for last, but you caught on too fast. You are too much of a 
danger to me. Because of you, my plans have had to be stepped up. That is 
why I must kill you now."

His hand dipped inside his robes, and he pulled a gun. His move to block 
her from opening the door had let her make it to her desk, and she was 
reaching for her own gun, wondering if her desk would be able to shield 
her from the Head's shot. At the same moment, there were shots from 
behind the man, and the door burst open.

* * * * *

Victor nearly froze, as they came through the door. In front of him was 
the figure that had shown up in his dreams, on a regular basis, since 
before he and Mac had left the Agency. The dreams of an orange-clad man 
who spoke in riddles.

There were no riddles *now*, though. The Director was standing behind her 
desk, a gun in her hand. She was breathing hard, and a red mark spread 
across her cheek, the eye already swelling shut. Between her and them was 
the... Head. Had to be. In one hand, he held a gun, pointed at her. In 
the split second since they came through the door, a second gun appeared 
out of his robes, and into his other hand. It was pointed at them.

"Ah, good," he said in an accent that was fakely cultured. "You decided 
to join us. Now I can deal with you all at once."

"I don't *think* so," LiAnn said in a snarl.

But it was a Mexican stand-off. Could they shoot him before he shot the 
Director? Before he shot them? For long moments, no one moved.

All of a sudden, Victor was sure that the man was smiling. He couldn't 
see his face, but his body language seemed to imply... humor. The gun 
pointed at them twitched.

"Planning on shooting me again, Mac?"

"Huh?"

For a moment, they were all thrown off by the question. What was he 
talking about, 'again'?

Victor realized, almost too late, that this was exactly the reaction that 
the man was looking for. Mac's gun dipped slightly, and LiAnn's eyes 
flickered towards his face. But Victor managed to keep his eyes on the 
gunman, so he saw as the trigger finger began to tighten.

The three shots were deafening, as they echoed through the room. The 
Head's shot missed Mac by the narrowest of margins. Victor's shot took 
him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop one of his guns.

The Director's shot took him in the side of the head, killing him 
instantly.

Victor gave a deep sigh, as the body collapsed to the ground. Across the 
room, the Director slumped into her chair, gun still in hand. Mac 
looked... white. The bullet had missed him, but he had probably felt its 
passage through the air.

LiAnn was already at the phone, calling for a cleanup crew. The Head's 
body was now lying in a spreading pool of blood. Victor looked up, and 
met the Director's eyes. He could read the questions in her eyes.

With the Head dead, the killings would stop. But now what? Half of the 
directors were dead. The head of the Agency was dead. What would happen 
to the organization now?


----------------------------------------
Going Home
by Lianne Burwell
September 1998
----------------------------------------

"It's been... interesting," Victor said, holding out his hand to the 
Director. She smiled, and shook it.

"Almost like old times. Are you sure that I can't change your mind?"

Victor shook his head. He knew that she didn't really expect any 
different answer. "No. We're happy with our life, and we don't want to 
come back to the Agency, not even as joint directors for Western Europe. 
Sorry, you'll have to find someone else."

With the Head gone, the Agency had been thrown into disarray. The only 
one to keep their head was the Director, so it had been no surprise when 
the survivors had asked her to become the new Head. One of her first 
orders of business had been to name replacement directors for the dead. 
LiAnn, who was over in a corner talking to Mac, had been the first 
appointment. LiAnn Tsei, director for Canada. Had a nice ring to it, 
Victor thought

The old Head had been mysterious, and nearly impossible to find. The new 
one would be based from Toronto. The old Head didn't have a face. The new 
one is well known. 

One thing she'd immediately ordered was an examination of *every* Agency 
holding, looking for more of the secret passages. The last thing that she 
wanted was for there to be unknown back-doors into the various headquarters.

It wasn't really a surprise, when she'd asked him and Mac to take over 
the London office. Victor had been expecting it, and he was equally sure 
that she'd expected the refusal. Even when they'd been working for her, no 
matter how much they'd agreed with *some* of the results, they had hated 
the methods, and they hadn't hidden their distaste.

"You do know, of course," he told her, "that we will be there, if it *is* 
really urgent." She nodded, as he offered up a silent prayer that it never 
would be needed for them to work for the Agency again.

"It goes both ways," she said. "Don't be afraid to call if *you* need 
anything."

Victor turned, and went over to where his sister was waiting with Jackie 
and Dobrinsky. "Alice..." She frowned at him, but didn't look *too* upset. 
He smiled, and started again. "Allegra. I'm really sorry that you got 
dragged into this."

"Don't be. Hey," she said brightly. "It wasn't any worse than being the 
sucker sent to deliver a bomb. Besides, it gave me a chance to see you 
again."

Victor opened his arms, and hugged his sister tightly when she stepped 
into them. They stood there, embracing, for long moments. When they came 
apart, Mac and LiAnn had come over and were waiting.

"You know," Victor said, trying to wipe away a tear without being noticed. 
He wasn't successful. "Mac and I were thinking. After school lets out next 
spring... Would you consider coming to spend the summer with us? In France?"

Her face lit up. "That'd be *great*, Moose!"

Victor smiled at the childhood nickname. "We'll work it out."

He stepped out of the way, and let Mac and Alice exchange hugs, while he 
squeezed LiAnn. LiAnn in his arms was something he hadn't experienced in 
years. In felt good, but any sexual feelings he may have felt for her in 
the past, they were obviously dead. Instead, it felt like hugging Alice 
had. Good, but like siblings, not ex-lovers.

He stepped back. Behind him, he could hear Alice admonishing Mac to look 
after her big brother, and Mac assuring her that he always did.

"Sure, Mac. And who is it who wants to break into the *most* heavily 
guarded crime-lord compound in Europe just to see if we can?"

Mac was spluttering protests, when the announcement of their flight came. 
Quickly, they exchanged a last round of hugs. Victor and Mac both even 
hugged the Director and Jackie, although they drew the line at Dobrinsky. 
Then they were headed for the boarding area.

They were going home.

* * * * *

LiAnn stepped up behind the Director, and wrapped her arms around the 
smaller woman.

"You know, I'm going to miss them," the older woman said. LiAnn smiled, 
and rubbed her cheek against the auburn waves.

"So will I. At least we know where to find them, now. Nothing says that 
we can't contact them just to say hi."

"I suppose. C'mon," the woman said, straightening up. "We've got a lot of 
work to do. Let's get going."

* * * * *

On the plane, Mac couldn't sleep. He was exhausted, but the events of the 
last few days had left him to keyed up to rest. Beside him, Vic shifted, 
trying to find a comfortable position. He didn't seem any more able to 
rest.

"Did we do the right thing?"

Vic turned to face him. "Turning her down? I think so. She'll probably 
make changes, but we both know that she's the type that thinks that the 
ends justifies the means. I don't think either of us would be happy there 
for long, do you?"

Mac shook his head. "Nah. I *like* the way we've been living, and I'll be 
glad to get home. There's just one thing that bugs me..."

"The Head."

Mac nodded. The Director had repeated what the man had said, about the 
Agency having served its purpose. The big question was, what *was* that 
purpose. Considering the man, he wasn't sure that he *wanted* to know, 
but they better find out. That was going to be the first assignment of 
the new and improved Agency.

But he wasn't sure that he cared. He was looking forward to going back to 
being Matt Blake. He was looking forward to going home.

* * * * *

Victor tossed his bags in the corner of the room. Home looked very good. 
He tossed himself onto the couch, and heaved a sigh. The trip had been 
long, and tiring.

He looked up when Mac made a rude noise. His partner was leaning against 
the wall, sorting through the hefty pile of mail that had accumulated 
during their absence. Later on, they would check with their answering 
service for phone messages.

"What is it?"

"A letter from Klaus. Basic gist is that he's still watching us. Don't 
step out of line, et cetera, et cetera."

Vic groaned. They might not be under the Agency's thumb anymore, but they 
were a little to well-known with the wrong people. "We could move, change 
identities," he suggested. Mac shook his head.

"Abandon our home? Start over from scratch? I don't know about you, but 
I'm a little too old for that." Victor grinned. Mac hadn't even hit his 
thirtieth birthday yet. "Besides, unlike Toronto, this is *home*, and I 
refuse to let anyone chase me out of it."

"Amen," Victor replied.

"But I wonder... Why did he just give up and disappear like that? I mean, 
I assume that he was the guy who was following Jackie. He certainly 
didn't *seem* like the sort of guy to just give up, especially after what 
happened in London."

"I don't think he did. At least not voluntarily. Nah, I don't think he 
had a choice. Somebody ordered him to back off, and I can guess who."

Mac's mouth twisted, in a slightly bitter expression. "The GAC."

"Exactly."

"Great. Just what we need. Well, just as long as they stay *out* of out 
way."

"Amen to that," Victor said with feeling.

* * * * *

They did a quick check of the house and grounds, checking for any damage 
or signs of forced entry. Everything was in remarkably good shape after 
their absence, although the garden was looking a little out of control. 
They would take care of that over the next few days.

Dinner was from the freezer. Victor noted that their supply of pre-cooked 
meals was getting low. Luckily, the next day was market day, in town. 
They would do some shopping, and he would spend the next few days in the 
kitchen, preparing meals for freezing. It would be an easy way to slip 
back into being Richard Thornton.

And after that? Maybe a security job or two. Maybe even take on that 
heavily-guarded compound, like Mac wanted. The way he was feeling now, 
Victor felt he could take on the world. And win.

But that could wait until later.

They went to bed early, still a little jet-lagged. Victor was feeling very 
mellow and happy. When Mac started fondling him, he responded in a languid 
way. He rolled onto his back, and stretched out, open to whatever Mac 
wanted.

What Mac wanted was familiar and welcome. He gently stroked and coaxed 
Victor to full arousal, before taking him into his mouth. While his 
tongue traced complex patterns on Victor's cock, his fingers teased at 
the opening lower down. Victor groaned, and brought his knees up and 
apart, inviting Mac to take him. Mac refused the invitation, instead 
focusing on pulling Victor's orgasm from him.

At the last moment, he pulled away. A last few pumps of the hand, and 
Victor's seed was filling his hand. Boneless, Victor was unable to 
resist, or even assist, when Mac used his own semen to prepare him, 
before sinking to the hilt in one long push.

After four years, the rhythm was familiar and effortless. As he 
recovered, Victor flexed his internal muscles, milking the cock that 
thrust into him.

"God... Vic..." Mac groaned, the tempo of his thrusts starting to become 
uneven. It didn't take much more to tip him over the edge.

When Mac collapsed on top of him, panting, and already half-asleep, Vic 
captured his mouth for a long kiss. When they pulled apart, Mac was 
smiling.

"Welcome home, Moose."

"Don't call me Moose," Victor said with a smile

Home. What a wonderful word.

* * * * *

THE END of "Always a Thief"

