Revenge of the Bolsheviks by Lianne Burwell Drowning Sorrows Book Three Phase I he man sitting in the swivel-chair turned to pin each person in the room with a hard look. The only sound was the slight squeak from the chair. "Is everyone clear on the plan?" Everyone in the room nodded. There was an atmosphere of muted anticipation. This was the moment that they'd been working towards for the last decade. "Good. Phase one has begun. You know what to do." The room cleared, except for the one who had spoken. He remained seated, going over the plan in his mind. He was satisfied. Every contingency had been taken into account. They would not—could not—fail. Let the world tremble. Mac Ramsey was bored. Bored, bored, boredboredbored. He looked longingly at the tray of champagne glasses that was being maneuvered through the room by one of the black-clad waiters, but didn't take one. Black was obviously the theme at this little soiree. All the men wore black suits—all the same style, for the most part—and black evening gown was the dress of preference among the women, with the occasional splash of scarlet or royal blue to provide color. Of course he wasn't really in a position to complain. He was dressed in the standard black tuxedo as well. His only departures from that standard were a green cummerbund—to remind himself of his lover's eyes—and a matching emerald ear-stud. For a moment he wondered what the reaction would have been if he had shown up in a powder-blue suit, or something equally tacky. No. He was on a job, so it wouldn't have gone over well. Never annoy the customers. Mac glanced over at Herr Bernhoff, scion of a noble line of Teutonic descent. Mac had already been treated to a lengthy lecture on his employer's lofty blood-line and the glories of its members. Luckily, the portly little man was too busy sucking up Princess Whatserface, 27th in line for the throne of a postage-stamp sized kingdom that Mac had never heard of, to continue the history lesson. Why the man insisted he needed a bodyguard, Mac wasn't sure, but he had and he was paying handsomely. Normally, Thornton & Blake would be providing the security for the event, not just one man. And it was a job for just one man, which was why Mac was on his own. He really wished that Victor was here. They could have traded barbs about the well-heeled—but vapid—crowd that filled the reception hall for the opening gala for the exhibit of Faberge eggs. But Vic had decided that since Herr Bernhoff insisted that he trusted no one but the Thornton & Blake Security Agency, Mac would go. After all, he said, Mac was much more familiar with these sorts of affairs than an ex-cop from Canada. And he looked better in a tux too—a statement that Mac had to agree with. But still, he wished that he had fought a little harder. Much longer here and he was going to die from boredom. A stir at the main doors caught his attention, along with everyone else's. When he finally saw what was causing the commotion, he had to resist the urge to whistle. This guy was definitely not your normal party-goer. At least not for these sorts of parties. The man was tall—taller than Mac, and he towered over a good percentage of the room. He was slim, but muscular, and carried himself with the grace of a dancer or martial artist. His features bordered on a delicate beauty, without ever becoming effete. His hair was a tumble of blond curls that brushed his shoulders, perfectly matched by bright blue eyes. He was beautiful, but undeniably masculine. And his clothes. He would stand out in a crowd anywhere, but among the formal black dress of this crowd, he stood out like a peacock among peahens. Instead of a black suit, he wore breaches of a deep sapphire blue. Above it, he wore a blouse of pure white. Combined with a midnight blue jacket and black, knee-high boots, he looked ready for the hunt. A heavy silver necklace around his throat completed the ensemble. From across the room, Mac's eyes met the other man's. For a brief moment, Mac was certain that he knew this man. But he was equally certain that he'd never met the man. Mac shook himself. Herr Bernhoff was his business, not blondie. He scanned the room again, evaluating any risks, and again found that there were none. Then he moved back to stand near the portly German. A few minutes later, there was a tap on his shoulder. Mac turned and found himself face to face—almost nose to nose—with blondie. The handsome man was smiling. "I don't believe we've met," he said with a British accent. "I'm sure I would remember seeing someone of your... caliber at these events." Mac snorted at the subtle comment on the fact that he was armed. "Matthew Blake, of Thornton & Blake Security. Just a bodyguard." Blondie's smile grew wider. "Somehow I doubt that you are 'just' anything," he said, taking Mac's hand in a strong grip, but just holding it instead of shaking it. For a moment Mac was certain that he was going to kiss it, as if Mac were a woman. "Dorian, Earl of Red Gloria," the man said, finally introducing himself. "An Earl?" Mac said, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "Should I bow?" Dorian's laughter chimed through the room. They had attracted an audience by this point. "Please don't," he said. "Mr. Blake, you are a breath of fresh air in here. I certainly hope to see you again later." "I'm sure you will," Mac said with a grin. Then the hostess was pulling the Earl away, no doubt horrified that he'd spent so much time with someone who was basically hired help. He certainly hoped that he'd meet up with the flirtatious nobleman again. It looked like his presence was the next-best thing to having Vic around to trade comments with. But he still had the weirdest feeling that he'd seen the man before. But where? "Really, Dorian. He's a pretty boy, but surely not of any real interest." Dorian smiled and let his hostess pull him away. "Certainly not as interesting as you, cherie," he assured her, even though nothing could be further from the truth. He recognized Mr. Blake as being one of the two men he'd seen breaking in—then out—of a London home with Klaus only six months ago. How fascinating to see him again, especially in this setting. And such a refreshing young man, too. He listened with half an ear as the young woman prattled on. Very little of what she had to say was worth listening to, but he pretended to find it fascinating. He responded politely as he was introduced to the same batch of pretentious, but rich, fools that always showed up at these affairs. Dorian pasted on his most ingratiating smile and pretended that he was happy to see them. They did the same, although he was sure that few of them were actually happy to see him. No, it wasn't the people or the admittedly excellent buffet that had drawn him to this event. It was the display that was being opened. Faberge eggs. Jeweled eggs created by Carl Faberge for royalty a hundred years ago. Each one an exquisitely detailed ornament of precious metals and gems, concealing a beautiful surprise inside. An older and much more elegant version of the Kinder Egg, he thought to himself with a smile. Not that he would ever make the comparison out loud. Each of them was worth a fortune, assuming you could sell something so distinctive, but there was one in particular that had caught Dorian's eye. The egg in question had only recently been re-discovered. There had been quite a bit of controversy before it had been authenticated as being by Faberge since it had not appeared on any of the lists of his creations. The egg was made of onyx and platinum, studded with brilliant-cut diamonds and sapphires. It split into two halves length-wise to reveal the beautiful figure of a cavalry officer, mounted on his steed. The figure was so finely detailed that you could almost identify the subject, if you had the pictures to compare it to. And it also happened to bear a striking resemblance to a certain former Major in NATO Intelligence, now an inspector in Interpol, Klaus von dem Eberbach. Dorian smiled as he thought of his beloved Major, as he still thought of the man. He had recognized his soul-mate on the day they met, but unfortunately, the Major was determined not to cooperate. Still, there'd been signs lately that his resistance was starting to show cracks. Sooner or later, his Major would give in to the inevitable, and he looked forward to that day. But until then, this would make a lovely addition to his collection. A momento to remind him of his beloved. A suitable challenge for the master thief, Eroica. When the reception finally wound down, late in the night—or early in the morning, depending on your point of view—Mac breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were burning, as were his lungs. Noblemen must smoke, it seemed, and they must smoke cigars. His tuxedo was going to need to be cleaned before it could be worn again. It stank of cigar smoke. Thinking longingly of his bed, Mac escorted Herr Bernhoff back to his hotel suite. At the suite's doors, Mac started to make his good-nights. His own rooms were down the hall, elegant, but not quite as luxurious. "Actually, Mr. Blake," the man said in a pompous tone before Mac could make his escape. "There is one other thing. If you wouldn't mind," he said, waving Mac into the suite. Mac sighed. He hoped that this wasn't going to be one of those jobs where he had to fight off lecherous advances. Unfortunately, his looks and Vic's made that a not-uncommon occurrence. On the other hand, Herr Bernhoff was a little too fond of his beer and did not look capable of forcing his attentions. The worst that could happen was that he would abruptly cancel the contract and refuse to pay. Then Mac would get to go home, at least. Inside the overly-plush suite, Mac turned to face his employer. As he did, he heard a puff. It was followed a sting. Looking down, Mac saw the fletching of a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his thigh. The pompous fool had disappeared, replaced by a hard man with the same face and figure. Mac's vision started to go black and his legs suddenly couldn't support his weight. As he crumpled to the floor, he had only one thought. Shit. The door to the bedroom opened, and two men stepped out. They lifted the young man up and carried him into the other room. Herr Bernhoff walked over to the phone and dialed a memorized number. "We have him." It was hours after the end of the reception. Dawn was just around the corner. Dressed completely in black, including a cap to disguise his bright hair, Dorian Red Gloria, also known as the thief Eroica, made his way through the museum. He had carefully observed the locations of the security sensors during the reception. He had acquired blueprints of the museum, so he knew the way to the reception hall as well as at least five escape routes if a security guard should arrive at the wrong moment. The detritus of the reception still littered the hall. The janitorial staff would be in soon to clean up the mess, which meant that he didn't have much time. Dorian grinned. He worked well under pressure. He ignored the majority of the cases. All he wanted was the one egg. It wasn't as though he was trying to steal the collection to sell, since there wasn't much of a market for stolen Faberge eggs. The lock on the display case was hopelessly archaic—so easy that it was almost an insult to his skills. It took him less than a minute to pick it. The electronic sensor inside was equally simple to deal with. He popped open the case with a sigh. Somehow, he thought that if the delightful Mr. Blake had been in charge of security it would have been a great deal more challenging to complete his little task. Dorian smiled at the memory of the young man. It was such a pity that he hadn't had the chance to talk to him again before the end of the evening. While he wouldn't have inspired Dorian to abandon his Major, he might have been a fun diversion. With a satisfied smile, Dorian stood up with the egg carefully cradled in his hands. He turned around and found that he was no longer alone in the room. There were three figures, all swathed in black. He couldn't even tell whether they were male or female. One of them raised a gun and pulled the trigger. Dorian looked down to see a tranquilizer dart embedded in his thigh. He could already feel the dizziness as the drug took effect. Very carefully, he turned back to the case and placed the egg back in its place. It would be a pity if it were damaged when he collapsed. As he crumpled to the floor, he had only one thought. Oh dear. When the blond thief was completely unconscious, two of the figures stepped forward. They grasped the limp man's arms and dragged him towards the exit. The third man holstered his tranquilizer gun and pulled out what looked like a cell-phone. He punched a button, then raised it to his ear. "Phase one is complete." Bait "Phase one is complete. It's time to move on to Phase two." There was a feeling of satisfaction in the room. Nothing could stop them now. Nothing, except... "But will they cooperate?" The leader frowned at the lone questioner. "Not yet. That is why Phase two is so important." He was pleased to see the man cringe at his tone of voice. "Have they been sent?" "Yes, sir." "Well, then. Now we wait." The conspirators filed out of the room, in ones and twos and threes. The leader watched the one who had spoken up, though. He would have to be disposed of. There was no room in their plans for any doubt or doubters. Klaus von dem Eberbach sat at his desk, reviewing his case files. It was only ten in the morning, and he wanted a cigarette badly. Unfortunately, Interpol's new buildings were all smoke-free zones. To have a cigarette, he would have to go outside, which he didn't have time for. Not to mention that the late-winter weather was damp and unpleasant. Sometimes, he thought that he should have stayed with NATO Intelligence. They didn't try to impose this ridiculous "smoking is evil" attitude on its employees. Klaus read through the standard surveillance reports, signing off on them. A couple, he made notes on to send the agents back to school, since they had managed to loose their subjects. That was usually either due to sloppy work or insufficient training, and he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. He snorted to himself. He was going soft in his old age. Then he reached for the mail in his in-box. Most of it was garbage. There were the usual invitations to conferences that he never went to, offers of courses that were supposed to make his life better. There were the memos sent through the inter-office mail by the fools who were his superiors. Why were his superiors always fools? And a plain envelope with no return address. His name and the office address were printed in block letters, impossible to match handwritings. Klaus frowned. Normally he would suspect a bomb, but it was obvious that the envelope only contained a single piece of paper. Poisoned, perhaps? He considered calling the forensics department and handing the envelope over to them, but his curiosity was peaked now. Deciding to play it safe, he put on his leather gloves and a dust mask that he kept in his desk drawer for times like this. Checking the envelope for fingerprints would be useless, since it had gone through too many people to leave the original prints intact. Klaus made a mental note to talk to the mailroom staff. Something so obvious should have been stopped and examined immediately. Klaus picked up his letter-opener and carefully slit the envelope open. There were no suspicious smells or stains. He slip the piece of paper out and unfolded it. //We have Eroica. His fate depends on you.// Klaus promptly wadded up the paper and tossed it in the garbage in disgust. The gloves went back in his coat pocket and the mask went in the desk. He didn't have time for this sort of nonsense. Besides, it was probably just a ploy. But was it? His attention kept turning back to the letter. While Eroica had tried just about everything to get—and keep—his attention, this was definitely... below him. Klaus dismissed it again. Even if he was in trouble, he was a big boy and could get himself out of it on his own. He went back to his work, and tried to concentrate on the quarterly budget report. He never should have let them promote him to a management level. Around here, that meant he was off the streets. He was going soft. He was going soft in the head. Every time he turned around, he saw a flash of golden curls, heard a husky chuckle. He thought of calling James, the Earl's accountant, and asking... That was ridiculous. It would just encourage the man. If he was in trouble, he got there on his own and didn't need help getting out. Except... How many times had he saved Klaus's life? Probably as many times as he put it in danger, he reminded himself. Still, he'd always been there... Where he wasn't wanted or needed. But... Klaus snarled at himself. He was definitely going soft. But still... he got up and retrieved the paper from the wastebasket, along with the envelope. Then he picked up the phone and called the department secretary. "Mathilde? Eberbach here. I'm taking a few days off. Yes, you heard me right. A... friend needs some help. Right, I'll let you know when I have a better idea of how long I'll be away. Send everything to Christophers. He'll be filling in for me." He hung up, still hearing the shock in her voice. Klaus von dem Eberbach taking time off? Going to help a friend? He even had one? He could almost hear the gossip mill grinding away at that piece of information. He turned the envelope over in his hand, looking for something, anything, to start him on his way. The postmark. It was from a small Polish village, near the border with the old Soviet Union. That was where he would start. Victor Mansfield was not a happy camper. Mac hadn't called him the day before, and he was supposed to. Sure, he was probably tired from the gala, but still... And there'd been no word that morning before Victor had left to go to town to do the shopping, and he was starting to get upset. Victor had gone to the market to buy the week's groceries, with a stop in at the post office to pick up the mail. Along the way, he greeted some of the people that had been his neighbors for the last three years. They still thought of Victor and Mac as those new kids in the area, but that was all right. Around here, anything more recent than about a hundred years was new. But a hundred kilometers, that was a long way away. It was an attitude that took some getting used to. Back at the cottage, Vic wheeled the push cart into the kitchen, dropped the mail and headed for the answering machine. Nothing. This was getting worrisome. Victor put away the groceries, mentally planning several meals that he was going to prepare and freeze for the times when they didn't have the time to spare to cook a meal. Then he picked up the mail and started sorting. He paused when he came to one of the envelopes addressed to him. More specifically, to Victor Mansfield, not Richard Thornton. It was plain white, and the name and address was printed in block letters. Victor felt his stomach clench up. He opened the envelope and pulled out the page inside. //'We have Mac Ramsey. His fate depends on you.// Victor grabbed the envelope. It was postmarked in Poland, someplace. No matter. He'd find it. He grabbed his emergency travel bag and headed for the door. Mac better be in one piece or there would be Hell to pay. Klaus stepped off the train onto the tiny platform that passed for a station in the village. It was surprising that the village even rated that. There was only one real street, with lanes leading away, no doubt to the local farms. There were few buildings and fewer shops. He picked up his duffel and went looking for someone who could direct him to lodgings. He found someone who spoke German, and found that there were no hotels in the area. However, one of the residents rented out rooms, and had a couple free. The building was dilapidated and the room cold and dank, but it was better than nothing. He paid the hag for two nights, and slid his duffel under the bed. He wasn't fool enough to leave anything valuable in it, though. Now that he knew where he was sleeping, it was time to find out what had happened to Eroica. As he headed back out to the so-called 'Main Street', he saw a rickety old bus pull to a stop. Only one person got off, and Klaus wondered what could possible bring someone here. Then he recognized the man. Someone he hadn't seen since last summer. Victor Mansfield. This was getting... interesting. Victor got off the bus and breathed a sigh of relief. The ancient monstrosity didn't seem to have a single shock-absorber left, and he felt like half his fillings had shaken free. Still, it had gotten him here, combined with a plane trip and a train ride. He would have preferred to take the train all the way, but he'd been too late to make the connection and had decided to take the bus instead of waiting for the next day's train. Mac was depending on him. So here he was. Now what? First thing was to find someplace to stay that night. Second was to check the post office. See if he could find out who had mailed the letter. Victor turned, hefting his bag, and looked for someone who might understand French or English. Despite three years in Europe, he wasn't fluent in many languages. "What are you doing here?" a voice said in English behind him. Victor jumped at the unexpected question. Spinning and landing in a defensive posture, he found himself looking at... "Eberbach? What the hell?" "I asked first, Mansfield." Victor straightened up. "Mac disappeared while on a bodyguard job. I got a letter postmarked from here." Klaus frowned (not that he ever seemed to have a different expression, Victor thought to himself). "Do you have the letter?" Curious to see why the man was interested, Victor pulled out the paper and handed it over. Klaus examined it in minute detail, then pulled out a similar paper to compare it to. Victor snatched the page from the man's hand. "We have Eroica. His fate depends on you," he read aloud. "Who is Eroica?" He watched in amazement as the other man flushed a dusky rose. "He's a thief. I... worked with him, while I was in NATO Intelligence." "An operative? Or maybe... more?" Victor asked with a grin. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't help needling the grim German. "He was a nuisance! I moved to Interpol to rid myself of his nonsense," the man said in a defensive tone. "Riiight. That's why you drop everything to come to his rescue." Victor snickered as the other man got more and more irate. Reading between the lines was very amusing. Then something occurred to him. "This Eroica. Would he be the one who drew the guards away in London?" "Yes." Klaus didn't look happy about that, but Victor didn't care. "Then I owe him one. Well, now. It looks like we're here for the same reason. Someone has taken our... partners," he watched in amusement as the other man choked at the way he said the word, "and has lured us here. I'd say that it's in our best interests to work on this together." "Agreed," Klaus said, with obvious reluctance. "Good. Now, the post office is the obvious place to start. But first, I don't suppose that this place has hotel, by any chance?" A phone rang and was answered. "They've arrived." "Good. Commence Phase two." Phase II Mac woke up gradually, in stages, his head feeling like it had been stuffed full of cotton. He didn't feel hung-over, but his memories of the night before were strangely hazy. Vic... No, Vic hadn't been there. Right, the job. Herr Bernhoff. The reception, and then... Shit! Mac sat up, and immediately regretted it, as the sudden movement made his stomach roil. "Ah, so you're awake. I was beginning to worry. Good morning. Or maybe that should be 'Good Evening'. It's difficult to tell." Mac turned, wincing at the glaring light from the bare lightbulb. The room was definitely not on his list of ideal travel destinations. In fact, it looked like a dungeon. Bare stone walls, dripping with condensation, a couple of bare cots, mildewed blankets... And blondie. Mac raised a hand to his forehead, trying to come up with a coherent thought. Whatever they'd drugged him with, it was pretty damned effective. "Umm..." he said, then stopped. How did you address an Earl? The blond smiled, obviously having a good idea of his problem. "Considering the circumstance, I think just Dorian will do nicely," he said with a gracious wave of his hand. In his drug-befuddled state, Mac found himself admiring the gesture. How was it that the man could look so fresh and relaxed in this setting? Unless, of course, he was here willingly, Mac thought to himself, dragging his attention back to more important matters. "Dorian. Why the hell am I here?" Mac winced a little at his tone. "Good question," the other man said with a beautiful pout. "I was rather hoping that you could tell me. I have no idea why either of us is here." "Okay, then. How did we get here?" "Well, you were here when I woke up. I was... taking another look at the collection," he glanced at Mac, a small smile on his lips. "After the museum closed, I have to say. Anyway, I was surprised by a group of men in black who shot me with a tranquilizer dart, then I woke up here. You?" Mac shook his head. "Same sort of thing. Except it was my employer, Herr Bernhoff, who shot me. Damn, I knew there was something fishy when he insisted that it had to be us that he hired. We don't do bodyguard work anymore." "But he offered enough money to make it worth your while, but not enough to be too suspicious?" Mac nodded, still disgusted with himself. "And I must wonder about the authenticity of that Faberge egg. It seems a little too convenient that it would be just right to catch my attention. No, someone has been very clever about capturing us. The question is why." Mac frowned, as he watched the handsome man musing over possible reasons. "Just what is it you do?" he finally asked. Dorian had said that he was in the museum after it closed, after all. Dorian smiled brightly. "I'm a thief, of course," he said. "Although I've been known to do a favor or two for the authorities when a certain handsome Major is involved." Mac blinked in confusion. "Klaus, darling. He helped you break into a London townhouse last fall." Mac blinked. "How did you know about that? He didn't seem like he would willingly tell anyone about it." "Who do you think led those guards away so that you could escape?" Mac's eyes went wide at that. He remembered the guards being distracted, just when he'd thought that they were as good as dead. But why would blondie want to help Eberbach? Then he considered the German, and the obvious flamboyance of the man co-habiting the cell with him. "He seems like a tough nut to crack, so to speak," he said with a sly grin. He was rewarded with another blinding smile. "I'm a patient man. He can't resist forever." Mac wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't say anything. The important question was why they were there. One thought was the Tangs, which had rebuilt as a crime family in the years since both the Old Man and his son, Michael, had died. He was disappointed that they hadn't gone through with Father's plans to move to legitimate enterprises only, but he didn't exactly have a say in it. But if it were the Tangs behind this, they wouldn't bother with Dorian. However, since they'd both been at the London townhouse when an Agency Director had died, it might be related to Agency business. He didn't think that the Director—now the Head—would do this, but there were too many people within the Agency for her to control them all. That was a definite possibility. Of course, it could be some other player entirely. But why the two of them? After all, the only other thing they had in common was the fact that they were both... thieves? Before he could follow that line of thought, there was the sound of metal scraping against metal. Both Mac and Dorian looked to the door, where a slot at the bottom had opened. A tray was being pushed through. "Hey!" Mac called out, pounding on the door with a fist. "What's going on? What do you want?" The only answer was fading footsteps. Mac turned to Dorian, who was poking at the dishes on the tray with a disgusted look on his face. "It's edible," the man said. "But just barely." He patted the stone floor next to him. "Come now, Mac. We need to keep our strength up. It may not be good, but it is fuel." Mac sat in the indicated spot and took a look at what had been supplied. Oatmeal, gone cold, and stale bread. He gagged slightly at the thought, but dug in. No spoon, though. Did they think that he and Dorian would be able to dig their way out? Use it as a weapon? Actually, Mac thought, he could have. Pity. Klaus tossed and turned, trying to escape the familiar dream. Blue eyes gleamed and a mouth curved into a knowing smile. He snarled and moved away, but hands followed, refusing to let him escape. A warm voice spoke words that he didn't want to hear. Then he was awake. There was a brief moment where he was just relieved to be out of the dream, but it disappeared quickly. Something had woken him. There was a creak of the ancient floorboards outside his door. Klaus reached under his pillow for his gun, pulling it out slowly, not making a noise, and pointed it towards the door that was starting to creak open. But before he could react, there was a 'phhht', and he felt a sting. Looking down he saw was a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his arm. As the world went dark, he grimaced in disgust at how easily he'd been taken. Hopefully Mansfield wouldn't be as easy to capture. Victor groaned, trying to shake off the effects of the drug. He and Klaus had spent the day questioning the locals, trying to figure out who had sent them the letters without getting anywhere. They'd finally gone back to the boarding house and their separate rooms, but Victor had found sleep elusive. He'd tossed and turned, then had finally gotten up and dressed, planning to go for a walk to get some fresh air. Just as he'd reached the door, he'd heard another door open and the sound of a silenced gun. Freezing, he'd listened to the sounds of a body being dragged away. Then the footsteps had moved towards his own door. Victor had flattened himself to the wall, a hand going to his gun. The door had opened and gun had poked through the narrow gap. He'd promptly kicked it from its owner's grasp. Unfortunately, the man hadn't been alone, and the fight was on. Victor was an excellent martial artist, but the hallway was narrow and there had been no way for him to safely use his gun. Still, one man had gone down with a dislocated shoulder and another with a damaged kneecap before the original attacker managed to recover his gun and shoot Victor. Within seconds, Victor had been reeling from the drug. It had been a tranquilizer gun. A blow from one of the other men had knocked him off his feet. As a boot descended, he had cursed himself for walking into such an obvious trap. But now he was awake again and raging. He shifted his weight, only to be drawn up short by the sound of metal against metal. Shaking his head to clear it, he realized that he was chained up. In fact, he was chained to the wall in what looked like one of those bad rip-offs of a medieval dungeon—the type that Hollywood used for movies. Whips on the walls, an Iron Maiden in the corner, a fire with several pokers sticking out of the coals glowing a cheery red... And the ultimate of cliches, a rack, stood in the center of the room, with Klaus stretched out on it. Victor cleared his throat and saw Klaus turn his head towards him, as best he could. "So, any idea where we are?" "No," was the blunt, almost snarled, reply. "And I doubt we'll find out until our captors are ready to tell us why we are here." Victor sighed. Obviously the German was not in the mood for conversation. Victor shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position and settled himself to wait as patiently as possible, but his face throbbed, his head ached and he was still worried about Mac. Dorian woke, slightly disoriented. There was no way to tell what time it was, or how long they'd been locked in the tiny room. They'd been fed four times, but that didn't give a very good estimate of time. He shifted slightly and Mac murmured a sleepy protest from his position, curled up against Dorian's side. Unsurprising, considering the time of year, the room wasn't just damp, it was bitterly cold, and the ancient blankets that they'd been supplied with were worse than useless for keeping them warm. Instead, they'd huddled together, trying to share their meager body warmth. Dorian smiled down at the young man. They'd talked for hours, just to pass the time. The boy had certainly led an interesting, if not always pleasant, life. In some ways, Dorian found himself jealous. Mac had found his true love and hadn't been soundly rejected. Instead, he and Victor seemed to have built a life together that was almost idyllic. Dorian sometimes wondered if he would ever have that with Klaus. Voices in the distance brought him abruptly out of his musings. That must have been what woke him up. Dorian listened carefully. There were several voices, although he couldn't tell what they were saying, and they were getting closer. Dorian gave Mac a small shake. "Nnn.. Five more minutes, Vic..." was the sleepy reply. "Darling, I think we're about to get those answers we've been waiting for," Dorian said with a fond smile. The boy really was adorable. "Wha?" Mac was wide awake almost immediately. Dorian stood, and easily pulled his cellmate to his feet. They both straightened their clothes, almost instinctively making sure that they looked their best. They both stopped at the same moment and looked at each other before snickering at how ridiculous they must look. Then they moved into position next to the door, waiting for it to open. Dorian resisted the urge to hold his breath, forcing himself instead to take deep, even breaths. There was a scraping noise as a key was inserted in the door lock and turned. Mac settled into a ready pose that demonstrated his martial arts knowledge as the door opened. He didn't have a chance. The first man through the door was shaped like a gorilla, six and a half feet tall, and massively built. Mac just bounced off of him and was tossed against the wall. The man behind the gorilla stepped into the cell, holding a very efficient looking gun. "Don't," was all he said. He waved them towards the door. Dorian pulled Mac to his feet, the young man still looking dazed from his impact. "I suggest we go along with them," he whispered to Mac. "Yeah," Mac gasped. "I can do that." They followed the gorilla down the hallway, the gunman walking behind them, no doubt ready to shoot at the slightest sign of resistance. There were no signs of life from any of the cells that they passed. Around the corner, a doorway spilled light though. They were encouraged towards it. Dorian tensed, as he realized that this was obviously the torture chamber for the dungeons. He resisted the urge to groan when he saw Klaus strapped to the rack in the center of the room. "Vic!" Dorian just barely managed to stop the young man from doing something foolish. At the far side of the room, Victor Mansfield was chained against the wall. A large purple bruise spread across one side of his face and the slightly glazed look in his eyes did not bode well. The man Mac called Herr Bernhoff was at his side, a gun pointed at Victor's head. "Very wise, Herr Eroica," the man said. "Do restrain your young friend or things could get... messy." "Who are you?" Dorian asked, his eyes drawn back to Klaus's impassive face. "What do you want?" "Who I am is unimportant. But what I want... well, unless you want these two men to learn first-hand how all this equipment works, what I want is very important. It is also quite simple. I want the two of you to steal something for me. Do as I tell you and the four of you will live. Refuse... I'm sure that two intelligent men like yourselves can figure that out on your own." Dorian looked into Mac's anguished face and shrugged. They didn't exactly have much of choice. "What is it you want stolen?" Caper "They've arrived in Moscow." "Good." The leader looked around the room, full of satisfaction. Everything was proceeding exactly as had been planned. They had considered every contingency. Years of planning were finally coming to fruition. "Are we ready to eliminate them as soon as they succeed?" "Yes sir. As soon as they bring it to us, they will be disposed of. What of the other two? Should we deal with them now?" "No. We may need them if their friends are obstinate. As soon as the task is completed, they will all be eliminated. Go get ready." One by one, the others left the room, each bowing respectfully as they passed. Men and women, each chosen for their skills and their loyalty to the cause. Bu there was only one missing. The one who had expressed doubts in a previous meeting. He had been dealt with. There was no room in the plan for doubters. Mac held his breath as he disabled the last of the security sensors. A tweak here, an adjustment there, and... Voila! Mac sat back, smiling in satisfaction at a job well done. Then he looked over at his partner and the feeling disappeared, like a soap bubble going >pop<. "Very nice, darling," Dorian said, lightly clapping his hands. Mac nodded, and waved for the blond man to lead the way into the room. He wanted Vic, now more than ever. If Vic had been there he would have rewarded Mac with a long kiss (with lots of tongue), and the promise of more later. While Dorian might be willing to do the same, he wasn't the one Mac wanted. But Vic wasn't there. Vic was chained to the wall of a medieval dungeon just inside the Russian border. He and Klaus, the stiff German that Dorian was so hung up on, had been lured into a trap by the jerks who had grabbed him and Dorian. Once inside the trap, they became the threat that had brought the two thieves to Moscow. Either they stole what their blackmailers wanted or Vic and Klaus would be killed, slowly and painfully. Needless to say, they didn't have much choice. So here they were, breaking into a heavily protected building to steal... This was ridiculous. And how the hell were they supposed to get it out? Mac shook his head. It still didn't make any sense. Why the hell would anyone want Lenin's body anyway? The leader watched the phone, willing it to ring. Their team had watched the two thieves break into Lenin's tomb, but they hadn't been seen leaving. While the press had been told nothing, his people had confirmed that the police were hunting for the body and that a replica had been placed on display. So where were Mac Ramsey and Eroica? The phone rang. Snatching it up, he barked "Have you found them?" "Found who?" The leader resisted the urge to snarl, recognizing the insolent voice of Ramsey. "Where are you? You did not do what you were ordered." "There was a change of plans." He could almost see the smirk on the man's face. "We found another way out. We have what you wanted. Time for you to come through on your end of the bargain." "Meaning?" "We have stinky, here. You have Vic and Klaus. We're in a farmhouse, just outside of Minsk. I'll give you more detailed directions in a moment. You bring our partners and we'll do a trade. Then, when we all have what we want, we'll go our separate ways, never to meet again. Agreed?" "Agreed," the leader said, reaching for a pen. He wrote down the directions, then hung up the phone, a cold smile curling his lips. They were fools. There would be no exchange. His people would kill the two thieves and take the body. Once it was in their possession there would be no reason to keep the other two alive. He would enjoy killing them personally. It would make up for the aggravation that their partners had caused. The men surrounded the farmhouse, their orders clear: Take the body and leave two in its place. The farmhouse sparkled before them in the light of the nearly full moon above. It might have been a problem if the farmhouse lights weren't all on, but the yellow glow streaming through the windows would make it difficult for anyone inside to see out. The two men inside would be no threat. Even if they had taken advantage of their time out of the surveillance to obtain weapons they were still only two men against a squad of highly trained warriors. The signal was given, and the men went in, coming through every entrance. Guns were ready. The only problem was... No one was there. The building was searched, from top to bottom. They found Lenin's body tucked upright inside a broom closet. Of the two thieves, there was no sign. The squad leader snarled his frustration. He pulled out the cell phone to call his boss to report, but before he could, floodlights lit the outside of the building. "Come out with your hands up!" called a voice in Russian. A glance out the window showed dozens of armed men, all in uniform. The squad leader turned to his men. "The mission must succeed." His men all nodded. They knew what to do. Gunfire filled the night. Outside the castle, Mac and Dorian had found a back entrance with only one guard and no electronic surveillance. One guard would not be much trouble. Mac came up along the side of the building and struck a blow to the back of the man's head with the side of his hand which left the guard unconscious, oblivious to the two figures in black who slipped past him into the ancient building. Locating the castle hadn't been easy, taking several days. Once they'd reached the stone heap, they'd called the number that Bernhoff had given them to tell them where he could find Lenin's body. They knew that he had no intention of letting them or their partners go, so they planned to be in and out before he found out that they weren't with the body. Mac was a little surprised, though. The voice on the other end hadn't been Bernhoff. If he wasn't in charge, then who was? And just what was this group up to? An anonymous tip to the appropriate authorities, telling them where they could find the stolen body and the gang of thieves, would hopefully provide enough of a delay so that they could get away. Once inside, common sense drew them down to the lowest levels of the building; where else would the dungeons be? Once there, memory led to the torture chamber. It was empty. Mac cursed under her breath. They started down the rows of cells until they found one that was occupied. Mac had the ancient lock open in seconds. "Vic!" he hissed quietly. One of the sleeping figures sat up, wide eyed. In a moment, the man was on his feet, across the room and holding Mac. Mac laughed, and rained small kisses all over the older man's face, momentarily forgetting where they were. "If you two can drag yourselves apart, I suggest you save it until we actually get out of here," came the sarcastic comment from behind them. "Hush, Major. I think they're sweet. Unfortunately, children, he's right. We'd better be going." Reluctantly, Mac pulled away. "Later," he promised, brushing the back of his hand against Vic's cheek, feeling the several day's worth of beard growth there. When they were out of here, he was going to pamper his lover shamelessly. Vic gave him a small smile, and accepted the gun held out to him. Klaus was already armed. Then they headed for the stairs, wondering how long until their luck would run out. The leader hung up the phone very, very carefully. Then he ripped the cord from the wall and threw the phone across the room, shouting with rage. How could things have been so badly botched? Only three of the men sent to the farmhouse had survived, escaping with the body while their compatriots held off the Russian soldiers. The body was on its way to the center, but the price had been high. Every loyal member would be needed when the time came, and the loss infuriated him. But they had the body. Eberbach and Mansfield were no longer necessary. The leader pulled a pistol from his desk drawer, then headed for the stairs. He was going to take great pleasure in killing them. Klaus took the rear as Dorian led the way back to whatever exit that he and Ramsey had used to get into the castle. His eyes constantly scanned the hallway, looking for someone—anyone—to hurt. Klaus really wanted to hurt someone. He'd been made a fool of, and there was nothing he liked less than looking the fool. He was going to find out who was behind this whole business, and he was going to make them pay. They were almost to the exit, came the whispered report from Dorian. A little further and they would be out and on their way to a hidden vehicle. He would be on his way back to Berlin and his office. Mansfield and Ramsey would go back to France, and hopefully Dorian would go back to wherever he was making home at the moment. London, probably. But before they could reach the exit, the alarms started to blare. What the hell was this old heap doing with that sort of alarm system, Klaus wondered to himself. Then he shut off that line of thought, and checked his gun again to make sure that it was ready and in working order. Amazing how Dorian had managed to find his preferred type of firearm. But that was the way that the blond thief worked. They were at the door, and already Klaus could hear the sounds of boots coming down the hallway behind them. He watched their rear, while Ramsey and Mansfield took the lead. Klaus and Dorian followed them out. They had almost reached the small car when gunshots rang out. Klaus returned fire, welcoming the chance to take a little revenge. In his mind, the first man he hit was Bernhoff, the pompous little asshole. The next was the guard who had kicked him in the ribs when he and Mansfield had tried to escape, three days earlier. The next was whoever cooked the wretched gruel that had been their only food during their stay. "Klaus! It's time to go!" Klaus blinked, suddenly realizing that no one was shooting at them anymore. He pulled his trigger one last time, and was answered with the click of an empty clip. Klaus tucked the gun into the back of his pants, hissing a little as the heated metal pressed against him, even with the fabric of his shirt as a buffer. He spared one last look at the building that had held him for nearly a week. Then he turned and followed the others to the waiting vehicle "I want them dead!" The leader was beyond angry, beyond enraged. The four men had escaped and he wanted revenge. He picked up the phone and started giving orders to hunt down and destroy the escapees. His chief aide waved at him, trying to get his attention. "What?!" "Sir, there is no room in the plan for these actions. Not yet. We have the body, and should proceed according to the schedule. There will be time to deal with them later, if they interfere." Grudgingly, he lowered the phone. The young man was right, and that galled him. This was not the time to allow themselves to be distracted. Once there was no chance of the plan being disrupted, though... "This isn't over," he muttered to himself. "Not over at all." A new world order was coming, and there would be a price to pay in it for the four men who'd defied him. Comfort and Confusion Klaus sighed, looking around the private train carriage. Trust Dorian to do an escape in style. He'd expected a cold, wet chase across the country- side, only to be led straight to the train tracks. There, a private car hooked up to a mini-engine waited. Once they reached a larger town Dorian had dropped off Ramsey and Mansfield, then hooked up the car to one of the regular trains headed for Germany—something that wasn't cheap. Klaus had protested that it would be too easy to track them, but Dorian had countered that it was too public to attack them. Besides, he'd had the car stocked with well-hidden weapons before it was delivered by Bonham. He could have left with the other two and made his own way back to Germany, but since Dorian's passenger car was headed that way, he might as well take advantage of it. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Now, finally clean, dry and warm, tucked into a bed, he couldn't hide the truth. He didn't want to be alone. After nearly a week of being locked in a cell, beaten up and threatened with all sort of horrific tortures, knowing that he was dead as soon as Dorian and Ramsey came through on what they'd been sent to do, he didn't want to be alone. Not that he was ever going to admit that to Dorian. Dorian put down the hairdryer, sighing in pleasure at finally having clean hair again. One of the benefits of a private train carriage was that it had a fully equipped bathroom, complete with a tub large enough for him to properly stretch out it. Considering his height, it was to be a custom job, like the car. A filling dinner, a hot bath, clean clothes. Who could want more? Well, he did want more, but despite his confident words to Mac, he wasn't so sure that he was ever likely to get what he really wanted. He gave his reflection a wry grin. Why did he have to go and fall head over heels in love—not to mention lust—with an uptight German full of Catholic guilt? Dorian shook his head. What made it worse was the fact that Klaus was so obviously gay. He was repressed to the point of blindness, but anyone with a brain could see it. He almost never showed interest in a woman, he surrounded himself exclusively with male operatives. And despite his refusal to admit it, Dorian saw the appreciation in the man's eyes when they turned his way. Dorian pulled his sapphire-blue silk robe on, belting it loosely around his waist. A good night's sleep, and when they woke they would be in Berlin. Then he and Klaus would go their separate ways yet again. Dorian headed down the hallway to his bedroom, but paused outside of Klaus's door. It was probably not a good idea, but he couldn't resist sliding the door open, just enough to look at the man. Klaus was lying flat on his back, arms straight at his sides on top of the covers, looking for all the world like a marble effigy on top of a medieval tomb. Even in his sleep, he was completely expressionless. Dorian sometimes wondered about Klaus's past. It was his experience that this much repression of emotions comes from trauma in a person's past, usually in childhood. If he were to guess, he'd say that Klaus's parents were cold and demanding, never praising their son. Klaus would be spending his life trying to live up to standards forever out of his reach. Dorian sniffed a little, imagining Klaus as a child. He would have been so adorable, only needing a little love and affection. Dorian wished that he could have been there to provide it for him. Dorian was so caught up in his musings that he almost missed the start of the nightmare. Even then, Klaus didn't make a sound. The only signs that showed were the deepening line on his brow and the hands tightening into fists. Other than that, he didn't move, didn't make a sound. Concerned, Dorian stepped into the room, swaying with the motion of the train. Hesitant, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to Klaus. "Major?" he said softly, laying a gentle hand on the other man's arm. That was a mistake. In a burst of motion, Klaus erupted from the bed, fists flying. He was making guttural noises, more like an animal than a human. Caught off-guard, Dorian's head swum as several blows hit him solidly, one to the jaw and several to his torso. With a cry, he fell backwards onto the floor, Klaus landing on top of him, hands around his throat. His eyes were blank, still caught in whatever nightmare he'd been having. "Major!" Dorian's cry was blocked by hands tightening around his neck. He was going to need a scarf tomorrow to cover the bruises. Assuming, of course, that he survived the next few minutes. But the one word was enough. He could see awareness returning to the other man's eyes. The hands loosened, then dropped away. Klaus sat back on his heels, still straddling Dorian's body, and Dorian pushed himself up following him. Klaus refused to meet his eyes. "Are you all right, Klaus?" Dorian frowned in worry. The comment brought Klaus around to face him. He raised a hand to touch the side of Dorian's face. Dorian could already feel the bruise there as well. A scarf and makeup. "I'm the one who should be saying that," was the quiet reply. Dorian's jaw almost hit his chest. Klaus had not been afraid to hit him over the years—although that impulse had gradually disappeared—but he had trouble remembering the last time that the man had apologized for it, let alone sounded so contrite. Klaus stood up and actually reached a hand to help Dorian to his feet. "It's all right," Dorian said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You should go back to bed." Strangely docile now, Klaus moved back to the bed and climbed under the covers. A little more cautious than before, Dorian sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Better?" he asked, and was answered with a small nod. Klaus went still and closed his eyes, obviously wanting to give the impression of being asleep again. Dorian waited a moment, but there was no further movement or sound from Klaus. After a few minutes, the man's breathing had evened out until Dorian knew he was asleep for real. Dorian knew he should leave for his own bed, but he smiled. It was a foolish thing to do, but he couldn't resist. He bent his head and kissed Klaus. The mouth under his was soft with sleep and opened up to the probe of tongue. Dorian deepened the kiss a little more, then pulled back regretfully. Klaus's eyes were open and glittering in the dim light from the doorway. Dorian froze, wondering if he was about to acquire a few more bruises that night. Klaus didn't move. Dorian bit his lip, then decided that he might as well go for it all while Klaus was in such an unusually passive mood. He brushed a hand through the straight, dark hair, then bent his head again. There was no resistance to the kiss, but no participation either. Dorian ran his tongue over Klaus's lips, but this time they remained shut. They tasted of beer. He'd made sure that he had a supply of Klaus's favorite on board, and the man had obviously taken advantage of it. There was a sound that he couldn't identify. It was part whimper, part groan and part something he couldn't put a name to. And suddenly, without warning, the lips parted. Moaning deep in his throat, Dorian plunged in, memorizing every taste, every texture. If he never had the chance to repeat this, he wanted to remember every detail. Dorian slid down to lie stretched out next to Klaus on the bed. He continued the kiss, begrudging those moments when he had to pull away to allow them bother to breathe before sealing their lips together again. Meanwhile, his hands kept moving. First they ran through the thick hair, moving occasionally to caress the sides of the strong jaw. Then, when no move was made to stop him, he moved his hands further down. He used light touches, trying not to spook Klaus. Button by button, he undid the buttons of the silk pajama top, then pulled it open to reveal the skin beneath. Finally breaking the kiss, Dorian gently pressed his lips to the base of Klaus's neck, then to the midpoint between dark nipples. Inch by inch, he worked his way down until his lips hovered at the drawstring of the pajama bottoms. Dorian risked a glance up. Klaus was staring at the ceiling, his lips swollen and reddened. Dorian considered stopping, but Klaus finally looked at him and the expression on his face nearly broke Dorian's heart. With fumbling fingers, he undid the drawstring and pulled the bottoms down, aided by a slight lift of the hips, the first sign of cooperation that Klaus had made. Klaus was half-hard, just enough to lift his cock up from his belly. Dorian sighed at the sight, then gently kissed the underside. The erection twitched, and grew a little more. Dorian bent his head and did what he'd wanted to do for so long. Every trick from a lifetime of practice was put into use. Dorian had known what he was at an early age, and hadn't been afraid to indulge his curiosity in all things to do with sex. Some experiences had been less pleasant than others, but that was part of life. He was glad for the experiences, since they allowed him to make this as good as possible for Klaus. Kisses, licks and touches coaxed the other man to full erection. He was making sounds now, moans and whimpers of what couldn't be mistaken for as anything but pleasure. When he knew that Klaus couldn't last much longer, Dorian opened his mouth and slid down on Klaus, flexing his throat muscles as he reached bottom. Fingers gripped his head and Klaus's hip thrust up in short bursts as he came. Dorian drank down, unable to taste Klaus, he was so deeply embedded. Then the hands fell away, and he pulled back in time for the last drops to land on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment and memorized the flavor. Aroused to the point of pain, Dorian moved back up to lie next to Klaus. Not saying a word, he reached over to brush his fingers over Klaus's cheek. They came away wet. Dorian wasn't surprised. Klaus's walls were too thick to be breached so easily. "Shhh..." he said softly. "Sleep. Everything will be all right." Silent once more, Klaus shut his eyes. Dorian watched him for a while longer, until he was sure that the man was asleep. Then he rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Klaus this time. He would take care of himself once he got to his own bed. And then he would give Klaus the space he needed to come to terms with what had happened this night. He'd been patient for this long, he could wait even longer if need be. At least now he had a memory to fuel his dreams. Mac was being stalked. It had been a long trip home, and all he wanted to do was have a hot shower then sleep for a week. However, Vic obviously had other plans. No sooner had he disarmed the security system, then locked the door behind them, Vic had him up against the wall, kissing him senseless. Long minutes later, Vic pulled away. He brushed the knuckles of one hand against Mac's cheek, which was still colored by a large purple bruise. "You're sure you're all right?" he asked again, for the umpteenth time since they'd left the castle. "I'm tired, I stink and my clothes can probably stand up on their own," Mac said in fond exasperation. "But other than that, I'm fine. After all, I'm not the one who spent a week in a damp dungeon." Mac ducked under one of the arms that bracketed him and headed for the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. He didn't bother looking to see if Vic was following him. He turned on the shower and was relieved to find that there was hot water. Stepping under the spray, he breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel the tension draining away, along with the crust of grime that had seemed permanently embedded into his skin pores. There was a sound behind him, and he smiled as strong arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips brushed the back of his neck. "Gonna wash my back?" he asked, grinning. "And everything else," was the husky reply. The hands rubbing his chest disappeared for a moment, then came back covered in body soap. Vic gently scrubbed Mac, inch by inch. Mac groaned in pleasure, feeling an arousal he thought he was too tired for build. He leaned back against the tile wall, just enjoying being home, being with Vic. When Vic urged him to turn around, he went willingly and spread his legs. He was so relaxed that only the sketchiest of preparations were needed before Vic was pressing his way in. Mac threw his head back and moaned. A soapy hand was stroking him, carrying him even higher. The build-up was leisurely, and climax was sweet beyond description. When the water started to run cold, they tumbled out of the shower, dried off and collapsed into bed, both of them exhausted. "Vic?" "Hmmm?" "They know where we live." Vic sighed, and rolled onto his back. Mac followed him, draping himself over the older man like a blanket. "Yeah, but what can we do? Move? They'd be able to find us again. Change identities and start over? There's no guarantee that they wouldn't still be able to find us. "Besides." Vic's tone hardened. "I like our life, and I'm not willing to let them take it away from us. If they come after us again, we'll... deal with it." Mac shivered. If the enemy was smart, they wouldn't test Vic's resolve. They wouldn't like the result. And if it came to that, he'd be right next to his partner, equally ready to protect Vic and their life together. Vic was right. This was a time when running was not an option. Mac burrowed deeper under the pile of quilts, listening to Vic's breathing deepen into sleep. As he followed, just one question echoed in his mind. Why had the wanted Lenin's body? When he woke the next morning, Klaus was relieved to find himself alone in the bed. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd woken with Dorian wrapped around him, but it was the first time that they'd actually done... something the night before. Klaus closed his eyes and fought the urge to curse himself. How could he have let the thief... do that to him, he asked himself, unwilling to give the act a name. For years he'd successfully managed to evade Dorian's flirtations, innuendoes and gropes, but in a moment of weakness, he'd let him... Klaus cursed his traitorous cock as it hardened at the memory. It had felt... good. But it was wrong! Resisting the urge to hide in the compartment (he was no coward, he told himself), Klaus got up and started to dress in the clothes left out for him. The last thing he wanted was for Dorian to come along and open the door before he was decently covered. For that matter, where was Dorian? The train was no longer moving so they had obviously reached Berlin. Why hadn't Dorian woken him to let him know? Suit and tie, starched shirt and trenchcoat had all been donned like armor, and Klaus was finally ready to face the world. He opened the sleep compartment's door and headed down the hallway to the sitting room. In the lush room, he was surprised by what he found. Instead of long blond curls, the man waiting for him had short hair and a mustache. "Bonham?" The man looked up from the book he was reading. "Ah! Morning, Major." Klaus frowned at him. "Where is Dorian?" "Well," Dorian's operations manager said, glancing at his watch. "He should be half-way to London by now." He quirked an eyebrow, and Klaus realized that he wasn't being very successful in hiding his confusion. "He said you probably wouldn't want to see him for a while. So, if you're leaving, I can return the carriage to storage." Within minutes, Klaus found himself on the platform, moving through the crowd to make his way home, even more confused than when he woke. He was surprised that Dorian hadn't stayed to press his advantage, and even though he would never admit it, he was grateful. Life had become very complicated and he needed time to adjust to it. Or better yet, forget that it had ever happened. Interlude Klaus closed the current file on a blackmail ring operating across Europe and sighed. He hated these sorts of cases. He much preferred something with a little more... action. A little less sleaze. The sort of thing that happened when Dorian, or his alter-ego Eroica, was around. He'd left NATO Intelligence to escape that, and now he wanted it. The irony was not lost on him. But no. No excitement. No intrigue. No Dorian. He hadn't seen the man in nearly three months. Not since... He squashed that thought quickly. He wasn't going to think about it. If he didn't think about it, then it didn't happen. Now if he could just convince his subconscious of that, and kill off those damned dreams... Klaus resisted the urge to throw the file folder across the room. Unfortunately, the last few months had been very quiet for him, leaving him with too much time to think. And remember. And relive, every time he closed his eyes. However, it had also given him time to find out just who had arranged that little stay in a dungeon with Victor Mansfield, while Dorian and Mac Ramsey had been forced to go off and steal the body of Lenin, of all things. He didn't have much to go on. Just the name of the man who'd set Ramsey up and the location of the castle where he and Victor had been held. With that little information it had taken him a while to find any information of use. New World. It was the name of an international organization of scientists. Bernhoff was one of the financial supporters of the group and the castle belonged to another. He'd only been able to link nine names to the organization, and he hadn't been able to find out anything about what the group did or what their agenda was. He'd tried to convince his superiors to let him pursue the case, but they'd firmly refused. Even when all the members he'd been able to trace suddenly disappeared, they'd refused. There are too many other important cases needing investigation, Eberbach, they'd said. Don't waste your time on hunches. Do what you are paid for. Sometimes he wondered about his superiors. In the meantime though, the only excitement in his life had been two packages from Mansfield and Ramsey. They had abandoned the anonymous package route for their pilfered evidence, instead sending the packages directly to him. Both packages had led to arrests, making him look good in the eyes of the higher-up, balancing his refusal to give up his investigation into New World. He had to admit a grudging respect for the two men, although not out loud. One of the packages had included the files of a Mafia don that Interpol had been after for years. But the man was highly paranoid and very security conscious. Getting into his safe was something that he would consider impossible, even for Eroica. But these two had done it. Now the man was behind bars and likely to stay there for a very long time. And the battle between those who would take his place was going to keep his organization very unorganized for a while. Not bad. For a pair of thieves, that is. Now if he just knew what Dorian was up to, he'd be able to relax. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without the blond thief sticking his elegant nose into Klaus's business. Klaus groaned and smacked his forehead. Why couldn't he go even half an hour without thinking of the man? If anything, he'd suspect Dorian of staying away just so that Klaus would spend all his time wondering about what the man was up to. A glance at the clock showed that it was just after five o'clock. Deciding that he wasn't going to get anything more done that day, Klaus grabbed his coat and headed for the door. The warm damp air outside announced that spring had finally arrived, and Klaus took a grateful breath before lighting the cigarette that he'd been desperate for during the last few hours. He took a few deep drags, then headed for the subway entrance. All the way home, the question of Dorian nagged at him. Every night, as he closed his eyes, he relived every detail of the last time he'd seen Dorian, lips wrapped around... Klaus shuddered. It was like an electric shock moving through his body, the memory of what Dorian had done to him. Every night, he dreamt it over and over again, waking up covered in the embarrassing results. If Dorian would just show up again, maybe he could bury the memories. Replace them with something more recent and definitely non-sexual. A proper Catholic should not be having these dreams. These thoughts. Klaus was so busy fighting with his conscience that he almost missed his stop. At the last moment, he managed to squeeze off the subway and head for his apartment. His apartment was on the fourth floor of a old building, one of the few in the area that survived the bombings of Germany during World War II. It was small, but that suited him just fine. The bedroom held his bed and armoire, with just enough room left over for a bedside table. The bathroom was cramped, with just a shower, toilet and sink, but was kept spotless. The living room had been turned into more of an office than a space to entertain, since Klaus never entertained. The kitchen had a small table for eating, and the microwave saw more use in a week than the stove saw in a year. Klaus was not a cook. Klaus entered the apartment and locked the door behind him, then stopped. There was someone moving around in his apartment. He reached under his trenchcoat to retrieve his gun. His nose wrinkled. And what was that smell? It smelled like... A blond head poked out from the kitchen and smiled. "Ah, Major! Perfect timing. Go wash up. Dinner will be ready in five minutes." Klaus holstered his gun, kicking himself. Be careful for what you wish for, they say. You just might get it. Dinner was gourmet and excellent and frustrating as hell. The frustration was because Dorian refused to discuss anything but trivialities during the meal. Every time Klaus tried to steer the conversation to what Dorian was up to, the thief promptly changed the subject. After dinner, Dorian washed dishes while Klaus dried. He resisted the urge to think how cozy the arrangement was, how domestic. He was only doing it because it would not be proper to let Dorian do all the work. At least that was what he told himself. The gesture earned him another bright smile. Finally, when all the dishes were put away they moved out to the living room, Dorian taking a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the counter. He popped the cork expertly and poured two glasses, handing one to Klaus and taking the other for himself. Klaus promptly put the glass down, untasted. "What are you up to?" he demanded. "Where have you been?" "Why? Did you miss me?" Dorian asked with a smile, sipping at the white wine. "I've been making James a very happy boy. He's been after me for a while to take care of the paperwork, so I did." "For three months!?" Klaus took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He was not going to yell. He was not going to lose his cool. Right. "Besides," Dorian said, ignoring the outburst. "I thought you might like some time to yourself. To think." "About what?" Even to his own ears, he sounded defensive—something that wasn't lost on Dorian. The blond set down his own wineglass and stepping forward into Klaus's personal space. He brushed the fingers of one hand over Klaus's cheek. Klaus immediately backed away from the other man, trying to hide the shivers running through him. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready. He would never be ready. He pulled out his cigarette case, but before he could pull out one of the familiar, comforting white cylinders, Dorian had pulled it out of his grasp and tossed it onto the desk. Cupping Klaus's face in strong hands, he leaned in and kissed him. Klaus's eyes fell shut as he found himself helpless to do anything except respond. So good, he thought to himself. So good... So wrong! He pulled away and stepped back, bumping into the desk. "This is wrong," he said weakly. Dorian followed him, leaning forward, resting his hands on the desk to either side of Klaus's hips. "Says who?" "The church! Besides, I'm not gay. I'm not attracted to men." Dorian smiled, and brushed his lips against Klaus's cheek. Klaus fought the urge to turn so that their lips would meet. The kiss had been even better than he remembered. "Are you so sure, Major? When was the last time you were with a woman on a date, let alone more?" Klaus opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was not about to admit the truth. Not to Dorian. "It's still wrong," he protested. "God did not intend for men to do this." Dorian pulled back with a frown. "Klaus, who made me this way? God did. Do you really believe that God would be so petty as to make me to love a man, then refuse to allow me to? Love is a precious thing, something rare and wonderful. I don't think that He would create me and the one I love as the same sex if that was not the way he meant for it to be." He moved closer again. Klaus was already reeling, both from the kiss and the argument. Dorian continued. "Those rules were made by men. Men who did not think sex should be enjoyed. That it was just a chore endured to create children. God made us to enjoy sex. He made us to love. The God I believe in would not consider any love to be wrong." Suddenly, Dorian moved several steps back, leaving Klaus free. "I've never said this in so many words, but I will now. Klaus von dem Eberbach, I love you. I want you to be happy. I want to be the one who makes you happy. If my absence is what it would take, then so be it. I will leave and never bother you again. Do you want me to go?" Klaus looked into Dorian's eyes, and saw determination there. He truly meant it. All Klaus had to do was say the word, and he would never have to deal with Dorian again. Never be plagued by his attention-seeking schemes. Never have to fend off the man's attentions. It was the chance he'd been dreaming of ever since he'd first met the man. "No." Klaus felt his jaw drop, watching Dorian's face light up. That wasn't what he'd meant to say. He was sure that wasn't what he meant to say. Wasn't it? But Dorian was in his arms again, kissing him breathless, and he was responding. Dorian was right about one thing. He'd rarely bothered with women, and when he had it had never felt this good. This right. This wrong. This right. The conflict rushed through him, making him tense. Dorian pulled away just slightly. "Shh," he said, brushing a smooth cheek against Klaus's face. "Let's go to bed." Klaus wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but it was probably sheer terror. Dorian smiled gently. "Just to sleep, love. I've waited this long, I can wait for you to become comfortable with this. All I want is the chance to sleep next to you, close enough to touch. Will you let me?" Klaus gulped, his throat too tight to speak. Somehow, he sensed this was the point of no return. Finally, he just nodded. Again, the blinding smile came out. That smile did make Dorian absolutely radiant, Klaus noticed in the one part of his mind that wasn't screaming that he was out of his mind. Later, in bed with Dorian cuddled up next to him wearing one of his spare pairs of pajamas, Klaus stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he was going insane. How could he be doing this? But the warm body next to his was a comforting presence, something he hadn't realized that he missed. Klaus drifted off to sleep, suddenly confident that there would be no dreams that night. Victor watched as Mac scanned the streets below their rooftop perch. The job, this time, was simple enough. Provide security for a meeting of Asian rebels with NATO representatives, where presumably funding for the fight would be arranged. NATO was not supposed to have anything to do with Asia, but since when had that stopped anyone? "All clear," Mac said into the headset that they wore to connect them to the other teams. He nodded to Victor, who headed for the next vantage point. Normally they would be working inside, but this meeting was supposed to be secret, and no one not involved was allowed inside, even the men providing security. That way they could honestly say that they didn't know what was going on. As he moved across the rooftop, he watched for anything out of place. He didn't see anything. Hearing was a different matter. As he moved to a spot where he could see the next building and the next security team, he felt something shift under his foot, and there was an ominous click. "Mac?" "Yeah, gorgeous?" "I think I just stepped on something I shouldn't have." "So scrape it off." "Not that sort of something." Mac was at his side in an instant. Victor concentrated on not shifting his weight, while Mac crouched down to check the roof tile he was standing on. Normally, he liked having Mac in this position, but not at the moment. "Shit." Not a good sign. Mac flicked the switch on his headset. "Get the bomb-squad up here," he told the other teams. Considering the job, they had a bomb-squad on standby. The only thing was that he wasn't exactly expecting to be the one standing on the bomb. Shit. Boom! When Klaus woke the next morning, he was alone in his bed. For a moment, he wondered if the evening before had just been an insane dream, and was hit with a flash of regret at the thought. Then he noticed the rose on the bedside table, propped up against an elegant notecard embossed with the crest of the Earl of Red Gloria. Dorian. Klaus picked up the card, and hesitated for a moment before opening it. "My Dear Major," it said inside. "While I'm thrilled by the advances we've made, I feel that I shouldn't push you too fast. After all, I've waited this long. I can afford to be patient a while longer. So, I will give you time to adjust. "I would like to invite you to dinner at my club, this Saturday. I will come pick you up at seven in the evening. Do dress nicely. "If you need to speak to me sooner, please call." The note was signed with Dorian's name, in the flamboyant style that matched its owner. Beneath it was a local phone number. Briefly, Klaus was tempted to call Dorian and tell him that he'd changed his mind, and that the thief shouldn't bother coming by again, but his hand stopped just short of picking up phone. In his mind, he remembered the feeling of the night before. It was the first time in a long time that he'd shared a bed with anyone, and it had felt... nice. And Klaus hadn't pushed matters, either. Just a kiss, then a warm and comfortable sleep. Besides, he thought, his back straightening, to back out now would be the act of a coward, and Klaus von dem Eberbach was not a coward. That settled, Klaus glanced over at the clock and realized that he was late. In fact, he was so late that he was going to have to skip his shower—something that offended his sensibilities—and he was going to have to drive to work. Klaus hated having to deal with traffic and parking, so usually took the subway, but if he didn't he would be late. He settled for shaving, washing his face and brushing his teeth and hair before pulling on clean clothes and heading for the door. Once out on the street, he pulled out his keychain with its handy car remote, and clicked the buttons to start the engine and unlock the doors as he reached the vehicle. As the blast of his car exploding knocked him backwards, and his head hit the pavement behind him, Klaus's last thought was that the remote was worth its weight in gold. Then everything went black. Mac sighed, and nuzzled the side of Vic's throat, savoring the salty tang of the other man's sweat. The chest under his hand rumbled with what sounded suspiciously like a self-satisfied purr. He stroked the chest, prompting more purrs, doing his best not to think about the fact that his partner had almost ended up in little pieces. Getting Vic off of that bomb had been scary, but they only hired the best, and that went double for bomb experts. The device had been one of the most complicated that their men could remember seeing, and it had taken them more than an hour to deactivate it so that Vic could move, but they had been successful. Mac had been ready for the nut-house by the time that Vic had been able to step away from the booby-trapped roof tile. The rest of the evening had been routine, other than the adrenaline rush from nearly having his lover blown to kingdom come. Then back to their hotel room. Where he'd immediately been pounced, fucked silly, then returned the favor. "You know, Vic," he said, rolling over on top of the older man, settling his weight down on Vic. "I knew that bullets flying turned you on, but I never suspected that a bomb would affect you this much." Mac was a little surprised that he could joke so easily about what had happened, but as long as he continued joking, he wouldn't have that breakdown that was threatening. He did not want to think about life without Vic. Not now. Not ever. Vic grinned, then surged upwards to fasten his teeth on Mac's throat for a moment before dropping back against the pillows. "That's because the last few times we've been around bombs, we either haven't had the opportunity, or we weren't in any shape to do anything about it. After all, after Grubb nearly blew me up, we immediately had to fight those two wrestlers and ended up in traction. And the time after that, we hurt too much and were to busy getting out of the country to indulge." Green eyes glinted wickedly at him, and a not-so-subtle thrust upwards told Mac that his partner was already set for round three. Or was it round four? Mac snickered. He wasn't going to be able to get it up again any time soon, but he was more than willing to oblige his lover. He lowered his head to suck at the exposed throat, and ground his still-soft (but sticky) groin against the hardness beneath him. In fact, he was beginning to feel a few twitches in his own groin that told him he might have spoken too soon. So of course the phone rang. Mac dropped his head until his forehead was resting against Vic's. "That's my cell," Vic said apologetically. Admitting defeat, Mac reached over and snagged the annoying device from the bedside table and handed it to the other man. "Thornton," Vic barked, using the pseudonym that he'd established when they'd first arrived in Europe. They'd been worried that anyone associated with the Agency might recognize the names Mac Ramsey and Vic Mansfield, so they had become Matthew "Matt" Blake and Richard "Dick" Thornton. That way, calling each other by their real names wouldn't be noticed. Mac rolled over onto his side, watching Vic's expressive face. He reached out and started running his hand down his lover's side. Vic batted the hand away with a fond grin, but stayed focused on the phone conversation. "Actually, I stepped on a bomb yesterday evening," he said in a tone of surprise. Mention of the bomb woke Mac from his semi-lustful haze, and he sat up. Vic mouthed 'Klaus' to him and he became even more awake. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Listen, can you contact Dorian? Good. I think we need to meet. Right. We'll see you in a couple days then. Watch yourself. Bye." Vic put the phone down, a worried frown on his face. Mac chewed on the inside of his cheek, waiting for Vic to put whatever it was into words. "That was Klaus." Mac rolled his eyes. Like he hadn't already figured that out. "Someone planted a bomb in his car yesterday. Went off when the car started. The only reason he's still alive is because he's got one of those remotes that let you start the car before you get to it. Otherwise he'd be little fragments all over his block." Now Mac was really worried. "Another bomb? I don't like these sorts of coincidences, Vic." Vic snorted. "Neither do I. I think our friends with the corpse-fetish are back. "Anyway, Klaus is going to call Dorian, then they'll come to our place so that we can make plans." Mac settled back against the pillows. "Damnit, Vic. I would have let the kidnapping and blackmail slide. Hey, everyone makes enemies. But now, trying to kill us..." Vic nodded, also settling back. "Now it's time to take them down before they try again." He rolled over and punched the pillow. "Better get some sleep, lover," Vic said. "Things are about to get complicated, I think." Dorian lounged in the parlor of his Berlin town house, idly flipping through a paperback novel. He wasn't really paying attention to the plot, but there wasn't much else to do. James was puttering around in the background, muttering to himself. Poor James. For the first time in years the dear boy didn't have any papers or reports or expense accounts to nag Dorian about. Everything was filled out, up to date and signed. James didn't have anything to do, as a result, and it was driving him nuts. He'd been reduced to working on the budgets for the next decade for entertainment. Dorian smiled, and his thoughts returned to their favorite subject. The reason all the paperwork was up to date was that he'd wanted to give Klaus time to think, while not doing anything that might attract his attention or Interpol's. It had required a lot of self-control, but the results were worth it. Things were progressing nicely. He'd woken earlier than Klaus, cradled in the man's arms, and when he'd slipped out of bed, the other man had tried to tighten his grasp. Klaus's conscious mind may not be sure about their relationship, but his subconscious was. Dorian had been tempted to stay, but he knew that he had to continue with great care. Too much pressure would send Klaus running for cover. A dinner date was a nice place to start. Dorian's club was very exclusive, so they were not like to run into anyone that Klaus knew. The dining room there had several private alcoves, shielded from the rest of the room, but not completely shut off. It would let Klaus relax, knowing he wasn't alone with Dorian, but also not observed by anyone else. The man could be so paranoid. Then there was the question of what to wear for their date. Dorian's personal tastes tended towards the flamboyant, but, again to spare Klaus's sensibilities, something more subdued would seem appropriate. However, his own sensibilities required something stylish. Dorian went through his closets mentally and smiled. He had a pair of grey slacks made of raw silk, with a matching sports coat in a slightly darker shade of grey. Paired with a dark blue silk blouse, the outfit would be beyond reproach, even to Klaus. Simple jewelry to go with it; a gold chain around the throat and a matching sapphire ring and earring set would do nicely. Dorian tossed the paperback aside, finally giving up on trying to read. It was nearly a week until their 'date', and here he was, already picking out his clothes like some sort of love-sick teenager. It was wonderful. Unfortunately, with all his attention on Klaus, his talents were going to start going stale. He needed to get as Eroica for a little practice. But a heist would annoy Klaus, so that was out. What were the alternatives? Dorian's smile turned predatory. He had just the thing. The art museum had just installed a new security system, but it wouldn't be able to stop him from breaking in, he was sure. He wouldn't take anything, though. Just... rearrange the paintings on the walls. He might even leave a report explaining how he defeated their security system. Just in case they were interested in more improvements. That would be perfect. A bit of exercise, with a touch of altruism. "James," Dorian called out, moving over to a large bouquet of roses that sat in a wide-mouthed vase on a pedestal in front of the window. "Be a dear and find out what you can about the security system at the National Art Museum." Several of the roses had passed their prime, and he started pulling them from the arrangement, making sure that the resulting arrangement didn't show any holes. Behind him, he could hear James griping about the expense of getting that information and how Dorian was going to get them all in trouble again. The dear sounded happier already. Dorian ignored him, focused on the roses. When the phone rang, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the small device and held it to his ear. "Red Gloria," he said in an airy tone, plucking another rose from the bunch. "Are you all right?" Dorian's eyebrows went up at the sound of Klaus's voice. "Of course, Major," he said, wondering why Klaus would be calling him so soon. "Why wouldn't I be?" "Because someone planted a bomb in my car, and Mansfield and Ramsey were targeted by another bomb." Dorian plucked another rose from the bunch, frowning in thought. "Which is too much of a coincidence," he said, considering the possible reasons for the attacks. "That either connects it to the business with that Agency outfit, or else that job Mac and I were... coerced into a few months back. If it's the second..." "Then you're next." Dorian stared down at the vase, mulling over the possibilities. Then he frowned. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light. There was another flash. Red. Swearing under his breath, Dorian pulled the rest of the bouquet out from the vase. "Klaus, I'm afraid I need to go. There's a bomb." Ignoring the shouts from the phone, Dorian dropped it and ran for the door, grabbing James by the collar as he passed the young man. They were just barely through the parlor door when the world exploded in a rush of sound and flame. Council of War By the time Klaus made it to Dorian's townhouse, the fire department already had the blaze under control, but there wasn't much left of the building. He hadn't actually known where Dorian was, but it hadn't required much effort to find out from the police the site of the only explosion in Berlin at the time. The moment he'd had an address, he'd grabbed one of Interpol's official cars, leaving its driver behind, no doubt wetting himself in fear after a run-in with the "Iron Major" who'd been the terror of NATO intelligence for many years. Because of the fire and rescue crews—not to mention the number of police present—he'd had to park several blocks away and force his way through the crowds to reach the quiet residential street that was no longer, by any stretch of the imagination, quiet. There he stopped, and stared in disbelief. The building had been a pleasant little townhouse. Probably turn of the century, a perfect example of the city residence of the upper-crust during the gilded age. At least, that's what he guessed. Now the brick exterior was charred and blackened, dripping with water from the fire-hoses that were battling the fire. Through gaping holes that had once been windows, he could see that there wasn't much left of the interior. Not even floors or walls. Whatever type of bomb it had been, it had done an excellent job of destruction. Amazingly, though, the buildings to either side were almost completely untouched. After a moment, Klaus came back to his senses and started searching. Dorian had found the bomb before it had gone off, so with any luck, he would have gotten out in time. Klaus ignored the little voice in the darkest parts of his mind that suggested that it would be so much easier for him if Dorian hadn't managed to escape. A firefighter was the first person there in an official capacity that made the mistake of getting too close to Klaus. Unfortunately, he had no idea whether or not the building's residents got out before it exploded. Klaus let him go with only a few choice words about the man's competence. The next person was a police officer who snarled at him to keep out of the way of an official investigation, and wasn't overly impressed when Klaus snarled back. Instead, Klaus found himself escorted across the street by not one but two policemen. He scanned the area, looking for someone else to question, and finally noticed the ambulance parked halfway down the block. Immediately, he headed for it, circling around to the back of the vehicle. There, he found James lying on a gurney with an oxygen mask over his face and Dorian sitting next to him while an ambulance attendant checked a cut on his arm. Dorian looked up, and broke into a bright smile. "Klaus! Sorry about cutting you off like that..." Klaus didn't reply. Instead he yanked the blond thief to his feet and hugged him tight for a second. Then he let go, just as quickly as he'd grabbed on, and stepped back. His jaw was tightly clenched, and there was a suspicious prickling behind his eyes that he chose to ignore. Dorian looked stunned. James looked murderous. "Well?" Klaus asked curtly. Dorian's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "The bomb was in a flower vase. I saw the lights flashing, so I grabbed James and ran. I'd just opened the door when it went off, and we were thrown clear." "Then why..." Klaus gestured towards the oxygen mask that James was wearing. "Because I almost died, and it's probably all your fault!" James said, yanking it off and sitting up. "Do you know how much that townhouse cost? It's a total loss! And my files!" "James," Dorian said quietly, and the young accountant settled down to just a glower. "So now what?" Dorian asked, turning back to Klaus. "We go to Mansfield and Ramsey's place. We need to find out who is behind this and stop them." "Vengeance?" "Practicality. If they tried to kill us once, then they will keep trying until they succeed, and they obviously don't care if they kill anyone else in getting to us. We need to take them out first." Dorian nodded, the graceful move marred only by the fact that part of his hair was charred, and there was a vivid bruise forming on one cheek. "James," he said, turning back to the still sulking young man. "Deal with the police and the insurance investigators, then go to London. Tell everyone to be ready, in case they are needed." The young man glared, but nodded. Dorian stood up and dropped the blanket that had been draped around his shoulders. Without a word, Klaus turned and led the way back to the car. "We need to stop at my office," he said, not trusting himself to look back at Dorian. "I need to collect the file I've put together so far. Then we'll head for France." "What ever you say, darling," was the light reply. The next afternoon, the four men sat clustered around the heavy wood table in the kitchen of Victor and Mac's country cottage. Spread out on the table were the pages of information that Klaus had brought with him. He was explaining the highlights. "New World is an organization of scientists, but with no publicly stated agenda. That in itself is unusual. These days, every group is championing a cause," Klaus said, with a certain amount of disdain in his voice. "Your Herr Bernhoff is one of the backers of the group. So is the owner of the... vacation home that Mansfield and I stayed in while the two of you made the trip to Moscow." Victor shuffled through the pages, finally settling on the list of names that Klaus had managed to link to New World. He scanned down the short list, noting which were funders and which were scientists. He stopped at one name and frowned. "Mac..." "Hmm?" Mac said absently, his eyes focused on a list of bank transactions made by the backers, looking for a pattern that might give them a clue of what the group was up to and where. "Take a look at this." Vic handed over the page, his finger pointing at one of the names. Mac looked at the line. He blinked. "Hasn't someone killed that weasel yet?" "Apparently not." "So what's he doing here?" "Good question." "Victor, darling. How about letting us in on what you are talking about?" Victor looked over at where Dorian and Klaus sat, varying degrees of impatience on their faces. "Dr. Bernard Fry. He's on the list as a member. He also has done work for the Agency in the past, developing designer drugs to control people, turning them into the perfect operatives. The last time we saw him, he'd been involved in an attempted coup within the Agency. I'm not sure what happened to him after that.." Klaus frowned. "Could your Agency be involved in New World?" Victor glanced over at Mac, who was still sitting with a puzzled expression on his face. "Actively? I don't think so. The Director wouldn't authorize an attempt on us. I think." He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, she wouldn't But that doesn't mean someone else inside the Agency might not have their own agenda going on." Mac snorted. "It's not like that's never happened before." Victor mock-glared at his unrepentant lover, then reached for the phone. "Well, there's only one way to find out." It was mid-afternoon, so in Toronto it would be early morning. Certainly, the Director—now Head—would be in the office. Victor still had trouble thinking of the woman as Head of the Agency. He'd known her as the Director, even though there were a dozen others who could claim the same name, and it was as the Director that he still thought of her. He dialed the number that he'd memorized—since you never knew when it might be needed—and waited for the other end to pick up. "What?" came from the other end in an impatient tone. "Hi?" "Victor!" The voice immediately warmed up, turning into the purr he remembered so well. Too well, perhaps. "What can I do for you? Convince you to come back?" Victor laughed. "No. Just looking for information." "Go for it." "Bernard Fry." "Dead." Victor frowned, and waved for the bank records. He flipped through them until he found the information that he wanted. "Well, unless dead men make bank deposits and withdrawals..." "Victor, I saw the body myself." "Shit. You're sure? Never mind. We've linked him to an organization that just tried to kill us, though, and they've got him listed as a current member." There was a squeaking noise, and his mind filled in an image of the older woman sitting up in her chair. "What organization?" "They call themselves 'New World'. We don't know what they're up to, but a few months back they kidnapped myself and another man to blackmail Mac and another thief into stealing something for them. Lenin's body, if you can believe it. And in the last few days, all of us have been targeted by bombs." "Victor, New World shows up in Agency records. Old Agency records. Who else is associated with them?" Victor read off the list of names, nine in total: three backers and six scientists. He could hear the Director typing the names on a keyboard. A pause. "Four of those scientists did work for the Agency, back before I took over. Fry worked with drugs. Hoomang worked with genetic manipulation. Seward and Kryman worked with cloning. And all four of them are listed as dead, with bodies positively identified." "When?" There was more tapping. "All in the same week, about two months before the Head started killing off the Directors." Victor chewed at his bottom lip, ignoring the frustrated looks he was getting from the other three men. "Coincidence?" The Director snorted. "If you believe that, then you're more naive that I thought, Victor. He did say that the Agency's purpose had been fulfilled and it wasn't needed anymore," she added in a speculative tone. "Well," she said, suddenly all business. "I'm faxing you the files we have on them. I'll set Nathan to researching New World, and I'll arrange for a second look at the bodies of these people who seem to be very active for dead men and women." "Good. I'll call you tomorrow. Somehow, I don't think we should stay where we are." Victor cut the connection and looked at the other men. "Four of the scientists on the list did work for the Agency, and they're all supposed to be dead. They died, leaving positively identified bodies, a couple months before the Head tried to shut down the Agency." "Well, if they're dead..." Klaus started to say, but Dorian cut him off. "What fields were they in?" "Designer drugs, genetics and... cloning." That got raised eyebrows from everyone in the room. "Clones?" Mac said in disbelief. "That's science fiction!" Dorian shook his head. "It's been more than five years since scientists managed to clone a sheep. With access to unlimited funding the proper labs..." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to say what everyone was thinking. Victor said it instead. "Maybe they've managed to clone a human?" "It would explain how dead people are still alive, even though there were bodies to be identified," Klaus said with a frown. "Okay," Mac said, throwing up his hands. "Assuming that they've somehow managed to clone people, then why? And where do we come in?" Victor shuddered. There was only one thing that came to mind. "They wanted Lenin's body," he said, hesitantly. Everyone was looking at him in horror. "Clone Lenin?" Klaus said. "But why?" Dorian was looking at the papers on the table. "A New World..." he said, shuffling through them. "And whatever else you say about him, Lenin was a charismatic leader," Victor pointed out. He glared at the expression on Mac's face. "Hey, I didn't sleep through history class, unlike some people I know." Mac shrugged. "I didn't have any classes until the Tangs took me in, and then it was private tutors more interested in teaching me how to crack a safe." Victor shuddered at the reminder of Mac's childhood. Being raised by a crime family might have had some benefits, but there were some major drawbacks. The physical and mental scars that Mac had from being sexually abused by his foster brother might be barely noticeable, but they were still there, rearing their head at unexpected moments. "Anyway," he said, hearing the fax machine starting to spew out papers. "The Director is sending everything she has, and the Agency is going to start looking at New World from their end. Meanwhile, I think we should find someplace to stay that isn't going to be linked to us." Dorian smiled. "I have a townhouse in Paris," he said, leaning back. "And unlike the Berlin townhouse, which belongs to Dorian Red Gloria, the Paris townhouse was bought through a series of cut-outs, not by me. It would take a lot of time and effort to link it to me." Mac nodded, and headed towards the bedroom. "Sounds good to me. It's been a while since we've spent any time in 'Gay Paree'." Victor snorted. "We are not going sight-seeing," he yelled to Mac, who was already opening drawers and armoires to pull out clothes for packing. "Yes, dear," was the mocking answer. Vic snorted, and headed for the fax machine to collect the rapidly growing pile of pages. He just hoped that Paris would survive them. As the Director headed down the hallway, people got out of her way. She didn't notice, she was so intent on her thoughts. "Nathan!" she shouted, entering the sub-sub-basement that housed the Agency's records. A head topped with mousy brown hair stuck out from between two of the rows of bookcases. The man's eyes widened, and he broke into a sweat. He looked like he was about to bolt. "Nathan, come here," she said calmly, beckoning him with a crooked finger. "I just need some information." If anything, he looked even more terrified, but he did come. "Ye.. yes?" he said, voice cracking. She resisted the urge to sigh. While she didn't mind being feared, sometimes it frustrated her to deal with the paranoid little researcher who thought she was some sort of queen alien, come to take over the planet. However, he was excellent at his job. "I have a list of names, here," she said, holding out the piece of paper. Nathan darted forward and took it from her, then backed out of reach. "I want you to find out everything you can about them and an organization they belong to called New World." "Yes, ma'am," he said, his eyes darting between her and the page. This time she did sigh. She turned and headed for the door, stopping only to say, "This has priority, Nathan. I need the information fast." She didn't wait for a reply, heading back out to the corridor. If someone wanted Mac and Victor dead, she wanted them stopped. Immediately. She owed the two men her life. And she always paid her debts. Gay Paree "I love Paris in the Spriiiiiiingtime," Mac warbled, completely missing the correct tune. Victor just shook his head. His partner probably didn't even know the right tune. "You're drawing attention, Mac," he hissed, trying to ignore the sneers they were getting from the locals. Even more distracting was the prickle between his shoulder-blades, as if there were a gun aimed at his back. Hell, after the last week, that wasn't so far-fetched an idea. Mac just slapped him on the back and grinned at him. "C'mon, Vic. Lighten up! We're in the city of lights, the city of lovers, and it's a beautiful spring day. Enjoy it." Victor rolled his eyes. Yes, Mac was right. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful city, but still... "And for all we know, there might be a team of assassins coming after us right now." Mac didn't look impressed. "And how would we know? For that matter, how would they know to look for us here? C'mon, we can't live constantly worrying about it or we'll turn into... into Nathan," he finally said, and Victor winced at the comparison. "Listen, if we hide away from the world because of what they might do, then they've won. You said that yourself when we got home last time." Victor rolled the argument over in his mind, and had to admit, "You're right." He sighed. "But could you at least limit yourself to songs you know?" he asked his lover in a plaintive voice. Mac laughed, and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling Victor into a fast hug. "Done," he said cheerfully. A few minutes later, Victor was beginning to regret that request. His own taste in music hadn't changed over the years; classical blues and jazz, most of it older than himself. Mac, on the other hand, went with whatever was currently popular. At the moment he was singing the latest hit making the rounds of the dance clubs. Victor hesitated at calling it singing, though, since he wasn't sure that it counted as music. They were headed for their favorite Paris restaurant, Chez Pauline. It was pricey, but the food was excellent. There were even a few dishes plain enough for Victor's meat and potato tastes. When Alice had come to visit them, she'd loved the restaurant, especially sitting on the upper level with a view of the world. "Ah! M'sieu Blake, M'sieu Thornton. So good to see you again. Your table is waiting." "How could we not come while in town, Oscar," Mac reassured the pinched- face man as they followed him to their usual table overlooking the lower level. They might only come in every couple of months or so, but Oscar was always happy to give them the same table. Victor had a sneaking suspicion that the Frenchman had a crush on his lover. "So, Vic," Mac said after they'd ordered. "How about Les Bains tonight?" "No. Definitely not. We do not have the time to his the dance clubs," he said sternly. "We still need to decide out next move." Mac pouted slightly, showing off his full lower-lip, but Vic refused to give in. "Then I suppose Le Queen is out too?" Mac said with an impish grin. Victor promptly choked as the water he was sipping went down the wrong way. "Mac..." he said plaintively. Le Queen was one of the hottest gay clubs in Paris, and definitely not his style. Les Bains was also a gay club, but a little less... flamboyant. It was also a club that you had to have the right look to get into, not that he or Mac ever had any trouble with that. In fact, he quite enjoyed Les Bains and being able to dance with Mac in public, but was quite serious about them not having the time. Not until the organization that wanted them dead was dealt with. Mac wadded up his napkin and dropped it on the table with a sigh. The food had been up to the usual high standards of Chez Pauline. Fine French cuisine, liberally laced with wine, followed by a dessert that would put flesh on a supermodel, with a glass of fine wine to wash it down. Combined with the best company, the meal had been a wonderful tension- breaker. Vic was right about them being in danger, but there was a point where you had to relieve the tension before it drove you nuts. He sipped at the dark red wine, looking around at the rest of the diners. Suddenly, he blinked, glancing over at an out-of-the-way corner, barely visible from where they sat. "Vic," he said very casually, setting his wine glass down. "Hmmm?" was the sated reply. Normally he would have paused to admire the drowsy smile on the older man's face, but... "Five o'clock from you. Who do you see?" Very casually, Vic glanced around, and his eyes went wide. "Bernhoff." "Yep." "I don't recognize the man with him, though." Mac leaned back until he couldn't see the two men at the other table, and hopefully they couldn't see him. "I do. Vincent diPaul de Venard." Vic frowned, a few small lines forming between his eyes. "I know that name," he muttered to himself. "A French mobster, based out of Marseilles. We've never targeted him. He used to do business with the Tangs." "Would he recognize you?" Mac snorted, very quietly. Now was not a good time to attract attention. "Oh, I don't know. I did steal his Porche when I was nineteen." Vic sighed. "He'll recognize you," he said in a resigned tone. Mac discretely signaled the waiter for the check. Once it was paid, they made their way to the door, Mac making sure that he kept his back to the two men and Vic between him and them. Still, he didn't relax completely until they were out the door and several blocks away. Next to him, Vic breathed a sigh of relief. "So why would this mobster be meeting with Bernhoff?" he asked. Mac started ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. "New World is looking for finances. New World wants to hire himself for something else. He's a member of New World. He and Bernhoff are having a steamy romance." They looked at each other and chorused, "Ewwwwwww." "Okay, skip that last one," Vic said. "The first two are definite possibles. What about the third?" Mac shrugged. "When I knew him, Vince was the head of the French Mob, based on money and connections, but most of that was dependant on the Tangs. When they collapsed, he lost power, and believe me, Vince loves power. If New World could give it to him, he'd climb into bed with them in a second." Vic was giving him a searching look, but Mac kept quiet. What was there to say? Vince had made a pass at him, sure, and he hadn't been happy about being told no. It was part of why Mac had decided to steal his car, along with the fact that the man was an bore. Vince hadn't dared to do anything, though. Mac had the protection of the Tangs, and Vince needed the Tangs to keep power. Hadn't stopped the old man from pinning his ears back for the stunt, though. "So being a member is also a good possibility," Vic said. "C'mon. We need to get back to the townhouse." Klaus stood at the window looking out at the late afternoon view, trying to ignore the room's flamboyant design which suited its owner so well. They'd arrived in Paris late that morning, and Ramsey had promptly dragged Mansfield out the door to go to lunch at some fancy restaurant. Klaus had protested the wisdom of that indulgence, but Ramsey had ignored him. "Are you alright, Klaus?" Klaus accepted the cup of coffee, but didn't look at the blond man standing next to him. But the entire side of his body nearest to Dorian prickled, as if he were standing next to a magnetic source. Magnetic source. As good a term as any for Dorian Red Gloria. For more than a decade the thief had pursued him and he had evaded, but something always seemed to draw them together. Certainly, their encounters were often deliberately contrived by Dorian, but far too often it was chance that threw them together, again and again. Obviously, it had been pointless to resist. "Klaus?" Klaus started, suddenly realizing that Dorian was still waiting for a reply. "I'm fine," he snapped, angry at himself for being so distracted. Dorian ignored the irate tone. He pressed up against his back and slipped his arms around Klaus's waist, resting his face against Klaus's shoulder. Klaus tensed up, but the other man ignored the rigid stance. Klaus stayed the way he was for several minutes, but Dorian didn't move away. Finally, he sighed and relaxed. He could feel Dorian's cheek move against his back as the other man smiled. "You need to learn to relax, darling," was the quiet comment. His temper flaring, Klaus spun around to face the blond. "Relax? We were both nearly killed by bombs, and we are being targeted by a mysterious group whose motives are a mystery, and you want me to relax?" Dorian just smiled. "If you don't, they won't need to do anything. You'll work yourself into a stroke, saving them the trouble. And," he purred, moving in closer, "I would be most unhappy if that happened." "Dorian," Klaus said, exasperated. He resisted the urge to back away. Before he could continue, though, long arms wound around his neck and warm lips pressed against his. Once again, his traitorous body immediately responded to the touch, and he found himself participating almost eagerly in the kiss. It was so... intoxicating that he forgot about their surroundings until he heard applause. Pulling away, he turned to find Mansfield and Ramsey standing in the doorway. Naturally, Ramsey was the one applauding. Klaus resisted the urge to snarl at the man, knowing that he wouldn't care. "Enough, Mac," his partner said. "We don't have time for that." He turned, ignoring Ramsey's good-natured grip about being to serious. "We now have a link between New World and the French Mob." "So we're decided?" Dorian asked, many hours later. He looked around the room and didn't see any signs of disagreement. "I still wish you would let me go with you," he said, yet again. Victor shook his head. "No offense, Dorian, but Mac and I have been working together for years. We know what to expect from each other. We don't really have time to learn to work with a new person." "I had no trouble working with Mac in Moscow," he pointed out. "Yeah, we worked together. But I still kept getting thrown off-balance every time I turned around because I expected Vic to be there instead," Mac replied with a shrug. "Whatever," Klaus broke in. "We leave for Marseilles tomorrow. The two of you break into de Venard's compound to find anything links to New World. It's the only lead we have, so don't screw it up." "Klaus, I'm wounded," Mac said, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture that had Dorian smiling behind a concealing hand. "We're the best, after all." "Don't tease the man, Mac," Victor said, heading for the door, pulling his partner behind him. "We'll see you in the morning," he threw over his shoulder. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do, children," Mac called, as they disappeared from sight. Dorian leaned back in his chair, no longer bothering to hide his smile. Klaus was turning red, and looked like he was about to explode. "It was a joke, darling," Dorian said, trying to soothe the man. Klaus didn't say a word. Dorian could almost see the storm cloud's gathering over the man's head. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and said, "If we're going to leave for Marseilles early in the morning, we should head for bed." "What!?" Dorian sighed, taking in the tense body-language. "To sleep, Klaus. That's all." He headed for the door, and after a moment, Klaus followed. Upstairs were several bedrooms. As he passed one, Dorian could hear voices. They were loud enough to recognize as Mac and Victor, but not enough to understand what they were saying. Dorian led the way to the door furthest from the already occupied bedroom. It was seperated from the other bedroom by a bathroom. Across the hall was the master bedroom, which had its own bathroom. He opened the door with a flourish. "Good night, Klaus," he said as the man passed him. "And where are you sleeping?" Klaus asked, suspiciously. Dorian sighed. "Across the hall," he said, pointing to the door. "You are welcome to join me, if you like. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning." In his room, Dorian pulled out a pair of silk pajamas. He normally didn't wear anything to bed, but if Klaus did decide to join him, the man would probably be more comfortable if Dorian wasn't nude. A fast shower relaxed some of the tension that had spilled over from the German, and Dorian was ready for sleep. As he climbed into bed, Dorian briefly wondered if Klaus was worth the effort. The he snorted. Of course he was. With that thought in mind, Dorian started to drift to sleep. "You know, I never would have thought that blondie could pull it off," Mac snickered. Victor sighed. "Back off, Mac. Klaus looks ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. You push and Dorian is back at square one. Or worse." He wasn't sure just why Dorian was so fixated on the uptight German, but he didn't want ruin the man's chances. Mac grinned at him. "Would I do that?" he asked in a voice dripping with innocence. Victor just snorted. "Well, I guess you'll just have to keep me too distracted to say anything." "Distracted? I'll show you distracted." In one quick motion, Victor rolled over on top of Mac and pinned his lover's wrists to the mattress. He swooped in and kissed Mac until they were both breathless. Then he pulled back. "Well?" he asked. Mac looked back at him, eyes glazed. "Huh?" Victor grinned. Mission accomplished. Of course there was now another problem to take care of, but he was ready for it. Keeping as much body contact as he could, Victor moved down Mac's body, licking, nibbling and sucking as he went. By the time he reached the other man's groin, Mac was begging. Loudly. "Please, Vic, please. Suck me. Oh God. Need you. Please. Yes! Oh, yes. Soooo good. Vic, yes. Vic!" Victor's ears were ringing by the time Mac came in his mouth. Very self- satisfied, he stretched out next to his lover and waited for him to recover. He didn't have to wait long. "Your turn, lover," Mac growled, flipping him over. Victor didn't resist. Klaus stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the obvious sounds of sex coming from the room down the hall. More difficult to ignore was the way his own body was responding to those sounds. When thinking cold thoughts failed, Klaus reached down, intending to take care of the problem. Then he stopped. It didn't feel... right. Still staring at the ceiling, Klaus wondered why. Finally, he conceded defeat, and climbed out of bed. Moving as quietly as possible, he walked across the hall to open the door opposite. Dorian sat up in the bed, blinking sleepily in the light from the hallway. Klaus stood still, waiting. Dorian pulled back the covers, and silently patted the mattress beside him. Klaus climbed into the bed, and Dorian moved into his arms. A stray limb brushed his erection, and he gasped, ever so slightly. Dorian smiled and kissed him, his hands already reaching for the drawstring on Klaus's pajama bottoms. Still silent, the blond thief pushed them down, out of the way, then did the same to his own. Then he rolled over onto his back, pulling Klaus over on top of him. As their erections brushed against each other, Klaus gasped again, then bit his lip. He was not going to put on a show like the two men down the hall. Instead, he kissed Dorian, muffling them both. Operating purely on instinct, Klaus's hips started to thrust, rubbing his erection against Dorian's. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to keep quiet. He might not know what he was doing, but it felt good. Too good. Very soon, his movements became erratic, and he felt climax hit him like an explosion. Below him, Dorian tensed and made a faint sound that might have been his name, then added his own fluids to the mix. Klaus rolled away, suddenly feeling guilty for using Dorian simply because he couldn't control his own urges. Eyes closed, he felt Dorian climb out of the bed. The sound of running water came to him, then after a minute, the bed dipped again. A warm, damp cloth ran over his genitals. Then his pajama bottoms, which were still bunched around his knees, were pulled up and refastened. He heard the cloth drop into some sort of ceramic container, then Dorian was cuddling up against his side again. "Thank you," Dorian whispered in his ear, then relaxed. Thank you? For what? Before Klaus could ponder the question, he fell asleep. Night-Time Raid The Director—Di to a very privileged few—stared at her computer screen and sighed. The one thing she'd learned to hate most about being head of the Agency over the last few months was the paperwork. As Director, she'd been responsible for a large chunk of North America. As Head, she was responsible for the world. Every day started with the reports from thirteen Directors. Every day ended the same. She hadn't had a decent night out in weeks. She hadn't even been to the Caligula in months. LiAnn, bless her, had offered to take on some of the work, but Di had refused. As a Director, LiAnn had her own responsibilities, often more immediate than those of her boss: she didn't really have the time to do another person's work. Besides, Di thought to herself, she'd feel guilty if she didn't do the work for herself, and she hated feeling guilty. She was tapping one long fingernail against the top of her desk as she read the latest useless report when the office door opened, and she looked up to find the object of her thoughts entering the room. She smiled fondly at the young woman—protÈgÈ, subordinate, right hand, lover. She might not be willing to take the slim oriental up on her offer, but without LiAnn to provide distraction, she would probably burn out quickly. There was a reason why the Agency upper-echelons had a reputation for being... eccentric. LiAnn held out the file folder she was carrying. "The autopsy report on Fry." The Director closed the file she was reading and reclined back in her seat, her hands folded together in front of her. "Well?" she said expectantly. "Genetically, a near perfect match," LiAnn said, slipping into one of the leather-bound chairs that sat in front of her boss's desk. "It took a full genetic scan to find that several of his chromosomes had errors. The lab techs called it a photocopy effect." Di frowned at that. "In other words, an almost identical copy, with only a slightly fuzzing of the details." LiAnn nodded. "Exactly. It wouldn't be noticeable in a post-mortem unless you were looking specifically for it. However, the brain was not fully developed. Whatever it was, it wouldn't have been viable. But since Fry had apparently died of a heart attack, they didn't bother checking the brain." "So the Fry we buried was a clone," the Director said, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. "How very interesting." "Do you want the others exhumed?" She waved her hand in negative. "No. One exhumation was enough of a risk. If we dig up the others, this New World group will get suspicious. No. I suspect we'd just find the same thing anyway." She sighed. "Living, dead and living again: that man is a pain." From their vantage point overlooking de Venard's Marseilles estate, Mac scanned the grounds. The night was moonless, but the night-vision binoculars translated the darkness to a green haze in which he could easily see the figures moving around. "They've let the dogs out," he reported to his partner. "The guards just finished their patrol and went inside." Vic grunted in reply. "Let me know when they find the meat." They'd cased the estate for two days before making their plan. Even though Vince was still out of town, the estate was too busy during the day to try to get in. But at night, guard dogs were let loose on the grounds and the few patrols stayed inside most of the time. They could have tried bluffing their way in, but that was too risky. Vince might still have people who remembered Mac, and he wasn't about to let Vic try it on his own. So they had come up with a tentative plan, and had dry-run it the night before. Step one was to make a hole in the electronic circuit that ran through the fence around the perimeter. That was both easy and difficult. All you had to do was give the current an alternate route. The tricky thing was to make sure that the resistence was so close to the original that the switchover didn't trigger any alarms. They'd tried and succeeded the day before. This had been done during the day when they didn't risk being scented by the dogs. Step two was to deal with the dogs. The night before, they'd slipped meat into the compound to see if the dogs had been trained to avoid any food not supplied by their handlers. If they had, the training had failed miserably. The dogs had found the meat, distributed at even intervals along the fence, and had eagerly devoured it all. They'd repeated the bait tonight, but this time the meat had been dosed with a knockout drug that was both odorless and tasteless, as well as fast acting. As soon as the dogs were asleep, they would recreate the hole in the fence and slip into the compound. That just left step three, the only one untried: getting inside the building and finding Vince's study, then searching it. If they were luck, they would find something related to New World. Something to lead them to the organization's home base. If not... Well then they'd be back to square one. Mac picked up the night-vision binoculars and did a scan. Finding the motionless forms of dogs, he started counting. "I see six," he told Vic. "None of them moving." "How many were let out?" "Seven. The last one might just be out of my line of sight." "Maybe." Vic frowned. "We can't wait all night to be sure. We'll go in. Just keep an eye out for lucky number seven." "Gotcha." Reopening the hole in the security fence was easier than creating it in the first place. After only a few minutes, they were through. Then it was just a matter of making their way across the lawn, avoiding the security cameras that scanned at intervals regular enough to make them a joke. All you had to do was watch them for an hour or two to work out the pattern, then plan your moves accordingly. They'd figured out the pattern the night before, and had taken the time to make sure it hadn't changed when they arrived that night. Finally, they were inside the building and things got really interesting. Dorian's organization had managed to get a hold of the plans to the villa as it was when it was originally constructed. There were no guarantees that changes hadn't been made in the decades since then, but it was a place to start. Looking at the plans, they listed off the most likely places to be de Venard's office. Choice one—the library—turned out to be just that. It was beautifully decorated, and where he met with visitors, but a quick search found no files or safe. It was also as far into the estate as Mac had ever gotten, back when Old Man Tang had sent him to deliver a package to de Venard. He'd only been inside the once—and had been quite intent on keeping it as quick as possible at the time—but it was more than anyone else in their group could say. They moved onto choice two. That was a den attached to the master suite. There they hit jackpot. The room had a desk covered with papers, though none of them were of any use. Neither were any of the files in the cabinet against the wall, so they started looking for a safe Vic was the one who found it, set in the wall behind the bookcase. Move the row of books out of the way, remove the concealing panel and the safe was revealed. Mac cracked his knuckles, grinning with anticipation, and set out to prove once more that he was the master of cracking safes. "I still think they should have taken me with them." Dorian stopped and glanced over at his companion. He stifled a sigh. Klaus was sitting in the corner chair, methodically breaking down and cleaning his favorite gun. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, although Dorian knew he was aware of everything in the room. Dorian turned and started pacing again. The main problem was that he hated being bored, and he was. Bored, that is. A good break-in was just what he needed, but if it was a choice between him going alone and Victor and Mac going as a team he had to admit that it was better that they went. Besides, Mac had already been inside the mobster's home once before, even if it were a long time ago. But it meant that Dorian had to stay behind at the hotel and wait. Patience just wasn't his strong point, despite his more than a decade courtship of the dark-haired man now quietly reassembling his gun. Finally he decided that enough was enough. With quick efficient motions, he started to strip. Klaus looked up wide-eyed, like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and Dorian snickered to himself. Ignoring the man, he pulled dark trousers and turtleneck from his bag and started putting them on. Klaus frowned, and his expression turned suspicious. "What are you doing?" he demanded. Dorian pulled the turtleneck over his head, then ran his fingers through his blond curls, setting them back in place. "I'm heading to de Venard's, just in case they need backup." "Dorian..." Dorian shook his head. "I'm not going to interfere," he assured the taller man. "Just watch. If something does go wrong, they'll need a rescue, or at least a getaway car." Dorian grabbed the keys for the second rental car, the first having been taken by the other two men, and headed for the door. Klaus groaned. "Wait up," he said, slipping the now in perfect working order gun into its holster. He stood and grabbed his trenchcoat before following Dorian. "Klaus, you don't..." Dorian started to protest, but was silenced by the other man's glare. "If you get me into trouble, I'll take it out of your hide. Now let's go." Dorian couldn't suppress the grin, so he didn't even bother trying. "Yes, dear," he said. A growl was the only response. Inside the study, Mac quickly had the safe open. He carefully removed everything for examination, then sighed in frustration. "Nothing," he growled to his partner. Vic was frowning, but not at the pile of papers. He was carefully examining the inside of the safe. "Is this the standard model for this kind of safe?" Mac took a closer look. "Looks like," he said. "Why?" Vic reached in and started feeling around the inside of the safe. "Because it's about four inches too shallow, that's why." He paused, then pressed something not visible to Mac. With a grin of triumph, he pulled out the back of the safe. Behind a false panel were five diskettes. Vic brought them out. "Unlabeled," he said, then reached for his bag. From it, he took a slim box. It was looked like an external disk drive, the type you used with a laptop too small for a built-in drive, but had a series of buttons on the top. Grabbing the first diskette, he slid it into the box, then pressed a button on top. A green light went on, and there was a faint whirring noise. After a moment, there was a beep informing the user that the file copy was complete, and he exchanged the diskette for the next one. After all five diskettes had been fed through the reader, he carefully put the diskettes back, and re-inserted the back panel. Vic slipped the disk reader back into his equipment bag. Working quickly, Mac started putting everything back into the safe, exactly the same way it had been before. The whole idea, like their Robin Hood break-ins, was to get the information, but make it look like no one had been there. When everything looked just right, he moved to close the safe and reset the dial to exactly the same setting as before. Mac was grinning. Everything was working exactly according to plan. So of course, that was the moment when all the lights came on, and a mocking voice was heard from behind them. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Mac winced and turned around, his hands already going up in the air. Next to him, Vic did the same. Vincent diPaul de Venard. Five thugs. Guns pointed in their direction. Busted. Back-up Klaus pulled to a stop next to Ramsey and Mansfield's rental car and turned the car's engine off. Dorian immediately jumped out and went to check the section of fence where the two thieves had planned to go in through. He was back quickly, and slid into the passenger seat. "Everything's in place, and the estate looks quiet," he reported. "Looks like everything is going according to plan." Klaus sighed. "Can we go, then?" he asked impatiently, not expecting an affirmative answer. He'd learned over the years that Dorian had difficulties sitting back while someone else did the job; he wanted to be in the thick of things. Dorian was most definitely an adrenaline junkie. Dorian reached over and patted his knee. "Relax, Darling. Let's wait until the boys get out. Just because things are going find now doesn't mean that something might not still go wrong." Klaus rolled his eyes and relaxed into his seat. Knowing Dorian, it was going to be a long wait. It wouldn't matter how fast Ramsey and Mansfield were, it would still be too long for him. He closed his eyes, planning to pass the time trying—no doubt unsuccessfully—to ignore Dorian and mentally going over the case-load of his department at Interpol. Officially he was on leave, recovering from the stress of nearly being killed. A different office was handing the official investigation into the bomb that had been planted in his car and the related bomb at Dorian's townhouse. Unofficially, he considered it far more likely that the four of them would solve the case first, especially considering the resistance he'd run into over investigating their earlier encounter with 'New World'. He was shaken out of his reverie by a touch, followed by a weight settling onto his lap. He opened his eyes and frowned at Dorian. The blond just grinned back at him from his new position, sitting in Klaus's lap, and wrapped his arms around the German's neck. "Aren't you uncomfortable?" Klaus asked, determinedly not responding to the obvious flirtation or invitation. A response would be taken as encouragement, he knew well. "Well, now that you mention it, the wheel is digging into my hip," Dorian said. "Perhaps you could move the seat back?" "Perhaps you could move back to your own seat?" "But it's much more difficult to make out with you from over there." "Good," he replied in a flat voice. He was working very hard at ignore his body's reaction to Dorian's nearness. Ever since that first night on the train, he'd found his will to resist Dorian weakening. For years he'd successfully resisted the man, and now he was dismayed to find that Dorian could probably twist him around his little finger if he exerted himself. It was purest chance that Dorian hadn't yet, but that seemed likely to change in the near-future. Dorian just snuggled in a little closer. "Come on, Darling. Haven't you ever made out in a car?" "No." Dorian pulled away, a surprised look on his face. "Never? Well then, we'll have to correct that. Or better yet we could get in the back seat and..." Klaus's jaw tightened. "No. We are not 'making out' or anything else in this car. Not when anyone might walk by and see us." Despite his pronouncement, a little voice was wondering what it might be like. He squashed it down firmly. Unlike Dorian, he was not an exhibitionist. "But Darling, that's half the fun. The possibility of being discovered." "No! If we are here to provide backup for Ramsey and Mansfield, that is what we will do. Otherwise we will go back to the hotel to wait for them." Dorian pouted. "All right," he said, not moving an inch. "One kiss, then it's all business." "Dorian..." "One kiss. Or we go back to the hotel and..." A hand wormed its way between them and maneuvered its way down under Klaus's belt. He quickly caught the hand and pulled it away. "We don't have time," he said, wondering if the excuse sounded as weak as his voice did to his ears. From Dorian's expression, it did. "Just one kiss," he repeated, his lips only an inch from Klaus, waiting for Klaus to make the move. His laughing eyes daring Klaus to make that move. Klaus sighed. Obviously he wasn't to get out of this without kissing the blond. Dorian had always delighted in pushing his limits—not to mention his buttons—and that obviously wasn't going to change now that they were... whatever they were. Klaus flinched from the obvious term. He still wasn't sure he ready for that. Deciding that the best thing to do was to simply get it over with (he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that snickered at that), Klaus closed that last inch to bring their lips together. The kiss started out chaste, just a light pressure against the other man's lips. Like the rest of him, Dorian's lips were strong, but still soft, and Klaus found himself touching them with his tongue, categorizing the differences between them and the lips of the very few women he'd kissed in his life. But then Dorian opened his mouth, and Klaus found his tongue automatically dipping inside. The sudden slide of Dorian's tongue against his own had an immediate and dizzying effect on him. He gasped, and his arms came around Dorian's waist, holding his body tightly. His hands started moving, first rubbing Dorian's back through the knit fabric of his poloneck sweater, then moving underneath the suddenly untucked top to caress soft skin layered over strong muscles. Meanwhile, Dorian wasn't wasting any time either. His hands combed through Klaus's dark locks, ruffling the hair and twisting it around long fingers before moving to toy with the tiny fine hairs at the base of his neck. Dorian shifted restlessly in his lap, grinding—no doubt deliberately—onto his genitals, which were quickly swelling to full size. And through it all, their lips never parted Finally, Dorian pulled away with a muffled oath—something about the small confines of rental cars. He twisted around, obviously trying to figure some way to straddle Klaus's lap. Klaus stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then came to his senses. "No. One kiss, you said," he gasped, trying to regain his composure, wondering what was happening to him. When had he lost his self-control? "Darling," Dorian said in a mock-stern voice. "No! What if..." That was when the alarms started sounding and the lights came on in the compound. Cursing, Klaus reached for his gun while Dorian extracted himself from his awkward position. What had gone wrong this time? "//Well, what have we here? Two little thieves come to steal the life earnings of an honest businessman?//" "Right, Vince," Mac drawled in English. "You're no more an honest businessman than I'm the Queen of Sheba." "Your highness," the Frenchman replied with a mocking bow. Victor appreciated the switch in languages. While his French was quite good after living in France for nearly four years, he still preferred to stick to his mother-tongue when the stakes were high, and he had a feeling that they didn't get much higher than this. de Venard nodded to one of his men. Victor and Mac were quickly and efficiently frisked. All their weapons were confiscated, along with Mac's bracelet (which hid a wire-saw) and Victor's belt (which contained their backup lockpick set) but they weren't restrained. "Very good," the man said, nodding to his men. Then he turned back to his captives. "Kneel." Victor and Mac both snorted. "I don't think so," Mac said, stepping forward aggressively. Instantly, every gun in the room snapped to focus on them, and Mac stepped back again. Victor glanced over at Mac, and they both shrugged before sinking to their knees in matching fluid movements. de Venard smiled, and stepped over to in front of Mac. "A good position for you, monsieur Ramsey. Oh yes, I remember you. How could a man forget that face, those lips." The older man reached out to touch the lips in question, but a snap of Mac's teeth made him jerk his hand back, a flash of panic passing across his face. Victor had to bite back a snicker at the man's obvious cowardice. However, de Venard immediately covered it up by backhanding Mac across the face. The only thing that stopped Victor from ripping the man to shreds for his actions were the guns pointed at both him and his partner, held by men who were obviously competent and ready to use them. "Really, my dear boy, you should be more cautious," the man said as a thin trickle of blood ran from Mac's cut lip. "When last we met, you were protected by the Tangs, but now they are gone. Even your Agency can't help you anymore." Victor froze at that. "Agency? Which one?" Mac asked, his face a study in innocence. Once again, de Venard backhanded him. "Oh, very nicely played, dear Mac. However, I know all about your life since we last met." "If you say so," Mac replied, shrugging his shoulders. Victor gritted his teeth, willing his lover to stop baiting the man. Mac was going to get himself killed if he kept this up. If he did, Victor promised himself that de Venard wouldn't outlive him by more than a minute. "You know, it's a pity, though," de Venard continued. "If you'd been more accommodating the last time we met, I might be inclined to be more accommodating now." "You wanted me to give you a blowjob," Mac protested, sounding nauseated. Looking at the overweight, greasy-skinned man, Victor had to agree with the outrage. Not even for money. "That wasn't so much to ask, was it? Perhaps I should give you a second chance..." The Frenchman reached down and rubbed at his groin suggestively. Victor could feel the bile moving in the back of his throat at the sight. This was even worse than the Elvis-wannabe mobster who'd called himself 'The King'. Mac snorted. "Not likely, Vince. You were disgusting then, and you're still disgusting. You couldn't pay me enough to touch you, let alone do anything else." He turned his head, deliberately not looking at de Venard any longer. As a result, he didn't see the expression of pure fury that passed across the man's face. Victor did, and it made his blood run cold. The man might be a middle-aged, overweight, cowardly, out of favor gangster, but the man was still dangerous. For a moment, de Venard's fist clenched, and Victor was sure that Mac was about to acquire another bruise, but then it relaxed. Instead, de Venard moved over to the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a cell-phone of a type that Victor had never seen before and punched a button, waited a moment, then punched in a series of numbers too fast for Victor to follow. Then he held it up to his ear. "de Venard. I have Mansfield and Ramsey. No, no sign. Do you want me to kill them?" he paused and waited. "Understood. At once," he said in an ingratiating tone. He turned the phone off and turned back to his waiting prisoners. "The two of you are going to take a little trip," he said in a mock-cheerful tone. "A final trip. A pity that we couldn't find another solution." The man stopped, then turned to Victor with a speculative look on his face. Victor growled as the man stopped in front of him and reached out a hand to cup his chin. Victor flinched at the touch of those clammy fingers. "You know, monsieur Ramsey has excellent taste. Perhaps you would be more inclined to avoid the same fate, though. What do you say, monsieur Mansfield? I could tell them that you died in a foolish escape attempt. I can offer you a life of luxury. In return for services, of course." The bile was rising again. "I say move your hand before I rip it off at the shoulder," he grated out, fixing the man with his coldest glare. de Venard actually flinched at the sight. "A pity," he said, stepping back. Victor resisted the urge to wipe his face clean of the man's touch; he didn't think the man's thugs would react well to him moving. "Take them out to the airfield," he told the goons. "A plane will be here to pick them up in an hour." The lead goon gestured with his gun for Mac and Victor to stand up. As he did, Victor casually grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Instantly, every eye in the room was focused on him and he froze. "Drop it," the goon said. "No, let him keep it," de Venard said with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure they'll be interested in seeing what two thieves bring to a job. But if he opens the bag, shoot him." Victor held his hands out to the side, trying to look innocent. Maybe they didn't have a chance of escape, but if a miracle happened, he did not want to lose the information they'd broken in to get in the first place. The goons escorted them out the front door and into a waiting van. It was a little crowded, so two of the goons stayed behind. That left only the driver, the goon in the passenger seat and the two in back with Victor and Mac. The odds were improving, but not by much. "Anything?" Klaus asked. "No," Dorian replied, not moving the binoculars from his eyes. After the alarm had gone off, they'd quickly straightened their clothes, then moved the car to a spot where they could see both the drive and estate's front door. They'd already seen the security guards move out onto the grounds, finding the spot where the two men had gone in, along with their rental car. Klaus double-checked his gun, for the third time since they'd taken up position. If Dorian hadn't insisted on coming out... He sighed. Much as he hated to, he was going to have to say it. "You were right to insist that we come out as backup," he said reluctantly. Dorian didn't move, but Klaus could see the gentle smile blossom on his lips. "Thank you," was all that the blond thief said. At least it wasn't an 'I told you so'. Suddenly, Dorian straightened in his seat. "Van," he said. Looking down the drive, Klaus could see the dark van pulling up in front of the main doors. The doors opened, and a large group came out. Dorian frowned. "The boys," he said. "And guards. Two got in back with them. One got in up front with the driver. The rest are staying behind." The van started moving, and Klaus started the engine in the rental car. Next to him, Dorian stowed the binoculars away. They could see the gate open and the van pull out onto the main road. Klaus put the car in drive and set out to follow the van from a discrete distance. Unlike his attempt at following Jackie Janczyk, nearly a year ago, he had no intention of being spotted. At least, not until he wanted to be spotted. Dorian glanced over. "Do we stop them now?" Klaus shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road or the vehicle they were tailing. "Let's see where they're going first." Got a Ticket For An Airplane Victor sat shoulder to shoulder with Mac, drawing precious strength from the warmth of the lean body that pressed against the length of his side. The two men guarding them sat opposite them in the cramped back of the van, guns never wavering. de Venard might be a fool, but he hired competent people. They'd been in tight spots before, but this one looked like it could be the last one. "Trouble." Both Mac and Victor looked towards the driver, although the gunmen didn't even flinch. "What?" one of them asked. "I think we're being followed." The tension in the van immediately skyrocketed. "You sure?" There was a hesitation. "I... I don't know. This car's been behind us for a while now, but if it's a tail the driver knows what he's doing." The man shrugged. "It's not like we're the only cars on the road. It might be just my imagination. And it's a little tough to tell at night." Victor avoided looking at Mac. He didn't want to get his own hopes up, but his instincts were saying that it was Dorian and Klaus. They might actually have a chance... "What do you want me to do?" the driver asked. "The next turnoff is the one to the airfield." "You still see that car?" There was a pause. "No." "Take it, but keep an eye on the rearview mirror. Let me know if you see anything." "Right." "Klaus, darling, you missed the turnoff." Klaus glared at him. Dorian should really know better than that. "If I take it, there's no way that they can miss me." "But we don't know where they're going if we don't follow them." Klaus growled, but was too busy looking for another exit to really be able to really let loose. "There was a sign for a small airfield," he pointed out, annoyed that Dorian hadn't noticed. "They're going to fly the boys out," Dorian said, finally getting it. "Obviously." Up ahead, he saw another turnoff with an airfield sign. Ignoring the blaring horns of the drivers he cut off, Klaus wrenched the wheel to get the car to the exit in time. As soon as they were off the main thoroughfare, the road narrowed. Without the lights of the other cars, combined with the thick trees on either side of the road, it was nearly pitch black. Klaus slowed down, paying more attention to the road. He didn't dare turn off the headlights, but he also didn't want to give their presence away. When the trees started to thin out, and he saw the lights of the airfield up ahead, Klaus pulled to a stop and turned off the car. "We'll go on foot from here," he said, pulling his gun from its holster. Even though he knew it was in perfect order, he still checked it again. It was a ritual that helped to focus his mind. A comfort. He glanced over at Dorian and frowned. "Cover your hair," he snapped. "It's too bright." Dorian grinned, and brushed it back with one hand. "What, darling? Don't you like it?" "Whether or not I like it is irrelevant. It's night, it's dark and your hair is too bright." Dorian stepped closer. "But do you like it?" "Dorian..." "Just answer the question, Klaus." Klaus's jaw clenched and his free hand curled into a fist. Why did Dorian always choose these moments to push? "Fine," he said in a tight tone. "I do like your hair. Satisfied?" And he did. Dorian's hair was almost a complete opposite of his own. Thick and generously curled, where Klaus's was dead straight and fairly thin. Klaus's hair was a dark, almost flat, brown while Dorian's was a cascade of bright gold in a thousand shades. Over the years, Klaus had heard various poison-tongued upper-class types speculate on what bottle Dorian's hair color came from, but Klaus knew the truth: Dorian's hair was all-natural, in length, curl and color. Dorian's smile went blinding. "Thank you, darling," he said, and leaned in to quickly kiss Klaus. Before the man could snap at him again, Dorian pulled a dark cap from his pocket and tucked his hair up under it. Almost immediately, he seemed to dim and disappear into the backdrop of darker trees. Klaus nodded. "Let's go." The van had been parked for a while when one of the guards glanced at his watch. "Plane should be here in five more minutes," he announced. The guy who was obviously in charge nodded. "All right, boys," he said, waving his gun towards Victor and Mac. "Out of the van, and keep your hands where I can see them." Mac glanced at Vic, and they both shrugged. They shuffled over to the back door of the van and hopped out, Vic still keeping a hold of his bag. Mac wasn't sure why his partner was hanging onto it so tightly. After all, it didn't look like it was going to be of any use. The head goon obviously disagreed. "Drop the bag," he growled. "Someone get some rope to tie these two up. I don't want any trouble from them." Mac held his hands up, the picture of innocence. "C'mon," he said. "Do you really need to do that?" "Yes. I do." "We haven't caused trouble so far," Vic pointed out, picking up on Mac's lead. "I. Don't. Care. The boss might be stupid, but I'm not." He turned and glanced around. "Where the hell's that rope?" "Right here." The man turned quickly at the unfamiliar—at least to him—voice, and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun that probably looked as big as a canon from his point of view. Mac chuckled. "Geez, what took you so long?" Klaus glared at him. "If you aren't happy with the service, we could always leave you here." "No, that's fine," Vic said quickly. Mac struggled, Vic's hand clamped over his mouth. "Where's Eroica?" "Over here." Dorian came around the corner of the van, two men held at gun point. At this point, Mac relieved the leader of his gun. The other two were unarmed, and their guns were tucked into the waist of Dorian's slacks. He hoped that the man had put the safeties back on, or he was risking a part of his anatomy that he was no doubt fond of. As he approached, Mac caught a glance of the driver, still in the van, starting to open the door. "Look out!" he shouted as the door slammed into Dorian's shoulder. The blond dropped to the ground with an undignified grunt. Vic tackled the man's two prisoners before they could make a run for it, and Mac shot the driver. The man went down and stayed down. Mac hadn't been inclined to take any chances. He turned to the tangle on the ground next. Vic didn't seem hurt, so he kept his gun on the other two while Vic got to his feet. Dorian handed him the two guns he'd taken from the goons, and they were all armed now. "Well, that was exciting," Dorian said, pulling off the dark cap he was wearing. "Shall we go?" "No," Vic said. "They were sending a plane to take us someplace. I'd like to know where." Mac frowned. "What are you suggesting?" Vic grinned at him. "Well, I've never hijacked a plane before. Have you?" "You have got to be joking," Klaus said. "Nah," Mac said, although his initial reaction had been the same. But once he thought about it... "After all, if we weren't just going to be dumped in the Mediterranean or something, the pilot is going to have to know where we're going." "We don't know how many people will be on that plane," Klaus pointed out. Vic shrugged. "We're four heavily armed men, and we have the element of surprise on our side. Do you have any better ideas?" "Didn't you find anything in de Venard's house?" Vic picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it. He pulled the disk copier from it. "Files from five unlabeled diskettes, with no guarantee that it's related to New World. And they've been warned. This is our best chance of getting to them." "He's right, darling," Dorian said from where he was finishing tying up de Venard's goons with the rope that they'd planned to use on Mac and Vic. Mac glared at them, suppressing the urge to kick them where it would hurt most. It had been a long night, and he had some hostility work out. Instead, he restrained himself. "It's our best chance," he echoed. Klaus grimaced, then sighed. "We better get ready, then. I can hear a plane." In the end, it was easier than expected. They set up, and were ready when the plane landed. The door opened downwards to become a stairway. Klaus was instantly up the stairs and holding a gun on the man there, while Victor headed for the cockpit to keep the pilot from radioing a warning. Before the woman could reach for the radio, his gun barrel was pressed directly behind her ear. "You really don't want to do that," he said quietly. She let her hands drop. "Now, how about you tell me where you were going to deliver us." The woman didn't answer. She just kept staring straight ahead. Victor pressed the gun a little harder against her skull and made a show of cocking the gun. He didn't think he'd really be able to kill her in cold blood, but his act must have been good enough. "Romania," she blurted out. Victor smiled. "Well, we're still going to Romania, then," he said. "The circumstances are just going to be a little different than expected." "And if I refuse?" "My dear," came Dorian's voice from the cockpit door. "You're not the only one here who can fly a plane. I'm sure that there's enough information in the plane's systems to tell us where exactly we're going. Come to think of it, we don't really need you, do we?" Dorian's smile went feral, and for a moment Victor actually bought the act. Then, when the pilot flinched and looked away, Dorian gave him a small wink. "The landing field has hidden traps," she said hurriedly. "If you don't know where they are, you will kill yourselves." "And you. We certainly aren't going to leave you here." She gulped. "Fine. I'll do it." Dorian's smile turned genuine now, and Victor grinned as well. "Smart move," he told her. While Dorian guarded the pilot and co-pilot, Klaus, Victor and Mac drove the rental car and the van into the trees, out of sight of a casual search, and made sure that de Venard's goons weren't going to get loose any time soon. They would, eventually, but with any luck, it would be too late to warn anyone about what was going on. They were obviously supposed to be coming with them as guards, so with any luck, their disappearance wouldn't be noticed prematurely. They grabbed the bags from the rental, sealed up the plane, and took off. Since Dorian could fly a plane, he stayed in the cockpit with the pilot as co-pilot and guard. In the back, the others started planning. Victor grinned when he saw that Klaus and Dorian had grabbed his laptop from the rental car he and Mac had been using before de Venard's men had found it. He grabbed the appropriate cables from the bag and hooked up the disk-copier to the laptop. "The files are encrypted," he said after a moment. "We may have hit paydirt." Klaus frowned. "That doesn't help us if we can't decrypt them," he pointed out. Victor grinned. "Don't be so negative. This baby has the best decryption software around loaded." "I've seen decryption software. It doesn't do much good unless the files are using simple algorithms or old standards." "That's because you've been using commercial and government programs," Mac said from the wet bar, where he was pouring everyone a small drink. Klaus shook his head when offered a glass. Mac shrugged, and tossed back his, draining the glass. He handed the other to Victor, who was focussed on the screen. He typed in a few more commands, then smiled in satisfaction. "We, on the other hand, have the best decryption software designed by the Agency. The Agency employs on the best." "And the craziest," Mac muttered to himself, no doubt remembering the brilliant but unbalanced researcher, Nathan. Mac leaned over the back of his seat, and Victor grinned up at him. His adrenaline was running high, and a thought occurred to him. "This'll take a while," he told Klaus. "Maybe half an hour. Can you watch the bozo here?" he asked, indicating the co-pilot who was tied and gagged in one of the over-stuffed seats. Traveling on a private corporate jet obviously had its benefits. "Sure. Why?" "I need to do something." Klaus looked puzzled, but Victor didn't stop to enlighten him. He'd figure it out, soon enough. Victor got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. The plane had one that was only slightly more spacious than the ones on commercial jets. He relieved himself, and was washing his hands when the expected knock came. He opened the door and let Mac slip into the washroom. It was a tight fit, but they managed, especially once Victor hopped up to sit on the edge of the tiny counter surrounding the stainless steel sink. "Bullets flying, huh?" Mac said. "Hmmm..." Victor purred. "Want to join the mile-high club with me?" Mac grinned. "What do you think?" he asked, rubbing up against Victor. Victor reached over to cup Mac's cheek, his thumb rubbing gently across the purple bruise forming there from when de Venard had hit him. He followed his thumb with his lips, brushing gentle kisses over the cheekbone until Mac turned his head to catch his mouth in a deep kiss. Immediately, all signs of gentleness disappeared. Victor let loose, devouring his lover's mouth hungrily. Somehow, after a dangerous run-in like this, he wanted to fuck. Hard and dirty. Love-making was saved for later. He fumbled at Mac's pants, pleased to find that the younger man was as hard as he was. He reached inside and started stroking, while Mac's long fingers undid his own pants. A hard shove pushed Mac against the wall, barely leaving enough room for Victor to drop to his knees in front of him. Not bothering to tease his lover, he swallowed Mac's cock whole, working up all the saliva he could. While he did that, he worked his pants and underwear down over his hips. Free of the fabric, his cock almost slapped against his stomach, leaking with excitement. Ignoring Mac's quiet groan of protest, Victor released his cock and looked up. Mac pulled him to his feet, and they indulged in a brief, but even more heated kiss. Then Victor turned around and bent over the counter, his ass presented to Mac. In the mirror, he could see Mac's face, eyes glazed and mouth open as he panted. Mac stepped closer, using his hands to spread Victor's ass-cheeks apart. "Now!" Victor hissed, his eyes staying focussed on the mirror. Immediately, he felt Mac press in. More than three years of experience let him relax and take Mac in one thrust, even with only spit as lubricant. In fact, he preferred it that way; it let him feel it all. Mac's mouth fastened onto the side of his neck, and their eyes met in the mirror. Mac made a small sound, like a growl, then slowly pulled out until just the head of his cock was still inside of Victor's ass. Then he slammed forward, and they both shouted, not bothering to keep quiet for the people outside. The moment was all that existed. Again and again, Mac slammed into him, hard and perfect. Victor's head fell back, but he kept his gaze glued to Mac's through the mirror. His hands were braced against the counter, trying to keep him from being slammed into it. He desperately wanted his cock touched, but instead Mac had wrapped both of his arms around Victor's chest. Victor was going to chance moving one hand down, when Mac's growl stopped him. "Don't," was all the man said. Instead, he adjusted his angle of entry slightly, and suddenly every thrust was hitting Victor's prostate directly. Fireworks started going off. His eyes started to drift shut, but again Mac stopped him. "Watch," he said. So he kept his eyes open. The look on Mac's face was almost enough to set him off by itself. That, combined with the hard movements inside him, was too much to resist, and he felt his blood start to boil. "Maaaaaaaac!" he bellowed, and his orgasm exploded. Without being touched, his cock started shooting off volleys so strongly that the first two actually hit the mirror, then dripped down the surface, leaving milky smears behind. Mac's teeth clamped down hard on his neck again, and he shot deep inside Victor, only just barely more quiet. They both slumped forward, breathing heavily, and stayed that way for a few minutes until Mac had softened enough for Victor's body to expel him. Without a word, they washed and tidied up, although Victor decided to be perverse and leave the semen stains on the mirror. Before Mac opened the door, Victor twisted around and caught him for a slow, gentle kiss. "I love you," he said quietly. Mac's eyes practically glowed. "I love you too." They opened the door and headed out to find out what the computer files would reveal. Welcome to Vampire Country Mac closed the washroom door behind himself, shutting away the heavy smell of sex that would be lingering in the small space for a long time to come, then followed Vic back out to the sitting area. When they got there, Mac was amused to see that Klaus was sitting with his back to the washroom. As he came past the man, he could see that Klaus's jaw was clenched tightly, and that he was staring at the wall behind the prisoner with a very determined blank stare. As for the prisoner, the co-pilot was looking rather green. Mac grinned, and patted the man on the shoulder as he passed him. He barely restrained his snicker when the man flinched away from the touch. Obviously the washroom's sound-proofing had been as ineffective as he had expected. While Vic headed for the laptop to see if it had finished decoding the files, Mac stuck his head into the cockpit to see how blondie and the pilot were doing. "How are we doing?" he asked. "Another twenty minutes, Mac dear," Dorian said, looking up with a smile. He'd managed to find a pilot's cap someplace, and amazingly it didn't clash with the all-black outfit he was wearing. "Did you two enjoy yourselves?" The pilot was blushing bright red, her eyes fixed on the controls. "Wow!" Mac said, his grin getting even wider. "You could hear us all the way up here? I'm impressed. Vic doesn't usually get that loud." "Hmm? You weren't overly quiet yourself, dear," Dorian said. His smile was both wistful and faintly lecherous. Mac just grinned back. He was feeling too damned good to care if the whole world had heard him. Besides, he hadn't held back in the sound department deliberately. There was just something about the uptight Klaus that made him want to yank the man's chain. "Here we go!" Vic's voice pulled him back into business mode, and Mac went to rejoin him and Klaus. Vic was hunched over his laptop, doing the two-fingered hunt-and-peck at a furious pace. Mac often asked Vic why he didn't take a touch-typing course, considering how much time the job kept him on a computer, but Vic always claimed that he typed faster this way than he would using the standard touch-typing methods. "So what are the files?" he asked eagerly. "Financial accounts." Mac's face fell. "Is that all?" he asked, more than a little disappointed. "What did you expect? Complete details on New World's plans?" Mac grinned. "Well, that would have been nice. So what do these accounts tell you?" Vic typed a little more. Mac peered over his shoulder as he funneled the information from the files into an analysis and spreadsheet program that organized the records according to destination, source and date. After a moment, the results started showing themselves as charts and tables. Mac's eyes narrowed as he read through them. He'd never much liked the financial aspects of running a small company, but he'd learned them. After all, it wouldn't have been fair to make Vic take care of all the bookkeeping for their security firm. "We've got major payments to companies that supply medical and laboratory equipment. More payments to pharmaceutical companies." "Does it say where the equipment was shipped to?" Klaus asked. "Nope," Vic said. "However, there are also records of payments to construction firms in four different countries. One of them is in Romania, so I would say that we're on the right track." Mac reached past Vic and brought up the next screen of information. "Oh, very interesting," he said. "What?" Klaus said suspiciously. "Records of incoming accounts. Looks like Vince was one of the major funnels for donations, and he kept detailed records of those too. With names, even. Not very smart, Vince," he added under his breath. "Let me see," Klaus demanded, already reaching for the laptop. "Maybe he was planning on blackmailing members," Vic said in a speculative tone. "Or maybe he was just covering his butt in case he was arrested. After all, this sort of information that might get him a lighter sentence." "If it didn't get him killed first." Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by an impressive string of invective mostly comprised of—but not limited to—German. They looked up in surprise at Klaus, who was rapidly turning red. "Klaus, darling, are you all right?" Dorian called through the open cockpit door. "I take it that you recognize a name or two?" Vic asked mildly. The response was another string of curses, but Klaus calmed himself rapidly. "For one thing," he finally said, "I found out why my superiors didn't want me to continue investigating New World." "Oh?" "There are several large donations noted from the Contaro Corporation." Mac rolled his eyes, wishing that the man would get to the point. "And?" he said, pointedly. "My immediate superior reports to Joseph Contaro. His family runs the Contaro Corporation." Vic hissed at that. "Not good," he muttered to himself. "Not good at all." Maybe it was that they'd been together for all these years, or maybe it was just the training from the Agency and the Tangs, but Mac picked up on what Vic was talking about immediately. "If they've got people inside Interpol, then we are screwed. We can't contact any of the appropriate authorities," he said, just in case Klaus or Dorian had missed the obvious. "So the question is, now what?" "Well, we better decide fast," Dorian called from the cockpit, "because we've got ten minutes until we reach the landing field." Mac started thinking fast. "We can't call Interpol, and probably not NATO either. They'd be fools not to have people scattered throughout the Romanian government, military and police forces." "For all we know, they've got a private army," Vic added. "We could turn around and leave. Come back later when we are better organized," Klaus suggested. Vic shook his head. "No good. They know we were captured, so they'll know we escaped. And unless we kill these two," he said with a nod towards the co-pilot, "they'll know we have these files. We'd be too busy running for our lives to be able to do anything about stopping them. No. We face them now or not at all." Klaus gave a jerky nod. "Agreed. The question is, what do we do?" Vic shrugged, but Mac noticed that he was covertly typing a string of commands into the laptop. "Good question. We could always call in Dorian's people." "Victor, while the boys are very good at break-ins, I don't think they would be much use in this case." "How about the Agency?" Klaus asked. Vic shook his head. "I'm not sure how safe that would be either. After all, we know that several of the scientists associated with New World were also with the Agency at one point. We don't know that they don't still have people there. No. I think we may be on our own." "We're also there, boys." The radio in the cockpit crackled to life, and the pilot looked over at Dorian. "Do I answer?" she asked in slightly sarcastic tone. "Or would you like me to circle the field a few times while you make up your minds." The woman flinched as Mac growled, and went for his gun. Vic grabbed his arm before he could pull it out, though. "What language?" Vic asked. "Russian," was the sullen reply. Mac frowned. Why Russian, of all languages? Romanians usually used German or Romanian, if he remembered correctly. Besides, most pilots used English these days. Vic glanced around. "I speak Russian," Klaus said, picking up on the obvious question. "Good. Make sure she doesn't give us away." Vic nodded to the woman, and she started talking with whoever was in the tower. The conversation was short and to the point, according to Klaus. She confirmed that she had the two prisoners on board, and received permission to land. Strangely enough, she didn't use the paved landing strip. Instead, she used a side-strip that was unpaved, but very even, dirt. "Why?" Vic asked quietly. She shot him a derisive glance. "The paved strip is a trap. It's used for large deliveries, but is mined the rest of the time." Mac shuddered, not wanting to imagine the results if she had tried to land on a mined landing strip. It wasn't a pretty picture. "So now what?" he asked. Klaus headed for the plane's hatch and started unsealing it. "We take to the hills, I'd say. We can leave these two someplace safe while we scout out the territory." "Or you will put your hands over your heads and exit one at a time." All four froze, and Mac's eyes immediately started searching for the hidden speakers. "What the..." Klaus started to sputter. "Really, Herr von dem Eberbach. Did you really think that we would not monitor our planes? Especially one sent to collect two very special prisoners?" Mac swore under his breath. Back during their days with the Agency, he wouldn't have been surprised. Hell, he would have expected monitoring. More than three years as an independent had dulled some of his instincts, it seemed. Vic didn't look surprised though, he noticed. Instead, his partner just looked resigned. Mac suddenly realized that Vic must have been expecting this. He just hoped that the other man had some sort of plan in mind, since he was coming up blank. "Open the hatch, gentlemen." Klaus looked back. There was a moment of confusion, then Vic gestured for him to go ahead. Klaus opened the hatch, and let it swing downwards to form the steps. "Now, throw your weapons out." Mac sighed, and tossed out his confiscated gun. Vic, Klaus and Dorian did the same. Something was bugging him, though. There was something familiar about the voice they were hearing. Something very familiar. "Good boys," the voice said mockingly. "Now, hand on your heads, and exit the plane one at a time." Through the hatch, Mac could see two jeeps pulling up, armed men in each. Mac leaned over and gave Vic a brief but heated kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dorian do the same to Klaus, and was a little surprised that the other man didn't pull away. Then Mac placed his hands on the top of his head and walked down the steps. His balance wavered for a moment, and he wondered if the guards would shoot him if he lost his balance and dropped his arms to break his fall. Looking at the hard expressions on the men's faces, he decided not to risk it. Once they were all down the steps, the were separated into the two jeeps. Mac found himself sitting next to Klaus, staring down the barrel of a rifle. Vic and Dorian were in the other jeep. The driver spoke into some sort of communicator—in Russian, Mac figured, even though he couldn't understand what was being said—then put the jeep into drive. The sudden motion made him sway, but Mac kept his hands on his head, more from force of will than anything else. Luckily, the drive moved to a paved road, and the jostling disappeared, letting Mac take a good look at their surroundings. The land around the airfield was reasonably flat, but up ahead he could see mountains reaching skyward, gleaming in the early morning light. They weren't as impressive as the Alps, but they were still pretty damn high. "Where are we, anyway?" he whispered to Klaus. "Somewhere not too far south of Suceava, I would say," Klaus whispered back. "Those are the Caparthian Mountains. Ukraine is north of us, and Moldova is to the east." Mac wracked his brain for historical details. "Both former parts of the Soviet Union," he finally said. "Yes." "Once led by Lenin." "Yes." "And New World wanted his body. Why?" "Quiet!" The guard shoved the end of his rifle right at Mac's nose, and his eyes practically crossed keeping on it. Mac shut up. Besides, it wasn't like he really expected an answer to his last question. Vic had suggested that New World wanted to clone Lenin as part of some bigger plan, but Mac wasn't sure that he really wanted to accept that theory. It had some implications that he really didn't want to think about. The jeep started to slow down as the road became narrow and winding. Up ahead, Mac could see what looked like a medieval castle on the side of the mountain. It looked grim and foreboding. In fact, it looked like something out of an old black and white horror movie. They were in the right part of the world for it too. By the time they pulled into the central courtyard of the structure, the morning sun was starting to warm things up. However, it was still low enough on the horizon that the courtyard was completely in shadow. Now that they were at the building, Mac could see that despite its appearance, the stone structure was new. It had all the rough edges that an authentic period building would have, but it was too clean and there was no wear and tear from long use. The jeep pulled to a stop, and they all climbed down awkwardly. More guards appeared, and led them up the wide steps to the main door. "Think they buy them by the gross?" Mac asked Vic loudly, nodding towards the gunmen. Vic didn't answer, but he did snicker. Mac's lips quirked into a smile, and Dorian chuckled quietly. Only Klaus's expression didn't change. "Quiet," one of the gunman ordered, and Mac wondered for a moment if it was the same one who'd been in the jeep with him and Klaus. Come to think of it, all of their guards looked similar, as if from the same family. In fact, very similar... Maybe that joke about buying them by the gross wasn't as far-fetched as he'd thought. Inside, they were led to a set of double doors that opened in front of them. After a wave of a gun in their direction, the four men walked through, and the doors closed behind them with a disturbing sound of finality. Across the large room, a man stood next to a bar, pouring himself a drink. "Oh, put your hands down already," he said, and Mac let his arms fall to his side with a grateful sigh. "And don't bother trying to overpower me, or anything stupid like that. The room is sealed, and monitored. One hostile move from any of you, and it will be flooded with gas before you could take five steps." Gas. Why did that ring bells, Mac asked himself. Then the man turned towards them, and the floor seemed to drop from under his feet. "The Head," he and Vic said in unison, and Mac groaned. This was not good. Plans Revealed Victor groaned as he sank into one of the ornate chairs that decorated the room. They were in big trouble here. If this were a genuine castle, this would probably be some sort of receiving room, designed to awe the visitors and put them at a disadvantage. Working as freelance security consultants, he and Mac had found themselves in many such rooms, so this one didn't overawe him. A quick glance at the others showed that they were equally unaffected. By their surroundings, at least "Brandy?" the man who had been Head of the Agency before he'd disappeared asked, gesturing with a fine cut-crystal decanter. A balloon glass, already filled, was cradled in his other hand. They all declined, so he put the decanter down then settled into the chair closest to him. Victor noted that the seat had a slightly higher seat than any of the others in the room. A small footstool prevented the person seated in it from being made to look foolish by his feet hanging above the ground, and the fancy carving and touches of gold gilt were obviously intended to make the viewer think of a throne. If nothing else, the man had a good grasp of psychology it seemed. "I must say, I was not very surprised when you managed to take over the plane. de Venard is a fool," he said with a snarl. "One that has just reached the end of his usefulness. I don't," he added with a cold smile, "keep fools around for long. In fact, he will have been taken care of by now." Victor felt a chill run through him, realizing that the man had so casually ordered an employee murdered. On the other hand, it had been the standard operating procedure of the Agency back when this man still ran it. The Director—now the actual Head—had changed that. Fools were given boring work in isolated areas of the world. Only the truly dangerous, or traitorous, were actually disposed of in a more permanent fashion. "Anyway," the man continued, "I've been following your career since the two of you left the Agency. A most impressive rise in reputation. And as for Mr. Red Gloria and Herr Eberbach, I keep track of anyone who could be either useful to me or a danger. That is," he said after taking a sip of his brandy, "why I chose Mr. Ramsey and Mr. Red Gloria for the commission some months ago." "The body," Mac said with obvious distaste. "Why you would want to..." The Head laughed, an not terribly pleasant sound. "I'm sure that between the four of you, you've figured out why we wanted Lenin's corpse." Mac shook his head. "We figured that you wanted to clone him, but not why. I take it that the man who died at the Agency's Toronto office was a clone too?" Victor frowned, then said, "I don't think so, Mac. That one looked... older," he added, staring at the smiling man opposite them. "Very good, Mr. Mansfield. Yes, this is our latest success. Not just cloning the body, but cloning the mind as well. I won't get into the details of how, since quite honestly, it sounds like fiction to even me. Suffice it to say, we have discovered the secret of immortality. Clone the body and transfer the mind." "But only for a very select few," Klaus said, speaking up for the first time. "The carrot to keep people loyal." "Exactly." "And your ultimate goal?" Dorian asked. "I'm sure that you can fill in the appropriate clichÈ." Victor snorted. "Let me guess: Total world domination." "Very good!" "So why Lenin?" The Head drained his glass and carefully placed it on a table next to him. "Every good revolution requires a leader. Someone charismatic. Someone people will trust. And since we plan to start with the former Soviet republics, then spread outwards..." Mac laughed. "What, you're going to say 'Here's Lenin, come back to life, follow him'? Give me a break." That brought a flash of anger to the other man's face. "Don't be a fool," he said. "Besides, he wouldn't be Lenin. After all, there's no mind to transfer." The Head visibly forced himself to relax. "No. The charisma will be trained back into him, along with the knowledge he will need. However, Lenin is still revered by many; especially the communists. There will be an instinctive response to him, since he will quite literally make people think of a young Lenin. Don't laugh," he admonished. "If you looked into people's minds, you will find that they often choose their leaders based on a subconscious recognition, that the man or woman reminds them of someone they know and trust." "So the Bolsheviks come back to power, and they take over the world?" Victor said, chilled by the truth of what the man had said. "It failed before," Klaus said in a voice so cold that it almost froze the room. The Head chuckled. "Western economies are weaker than they were two decades ago, and in recent years the former Soviet republics have built themselves up financially. With a little help, that is." Victor frowned. "How much help?" he asked, remembering what the Director said the fake Head had revealed before his death, that the Agency had been created for a purpose that was now over. "You're not a stupid man," the Head said. "I'm sure you can figure it out." And he could. Agency assassins taking out obstacles, Agency operations inadvertently helping the outfits that the Head wanted helped. He'd worried about just that sort of thing while he'd been working for the Agency. It was one of the reasons he'd agreed so quickly when Mac had suggested taking the chance to get out. "And," the man continued, "we have been preparing since before the fall of the Soviet empire. Men and women have been placed in positions of power, scientists funded in research we wanted pursued." He spread his arms out. "We've come a long way since Dolly the sheep," he said with a laugh. "While this all is fascinating," Dorian said smoothly, "why tell us? The other clichÈ of the criminal genius telling the hero his entire plan before placing him in a position he can escape from? Or are you simply going to kill us now?" The laugh that followed chilled Victor to the bone. "Not quite. I have plans for the four of you. You have skills that are far too valuable, and access to others. No, I don't plan on killing you. Yet." "Then what do you plan to do with us?" The Head smiled. "I forgot to mention. During the transfer process, we've discovered a way of... reprogramming the mind. All the knowledge is preserved, but the personality is re-shaped to our specifications. The earl is well known in both noble and criminal circles. Herr Eberbach also has connections within sections of NATO where we have not yet gained control. And as for Mr. Mansfield and Mr. Ramsey, well... They have the trust of the new head of the Agency." Victor and Mac exchanged glances. They could guess what the man wanted with them. The man had tried to kill the Director before. This time he seemed to be planning to use a different sort of weapon. This was not good. Not good at all. "Anyway," the Head said, pressing a small button in the arm of his chair. "We can continue this conversation later. The lab isn't quite ready for you yet, so we have prepared guest quarters for you." The doors to the room opened, and more of the depressingly similar guards appeared. "Pleasant dreams, gentlemen." The room they were put in was not the clichÈ that Dorian had referred to. It was a featureless box with only a single entrance. The walls were white, and the ceiling seemed to glow, providing a steady and bright light. Vic promptly dropped on one of the padded benches that ran along two walls. Klaus started pacing, and Dorian... well, Dorian leaned against one wall as if posing for a photo. Mac wasn't about to do any of those things. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the lockpick set that conveniently hadn't been taken from him and headed for the door. "Don't bother," Vic said. "I'm sure this room is being well-monitored. And besides#151;" Mac slipped a small probe along the edge of the door and was promptly blasted across the room. "It's probably booby-trapped," Vic concluded. Mac didn't answer. He was too busy trying to get his limbs to work. The door had been rigged to give an massive electrical jolt to anyone trying to break out of the cell. Mac decided that he'd better concentrate on trying to slow his heart-rate and breathing down. When Vic helped him to sit up, the touch was almost painful, but he welcomed it. "So what do we do?" he asked, ignoring the plaintive tone in his voice. "Just wait for him to send us off to his collection of Dr. Frankenstein types?" Vic helped him to lie down on the bench, then sat down close enough that Mac could rest his head in the other man's lap. "There's not a lot else we can do," Vic replied. "We have to do something!" Mac protested, his body relaxing as Vic's fingers combed through his hair, soothing away the last of the aftershocks. The touch was gentle, and Mac found himself slowly fading into sleep. It had been a long and stressful day even before Vince had caught them breaking into his study. He was out of gas. They all were. "We will," Vic assured him. "They have to let us out of this room, sooner or later. When that time comes, we'll be ready." Nearly ten hours passed before the door opened again. The mechanism worked so silently that the four sleeping men didn't wake until jabbed with rifle barrels. Across the room, Ramsey muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Five more minutes, Vic." The response was a shove so hard that he was knocked to the floor. Klaus rolled his eyes in exasperation. Unlike Ramsey, he had been awake the moment the moment the guards had made their presence known. The benches had been narrow and hard, despite the thin pads, but Klaus prided himself on being to sleep anywhere. The only awkwardness had been the fact that they weren't exactly long enough for all four men to stretch out. Mansfield and Ramsey had managed to curl up tightly enough to both fit on the bench against the longer wall, while Klaus had slept sitting up against the wall at the end of the other span, allowing Dorian to stretch out at his feet. The floor had been checked and found too hard for anyone to be able to sleep on. Actually, Klaus hadn't intended to sleep. He was going to keep watch over the other three, but... Klaus tested his reflections and found to his chagrin that he had been drugged. Their hosts had probably pumped a mild sedative through the invisible air vents, putting them all to sleep. However, it had worn off enough that Klaus was reasonably alert. The guards gestured for them to move out of the room, and they found four more of their kind waiting there; all armed, all silent. If the guard in the jeep the day before hadn't spoken, Klaus would be wondering if they could. A loud growl echoed in the silence. "What?" Ramsey said defensively. "I haven't eaten in nearly a day. Do you think that the condemned will at least get a last meal?" he asked with an impish grin. Dorian and Mansfield both snickered, and Klaus even had to hide a thin smile. It wasn't really that funny, but the stress of what had been happening to them since the bombs had gone off—if not longer than that—had built to the point where anything would be funny. They were lead down the hallway to a large elevator. When it started up, Klaus noted that they were going down. When it came to a stop, he knew that they had to be deep inside the mountain. When the elevator doors opened, they found themselves in a large, very modern laboratory. "Ah, good of you to join us." The man they knew only as The Head was coming towards them. He wore a white lab coat and a small smile. "We didn't exactly have a choice," Mansfield pointed out again. "Any chance of breakfast? Or would it be dinner?" Ramsey asked, rubbing at his stomach. "I'm afraid not," the man replied. "However, I thought you might like a tour of the facilities before we get started." Mansfield glanced over, and they all shrugged. Klaus wasn't sure that he really wanted to see the place, but anything that delayed the apparently inevitable was welcome. The tour was surreal. The equipment looked like something from a bad science fiction movie, with lots of polished steel and screens full of meaningless data. Perhaps it wouldn't be so meaningless if he were a geneticist, but Klaus didn't care. He noted with instincts born of long experience that the elevator looked to be the only exit for the level, and while there were other men and women wandering around looking busy, none were armed and they never came close. The only firearms in sight were the ones carried by their guards. Moving into the next room, they were presented with giant tubes full of strangely colored bubbling liquid. Each contained human figures at various stages of development, from fetus to full-grown. Klaus noted with a sense of foreboding that there were four unoccupied tubes at the end of the room, and teams in white bent over figures obviously just removed from those tubes. "And here is what will be our grandest success," the Head said proudly, leading them to a tube set apart from the rest. The figure inside appeared to be about ten years old, although Klaus could already see the resemblance to Lenin. He shuddered in an instinctive reaction. "We'll be removing him in a few days time," the Head continued smoothly. "Um... Isn't he a little young for what you're planning?" Ramsey asked from his position right next to his partner. "For the moment," was the response. "We are not programming him from scratch, you see. We've found that there are... drawbacks to that. No, we will implant basic memories now, and then train him ourselves." "That's gonna take a while, you know." The man laughed. "Mr. Ramsey, we have always planned for the long-term in New World. We have been working towards our goals for more than twenty years, since we realized that Communism was going to fall. Based on that, a few more years is nothing." "The thing I don't understand is why Communism?" Mansfield broke it. "Don't tell me you actually believe in it." The other man snorted in derision. "Of course not. However, it is a system that encourages blind obedience, no matter what Karl Marx may have intended. Look at China! Communism has been successful on a small scale. We simply intend to expand it. Everyone in the world equal!" "And following you," Klaus snarled, held back only by a gentle hand on his arm. "Not quite, Herr Eberbach," the man said smoothly. "I intend to control matters from behind the curtain, you might say. People like him," he said, nodding towards the young figure of Lenin floating in its artificial womb, "are the ones who will lead, while I will direct." "And that way, no one will notice when you're still around after fifty years or a hundred." "Very good Mr. Mansfield. You have a good grasp of reality. I shall enjoy discussing this with you further." "I thought we weren't long for this world," Mansfield replied with a slightly bitter smile. "Not quite. You see, we will begin the cloning process today, however the new body must mature for six months before the mind can be transferred. About the same age as our young leader-to-be here. Until then, you will be carefully guarded to ensure you stay relatively unharmed. And then... Well, your replacement will still have your mind. Just the loyalties will be reprogrammed." Klaus shuddered, and he could see the others doing the same. The idea of knowing exactly who and what he was, but being unable to do anything about it, was revolting. "Now," the man said, gesturing towards the doorway. "We can get started." Deciding that he would rather take his chances in a fight before he would submit to what the man planned, Klaus tensed himself, preparing to attack the nearest guard. From the reactions of his companions, he knew he was not alone in his plans. He prepared to dive to the side as the came through the doorway... When there was a dull thud, the lights flickered and a siren began to wail. The Chase Mac was ready to take out goon number one as they moved into the lab. To someone who wasn't a professional, he would look completely relaxed. The others were just as 'relaxed'. He wasn't sure what they were going to do once they had taken out the goons, though. All he knew was that like hell was he going to be turned into Dr. Frankenstein's latest experiment. In fact, he was so ready that he almost didn't notice the faint rumble of an explosion. All he knew was that the goons blinked and he moved. A kick to the solar-plexus took out goon one, and Mac grabbed his gun as he went down. A shot took out goon two. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Klaus, Vic and Dorian take out the rest of the goon squad. In the background he heard screams from the lab staff as the red lights started flashing and the sirens started wailing. "Now what?" he said, turning to Vic. "Elevators are a bad idea," his partner replied, and another explosion seconded the statement. "We'd be sitting ducks. Our best bet is to grab the Head and use him as a hostage." Mac grinned wolf-like. That was a plan he could get into. He turned and headed back into the decanting room. The technicians who'd been working on the latest goon-clone ran past him, but he ignored them. The Head wasn't with them. He glanced around the room suspiciously. The red flashing lights gave everything an eerie appearance that went nicely with the periodic boom and shudder from far above. Any second now he expected a man in riding breeches and a monocle to jump up and yell "Cut!" Nothing. No movie director and no Head. Mac cursed under his breath as he peered down the rows of bubbling tubes. "Guys, hate to say this but he's gone." "Impossible," Klaus said, moving into the room after Mac. "He didn't come past us. He must be in here." "Well, unless you've got x-ray vision, he isn't here," Mac snapped back at him. "There must be a back door," Vic said. Mac shrugged. "He had them all over the various Agency headquarters," he said. "So stands to reason he'd have some sort of secret exit here." "Yeah, but where?" Vic glanced at the doorway, but none of the lab techs seemed inclined to butt in and the guards were all still out cold or dead. Finally, he shook his head and shut the door. Damn thing looked like it was solid metal, and the tiny window had the distinctive ripple of bullet-proof glass. Vic found the lock and jammed it shut. "Okay, folks," he said once he was satisfied that no one was going to be rudely bursting in on them. "Find that door." They fanned out, examining walls, ceilings and floors. Mac moved along the rows of giant test-tubes, pushing at them experimentally to see if any of them were sitting on top of tunnel exits or something. "Tell me, Vic," he said as he worked his way down a row. "You don't seem surprised about the explosions." Vic shrugged. "That's because I'm not," he replied. Mac straightened up. "And why aren't you surprised?" he asked, already a little pissed. At the moment, he wasn't in the mood to play 'twenty questions'. "Well," Vic said with a grin. "That little laptop of mine was a present from the Director. It's got all the latest bells and whistles. Software, accessories, everything. Including a satellite-signal modem." Mac blinked. "There is such a thing?" The only modems he knew of hooked up to phone lines directly. "Well, it's new and untested. A new Agency invention. The Director asked me to try it out. It just arrived the day before everything went crazy." Mac snorted. "I'd really appreciate knowing about these things, you know." Vic grinned. "I thought you liked surprises," he said with a leer. "Those kinds, yeah. These kinds, not really. So. What. Did. You. Do. With. It?" he said slowly and clearly. "I e-mailed all those files, plus our location to the Director." Mac blinked. Of course. How obvious. "And you didn't say anything because..." he prompted Vic shrugged. "I got a little suspicious and wondered if we might be monitored. If we were, then saying something might have forced them to move. Keeping quiet gave the Director time to come up with a plan and get here." "Good point," Mac said with a sigh. Vic was right. Much as he hated being out of the loop, it was the only thing that would have worked. Didn't mean he couldn't punish his partner for not signaling him, though, he thought with a smile. Punishing Vic could be so much fun. He started filing away ideas for later, assuming that there was a later for them. "Found it!" Dorian's call brought them all running. Blondie had found a door in behind the tube holding the Lenin clone. It was just a section of wall that swung into a concealed space. There wasn't much room; they would have to squeeze to get through. One by one they did so, their confiscated guns held ready. Klaus, Dorian, Vic, then Mac last after a quick look around. He shoved the wall section shut behind them. They were in a small space carved into the mountain. Rough-cut stone surrounded them, except for the small section of wall that led back to the lab facilities. In the middle of the space was a spiral staircase that led up. Overhead, Mac could see small lights at regular intervals, giving enough light to see. Barely. "Great," he said in a disgusted tone, looking up. The top of the staircase was hidden. There was no way to tell how far up it went. Mac wasn't scared of heights, but he was seriously considering making an exception in this case. "There's probably bats," he added, muttering to himself. "We'd hear them if there were," Klaus said. Mac glared at the man who was standing there, calmly checking his confiscated gun. Mac was hit with the sudden urge to push the man into a mud-puddle, if he could find one. There was just something about the uptight German that drove him nuts. "You realize that there are probably cameras," he said. Vic nodded. "Yeah, but hopefully he's too paranoid to let anyone but himself monitor them," he said. There was a muffled thud, and a tiny amount of dust drifted down. "And with any luck he's too busy to notice us." Klaus snorted. "Counting on luck is a good way to get killed," he said. Vic glared at him. "You got any better ideas?" he snapped back. Mac had to fight back the urge to laugh, losing his own annoyance in the process. Place your bets, folks. Clash of the alpha males, right here, right now. "Guys," he said, breaking in before it got nasty. "We don't have time for this right now. Besides," he added, pointing upwards, "at this rate Blondie is going to be at the top before you stop arguing." That caught their attention. It was true too. Dorian was already almost the equivalent of two floors up. Klaus snarled something in German, then started taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with the thief. Mac shrugged at Vic, and they headed after the other two. There were exits at regular intervals, but they ignored them. Leaving the hidden stairwell while they were still below ground probably wouldn't get them anywhere. If they had known where the facilities control center was, that might have changed their plans, but since they didn't, they kept going. Except for Dorian, they were all huffing and puffing by the time they reached the top of the stairwell. Concrete block had replaced the rough stone walls. Hopefully that meant they were above ground level. At the very top was a small landing, similar to the dozen or so that they'd passed on the way up, and a door that was ajar, unlike the ones they'd passed on the way up. After glancing at the others, Victor lifted his gun and took point. In the back of his mind a little voice was screaming at him 'who died and made you boss?'. Easy answer was 'how the fuck should I know?'. Based on experience, Klaus probably should have been making the decisions. After all, he'd headed a large team back when he was with NATO Intelligence according to Dorian. So why was even he deferring to Victor in this? Maybe because he was the only one making suggestions. Whatever the reason, Victor seemed to be in charge, so he better not screw it up. The exit led into a bedroom the like of which he'd never seen. In fact, looking around, he wished he hadn't seen it. The floors were covered in layered oriental rugs of a variety of hues, mostly shades of red. The room was dominated by a large four-poster bed with red velvet drapes. The walls were covered by a variety of oil paintings in heavy gilt frames, with the occasional mirror thrown in to make the walls seem like they went on forever. And to top it all off, the ceiling was painted. While that might not seem too bad, the subject matter was... Victor shuddered. The paintings on the walls were of battle-scenes, the gorier the better. And the painted ceiling had to be the most pornographic thing he'd ever had the misfortune to see. He felt dirty just looking at it. Men and women in a variety of positions, with chains and whips being liberally used. Even worse, he recognized many of the... participants. His eyes slid away from a woman with the Director's face being tormented by two men, only to land on another scene of rape where his own face was featured. He looked away before he could register whether he was raper or rapee. He looked over and saw Mac looking up with an expression of absolute horror. After a moment, that expression changed to one of fury. "He's dead," the younger man muttered. "I am going to toss him off the highest cliff in the area. This is sick!" Even Klaus was looking a little green around the gills, Victor noticed, while Dorian was refusing to look up. "We have to find him before you can do that," he reminded his partner. They moved across the room to the only other exit. At the door, Vic paused and looked back. He shuddered, and promised himself that if they won, before they left he would come back with primer and paint and cover up that ceiling himself. The hanging paintings would make a nice bonfire too, he told himself. But first they had to win. Out in the hallway, they could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance. There was no way to tell if it really was the Agency attacking, all they could do was hope. In the meantime, they had a sicko to catch, Mac reminded himself. "This way," Klaus said, heading down the hallway away from the sound of gunfire. It was a good guess. After all, the Head wasn't like to run towards the fight, was he? But something looked... off. Mac turned in place, trying to figure out what it was. Then he grinned. The curtains of one of the alcoves lining the hallway were moving, ever so slightly. Mac headed for it and pushed the velvet to the side. "Guys!" he called, looking up a ladder towards open air and the dark reds of sunset. Vic came up behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Good," he said, giving Mac a quick peck on the cheek before brushing past to start climbing the ladder. Mac shoved his gun under his belt—even though it was a little large and awkward for that—and followed his partner. Behind him came Dorian then Klaus. Up above, he could hear what sounded suspiciously like a helicopter getting ready to take off, and he cursed and started climbing faster. They were not letting the creep get away. Not this time. Vic had reached the top of the chimney-like structure and jumped out, apparently rolling for cover as he went. Mac held his breath as he heard gunfire. "Cover to the left!" he heard shouted, and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll cover you!" Mac peeked over the edge. As promised, there was a low wall to the left of the ladder's exit. As Vic opened fire, Mac took a deep breath, popped out and rolled. His heart nearly stopped, but he made it in one piece. Then he and Vic laid down covering fire while Dorian and Klaus joined them. At the other end of the castle roof, a helicopter was revving up, its rotors spinning faster and faster. They didn't have much time. Either they stopped it now, or they better pray that the attackers below had something capable of shooting it down. But what the hell could they do from this distance? "Enough!" Klaus suddenly snarled, and stood up. "Are you crazy?" Mac shouted, reaching to grab the man and drag him back behind cover. Already bullets were pinging against the stone wall in front of Klaus, although amazingly, none seemed to come even close to hitting the man. Klaus kicked his hand away. As the helicopter lifted off the roof and started away from the mountainside that was behind them, he took careful aim, then fired and kept firing. At first it didn't seem to have any effect, although there was no longer any return fire. Then the helicopter started to list to the side, heading over the edge of the roof. Mac gaped for a moment, then followed the others to the edge. He arrived just in time to see the helicopter hit the side of the mountain, just below the castle, and burst into flames. "Um... They aren't supposed to do that," he pointed out. Vic shrugged. "Who know what they were carrying?" he replied. Mac laughed. "Well, I did say I wanted to toss him off a cliff. I guess this is close enough. Nice shooting Klaus," he added grudgingly. Klaus just grunted. At that moment, large metal doors that probably led to the normal stairway to the roof flew open, and large numbers of armed men started pouring through. The four men turned around slowly, placed their guns on the ground, then raised their hands above their heads to wait and see who they were dealing with. After a moment, the sea of men parted, but instead of Moses, it was for a petite redhead, followed by a taller oriental woman. "Hello, boys," the Director said with a grin. Reorganization So this was the Director he'd heard so much about. If so, she wasn't much to look at. She was definitely the shortest person, male or female, in the room. Long red hair and an attractive face for her age. If Klaus were going to guess, he would say somewhere in her late forties. Maybe even in her fifties. But despite her age and lack of height, Klaus had the feeling that he did not want to get on her bad side. While the Agency operatives went to retrieve the bodies from the crashed helicopter, the woman led them back into the castle. In a few minutes they found themselves back in the receiving room where they'd met the man who'd planned to use them in his plans of world domination (Klaus still had problems even thinking that without wanting to snort his derision. As if that would work anymore). The Director immediately dropped gracefully into the throne-chair that the so-called Head had used that morning. The oriental woman with her stood to the side and behind the chair. Mansfield and Ramsey chose seats, and after glancing at Dorian, Klaus did the same. He was a little angry with himself when he found himself shifting in his seat, and forced himself to sit still, back ramrod straight. The woman had a presence that would put the most intimidating drill-sergeant or Catholic nun to shame. "Well, I must say that you did a wonderful job, boys," the woman said with a smile. "We've been trying to track down what the former Head meant when he said that the Agency had served its purpose, but without any luck." "I take it you got my e-mail?" Mansfield said, not looking at all uncomfortable. The woman nodded. "Actually, you tied with Nathan. He showed up with the information tracing Fry to New World to this castle just as I was reading your e-mail. I simply used an Agency jet to get here, and had the Director for Eastern Europe supply the troops." She paused, and frowned. The sight made Klaus shiver, though he hid it well. He hoped. "Or rather, the office for Eastern Europe supplied the troops. The Director balked, so I killed him." "What?!" Ramsey exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "Oh, relax Mac. Nathan had already linked him to New World. It seems that I have three Directors who are still reporting to him, and have been since I became the new Head," she said. She didn't sound very pleased. "We'll be finding out who else was involved in New World and dealing with them." The way she said that made Klaus's blood run cold, but he didn't feel overly sympathetic for the men and women who were going to find themselves facing this woman's wrath. They'd made their choice and would now have to live with it. "What about the... um... people downstairs?" Dorian asked. The Director favored him with a level gaze. "If you mean the scientists, they will either be recruited or isolated. Their research is a little too sensitive to unleash on the world." "And the clones?" Klaus asked, not bothering to hide his distaste. "The soldiers will be programmed to something a bit more innocuous. They will not be capable of violence after we're done with them." "And the Lenin clone?" That brought a moment of silence. Then the woman smiled. "Well, I've always wanted to raise a child. LiAnn and I will take him." Klaus's jaw dropped at that, and his was not the only one. Even the oriental, LiAnn, he assumed, looked surprised. "But that's... That's Lenin!" Her eyes narrowed. "No, it's a child. Physically he looks to be about ten, and he's a blank slate. Lenin is dead. We'll be returning his body to the Russians, by the way." "But..." The woman turned a laser-like glare on him. "What would you prefer, Herr Ebberbach? That I simply execute him for the crimes of his forebears? In case you hadn't noticed, we do not hold the children responsible for the crimes of their fathers." "But it's a clone, not..." "Not a person? Well, I suppose we could get into a long philosophical discussion about that, but there isn't much point, is there? We will be taking the boy with us. End of discussion." Almost immediately, the flames in her eyes died down, and she was all smiles again. "I must admit, though, I am quite impressed with the facilities," she said with a wave evidently intended to encompass the castle and it's underground labs. "In fact, I think this would be the perfect place to relocate the Eastern Europe Directorate, don't you, Victor?" Mansfield stared back at her, suspicion plain on his face. Then his eyes went wide and he started shaking his head. "Uh-uh, no way. I am not being drafted again," he protested. The woman just smiled. "Forget it. You can just find yourself another patsy." The smile got wider. "But Victor, who else could I trust? Especially after the previous Director turned out to be so... flawed. I need to find three new Directors, and I know I can trust you. I don't trust easy, you know." "But..." "And you would be able to make sure that something like this never happens again. Come on, Victor. I've been keeping an eye on you. You've developed quite a flair for leadership over the years. Your security firm has taught you organizational skills. And you'll have an assistant as loyal and talented as Dobrinsky was for me." "But..." Even to Klaus, the protest sounded weak. "We'll discuss the details over dinner," the woman said, pouncing on that weakness. From the expression on Mansfield's face, the battle was already lost and he knew it. A little while later, Mac found Vic back on the roof, leaning over the parapet watching the Agency flunkies cleaning up all traces of the helicopter crash under the floodlights that had been set up. They were so bright that they made the stars fade out. Mac sat down next to the silent man and waited. "She can't honestly believe that I'll say yes," Vic finally said, but he sounded defeated. "Why not?" Mac asked, amazed that he was actually going to say this. "You are the best person for the job." Vic looked up at him, eyes wide and his mouth agape. Mac wanted to kiss him. "You can't be serious!" Mac shrugged. "Why not. C'mon Vic, she's right. You're perfect for the job." "But we wanted out of the Agency. That was the whole point of coming to Europe in the first place." Mac fiddled with his shirt-cuff trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. "We left the Agency because we never chose to join. The Agency viewed us as disposable. But the Agency has changed. Much as I hate to admit it, she's changed it. And as a Director, you can help change it even more. Less brutal, less controlling. The Agency idea is good. It was just the way it was working." Vic shook his head. "You agreed with me when we said no last year." "It wasn't right then. There was no way to tell if they really would change. Now... I've kept in contact with LiAnn since then. She's kept me up to date on everything that they've been doing. And you have to admit, they do a lot of good." "But what about Thornton & Blake?" Vic said, sounding almost plaintive. "We spent so much time building it." Mac shrugged. "C'mon, Vic. It was a way to pay the bills. Think of some of the jerks we've had to deal with. The fun part was always the capers, and nothing says that we can't keep doing them. The only difference is that sometimes we can deal with the criminals instead of just handing the evidence over to Interpol." Mac could see Vic weakening. "Are you sure?" his lover and partner of more than four years asked. Mac leaned over and kissed him lightly. "This is right. Can't you feel it?" Vic sighed. "Yeah, I just don't like it." Mac laughed delightedly. "Hey, if you liked it, you wouldn't be the right person for the job! C'mon, dinner's waiting." Vic stood up and turned to walk to the stairwell. Mac couldn't resist the urge. "Hey!" his lover said, turning around, rubbing his rear-end. Mac grinned at him. "Just keeping you on your toes," he said, completely unrepentant. "Besides, how can I resist such a gorgeous ass?" Vic growled at him, but the grin was peaking through. "Just remember, I'm going to be your boss now." "So? Someone's got to keep you humble." Mac snickered, and when Vic made a move in his direction, he was off and running, his laughing partner right behind him. Yeah, someone had to keep Vic from being too serious, and he'd always enjoyed that job. Dinner had been excellent, especially considering how quickly it had been prepared, and Dorian had enjoyed himself immensely. The Head of the Agency was quite the formidable woman, and he'd enjoyed flirting with her—partly because of her sense of humor, and partly because of the daggers been glared his way from both Klaus and the lovely LiAnn, who was obviously the older woman's lover as well as a Director in the Agency. Victor saying yes hadn't been much of a surprise, and the woman had accepted without showing any signs of triumph. She'd simply said that as soon as the facility was secure and scanned for more hidden passageways, and the computer system was checked for surprises, the files and personnel from the current Eastern Europe office would be transferred over. Victor would be given full control, and permission to dismiss or hire as many people as he felt was necessary. By the end of the dinner, the dear boy was obviously making plans in his head. You could almost see the wheels turning as he and Mac had headed for one of the clean bedrooms. Needless to say, no one was willing to spend the night in the bedroom of their previous host. Another bedroom had been found for him and Klaus for the night; they would be flying back to Berlin in the morning. The room was more ornate than Klaus would have liked, but reasonable plain compared to some of the others. Dorian had bathed in the attached bathroom, and had come out to find Klaus sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly as he'd been when he'd gone into the bathroom. "What is it, darling?" Dorian asked, dropping his robe and pulling back the covers. Klaus glared at him, but started to undress. He hadn't even protested earlier when Dorian had specified one room for the both of them. "Work," he replied, brief and to the point. "What about it?" Klaus lay down on his back, staring up at the underside of the bed's canopy. "My supervisor was part of this..." he stopped, obviously unable to find an epithet harsh enough. It was true. The proof had already been found by the Nathan person that had been mentioned earlier. The Head had offered him, obviously an expert in searching out information, to Victor for his staff, and the poor man had practically cringed as he said no. From what Mac said, Nathan sounded much like James—brilliant but unstable. Dorian propped himself up on one elbow to watch his beloved in the dim light from the window. "What do you plan on doing, then?" There was silence for a moment. "I'm going back to NATO Intelligence." Dorian smiled. "I'm sure the Alphabet will be happy to have you back." Klaus snorted at that. At least some of his old agents would probably be horrified at having the Iron Major back again. "Will they take you?" Dorian asked, wondering if Klaus had burned his bridges when he'd left. Even in England, Dorian had heard about the fall-out from Klaus's decision to resign. "She said she'd arrange it," Klaus replied. "Besides, I left in order to get away from you," he added, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Dorian couldn't help snickering. "Well, that certainly worked well." "Indeed." Silence reigned supreme for a while, but Klaus's eyes stayed open, and Dorian stayed watching him. There was something else bothering the man, and he knew that if he waited, he would find out what it was. He hoped. "Last night..." Dorian made a questioning sound when the man stopped. "On the plane. They... In the bathroom." Dorian smiled. Poor Klaus was turning red. "They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves," he said encouragingly. "They were..." "Fucking," Dorian supplied helpfully. "Why would anyone let someone do that to them?" Dorian sighed softly, and reached out to stroke Klaus's shoulder. "Because when done right, with the right person, it feels very, very good. For both partners." "Have you?" "Have I which? Actually, I've done both sides, and enjoyed each equally. Why?" "Do you want..." Klaus stopped again. "I want whatever you're willing to give me," Dorian assured him. "I would never ask you to do something you didn't want to. If you never want to try penetration, then I will quite happily do without it." Klaus turned towards him, sitting up slightly. "What does it feel like?" "Which?" "Being..." Klaus paused. "Being fucked," he finally said, the coarse term coming awkwardly to his lips. "Physically? There's a burn at first, then heat from the friction. With the right angle, the other man's cock rubs against your prostate, sending almost electrical shocks through your body. Some men can reach orgasm just from that feeling. Some need to be stroked at the same time, and some don't orgasm at all while being fucked, but enjoy it all the same. But not every man enjoys it. Some have trouble stretching, while others have a prostate that is too sensitive." "Do you enjoy it?" Dorian smiled. "Very much. Would you like to fuck me?" he asked, sticking with the one term. There were others more poetic, but none so evocative. "I saw some lotion in the bathroom that would work." "No." Dorian sighed, a little disappointed. "I don't know how to do it right. You'd have to show me first." Dorian blinked. "What?" "I want you to... do it to me." "What?" "Is there something wrong with your hearing?" Klaus demanded, sounding exasperated. "No. I..." Dorian laughed softly. "I just never expected to hear you say that." "Well?" Dorian got up and headed for the bathroom. It only took a moment to find the small bottle and come back. He handed it to Klaus, who looked at it as if he'd never seen the like. Dorian sat down next to him. He reached out and pulled Klaus's chin so that he could look in his eyes. "Are you sure, Darling? I told you that I didn't need this. I don't want you to feel like you rushed into this. Like I said, not everyone enjoys this way of making love." "And how will I know if I don't try?" was the reasonable answer. Klaus looked a little nervous, but very, very determined, so Dorian kissed him. They lay down on the bed together, and Dorian used every trick of hand and mouth that he'd ever learned to arouse Klaus until finally the man pulled away and grabbed his wrists. "Would you just get on with it already?" he demanded, sounding frustrated as well as very aroused. Dorian smiled. "Of course, Darling," he said a little smugly. Mission accomplished. He reclaimed the bottle of lotion from the bedside table and squeezed out a generous amount onto his fingers. "The first thing that is necessary is to stretch the muscles. It will be easier for you if you rolled onto your side facing away from me," he pointed out. Klaus stared at him for a moment, then followed the suggestion. "I'm just going to use one finger," he told the slightly tense man as he rubbed the finger against the tightly clenched opening. He didn't try to penetrate, concentrating instead on soothing the muscle into relaxing. After a minute, it did so, and he slipped the finger inside. Klaus grunted, more from surprise, but didn't tense up. Dorian was a little surprised, but was not about to complain. He started a gentle thrusting motion with the finger, slowly loosening the ring of muscle. "I'm moving to two now," he said quietly. "You might feel a slight burn." He slid the second finger in, tight against the first. There was another small grunt, but no protest, so he continued to stretch, finally slipping in a third finger. He was more than a little surprised how easily Klaus was taking this, but then his Major was very good on following through on his decisions. There was just one thing left to check. He curved his fingers and brushed them carefully against the nub of the other man's prostate. Klaus jumped, and Dorian held still. "That was your prostate. Like I said, for some men it is too sensitive. Are you sure you want to..." "Get on with it," Klaus growled. His voice had gone deep and husky, and it sent shivers down Dorian's back. He pulled out his fingers and quickly coated his own erection with thick coating of lotion. He spooned up behind Klaus, then paused. "Last chance, Darling," he whispered. "Do it!" Klaus said, almost a bellow. Dorian chuckled and pressed forward. It was heaven. It was perfect. He wanted to stop time and live forever in this moment. He was inside Klaus, and Klaus wanted him there. Dorian buried his face in the hair at the base of Klaus's skull and breathed in the scent of sweat and soap. Unfortunately time stopped for no man, and Klaus obviously wasn't satisfied with just holding still. "I think you're supposed to move now," he said in a slightly sarcastic voice. "Whatever you say, Darling," Dorian replied. He started to slowly undulate his hips in a movement that wasn't quite a thrust, but drew a gasp from Klaus. As the man relaxed against him, Dorian increased the depth of the motion as well as the speed, and reached down. He was relieved to find that Klaus was completely hard, and he started to stroke the erection firmly. Thankfully, it didn't take long to draw Klaus's climax from him, because Dorian wasn't sure how long he could hang on himself. He almost whimpered as Klaus's contractions forced his own climax from him, the came to rest, still firmly held by Klaus's flesh. Eventually he softened until he slipped from the other man's grip. He snagged his robe from the floor and used the sleeve to clean up the seepage, then cuddled up against Klaus wondering if he'd been wise to give in to the man's request. They hadn't been together sexually for long, and penetration was a big step to take. "That was..." Klaus paused and Dorian waited for him to finish the thought. "Nice." Dorian breathed a small sigh of relief. "You enjoyed it?" he asked lightly. "Yes." "Will you do me?" he asked, already tingling at the thought. "Not until we get home. In my-" He stopped. "In our bed." Dorian blinked in surprise, then snuggled in even closer. "Whatever you say, Darling." 'Our bed'. That had a nice sound. Very nice. The next day, Victor was starting to feel a little better about his choice, a little less trapped. Klaus and Dorian had left early in the morning for Berlin, and the Director and LiAnn had left for the States after lunch, taking their new son with them. His staff had been trickling in all day, so he'd been too busy getting organized to worry about what he was doing. Much as he hated to admit it, they were right. The more he did, the more fascinated he became by the job. There was so much to do to get everything operational. Just the sort of challenge he could sink his teeth into. Of course, without Mac he would probably go insane under the pressure. No wonder Agency Directors tended to go Looney Tunes. At least he'd managed to get it written into his contract that he could quit whenever he chose, as long as he trained a replacement. One of the first things to do though was set up an office for him and Mac, and there was really only one room appropriate: the former Head's bedroom. The stairwell connecting it to every level made it perfect. But first it needed a massive redecorating, and they'd spent most of the afternoon on that. First the over-done furniture went. Maybe they'd use it for firewood come winter. For the time being it was all in storage. Next went the paintings. He had been right: They did make a lovely bonfire. Knowing the man who'd collected them, they were probably all very valuable. Victor didn't care. They were sick and they went. That just left one last thing to take care of. Victor glanced over at Mac and couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling up. His lover had been looking up while rolling the second coat of primer onto the ceiling and now had a splatter of white on his forehead to go with the white all over his clothes. "Oh, very funny, Vic, very funny," Mac said, but Victor could see the smile trying to peek through. "What can I say?" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You look good in white." "I thought it was black that I looked good in," Mac shot back. "And blue and green and brown. But you know what you look best in?" "Besides white?" Mac asked, backing up suspiciously. Victor grinned. "Nothing at all," he purred, then pounced. They went tumbling to the floor, thankfully covered with several large drop-cloths. The Persian rugs had turned out to have been covering a beautiful hardwood floor that Victor planned to let shine. However, without the cloths it would now be covered in white paint as Mac deliberately rolled them over so that Victor landed in the paint tray, then used his roller to paint the side of Victor's face white. Victor rolled them over again, more because the tray was digging into his back than from any desire to be on top. They were both laughing, and Mac's eyes shone beautifully. Victor bent his head for a long kiss, then pulled away, sticking his tongue out. "Blech," he said. "You taste of paint." "Well, if you let me up, we can finish this coat, then head for a bath to take care of that." Victor popped to his feet. "You've got a deal," he said, pulling Mac up off the floor. Then he paused, still holding Mac's hand. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?" he said. Mac nodded, not bothering to crack the expected joke. "Yep." "And we're going to do it right." That was a statement, not a question. Mac snickered. "We better, or they'll never let us live it down," he replied, referring to their former partner and their past boss who was now their new boss. Victor grinned, and shuddered theatrically. "You're right. We can't let that happen," he said, then grabbed his roller. "Bet I finish my half before you finish yours," he said, already attacking the ceiling. "You're on!" THE END (yes, it is) lburwell@adan.kingston.net

Well, this was also supposed to be the end of the Drowning Sorrows series, but the Director threw in a monkey wrench when she convinced Victor to take the job of Director for Eastern Europe. That wasn't planned, lady! So now there may be a Book Four someday. But not soon. Instead, coming soon to a computer near you! Carpe Noctem, a Once a Thief/Kindred: The Embraced/Vampire: The Masquerade universe. I already have three books planned, and the first one is about one third plotted. First up in Book One: San Francisco Meetings, The Director has business in San Francisco, and takes her favorite team along. Mistaken identities cause trouble, and an unexpected tragedy causes a change of life for one of the three. back to top

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