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Part 3

by

Margaret Sinclair and Trish Boulding

Part 4

The soft murmur of the television was the predominant sound in the room. Dressed again in the clothes Becker had found for him, Starsky was sitting leaned back with his feet propped up on his bed, checking out the gun the Secret Service agent had brought him a short while ago. Starsky's own gun was back in Hutch's apartment, still in the bag the hospital had put Starsky's clothes in when he'd been checked into the emergency room after the car accident.

A Colt .38 revolver, the borrowed weapon was similar in weight and balance to the Smith and Wesson he usually carried, but with slight differences in the grip. So, after a thorough inspection to make sure that the gun was clean and in proper working order (it was), Starsky had spent the past half hour or so picking the unloaded weapon up, then putting it down, only to snap it up again and aim it at various inanimate targets around the room in order to get the "feel" of the new gun.

Hutch glanced over at him, then back up to the television. The news was on and the top story was, of course, the President's arrival. As he watched, the door of Air Force One had just been opened and the President was emerging, waving to the cameras and the gathered crowd. He descended the steps to the tarmac slowly and carefully, but stumbled slightly as he reached the red carpet at the bottom. Despite the grim day ahead of them, Hutch couldn't help but chuckle softly at that. Poor man, the press was probably going to have a field day with that bit of footage for the rest of his visit! At least, they would if things went as Hutch and the others had planned. If not, then the media would have more important things to cover than that small example of the most powerful man in the free world's humanity.

"Why would anyone want to assassinate him?" Starsky asked, apparently also having caught that little media gem and thinking along similar lines as his partner. "I mean, he lost the election, which means the new guy is going to be taking over in a coupla months anyway, so what's the point?"

Hutch shook his head, his eyes still on the screen. "From what Becker says, this is some kind of revenge thing for the Sultan. Who can say how a maniac like that's mind works?"

Starsky remembered the strange light in the dark man's eyes and shivered involuntarily. "He's crazy, all right! But he ain't stupid, not by a long shot and he's had Slater to help him plan this thing. Do you really think we can stop him?"

Hutch looked away from the television and met Starsky's gaze. "Yeah, Starsk, I think we can. Or at least, I hope we can!" he corrected himself, glancing back up at the t.v. "The man may not be the best or most inspiring President we've ever had, but I think he's made a sincere effort to do the job right under unusually trying circumstances. He doesn't deserve to die for that."

Starsky nodded his agreement and went back to his "target practice" with his borrowed weapon, making soft "Pow! Pow!" noises under his breath as he playacted the gun's recoil in his hand. Hutch sighed and looked over at Paula, who was still asleep on the cot in the corner. He'd decided he'd be better off not wearing his sling today and, in spite of his efforts to put as little strain as possible on it, his injured arm was throbbing again, making his already dark mood that much worse. Where was that nurse with the pain pills? He knew it had only been a few minutes since his last inquiry about the whereabouts of his medication, but he grabbed up and pushed his call button several times impatiently anyway.

Starsky glanced at him questioningly as he spoke gruffly to the feminine voice that answered his page. "Got a problem, buddy?" his partner queried in a casual enough tone, yet the scrutiny in those dark eyes was anything but. Hutch found himself looking away from that too-searching gaze.

"Arm's bothering me," Hutch answered him shortly, hoping his partner would let it go at that. Unfortunately, his friend didn't appear to be in a letting it go mood.

"Seems to be bothering you a lot, Hutch. You've been hittin' those pills pretty hard. Bet it was really bad when it first happened! They must have given you something pretty strong while they were digging around in there for all that shot and stitching you up."

Starsky's tone was infinitely gentle now. Hutch sighed again and turned to meet his friend's eyes once more. He knew all too well what his partner was getting at. He glanced again at Paula to make sure she was still asleep before he answered him.

"Okay, Starsk. You're right. They gave me morphine. In the ER the other day, right after I got shot. I...I was kinda out of it, Starsky and by the time I realized what they were doing, it was too late! There, are you happy now?" he asked bitterly, turning his eyes away from his partner's face again in shame.

Some time ago, another mad man named Forrest had kidnapped him and forced him into an addiction to heroin. Even though he knew on an intellectual level that it had not been his fault, it was an episode in his life he still felt intense humiliation about. Starsky had found him strung out in an alley, had taken him to a room above Huggy's and single-handedly helped him to get clean again and had never told his secret. His friend had also appointed himself his watchdog against any danger of a recurrence of that addiction ever since. Hutch knew that his partner had cause to be concerned now, but his guilt over what he perceived as his own weakness made him too angry to admit that easily. And so Starsky, as usual, had become the target of that anger.

"Aww, Hutch," Starsky whispered; "You know I didn't mean it like that! I just think you ought to be careful, that's all."

Hutch heard the hurt in his friend's voice and felt like kicking himself. With an effort, he made himself meet those sapphire eyes again. "I'm sorry, Starsk. You're right, maybe I should take it a little easier with the pills. But, they don't seem to last very long and I'm worried that the pain might become a distraction to me out there today."

Starsky nodded his understanding. "All right, Hutch. All right," he said, his tone still gentle. "Take the pills...for now. But when this is over...!

Hutch smiled. "I promise, Starsk! As soon as this is behind us, I'm putting you in charge of the all my medication again. Satisfied?"

"For now," Starsky repeated, adding one of his famous lopsided grins to soothe any lingering bruises to his friend's sometimes fragile dignity. Hutch turned back to the television and drew a long, shuddering breath.

A short time later, a nurse walked into the room carrying a whole bottle of the requested pills for him and a glass of water. Apparently the doctor had decided that it would be easiest on the staff just to put Hutch in charge of his own medication, especially as he would be checking out soon anyway. Becker followed on her heels. The agent waited as Hutch shook two of the pills into his hand and swallowed them with a fierce scowl. If Becker thought it odd that he then tossed the bottle of pills over to his partner, he didn't comment. For all he knew, they were sharing the same prescription. Why not? These two seemed to share just about everything else!

"I see you've been watching the news," Becker said when Hutch's scowl had let up enough that he felt it was safe to speak to him. "The President has arrived safely and is on his way to his first appointment of the day. Which means we should be leaving soon."

"How soon?" Hutch asked.

"An hour or so at the most," the agent answered. Hutch nodded and Becker looked over at Starsky, who'd finished acquainting himself with his borrowed weapon and was now loading it from one of several boxes of ammo that sat beside him on the bed. "How's that working out for you?" the agent asked, referring to the gun. "I tried to get one as close as I could to what you're used to handling."

Starsky nodded. "This'll do just fine, thanks, Becker," he said, snapping the cylinder shut (quite a trick, one-handed) and slipping the loaded gun into the waistband of his jeans. Becker had not been able to come up with a holster that suited Starsky's tastes to go with the weapon.

"Shouldn't we wake Paula soon?" Starsky asked then. "She'll probably want some time to dress and all before we go."

Hutch and the Secret Service agent both agreed and Hutch got up to go over to the cot and gently shake Paula's shoulder. As she mumbled something in reply to whatever Hutch had whispered to her and sat up, Starsky noticed irrelevantly that she looked pretty good, even just waking up like that. No doubt about it, his partner ought to consider hanging on to this one. Paula got up and made her way a bit groggily into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Oh, by the way Becker," Hutch said as he came and stretched out on his bed once more. Both police officers were conserving as much of their strength as they could until time to go. "Whatever happened to Marshall?" It hadn't even occurred to Hutch to wonder about the annoying reporter until a few minutes ago. His mind had been too occupied with other things.

"The doctor treated him for a moderate concussion but, otherwise, he's fine. Don't worry, Hutchinson. I told my friend that he was an accessory to a murder and that he's going to be wanted by the police later for questioning. He's been given his own room in one of the more secure parts of the facility, though I can't say he's too happy about it," Becker laughed, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Is this a private joke, Becker, or can anyone join in?" Hutch asked irritably.

"You asked me the other night what kind of clinic this was. It's a very expensive, very exclusive treatment facility for the mentally ill," Becker informed him with a broad smile.

"An asylum?" Hutch choked, surprised.

Becker nodded, still grinning. " So, relax, Detective. Marshall won't be leaving here until we want him to!"

In spite of his lingering bad mood, Hutch found himself smiling as well. It was no more than that little slimeball Marshall deserved! He looked over at Starsky, suddenly feeling mischievous. "I knew hanging around with you would land me in a place like this someday!" he declared. He was rewarded with a suitably outraged protest from his partner along with the same rude gesture Marshall had given him in the car the other night. He turned back to Becker, still laughing.

"I've said some pretty rotten things about you, Becker," he began, "Both to your face and behind your back. But I take them all back. Through this whole thing, you've just been trying to look out for your partner." Hutch paused and looked over at Starsky again, who grinned back. "I guess I understand you better now and I just wanted to let you know...I think you're all right," he finished awkwardly. The big black man's gaze dropped to his shoes, pleased and a bit embarrassed by Hutch's words.

"Thanks, Hutchinson. So are you. Both of you," he went on to include Starsky. "If, by some miracle, we make it through this thing in one piece, I'm gonna owe you both big time!"

"Yes, you are," Starsky shot back in mock seriousness, but then spoiled it with another grin, which quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles. There was something about his partner's stupid giggle that Hutch always found contagious. Before he knew it, he was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes, the sheer absurdity of their situation having finally caught up with him. Becker joined them.

They were just slowing down a bit when Paula came back out of the bathroom. "What on earth are you lunatics laughing about now?" she demanded innocently, which sent them all off into fresh spasms of hilarity. She shook her head in disgust at the three of them and went off to the nurse's station to ask when she would be getting her own clothes back instead of the baggy scrubs she still wore.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back at Parker Center, Dobey had little to laugh about. Nine of his officers were dead and two were still missing. Three, if you counted the rookie who'd left the crime scene yesterday with the perpetrators; but, since he seemed to have been working with them, Dobey wasn't inclined to include him as one of his men anymore. He'd been on the phone with the Commissioner almost constantly since the shootings and still had nothing new to offer his superior.

One good thing in all this, if anything that came out of this could be thought of as good, was that, in the midst of the current crisis, the Commissioner couldn't afford to fire him. His boss had satisfied himself instead with the longest and nastiest chewing out Dobey had been subjected to in some time, then dumped the investigation of yesterday's shootings in his lap and basically told him to get out there and perform miracles. Or else! The Commissioner might not feel he could fire Dobey at this time, but there was always later. And the man could make his life a living Hell in the meantime. Dobey sighed. It didn't seem as if the Good Lord was going to help him out in the miracle department at the moment, either.

He looked up at the sound of a soft knock on his door. "Come in!" he called tiredly. To his surprise, it was his wife. "Edith! What are you doing here?" he asked as he got up and came around his desk to kiss her hello.

"I just thought I'd come by and remind myself what you look like," she teased gently. "I don't suppose...?"

Dobey shook his head sadly. "No, there's nothing new. Not on the shootings, and not about Dave and Ken. I...I'm beginning to think..." He couldn't bring himself to finish his thought. The men they were dealing with had proven themselves to be utterly ruthless. So far, everyone who'd come in contact with them had wound up dead. And he couldn't help but wonder if, by now, Starsky and Hutchinson might be, too.

As always, Edith seemed to know what he was thinking. "Don't!" she told him firmly. "You know those two, they're like cats! Nine lives apiece! Don't give up on those boys yet, Harold! I just have this feeling that, wherever they are, they're together and that they're going to turn up soon. Just give them a little while longer."

Dobey hugged his wife gratefully. "Thanks, Edie! You always know what to say," he told her.

"You're welcome," she smiled back, gently caressing his cheek. "I brought you some more fresh clothes and some lunch, though I doubt you'll eat it! You keep skipping meals, Harold Dobey, and we're going to have to buy you a new wardrobe!" She indicated how loose his jacket had become in the last week.

Dobey chuckled in spite of himself. "Hell of a way to finally lose some weight!" he grumbled and got another kiss from his wife. "I've got to go back to work now," he told her reluctantly as he released her a long moment later.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes bright. "Cal and Rosie send their love."

"Give mine to them, too," he told her as he walked her to the door. "I still don't know when I'll be home," he began apologetically.

"I know," she repeated, smiling sadly. "It's all right, Harold. I just came by to see how you were holding up, not to lay any kind of a guilt trip on you! You call me if I can bring you anything else. Or if you just need to hear a sympathetic voice!" she said.

"You're the best," he told her sincerely.

"Yes, I know," she answered him, her eyes dancing. "And don't you ever forget it!" With a last kiss and a wave, she was gone.

Dobey watched her make her way across the nearly deserted squad room then turned back to the pile of reports on his desk. They contained all the odd bits and pieces of information his officers had managed to gather in the hours since the shootings and, before that, from the investigation of David's kidnapping. Somewhere, in the midst of all this seemingly irrelevant information, lurked the clue that was going to crack this whole thing wide open. Or so he had to keep believing. He sank tiredly back into his chair and picked up another file folder.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Slater, riding in the front of the limousine next to the driver, glanced back over his shoulder at their passenger. The President didn't notice him, deeply engrossed as he was in a sheaf of papers he had taken from his briefcase. He had already attended two meetings since his arrival and they were now on their way to a luncheon being hosted by a local women's group. Slater turned back around and consulted his watch. Ten forty-five A.M. A little more than four hours left till the meeting with Rogue Star.

It was so tempting to just spill the whole thing to the agent next to him. But how likely was it the man would even believe him? And if he did, then what? Though Slater was not able to spot them at the moment, he knew the Sultan had not been bluffing when he had said his men would be nearby at all times. If the younger man beside him did believe him and was to try to call for help or make a run for it, many innocent people could be killed. And the Sultan would go free. No, he had come too far and risked too much for that to be acceptable. He would just have to stick to the plan and hope that Becker had been able to get enough information on his own to be in place for his part when the time came.

Becker was at that moment behind the wheel again, driving back toward the city. Starsky rode next to him in the front seat and Hutch and Paula in the back. Becker glanced up at Hutchinson in the mirror.

"So we're all still agreed that our best chance to approach Rogue Star is before she can enter the hotel?" he asked. It was an extremely dangerous plan. The other agents on the scene would be guarding what they still thought was a visiting foreign dignitary. It was highly likely one or all of their group would be arrested or worse as they tried to stop her. But it was the best strategy any of them had been able to come up with.

"I don't see where we have much choice," Hutch replied. "That is if you're sure you can't get us inside?"

Becker shook his head. "Not easily," he confirmed.

"Then why are we even discussing this?" Hutch asked, his tone carefully even. Becker took the hint and let it go. They all knew the risks they were taking. Only nerves had prompted him to ask the question in the first place.

Starsky twisted around and looked over the seat at his friend. Hutch's voice had sounded a little strained to him. "You hurtin' again, Hutch?" he asked quietly.

His partner glared at him. "Probably no more than you are!" he answered him crossly. Starsky turned back around without any further comment. Paula raised an eyebrow at Ken who pretended not to notice it.

Becker drove a while longer in silence until a sudden loud bang beneath the car startled them all.

"What was that?" Starsky shouted.

"I think we had a blow out!" Becker shouted back. A repetitive loud flopping sound had followed the bang and the car had begun to shake and shimmy.

Becker slowly, carefully guided the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road and they all got out to look. Sure enough, the driver's side rear tire was gone, reduced to mere ribbons of shredded rubber.

"That's just beautiful!" Hutch groused. "Tell me you have a spare, Becker!"

"Of course I do!" the agent returned in a heated tone. "It won't take me more than a few minutes to get this changed and we'll be on our way."

Hutch gave the offending tire another venomous glare, then, without any further comment, walked over and sat down on a large rock a few yards off the roadside. Paula shrugged at the other two men and went to join him. Starsky stayed with Becker to offer the agent what help he could with one arm still in a sling. Several minutes later, Starsky slowly approached his partner to give him the bad news.

"What now?" Hutch inquired acidly as he saw the look on Starsky's face. "Wait! Don't tell me! The spare's flat!"

Starsky shook his head. "Nope, the spare is fine! But...part of the jack is missing."

Hutch rolled his eyes heavenward. "How the Hell did I get involved in this Mickey Mouse operation?" he asked the universe at large. When the universe didn't bother to answer him, he turned back to his partner. "So, what does Becker plan to do now? Call the Secret Service's auto club?"

Starsky snorted. "That's a good one, Hutch! No, he thinks maybe he can jury rig something. In the meantime, I thought I'd hike back to the service station we passed a while ago and see if maybe they can loan us a jack or something."

A worried frown creased Hutch's forehead. "You sure you're up to that, Starsk?" he asked.

Starsky grinned. "It's not that far, Hutch! I'll be fine! You wanna come along and keep me company? Beats brooding on a rock!"

Hutch shook his head. "I think I better stay here in case Becker manages to drop the car on himself or something!" he grumbled, which caused Starsky to laugh again.

"Suit yourself! Paula?" She, too, shook her head. "Okay, then, I'll be back in a bit," he told them and started off up the road, turning up the collar of his borrowed jacket against the chill in the air and pulling the ball cap Becker had found for him more securely down on his still nearly bare head.

Hutch watched him until he was out of sight around a turn in the road. "Maybe I should have gone with him," he said then softly.

"I think he'll be all right," Paula assured him. "Are you?"

He turned a puzzled look on her. "Am I what?"

"All right?"

Hutch heaved another deep sigh. "I'm fine, Paula. I'm just...I'm fine. Really."

She searched his face a moment more, then nodded. "Okay. I'm going to see if I can help Becker any." Hutch nodded, looking off up the road in the direction Starsky had gone again. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that all of this, all of their efforts were useless. That no matter what they did, it wasn't going to matter in the end.

The problem with the tire took a lot longer than a few minutes to fix. The gas station Starsky had seen was closed, and he had had to walk almost another mile before he'd found one that was open. Then it had taken more precious time to convince the owner to finally lend him a rusty jack that he'd most likely salvaged from some wreck.

"The least the guy could have done was give me ride back to the car!" Starsky muttered to himself as he hiked back, lugging the heavy hunk of metal in his good arm. "Especially since he seemed so concerned that I might want to steal this damned thing!" None of the few cars that had passed him going or coming had seemed interested in offering him a lift either.

He reached the disabled car at last and found things pretty much as he'd left them. Becker had taken off his jacket, suit coat and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His hands were dirty and there were dust and bits of grass clinging to his clothes and in his hair. Paula, too, was looking a little worse for wear. Only Hutch remained unruffled, not having left his perch on the rock.

Becker eyed the rusty jack uncertainly, but kept any criticism of it to himself after seeing how winded Starsky was from fetching it. Despite any doubts he might have had about its functionality, he stooped to put it in place under the frame of the car anyway, willing to give it a try. So far, nothing he had come up with had worked.

It took another half hour of straining, cursing and barked knuckles before Becker, Starsky and Paula working together managed to finally raise the car off the ground enough to remove the shredded tire and put on the spare. They returned the nearly useless jack to its owner only at Starsky's stubborn insistence—a further waste of their precious time to which Hutch had at first loudly objected, then had given in to when he realized that arguing about it was only using up that much more of the limited time they had left to reach their objective.

The mood in the car was definitely hostile by the time they actually reached their destination. Becker kept glancing at his watch and cursing under his breath as he circled the area around the hotel, looking for a place to park. Starsky and Hutch weren't speaking to each other and Paula only stared sullenly out the window.

"Look, Becker! Why don't you just stop and let the rest of us out!" Hutch exploded after the third trip around the block. "A least then the rest of us might still stand some chance of getting into position before it's too late!"

Becker opened his mouth to protest, but Paula beat him to it. "No, Ken! The plan was that we would stick together! If something should go wrong...!"

Hutch now turned his anger on her. "What do you mean, 'if' something goes wrong? Where the Hell have you been the last several hours? Nothing has gone anything but wrong!"

Starsky twisted around in the seat again. "Lay off her, Hutch! This isn't her fault!" he objected.

Hutch turned the full freezing power of his ice blue stare onto his partner at that. "No, it isn't," he said quietly. "It's yours for wasting our time with that business about returning the stupid jack! That damned thing was a hunk of junk!" By the time he'd finished the sentence, he was shouting again.

"Hey!! That jerk at the gas station practically called me a thief to my face, Hutch! No way was I gonna give him the satisfaction of bein' right! And it only took a few minutes to drive back there! Now, if you really want to point fingers, why don't you think about how much sooner we could have gotten here if you'd bothered to help when the rest of us were bustin' our butts changin' that tire, huh?"

Before Hutch could frame a suitable reply to that, Becker slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park, right there in the middle of the street, then turned around in his seat so that he could address them all. "Stop it!" he roared. "That's enough! If this is anyone's fault, it's mine! Stop tearing each other apart!" He glanced at his watch again and slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. "It's a moot point now anyway," he continued in a softer tone. "We're too late."

An embarrassed silence descended for several seconds, broken only by the angry horns and shouts of other drivers because of the backup they were causing on the busy street. None of them paid any attention to this, however, too focused on the drama being played out in the car.

Starsky was the first to speak up again. "We can still try to bluff our way into the building somehow," he suggested. "We've come this far. We're not gonna just give up and go home, are we?"

"He's right, Becker," Hutch added softly. "We're not giving up! So let's find somewhere to park this heap and figure out what we're going to do now!"

Becker nodded and put the car back into gear. A few minutes later, they were parked in a lot about two blocks from the hotel.

"How much longer till the President arrives?" Hutch asked then. Becker had told them before that Rogue Star would be coming to the meeting place slightly ahead of the President, so that the agents guarding them both would only have to protect one target at a time during the crucial few moments between their vehicle and the relative safety of the hotel's lobby.

Becker consulted his watch again. "If everything is going according their schedule," Becker smiled wryly, "he should be arriving in about five more minutes."

"Then we don't have much time. What's our best way in?"

Becker thought a moment. "Through the service entrance and up the freight elevator," he said decisively. "The very fact that it is so obvious means they won't really be expecting anyone to try that route."

"Let's go," Hutch said, opening his door and getting out of the car. The others followed and they all made their way as quickly as they could, without making themselves conspicuous, up the street and around the side of the hotel to where they could see the entrance Becker had chosen. No agents were in sight, but they all knew they would be there.

"Well, this is it," Becker breathed. "If any of you are havin' any second thoughts, this is your last chance to be sensible and back out of this thing."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, and both knew what the other was thinking. If they went through with this, any or all of them could die in the next few minutes. And they both knew neither of them was going to back out. "We always kinda thought it might end like this!" Starsky said softly. "It's been a blast, Hutch!"

Hutch reached out and squeezed his friend's good arm. "Yeah, it has, Starsk," he answered simply, his eyes locked on his partner's. Butch and Sundance, buddy! Me and Thee. He saw Starsky nod slightly and knew he'd gotten the unspoken message. "See ya' on the other side, pal!"

He then turned to Paula. "There's a lot I've been wanting to say to you, but I never seem to get the chance," he told her with a sad smile.

"Tell me tonight, then...over dinner," she smiled back. "Don't think you're getting out of that meal you promised to make me this easily!" she teased.

He wrapped his arms around her in a brief, tight hug, then released her and turned to offer Becker his hand. "Looks like we're doing this. Sorry I didn't get to know you better, Becker. Who knows? Under different circumstances, we might even have been friends!"

"I'm gonna remind you later that you said that, Hutchinson!" Becker laughed, returning the offered handshake. He nodded to Starsky, who clapped him on the back. "Everyone ready?" the agent asked. They all nodded.

By unspoken agreement, Becker led the way. Just as they reached the top of the stairs to the loading dock, two agents appeared from the doorway into the hotel's service area, their manner alert but relaxed. Neither had their weapons visible yet. "Sorry," one of the agents said politely, "But if you're going in this way, we'll need to see some ID."

Hutch had a sudden inspiration. Becker had started to speak, but Hutch stepped forward instead, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his police department ID and shield and presenting them to the agent. The other man looked over his partner's shoulder as the first agent examined both carefully before returning them to Hutch with a curious expression.

"What may we do for you, Detective?" he asked. Both agents were completely relaxed now and focused on him. Neither noticed Starsky as he slowly moved around behind them until it was too late. He slipped his borrowed gun from beneath his jacket and used it to hit the agent nearest him on the back of the head just as Hutch punched the man he'd been talking to solidly beneath the jaw. Both men slumped into the detectives' arms, unconscious.

"Sorry about that," Starsky apologized to the man he'd hit. With one arm still in a sling, he'd almost dropped him. Paula had stepped forward and caught the man's other arm just in time. Becker was already at the door.

"It's clear... for the moment. Hurry!" he said, stepping aside and holding the door for the others as they dragged their limp burdens into what proved to be the hotel's laundry room. Several huge commercial washers and dryers lined one wall and a number of gondolas full of sheets and towels were scattered about, waiting to be washed. They quickly hoisted both unconscious agents into two of them and covered them up with the linen.

"Which way?" Hutch asked.

"Here!" Becker said, leading them through another door and across an empty hallway to the freight elevator. They all waited tensely as the car descended from one of the hotel's upper floors. The doors opened to reveal an older Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform. She raised her eyebrows at the odd looking group, but rolled her cleaning cart past them without comment as they got in the elevator.

"Which floor?" Starsky asked, who was standing nearest the buttons.

"The meeting is taking place in a suite on the tenth floor, but that whole level will be secured and there are sure to be agents posted by all the elevators," Becker answered. "Our best bet would be to go up to eleven, I think, then back down to ten by the south stairs. There will guards posted there too, of course, but probably only two to each stairwell. And it won't be as visible to other agents on the floor as the area around the elevators." Starsky hit the button marked "11".

"The clock is already running against us," Becker continued. "Those agents you disabled will have been under orders to check in every five minutes or so. Add to that another two or three minutes for someone to run see what the problem is once they miss their next check in and that gives us seven or eight minutes at most before this whole place is on alert and looking for us."

"Will they automatically assume somethin's goin' down?" Starsky asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Becker answered him. The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. "Come on!" he said as they got out and followed him at a run towards the south stairwell.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Slater got out of the limo and carefully looked around at the gathered crowd, then up at his fellow agent waiting at the hotel's doorway, who nodded, signaling that all was secure. Slater then walked around the long dark car and opened the rear door for the passenger. A loud cheer only marred by a couple of "boo's" went up from the crowd as the man inside got out, pausing briefly to wave. Slater unobtrusively touched the taller man's arm to get him moving, then stuck close by his side as they crossed the short distance to the doors at what felt like a snail's pace, though actually was a fairly brisk walk.

As they went, he continued to watch the crowd with trained hyper-vigilance. He knew that Rogue Star would already have arrived and been escorted up to the suite of rooms on the tenth floor where her meeting with the President was scheduled to take place. And yet he still had to remain focused—it wouldn't do to be so distracted by the threat he already knew about that he missed some garden-variety kook in the crowd! His life over the past couple of years had made the agent a firm believer in Murphy's Law.

They reached the doors without incident and Slater allowed himself a small sigh of relief as they stepped inside. The hotel's lobby had been cleared and secured. A handful of other agents had formed a cordon that made a clear path to the elevators. A car had already been summoned and was waiting for them. Slater and the President, along with a second agent named Grayson, got in without pausing and Grayson turned the key that would prevent the elevator from stopping on any other floors, then pushed the button marked "10" on the control panel. As the doors closed and the car began to ascend, Slater took in another deep breath and turned to his charge.

"Mr. President," he began. "I don't know how to tell you this..."

He was interrupted by an impatient gesture from Grayson, who had suddenly become very interested in what was coming over the earplug of the radio link that he had tucked in his ear.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Becker was the first out of the stairwell, surprising the two agents guarding the door there. They both had their guns out in a flash and aimed at his chest.

"Stop! Identify yourself immediately!" one of the younger men demanded.

"It's alright, son," Becker told him calmly, raising his hands. "I'm one of you. There's been some kind of disturbance down in one of the back service areas and Slater sent me up to make sure everything was still secure up here. He's on the way up with Pass Key in the main elevator now." Or, at least, he should be if nothing happened to delay him!

"I'll need to see your ID!" the younger agent told him firmly, while his partner continued to cover him carefully.

"Of course," Becker nodded, reaching slowly for his wallet in his jacket pocket. He knew the others could hear everything that was taking place from where they still remained hidden in the stairwell. He also knew that the clock was still running against them. He had to think fast.

His wallet was in his hand now. He opened it and flashed his official identification.

"Hand it over, please," the other agent ordered, his tone still suspicious, but slightly more relaxed than a moment ago. This man knew the President's code name and the name of the agent in charge of this detail. Also, from where he stood, his ID looked real enough, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. He held out his hand but, just as Becker reached to hand him the wallet, it "accidentally" slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor—an old trick, but it worked. The younger man almost reflexively bent to retrieve it. He and his partner were both distracted just long enough for Starsky, Hutch and Paula to burst out of the stairwell and overcome them both.

"What should we do with these two?" Starsky asked as he gently lowered the second man he'd beaned that day to the floor. His conscience was beginning to bother him a bit, but he knew it couldn't be helped.

"Leave them!" Becker said as he picked up his wallet and tucked it back into his inside jacket pocket. "We don't have time for anything else. Come on!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'm in charge of this detail and I say we take the President back down to the lobby. Now!" Slater said angrily.

Grayson, who'd pushed the button to stop the elevator between floors, shook his head. "Yes, sir. But with all due respect, I still think it would be better to continue the tenth floor. Whatever's going on, the disturbance seems to be contained on the lower floors, so the upper level is probably safest. Also, with both the President and the Premier's widow on the same floor, we can pool our resources to better to protect them both!"

The third man in the elevator cleared his throat discreetly at this. "I agree with Grayson," he put in softly. "If my opinion matters any, I say we go on."

Slater sighed. "Mr. President," he began again, and was again interrupted.

"Sir!" Grayson told him. "Henry and Black have just been found unconscious in the laundry room! We definitely have a breach on the lower levels!"

Slater thought furiously. Hopefully, the person responsible for the breach was his partner. But if it wasn't... "What are you waiting for, Grayson?" he demanded. "Get this car moving on up to 10!" The younger man nodded and turned the override key once more as he and Slater moved their charge to the back of the car and unholstered their weapons.

Several things happened at once. Becker and the others came around a turn in the hallway just as the elevator carrying Slater, Grayson and the President arrived. At the same moment that the doors of the elevator parted, the door to suite 1032 opened and, despite the protests of the agent on her heels, a woman in a long, black dress with long, dark hair stepped out into the corridor. The agents who had been stationed outside the elevator drew their weapons and aimed them at Becker, Starsky, Paula and Hutch, but were unable to use them because of the woman in their line of fire. Meanwhile, the agent who'd followed Rogue Star into the hallway saw the perceived threat to her safety and had grabbed her by the shoulders, intending to bodily pull her back into the suite to protect her. He never felt the blow as the heel of her hand connected violently with his nose, shattering it and driving the splintered bones up into his brain, killing him instantly.

For Slater, everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. He saw the Sultan's girlfriend's calm execution of the agent who'd been guarding her. She looked up from the body on the floor at her feet and her emotionless eyes met Slater's for the briefest of moments before moving to focus on her target behind him, her body already in motion to cross the small distance that separated her from her main objective. Slater heard Grayson gasp as he raised his weapon and, without another thought, fired at the oncoming woman. Her body jerked as the bullets hit her, but her expression remained determined as her momentum continued to carry her forward. The fifth shot finally brought her to her knees. She glared at Slater a moment more, then collapsed in a dark heap on the carpet.

Slater heard a small sound behind him. He turned, expecting to find Grayson's gun trained on him. He wasn't disappointed, but what he had not been expecting was to find that the younger agent now also had his other arm wrapped around the President's waist and was using him as a shield.

"What are you doing, Grayson?" he asked the younger man calmly.

"I'm just finishing what you started, Slater," Grayson growled. "The Sultan is not going to be very happy when he hears what you've done!"

Everyone else in the corridor was frozen in place, watching this latest turn of events without being sure how to react. Slater felt his heart sink. The Sultan had told him his men would be nearby. And yet the thought that he might have anyone else in the Service on his payroll had never occurred to him.

"How'd he get to you, Grayson?" he asked the younger agent almost gently. "My son was my price. What was yours?"

"None of your business!" the traitor snarled. "Now, put the gun on the floor. Slowly. And as for the rest of you, nobody move or the President gets it!"

Slater was shaking his head. "Don't you think that's rather a weak threat, Grayson? Since we all know you're planning to kill him anyway!"

"Shut up!" Grayson screamed. One of the agents who'd been guarding the elevator decided to make a move. He raised his weapon, hoping to be able to find a shot without hitting the President. Grayson saw the movement and shifted his aim and fired at the other man just as Slater shoved the President aside, slammed into Grayson and grabbed the gun, trying to wrestle it from his hand. The shot meant for the agent in the hallway went wide and buried itself in the wall. Grayson and Slater struggled for what seemed like a small eternity but was actually only a few seconds, until suddenly the gun went off again. Everyone stared, wondering which of the three men in the elevator might have been hit. Then, with exaggerated slowness, Grayson silently slumped to the floor.

Slater bent and checked for a pulse, then wrenched the gun from the other man's limp fingers and threw it disgustedly onto the floor a few feet away. Grayson might still live to stand trial. With a sigh, Slater turned to find that the weapons of all the other agents in the corridor were now trained on him, Becker and the others seeming to have been temporarily forgotten. He pointedly ignored them all as he turned back to the slightly rumpled man beside him.

"Mr. President, I know that what has just transpired must seem very confusing, and must have raised some doubts in your mind, as well as those of my fellow agents, about my trustworthiness. Arrest me if you feel you have to. Yet, even as we speak, the man who orchestrated this attack, a man who poses a much more serious threat to yourself and this nation's security than I do, is still at large and may be getting away. He must be stopped—if not by me, then by my partner, Brian Becker, here and these others that he has brought with him. Only we know enough about this man to have a chance of locating him in time to prevent his escape!"

The President stared at him for several seconds, then nodded. "Let them go!" he ordered the other agents.

"Mr. President! Even if I had the authority to do that, I can't..." one of the agents in the corridor began to protest.

"You may not have the authority," the President shot back. " But I do! Go on, Slater. But rest assured, there will be a full investigation into this matter, for which I will expect you, your partner and these others here all to be present."

"Yes, sir. We were planning to be," Slater promised. He turned to face his fellow agents, who stared at him a moment more before reluctantly lowering their weapons. "This is an official duck and run, folks!" he said then. "Exit Plan C! Move it!" This, at least, was familiar ground again. The other agents scrambled without any further hesitation to comply with Slater's order.

"Let's go, B.B.," Alan whispered to his partner as he reached him, herding Becker and the others back the way they had come. "Our boss is going to be hearing about this any minute now, and I don't think he will be quite so willing to trust us!"

Two agents looked up as the freight elevator's doors opened onto the ground floor again. Relief flooded their features as they recognized Slater among its passengers.

"Sir! The reports coming in have been rather confusing. What's going on?" one of them asked.

"There's been an incident. Pass Key is safe, but the Raven and two agents are down. Exit Plan C is in progress," Slater told them.

Both blanched, and then nodded. "Yes, Sir!" they called as they ran off to carry out their assigned roles in the preplanned evacuation.

Becker took over the lead again, avoiding the laundry room where the two agents they had incapacitated on the way in might still be lingering, and headed instead for another service entrance further toward the back of the building. They passed several more agents on the way out, but they all recognized Slater and were too busy with their assigned tasks to ask questions about the odd group with him.

No one spoke until they were well away from the hotel in Becker's car again. "Where to?" Becker asked his partner then. The black man was once more behind the wheel with Slater in the front seat now beside him and Hutch, Starsky and Paula together in the back.

"The Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport," Slater answered. "The Sultan keeps a small private jet fueled and ready there at all times for just such an emergency. I only hope we can beat him to it!"

Except for an occasional suggestion on what route they should take from the two police officers, they made the trip to the small airport in tense silence. As Becker wove madly in and out of traffic and pushed the government-issue sedan to its limits, Starsky found himself longing for his beloved Torino with himself behind the wheel instead of Becker. He knew without conceit that he was an excellent driver. With the mars light going and the Torino's power, he could have shaved precious minutes off their time.

Not that Becker wasn't doing an outstanding job! The black agent pulled a couple of maneuvers that caused Starsky to grin in admiration and made Hutch's knuckles go white where he gripped the back of the seat in front of him. If the situation had not been so desperate, Starsky might even have enjoyed the ride. As it was, he satisfied himself with making mental notes of some of Becker's driving techniques for future reference.

As they took the turnoff into the small airport on two wheels, Slater pointed to a hanger at the far end, where several people were loading luggage into a sleek-looking little jet as the pilot went through the preflight engine tests.

"That's it! That's his plane!" Slater told them. Just then, a man they all recognized stepped out of the nearby hanger and turned toward the sound of the approaching car. The Sultan frowned, then his expression changed to one of panic. He yelled something they couldn't hear to the men loading the plane and broke into a run. The others looked in the direction their boss had indicated, then threw the last bags into the cabin and climbed in themselves. As they reached to pull the Sultan and another man onboard, the plane began to roll.

Becker swerved the car as the last man to board the jet turned in the still open cabin door, raised a gun and squeezed off a couple of shots in their direction. Slater rolled down the window on his side of the car and returned his fire. One of Slater's shots connected and the shooter inside the moving aircraft grabbed his chest and tumbled out onto the tarmac in front of the sedan. Becker tapped the brakes and swerved to miss him, spoiling Slater's aim as another man now appeared in the door to send a couple more rounds their way before pulling the door closed at last.

The pilot kicked the engines up another notch and the sleek little craft picked up more speed. Becker pushed the sedan's accelerator to the floor in an attempt to keep up as the small plane effortlessly outdistanced them as it fled down the taxiway ahead of them. Slater was leaning out of the open window on his side of the car, still firing, hoping to hit one of the jet's tires or otherwise damage the aircraft's control surfaces enough to prevent the plane from taking to the air. Starsky clung desperately to Hutch's belt to keep him from falling as he also leaned out of the car as far as he dared on his side to add his Magnum's heavier caliber fire to Slater's efforts. Still the little jet sped on, reaching the end of the taxiway far ahead of the slower sedan, where the pilot executed an enviably tight turn and, with almost no loss of speed, began accelerating down the last short strip of asphalt that separated them from actual the runway.

"Hang on!" Becker cried as he suddenly threw the speeding sedan into reverse, whipping the car around on its axis in a desperate maneuver that brought a shriek of protest from the abused transmission and a cry of fear from Paula as she saw Starsky's fingers slip on Hutch's belt as the force of the turn tore the thin leather from his grasp. She lunged across the seat, latching onto one long leg just as Starsky managed to get a grip on the other. They both hung on for dear life as Becker slammed the still squealing transmission into drive again and floored the accelerator once more. Hutch's face as Paula and Starsky pulled him back into the car was so white that it made his hair look dark in comparison.

"You ok, partner?" Starsky managed to gasp, his own face ghost pale. Hutch nodded, too shaken up to speak. Paula clung to him fiercely, tears streaming unnoticed down her face. Somehow, even as he'd guided the clumsy sedan through a maneuver it had never been designed to make, Becker had managed to snag a handful of Slater's coat and he, too, was now safely back inside the car. Starsky's respect for the black man went up another level.

Meanwhile, the fleeing plane had reached the runway at last. The pilot executed another impossibly tight turn that brought the nose of the craft around until it pointed towards the far end of the strip and freedom. The little jet's engines whined eagerly as the pilot revved them up towards takeoff speed.

Becker made one last desperate bid to stop them. Cutting sharply across the grassy strip that separated them from the runway, he pulled the sedan directly into the path of the speeding jet and slammed on the brakes. All of them stared at the oncoming danger as they threw open their doors and piled out of the car, but no one made a move to get out of the way. Instead, they all drew their weapons and stood their ground as they faced down the rapidly approaching aircraft, determined one way or the other to stop it from taking off, even at the risk of their own lives.

The engines' whine took on a shriller note as the pilot frantically pushed them to their limits and beyond. At the last possible instant, the nose rose off the ground, the landing gear barely clearing the sedan's roof as the plane lifted into the air. Slater, Becker, Hutch, Starsky and Paula all emptied every round in their guns into the belly of the little plane as it skimmed over their heads. The jet wobbled once under their combined onslaught, then leveled off and was gone.

Becker and the others slumped against the sides of the car in defeat as the airport's emergency crews' vehicles now bore down on them with lights flashing and sirens howling in the sudden silence left in the jet's wake.

Hutch looked around the sterile little room and sighed. God, he hated hospitals! Still, it was better than the alternative, he supposed. If not for some quick talk and a little blackmail by Dobey, he, Starsky and Paula could as easily have been spending their time waiting for the hearing in a jail cell.

Unbeknownst to them, the hotel's security cameras had captured their part in yesterday's fiasco. Actually, all the tape had shown was a few seconds of the four of them running down the south stairwell, but it had been enough to get a few good frames of all of their faces. One of the local stations had somehow gotten hold of it and blown those frames up, and the footage had been all over the evening news. The Commissioner had nearly had a coronary when he'd seen it and recognized the two missing Metro officers. Only Dobey's insistence that his detectives needed medical care, and repeated protests that arresting them would only lead to even more negative publicity for the department, had kept them out of the county lockup. Even so, they were still virtually under arrest, though the guards outside their door were ostensibly there for their protection.

Paula was once again sharing a room with the two men, a third bed for her having been squeezed into a semi-private room that normally held only two. She had pulled some muscles in her back when she'd grabbed Hutch to help Starsky keep him from falling out the window. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her system at the time had kept her from even feeling the injury until later after things had finally settled down. To tell the truth, the damage wasn't so severe that it would normally require her to be in the hospital, but Dobey had convinced her boss that it would be as good a way to keep her out of trouble as it was for his two detectives. So, she had been admitted as well.

At first, the hospital had been vehemently against of the idea of having them all in one room, but after only one night of having them sneaking from one room to the other, they had decided that it would be easier on the staff and their guards just to give in. The third bed had been brought in along with a folding screen to give Paula at least an illusion of privacy, though, so far, it had mostly stayed folded up in the corner. Paula, who had come to feel very close to both Hutch and his partner in a short time, had grown up with a pack of brothers and boy cousins and so was quite comfortable sharing her living space with males. Most of the medical staff still frowned at the impropriety of it all whenever they had to come into the room. "What's the big deal anyway?" Starsky wondered. "We're all friends! And besides, this is the 70's, for crying out loud! They got coed dorms, so why not coed hospital rooms?"

The t.v. was on and Hutch was once again scowling at the screen. The attempt on the President's life had not only not dampened the mood of the Governor's reception, it actually seemed to have added excitement to the evening. What airtime the networks had not devoted to the events at the hotel yesterday afternoon was being spent this morning on reviewing who had worn what and been seen with whom at the party last night. It may well have become the social event of the year.

Suddenly, Hutch sat up a bit straighter in his bed, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume. Starsky and Paula both looked up to see what had caught his interest.

"In other news," the red-haired woman on the screen was saying, "Authorities still have not been able to confirm the identities of the pilot or passengers of a small private jet that crashed into the Pacific Ocean yesterday evening approximately fifty miles off the California coastline. The crews of several fishing boats anchored near the area say that the engines of the plane seemed to be making an unusual noise just before the small aircraft hit the water at high speed and disintegrated. The downed plane fits the description of one that reportedly took off under suspicious circumstances from the Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport less than half an hour before the crash. The Coast Guard is conducting a search of the area for survivors, yet, because of the violence of the impact, a spokesperson for the Guard says they feel it is unlikely that anyone will be found alive. We'll bring you more on this story as details become available.

"On the lighter side, the Los Angeles Zoo is getting ready for a visit from the stork!"

Hutch hit the mute button and turned to face his two roommates, his eyes wide in shock. "Damn!" he whispered.

Starsky silently agreed with the sentiment. "Do ya' really think it was the Sultan's plane, Hutch?" he asked wistfully.

The blond detective sighed. "I don't know. I guess I hope so, Starsk. But, unless they can find and positively identify his body, on some level I'll always wonder if he got away."

Paula smiled, reaching across the small gap between their beds to take Hutch's nearest hand. "Just the thought that we might have gotten him is going to help me sleep sounder at night!" she declared.

"Yeah," Starsky said. "Me, too. 'Sides, we have other things to worry about. Like that hearin' that's comin' up in a couple of days."

"At least they aren't going to make us wait long!" Hutch said with a rueful smile. "In the meantime, I suppose we will just have to make the best of it. I hate to say it, but this is the closest thing Starsky and I have had to a vacation in over a year!" he laughed, leaning back in the bed again and folding his arms behind head.

"Come to think of it, I haven't had any vacation time in quite a while either," Paula agreed as she left her bed to come curl up beside him on his. "I guess that makes it almost our duty to enjoy our time off as much as possible!" Hutch sighed in contentment as she rested her head on his good shoulder, careful not to jar the other one. His injured arm was still terribly sore, but nowhere near as bad it had been before. He hardly needed the pain pills anymore, except last night when he was trying to sleep and even then he'd only taken half the dose he had been.

Starsky tossed a tolerant smile their way and focused his attention on the television again. "Okay, just don't forget I'm here, too, guys!" he teased. "Or at least have the decency to wait until I'm asleep or somethin' before ya' get too friendly over there!"

Paula reached across and snagged the pillow from her bed and handed it to Hutch, who hit Starsky squarely in the face with it. Starsky grinned and tucked the extra pillow behind his head. "Thanks! How'd ya' know I wanted another pillow?" he said, his violet eyes dancing.

Hutch shook his head and settled back into his own pillow once more and closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly drowsy. Starsky had taken charge of the remote and had found a morning cartoon show. His soft chuckles at the antics of Tom and Jerry blended with the murmur of the television and Paula's warmth to ease the blond detective further toward sleep. Just then, the peace in the room was shattered by a loud voice from the hallway.

"All right, you three! What's this I hear about you playing musical rooms all night?" Dobey demanded gruffly, making them all jump as he came into the room. The captain's smile belied his angry tone.

Hutch blushed as Dobey raised his eyebrows slightly at the sight of him and Paula curled up together on his bed, but wasn't embarrassed enough to ask her to go back to her own. Dobey shrugged, deciding that, if it was okay with the three of them, he wasn't about to make it his business, and sat down on the end of Starsky's bed so that he could talk to them all.

"I can't believe I'm sayin' this," the captain began, eyeing Starsky, "But I for one am sure gonna be glad when that ridiculous hair of yours grows back!"

Hutch chuckled and Starsky ran a self-conscious hand over the dark stubble that was just beginning to come in on his scalp. "Me, too, Cap'n!" Starsky agreed wholeheartedly. "I feel weird without it!"

"Believe me, buddy, you look weird, too!'' Hutch put in with an evil grin.

"Thanks, babe!" Starsky pouted, pretending to be hurt. "I love you, too!" Hutch only chuckled, knowing his friend wasn't really that upset by the remark, and Starsky was forced to look away to hide his smile. He'd seen himself in a mirror after all and Hutch was right—he did look weird!

"Yeah, well, the damage to my looks ain't all I'm sufferin', Hutch!" Starsky added in a pitiful tone, "It's also cold bein' bald!"

Hutch's grin broadened. He could tell his partner was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"I tell you what, Starsk," he said, light blue eyes twinkling devilishly, "I have this friend who makes wigs. I'll give her a call once we get out of here and see if she can come up with something for you until your own hair grows back in! Wonder what you'd look like as a blond?"

Starsky shot him a dirty look. "Thanks, but no thanks, Hutch! One Blond Blintz on this team is enough! I think I'll just stick to wearin' hats!!"

"Just trying to help, pal!" Hutch chuckled, then grunted as Paula nudged him none to gently in the ribs. Hutch turned to stare at her in surprise.

"I think that's enough picking on poor Dave for now!" she warned him as Starsky burst out laughing.

"You tell 'im, Paula!" he encouraged her. "I have to put up with this kinda stuff from him all the time!"

"You poor thing!" Paula commiserated, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, not while I'm around you won't!"

"Wh-what?" Hutch stammered, looking from one to the other in bewilderment. "Now, wait a minute, Paula! You're supposed to be on my side!" he protested in an injured tone.

"Who says?" she returned innocently.

Hutch opened his mouth to argue with her, but Dobey stopped him with another patented Dobey glare. "Hamilton's right, Hutchinson. Dave's been through enough without your wisecracks on top of it, so cut it out!" he ordered, his expression set in a fierce scowl, but his eyes shining.

Hutch looked again from his grinning partner, to Paula, to his captain, then crossed his arms on his chest with a mock angry, "Hmmph!" at suddenly finding them all ganged up against him.

Once their laughter had subsided, the conversation turned to other matters.

"You heard anything about Becker and Slater, Cap?" Starsky asked, sobering again.

Dobey shook his head. "I tried talking to their supervisor," he said, "but was informed in no uncertain terms that anything concerning the two of them was strictly 'need to know', and I didn't need to."

"Well, I, for one, still think Slater deserves anything that happens to him!" Paula declared. "And yet, now that I've had a chance to get to know him better, I can't help but feel a little sorry for Becker."

"Yes. Well," Dobey said, clearing his throat, "Maybe the three of you should save some of that concern for yourselves! From what I've been able to gather, you're all going to be facing some pretty serious charges at that hearing! Yesterday, before you were admitted to the hospital, you tried to give me a sketchy outline of how you'd ended up here. Perhaps now is a good time to tell me the rest of the story!"

They did just that, the three of them taking turns until they had filled in all of the blanks they could for him. When they had finished, Dobey sat in silence for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he heaved a big sigh and got to his feet.

"I can't say this is the smartest thing either of you have ever done," he began gruffly, shaking a stern finger at his two officers. "You ignored proper procedure in just about everything you did in this case, and it'd serve you right if you all landed in prison! Still, no matter what they decide at that hearing, I'm proud of you boys! Your hearts were in the right place, even if your brains weren't! That goes for you, too, Hamilton, if my opinion matters to you."

"It does, Captain Dobey. Thank you," Paula replied with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks, Cap!" Starsky grinned. "And if we do go to prison, I promise I'll write ya' every day!"

Dobey snorted. "I bet you would, too, just to annoy me!" he huffed. "Well, I can't stand here talking all day. I have a department to run...or, at least, I still do for the moment. I think the Commissioner is just waiting to see how the wind is gonna blow after that hearing before he decides if it's in his best interest to fire me or not!"

Hutch blushed then. "I'm sorry, Cap'n!" he apologized sincerely. "I never thought about how this mess might affect your career!"

"Would you have done anything differently if you had?" Dobey asked, offering Hutch a kind smile when the younger man couldn't answer that one. "I didn't think so." He reached out to squeeze Hutch's good shoulder gently. "Listen, son, just so you know, my problems with the Commissioner have nothin' to do with you two! That trouble has been brewing for years. I guess I finally just got fed up enough to speak my mind, is all."

Starsky's eyes had grown wide. "What did you say to him?" he asked in an awed tone.

"None of your damned business!" Dobey shot back with a scowl, but his eyes twinkled in his broad, dark face. "I'm going back to the station now, and I don't want to hear of you three reprobates giving these nice people any more trouble, do you hear?"

"Yes, Sir!" the three patients replied in unison.

"Good! I'll come by and check on you all again on my way home tonight. Is there anything I can bring any of you?"

"Do you think you could bring me some tacos, Cap?" Starsky asked hopefully. "Or maybe a couple of burritos? I don't know about Hutch or Paula, but I'm about to starve to death and the food here is awful!"

Dobey looked Starsky over carefully, noticing that he might indeed have dropped a couple of pounds, before he turned to Paula and Hutchinson. "Is the food really that bad?" he asked softly.

Hutch grinned. "No worse than usual, Cap," he assured their superior. "Starsky's just in a snit because the head nurse wouldn't let him keep the pizza he called out for last night!"

"Why not?" Dobey asked, curious in spite of himself.

"It may have had something to do with the fact that it was after hours," Hutch chuckled. "But I get the feeling it was mostly because, once the delivery boy got here, Starsky didn't have any money to pay for it!"

"Hey!" Starsky grumbled, "I told them both the department would pay for it if they'd just add it to my bill! Isn't that right, Cap?"

Dobey chuckled and patted Starsky's nearest knee. "I don't think it works that way," he told him gently. "But, I'll see what I can do about getting you something decent to eat, son. I want you and Hutchinson to make the best impression you can at that hearing, and you can't do that if you go in there fainting from malnutrition!"

"Thanks, Cap!" Starsky grinned again, genuinely pleased.

"Yeah, well. Don't go thinkin' this means I'm getting soft on you or anything, Starsky!" Dobey teased in a warning tone "I'm just thinking of the department's image!"

"Anything you say, Cap!" Starsky laughed, before turning to stage whisper to Hutch, "Did ya' hear him? He called me 'son'!"

"Don't let it go to your head, Gordo!" Hutch told him. "He called me 'son', too."

"Yeah, well, maybe he did...but he's bringing me tacos!" Starsky finished with a "top that!" grin.

Hutch just shook his head and turned back to their boss. "You know you've got to now, Captain. Otherwise he'll never let you hear the end of it!"

"I'll bring enough for all of you," Dobey promised, on the way out the door. "We'll have a regular Mexican feast! But that means you'd better behave yourself the rest of the day, Starsky! Otherwise that head nurse might not allow it!"

"Oh, don't worry about her, Cap!" Starsky declared confidently, settling back on his bed and returning his attention to his cartoon show. "A few more hours of the Starsky charm, and she'll be putty in my hands!"

Hutch gave Dobey another long-suffering look as Paula rolled her eyes and shook her head. The captain continued to chuckle to himself as he made his way back down to his car and headed back to the station. He was still worried about the hearing, but, for the time being, he felt better than he had in over a week.

The Mexican Feast turned out to be an unqualified success. Dobey not only brought enough food to feed an army, he brought the army, too. At least twenty people were squeezed into the tiny hospital room at any one time, all of them realizing without mentioning it that, should things go badly at the hearing, this might be the last party the guests of honor got to attend for quite some time, if ever. Half the officers from Metro showed up, needing something to celebrate following the funerals of the nine officers they'd lost earlier in the week. Dobey's wife and kids came, of course, as well as Huggy and several of the regulars from The Pits, and even the taciturn Merle dropped in for a minute.

Much to Hutch's bemusement, Starsky had somehow been able not only to con the stern head of the night nursing shift into allowing all this, but had even sweet-talked her into letting the last party-goers stay an extra hour after visiting hours were supposed to have ended, on the condition that none of the other patients on their hall complained. Only two other rooms on their hallway were occupied that evening, and the patients in them were easily appeased once they were offered a share of the aforementioned feast. Hutch could only shake his head once more at his partner's uncanny art of persuasion. Not that he should be that surprised, he guessed. After all, how many times had he been smooth-talked into just about whatever his best friend wanted by that special Starsky combination of little boy smile and big, blue eyes?

The remaining two days between the party and the hearing passed quietly, the reality of what they might all actually be facing perhaps sinking in at last. The morning they were scheduled to appear before the committee for the first time dawned gray and cool, with a light drizzle falling. Paula's supervisor came by early to pick her up, wanting to use those extra few hours to go over her testimony one last time. Starsky knew that saying goodbye to her had to have been hard on Hutch. Hell, it hadn't been easy for him! Once she was gone, the tiny hospital room suddenly seemed too big and too quiet and an air of depression settled over them both. Starsky and Hutch took turns showering, shaving and dressing in silence, the morning cartoon show that Starsky had turned on again doing nothing to lighten the mood.

It was almost a relief when Dobey showed up to take them to the government offices downtown where the preliminaries were to take place. If the committee decided that their involvement warranted it, they might each also be called to testify in Washington, D.C. But, so far, they had only been told to expect to testify at the local proceedings.

All three Metro officers wore their dress uniforms for this occasion. Dobey had dug the two detectives' out of the backs of each of their closets and had everything pressed and polished for them before dropping them off the night before. Now the captain looked them both over critically from head to toe, straightening Starsky's tie before finally nodding his approval of their appearance. "Someone might actually mistake you two for professionals for once!" he quipped lightly as he unlocked the doors of his car for them down in the hospital parking lot.

Starsky couldn't help but be a little impressed by Dobey's appearance as well as he stole yet another glance at his superior as he drove. The man positively glittered with all the decorations he had received over the years! He was even more surprised to note how many citations he and Hutch had added to their own collections since the last time they had been called to put them on, each one its own silent testimony to their character. And Dobey had been very careful to make sure that he and Hutch displayed them all--they were going to need all the back up they could get!

The hearing took place in what looked more like a conference room for some big corporation than a courtroom. The Metro officers were taken first to another, smaller room where they had to wait under the stony gazes of half a dozen armed Marines until they were each called to testify. Starsky was the first to be called. Escorted by Dobey and two of the Marine guards, he gave Hutch a nervous smile and got a thumb's up in return before he was taken down the hall to the conference room.

Paula, along with her supervisor and her own pair of Marines, was just coming out as he was being brought in. Neither of them spoke, but she smiled at him as they passed each other in the doorway. She looked tired, Starsky noted as he found himself unconsciously coming to attention before he walked on into the room and took his seat across the big table from the committee.

Several exhausting hours later, the head of the committee finally looked up and announced that it was Hutch's turn. It was all Starsky could do not to groan out loud as he rose to leave. Both his head and his shoulder, neither of which had given him much trouble during this last stay in the hospital, were throbbing again and only an act of sheer will kept him from staggering as he slowly straightened and forced his stiff legs to carry him from the room with as much dignity he could muster.

"How'd it go?" Hutch whispered as they passed in the doorway, earning him a frown from one of his guards and a subtle headshake from Dobey. Starsky could only shrug in reply. The members of the committee had asked their endless rounds of questions and listened to his answers in a completely professional, almost bored manner that had offered him no clue at all as to what they might be thinking.

He was taken back to the same room they'd all been taken to before, where he spent several more hours pacing and staring at the walls. There weren't any magazines or anything in the room to help pass the time and not even a window to look out of. Dobey was in with Hutch and none of the guards allowed him to draw them into a conversation. The only break came when he finally gave in to the pain in his head and shoulder enough to ask if he could have a little water to take a couple of Tylenol with. Two of the guards had then walked him down the hall and around the corner to a water fountain. They had even let him visit the nearby john, one going in with him while the other waited outside in the hallway. Starsky "harrumphed" to himself as he came back out—it'd been a long time since he'd been escorted to the bathroom! What'd they think he was gonna do, crawl out a window? They were on the eighteenth floor, for Pete's sake!

"Maybe ya' better get used to it!" he thought to himself as his guards took him back to the waiting room. If things went badly, he stood to lose a lot more than a little privacy!

Too tired to pace anymore, he flopped into the least uncomfortable of the room's few chairs to stare into space, trying unsuccessfully to distract himself from the disturbing thoughts that filled his mind by attempting to name all of his favorite Bogart movies in alphabetical order.

"Let's see, there's The Big Sleep, then Casablanca...oops! Almost forgot African Queen! That was a good one! I especially like that scene where Bogart is havin' tea with the missionary and his sister, and he's tryin' so hard to make a good impression, but his stomach keeps growlin' 'cause he's so hungry! Boy, I sure know how that feels!"

He had not meant to doze off, but must have, as the sound of the door opening startled him awake. He looked up to see his partner being escorted back into the room, his fair complexion even paler than usual from weariness, yet still managing to find a smile from somewhere for his friend. Starsky gave him a lopsided one in return.

"What now?" Starsky asked when Dobey had joined them a few minutes later.

"They've called a two hour lunch break but will reconvene this afternoon. They've indicated that they want to hear both of your testimonies again at that time," the captain told them.

"You're kidding!" Hutch declared, earning himself a glare from their boss.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Dobey shot back, then sighed. "Come on, let's go eat."

They weren't allowed to leave the building for lunch. Instead, the Marine guards guided them all to an elevator and down several floors to another room with a large table in the middle, though this one was less austere than the one upstairs. On a smaller side table were several big plates piled high with a variety of sandwiches and a couple of bowls of chips and even a big bowl of fresh fruit, along with paper plates and napkins and such. There was also a big urn of coffee and a cooler full of cans of soda and juice.

The guards showed them in and took up positions outside the door, giving them some time alone. The three Metro officers had just settled at the big table with their lunches when the door opened again and Paula and her supervisor were shown in. Hutch's face lit with the first genuine smile of the day as he crossed the room to hug her briefly. He stayed with her as she fixed herself a plate, then sat beside her at the table.

"How are you holding up?" he asked after she had taken a long drink of her soda and several bites of sandwich.

"Okay, I guess. How about you two?" she asked with the same weary smile she'd given Starsky before.

"Well, I can't say I'm enjoying myself," Hutch laughed tiredly, "But it hasn't exactly been torture either!"

"They must be saving that for after lunch!" Starsky grumbled around a mouthful of his second sandwich, getting the laugh he'd been looking for from them both. The rest of the lunch break passed almost pleasantly. Paula introduced them to her boss, who turned out to be a decent enough guy if a little lacking in personality. At least, that was Starsky's impression from the few words they exchanged. Most of the time, Dobey and Paula's supervisor talked quietly at one end of the table while the others ate in companionable silence at the other, too worn out to even try to eavesdrop on what their bosses might be saying about them.

When the lunch break ended, Paula and her superior were escorted into the conference room again, Starsky, Hutch and Dobey were taken back to the waiting room, and the whole process started over again. It was well after eight o'clock that evening before the three Metro officers were escorted at last down to the doors to the parking lot, where their guards let them go on alone. They all breathed a sigh of relief as they climbed back into Dobey's car. It and one other were the only ones left in the lot.

"Do I even want to know where we're spending the night?" Hutch asked as he looked back over his shoulder to see that the Marines were still watching them from the doorway even as they drove away.

"You're going home," Dobey told them both shortly. "Though you're not off the hook yet! I've had to promise to post a guard at both your places. Damn waste of manpower if you ask me! Especially since I'm down a dozen officers right now, but they insisted, so don't give me any grief about it!"

"We weren't plannin' to," Starsky assured him, then added, "Cap'n...Hutch and I...well, we don't know how to thank you enough for stickin' by us like this!"

"Yeah," Hutch put in. "No matter how this turns out, we know you've done all you can for us!"

Dobey snorted. "It was the least I could do, boys," he told them softly. "In spite of all the bone-headed pranks the two of you have pulled over the years, you're still two of the finest officers it's ever been my pleasure to command...though if either of you repeat that to anyone I'll deny I ever said it!"

Both partners found themselves temporarily at a loss for words. Then, finally, Hutch broke the uncomfortable silence, speaking for both of them. "That means a lot to us, Captain. Especially coming from you! It's been an honor to serve with you, too."

"Yeah...well," Dobey huffed gruffly, "Thanks. Now, enough of the mushy stuff! Here's your place, Hutchinson! If I were you, I'd have dinner and go straight to bed! The committee wants you both back there first thing in the morning! Make sure that uniform gets put on a hanger rather than thrown in the floor! I've seen your idea of housekeepin'!"

Hutch hesitated before getting out of the car. "Uh, Cap...You happen to know where Paula's staying tonight?" he asked, blushing.

Dobey's tone softened a little again. "Her supervisor asked me to get her things from your apartment while I was here yesterday getting your uniform. I got the impression he's booked them both rooms in a hotel for the night, though I honestly don't know which one. Sorry, son."

"Hey, partner!" Starsky put in then. "I just had a great idea! Rather than puttin' the captain here to the trouble of drivin' all the way out to my place tonight, why don't I stay here with you? That is, if you don't mind. It'd save him the extra trip in the morning, too, so he could spend a little more time with his family or whatever before he has to come and pick us up! What do you say?"

Hutch smiled at his friend gratefully. It was just like Starsky to do something nice for him and then act as if he was the one doing the favor! "Okay, Starsk! It's a deal...though I get the bed! That is, if it's all right with you, Cap'n?" Hutch asked. Both of them looked at him hopefully.

Dobey sighed. "Get out my car, you two, before I change my mind and haul you both downtown and book you a cell for the night!"

"Thanks!" both men grinned as they piled happily out of the car.

"Don't go reading too much into this!" he called after them. "It just so happens that it's a good idea. Also, it means I get to keep one more man on regular duty, since, with the two of you in the same place, I'll only have to post one guard for you both! Remember what I said about turning in early! And no beer, ya' hear me?" he continued as the two men fled up the stairs. "I don't want either of you walking in there tomorrow looking hungover! And you'd both better be ready and waiting when I get here in the morning! This means you, Starsky!" he threatened at their retreating backs.

"Yes, Sir!" Hutch called over his shoulder, and, "'Night, Cap'n!" Starsky called at the same time.

The captain only shook his head, smiling to himself as he waited to make sure that the promised guard was in place before putting the car into gear again, eager to make his weary way to his own home and family.

Chapter 27: "Troubles By The Number..."

As soon as the door had closed behind them, cutting off the last of Dobey's admonitions, Hutch's smile faded again. Starsky saw the change in his expression, of course—had been expecting it even! But he just plastered that much broader a grin on his own face and pretended not to notice.

"Whew!" he declared brightly into the silence, "It sure feels good to be home again! Feels like I've been away for a month or more! What ya' got to eat around here, partner? I'm starvin'!"

Hutch blushed slightly. "To tell the truth, Starsk, not much!" he admitted sheepishly. "I've been so busy these last few days that I haven't had time to get to the store!"

Starsky immediately felt contrite. "Of course he's been busy, dummy!" he mentally scolded himself. "He's been out all week workin' his butt off lookin' for you!"

Out loud he only said. "No problem, Hutch. We'll just call out for a pizza! I'll even treat this time...that is, if you've still got my wallet and all here!" he added. It was his turn to blush as he recalled the last time he'd tried ordering a pizza at the hospital, not remembering until it had arrived and the deliver boy had smuggled it up to their room that he didn't have any way to pay for it!

In spite of himself, Hutch couldn't help but chuckle a bit, remembering the same incident. "Yeah, Starsk! Your stuff's still here...though, if you have anything more than a couple of bucks in your wallet, it'd be a first!" he teased, going to the closet behind the front door to retrieve the plastic bag that his friend's things were still in from the first time this week Starsky had been admitted to a hospital. He took it out, then just stood there a long moment, suddenly sobering again, shuddering slightly as his fingers closed more tightly around the handle of the bag, remembering how he had clutched it as he'd waited to hear if his partner was going to be okay or not.

As always, Starsky was immediately aware of the change in his mood. "It's all right, Hutch," he said softly, almost as if he could read his thoughts. "I'm right here and I'm just fine...other than bein' close to fainting from starvation, that is!" he added with another mischievous grin.

"We can't have that!" Hutch suddenly declared, his mood lightening once more. "Believe me, I've tried it and I wouldn't recommend it!"

Starsky frowned at him in puzzlement. "What are you goin' on about now, Blondie?" he asked.

"Paula didn't tell you I fainted, did she?" Hutch asked with a mischievous twinkle of his own, knowing full well that she wouldn't have.

"What?!" Starsky gasped. "When?"

Hutch took his partner by his good arm, steering him over to the couch as he began to fill Starsky in on the details. "It was the same morning Carla was killed," he began softly, his voice growing serious again. "God, Starsk! That was a bad day! Anyway, Paula and I had been out looking for her when we got the news and we'd just gotten back here to the apartment when there was this knock on the door, only, when I went to answer it, there was no one there...just this envelope leaning up against the porch rail. It was one of those manila ones like we keep files in, only not quite as big. Anyway, I looked around and didn't see anybody, so I brought the thing inside..."

Starsky listened with both horror and amusement to the rest of Hutch's story, then told him more about his time at the Sultan's, only leaving out the part about the surveillance pictures of him and Paula and the game the Sultan had tried to play with his head. He still felt too guilty for what he'd let himself be led to believe from those to feel comfortable talking about it yet, even to Hutch. Especially not to Hutch!

They ended up ordering Chinese instead of pizza and Starsky surprised them both by actually turning up enough cash in his wallet to pay for everything but the six pack of Dr. Pepper he'd ordered to go with the food (both of them deciding for once to honor their captain's ban on beer for the evening).

Afterwards, they just sat around together in companionable silence on the couch, watching some old spaghetti western Starsky had found on the t.v. until neither of them could stifle the yawns anymore.

"Don't know about you, buddy, but I think I'm gonna to take the captain's advice about turnin' in early!" Hutch smiled, unsuccessfully trying to head off yet another yawn. Then, noticing his partner trying to hide yet another wince of pain from his injured shoulder as he got up off the couch, he added gently, "Why don't you take the bed, Starsk? I'll be all right out here on the couch for once."

Starsky turned a grateful smile on his partner. "You sure, Hutch? I mean, I know what it does to your back!"

"I'll be all right for just tonight, Starsk. So go on! Really!" Hutch assured him, waving him toward the bedroom.

"Okay...if you're sure," Starsky answered, turning towards the door, then turning back again with another wicked grin on his face. "We could always share, ya' know!" he teased, striking a flirtatious pose and batting his eyelashes while making little kissing noises.

Hutch's reaction didn't disappoint him. "I don't know how to break this to ya', buddy!" Hutch gasped when he'd stopped laughing enough to talk again. "But you're not my type!!"

Starsky put on a pout, pretending to be crushed. "Aw, Hutch!" he lamented. "And you're so purty, too!" He ducked just in time to avoid being hit in the face with the cushion Hutch lobbed at him in response, giggling hysterically at his own joke.

"Get out of here, you maniac!" Hutch roared menacingly, holding his sides with his good arm to keep them from splitting as he pointed towards the door of the bedroom with the hand of the other. "Before I call Becker's friend and have him come and take you back to that loony bin where ya' belong!"

Starsky took the hint and ducked through the doorway just in time to avoid being hit by the second missile. Almost immediately, he poked his head back out again. "Hey, Hutch?" he called softly.

"What is it now, you big dope?" Hutch groused good-naturedly, looking up at him with a warm smile.

"I meant what I said earlier...about bein' glad to be home. I really missed ya', partner." Starsky said almost shyly.

"I missed you, too, Starsk. You're gonna have to stop getting yourself into these situations! I'm getting too old to take the strain anymore!"

"I'll try to be more careful from now on!" Starsky promised, only half teasing. "'Night, Hutch."

"Go to bed, Gordo!" Hutch shot back affectionately.

~~~

Both of them were ready and waiting when Dobey arrived the next morning to pick them up, coming out the door and down the stairs before the big man had even had a chance to honk his horn for them. The second day of questioning went much the same way the first one had, the only difference being that the questions now seemed to be more focused on the actions taken by Becker and Slater than those of the two police detectives. By the time they broke for lunch, Dobey informed Starsky that the committee had told him they were through with him.

"What does that mean, Captain?" Starsky asked upon being given the news.

Dobey only shrugged. "How should I know? They just told me to tell you that they didn't need anything more from you."

"What about Hutch?" he persisted. "Are they done with him, too?"

Dobey shook his head. "Not yet! In fact, they want to talk to him again right after lunch."

That information dampened their moods for the rest of the meal.

Back pacing in the waiting room once more, Starsky's worry and boredom had just begun to turn into anger when the door opened and his exhausted partner was shown into the room, closely followed by their boss.

"Well?" Starsky asked anxiously, crossing the room to lay a hand on his partner's sleeve.

It was Dobey who answered him. "It's over, Starsky. The committee has reached a decision...at least, it has concerning the two of you! Paula's in there again even as we're talking."

"So? What did they say?" Starsky managed around the sudden lump in his throat. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach like a rock— his whole future was resting on the answer to that question.

"They're letting us off, Starsk," Hutch told him, so softly that his partner could barely hear him. "They're letting us go. All the charges against us have been dropped. Seems the committee has bigger fish to fry!"

Hutch's mood was bothering him. He knew his friend was dead tired, but, even allowing for that, he didn't seem to be nearly as happy as he should have been at the news he'd just delivered.

"What's wrong, Hutch? You did say all the charges were being dropped, didn't ya'?"

"All the charges against us have been dropped, Starsk. Paula...Paula's still in there!" The anguish in Hutch's eyes tore at Starsky's heart.

"God, Hutch!" Starsky said, squeezing Hutch's nearest shoulder, the injured one, gently. "I'm so sorry! I mean, I just assumed, if they were lettin' us off..."

Hutch nodded his understanding. "She's a federal agent, Starsky!" he explained in a patient tone. "Which apparently makes her involvement in what took place much more serious than ours!"

Starsky turned stricken eyes to Dobey, only to get a silent nod of agreement from him. "Isn't there anything we can do to help her?" he whispered.

Hutch shook his head. "I tried, Starsky!" he said, his voice quavering a little now. "I...I told the committee that the only reason either of you went along was because I had decided to and that the two of you were only trying to protect me!"

Starsky drew back, shocked. "You did what?" he choked. "Damn it, Hutch! What did ya' go and do that for?"

Sky blue eyes and midnight ones locked once more. "Because it's the truth," Hutch said simply. "And you know it, too, buddy!"

"Aw, Hutch!" Starsky whispered, using the grip he still had on his partner's shoulder to draw him into a tight, comforting hug, not caring what the Marine guards who were still waiting by the door or anybody else thought about it.

Dobey cleared his throat softly. "Let's go home!" he told them, reaching out to gently turn them towards the door. " There's nothing else we can do here!"

~~~

Starsky stayed another night at Hutch's apartment despite his partner's protests that it wasn't necessary. "Aren't you worried about your pet rock?" he'd joked, though the humor in his tone had sounded forced, even to his own ears. "No one's been by to check on him all week! He must be getting pretty hungry by now!"

"Nah," Starsky returned, understanding what Hutch was trying to do and deciding to go along with the gag. "I left some Purina Rock Chow out for 'im when I left to go up to 'Frisco. I left plenty, just in case something came up and I was gone longer than I planned, so he should still be okay."

That at least got a snort from Hutch, though the pain in his eyes didn't lessen any. Officially, they were both on indefinite medical leave. In truth, the Commissioner still had not made up his mind yet about what to do with them. Even though the government committee had dropped all of it's charges against them, there was still the department to deal with and the possibility of an IA investigation hung over their heads.

Between the uncertainty about their situation and his worry over Paula's fate, not to mention the rest of the stress he'd been under for the past week and a half, it was no wonder that it all finally caught up to Hutch. He woke Starsky up in the middle of the night crying out in his sleep, delirious from a high fever. When an hour had passed and the fever had climbed another two degrees, despite the cool sponge baths and the Tylenol Starsky had somehow managed to get down his partner, he knew it was time to get help. He called for an ambulance and Dobey, in that order. He'd watched in silent horror as the paramedics strapped Hutch's still struggling form to a gurney before loading him into the waiting ambulance. He rode with Hutch to the emergency room, daring the paramedics with a look to try and stop him.

Dr. Anderson, the same doctor who'd treated Hutch for the gunshot wound following the shoot out at the warehouse, was on duty and took over Hutch's care. Once he found out who Starsky was, he even let him stay in the room while he performed his examination, provided he stayed out of the way. The sedative the paramedics had administered en route had begun to take effect, but Hutch still mumbled under his breath, his head turning slowly from side to side as the doctor took his vitals, shaking his head over the temperature reading.

"Just as I thought!" the doctor grumbled, half to Starsky, half to himself as he unwrapped the bandage on Hutch's arm. Starsky winced as he caught his first glimpse of the extent of his partner's injury. Hutch had been very careful to hide it from him up to now, insisting that his partner go somewhere else while his dressings had been changed in the hospital. That alone should have clued Starsky in that all was not as well as Hutch made out. "The wound's become infected! I warned him that it might, even with the antibiotics I prescribed for him, if he didn't rest and give his body a chance to heal! The infection may already have spread into his bloodstream. I'm going to admit him, at least for tonight, and put him on IV antibiotics."

"Is he going to be all right?" Starsky asked.

"He is if I have any say in the matter!" Dr. Anderson returned, his tone making Starsky smile in spite of everything.

The fever broke an hour later and Hutch was doing well enough the next morning that, at the doctor's insistence, Starsky had let Dobey drive him down to the station to get the Torino, then had driven himself home to be greeted by an overflowing mailbox and an apartment full of dead plants.

"At least you made it, pal!" Starsky told the small rock that rested on his kitchen windowsill over the sink, giving his pet an affectionate pat. He made himself some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table to drink it while he sorted the few bills from the pile of junk mail before gathering up the deceased flora to take out to the trash. This last depressed him more than a little, but he felt sure that, once he was feeling better, Hutch would go with him to pick out some more. Hutch...

He splashed some cold water on his face and changed his shirt, then was out the door again, headed back to the hospital.

He was asleep in the chair beside Hutch's bed when the blond detective woke up a few hours later. Starsky came instantly awake, though, as soon as he heard his partner calling him. He leaned forward with a smile to take his friend's hand.

"It's okay, Hutch, I'm right here. How do you feel?"

"Where am I?" Hutch asked, blinking as he tried to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his own bed.

"Take it easy, Hutch!" Starsky soothed him. "You're in the hospital. Again! That wound on your arm got infected because you weren't takin' care of yourself. Good thing I stayed over another night! You had a fever so high you were out of your head, pal! Scared me half to death!"

Hutch blushed and looked away. "I'm sorry, Starsk," he mumbled.

"For what? Being human?" Starsky couldn't understand why his innocent comment had suddenly reduced his partner to tears. "Hey! What'd I say?" he asked frantically.

"P-P-Paula s-said almost the same thing!" Hutch managed to stammer. Starsky knew his friend only stuttered when he was very upset. "When I f-fainted on her!"

Starsky squeezed Hutch's hand tighter, not knowing what to say. They both jumped in surprise when a voice from the doorway spoke up.

"Great minds think alike!" Paula grinned as she strolled into the room. "Told you needed to cut yourself some slack, Ken!"

"Paula," Hutch breathed, as if afraid that, should he speak any louder, she might vanish.

"You know, if hospitals gave out trading stamps, you guys would have earned enough to get one of the really good prizes by now!" she teased, coming to take the hand Starsky wasn't holding between both of her own. "Or do you both just have a thing for nurses?"

"H-how...?" Hutch asked, still too stunned to make much sense.

"The committee let me go this morning. Dropped all charges against me, just like with you two, in spite of the extra grilling they gave me! Now, if I can only get so lucky with the Bureau!"

"I know what you mean!" Starsky agreed in a heartfelt tone. "We got IA breathin' down our necks! And that little weasel, Simonetti, has always had it in for us. Doesn't like the way we sometimes bend the rules to get the job done. This could just be the opportunity he's been waitin' for!"

Hutch had finally found his voice again. "How much longer can you stay?" he asked softly.

Her smile grew sad. "I have to fly back to Quantico tonight. The committee wants me to testify at the hearing in D.C for Becker and Slater next week. I'm sorry, Ken! I wish I didn't have to go, but my supervisor kind of insisted, if you know what I mean!"

"Damn!" Hutch cursed softly, the lack of volume not having diminished the vehemence of the expletive any.

"I feel the same way!" Paula assured him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Don't worry, Ken! You haven't heard the last of me yet! Who knows? Maybe they'll put us all on suspension or something, then we can all go take a vacation together!"

"Ever thought of robbing banks in Bolivia?" Starsky suddenly asked. Paula just shook her head, looking from one to the other as the two men laughed at what was obviously some kind of private joke between them, reminding her once more of the history that existed here. The more she was around these two, the more she began to realize that, if she really meant to pursue her relationship with Ken, she'd better be prepared to make it a package deal. It was a little intimidating at times. She was glad to see that the joke had taken some of the pain out of Ken's eyes, though.

"What time's your plane leave?" Hutch asked after the laughter had died down again.

"Not for hours and hours yet! You've got me all day...if you want me," she added shyly.

For an answer, Hutch reached up and drew her head down to where he could kiss her. Some time later, Starsky cleared his throat noisily.

"If you'd let go a me, partner, I'll get out of here and give you two some privacy!" Starsky said, blushing a little.

Hutch turned bright red as he looked down and realized that he still held Starsky's hand in a firm grip. "'M sorry, Starsk!" he mumbled as he released his hold.

"That's all right, Blondie," Starsky laughed, with one of his best lopsided smiles. "It was nice to meet you, Paula," he said as he started to get up in order to leave. "Though I wish it'd been under better circumstances!"

"You don't have to go, you know," she told Starsky sincerely, looking to Ken for his opinion.

"Yeah, Starsk! Hang around!" Hutch agreed, gesturing back to the chair his partner had occupied until a moment ago. "You don't have to go running off!"

"Thanks," Starsky told them both, "But three's a crowd! We'll all do something together next time you're in town, Paula."

"I'm holding you to that!" Paula smiled. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, too. It makes it easier for me to leave, knowing Ken has someone like you here to look after him. He's not too good at looking after himself!"

"Noticed that, huh?" Starsky laughed. "Take care! Hutch, you call me when you're ready for me to come back. I'm gonna go by Huggy's for a burger, then I'll be at my place the rest of the day. My pet rock pines for me if I stay away too long! I figure I sorta owe him after leaving him all on his own for over a week! So, while I'm at the Pits, I think I'll see if Huggy's friend still has that lady rock he offered to sell me the other day! I'm not getting my guy fixed though, Hutch! So you may have to help me find good homes for a litter of gravel sometime!"

"Is he serious?" Paula asked in a stage whisper.

"I've tried to warn you!" Hutch returned.

Hutch and Paula both looked at each other and rolled their eyes as, chuckling to himself, Starsky swaggered out the door.

PART 5