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though, and the plans might be out of date, but it was the best that the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"

Go to Revenge of the Bolsheviks Part One

Return to the Drowning Sorrows Page