The Director -- Di to a very privileged few -- stared at her computer
screen and sighed. The one thing she'd learned to hate most about being
head of the Agency over the last few months was the paperwork. As
Director, she'd been responsible for a large chunk of North America. As
Head, she was responsible for the world. Every day started with the
reports from thirteen Directors. Every day ended the same. She hadn't had
a decent night out in weeks. She hadn't even been to the Caligula in
months.

LiAnn, bless her, had offered to take on some of the work, but Di had
refused. As a Director, LiAnn had her own responsibilities, often more
immediate than those of her boss: she didn't really have the time to do
another person's work. Besides, Di thought to herself, she'd feel guilty
if she didn't do the work for herself, and she *hated* feeling guilty.

She was tapping one long fingernail against the top of her desk as she
read the latest useless report when the office door opened, and she
looked up to find the object of her thoughts entering the room. She
smiled fondly at the young woman -- protégé, subordinate, right hand,
lover. She might not be willing to take the slim oriental up on her
offer, but without LiAnn to provide distraction, she would probably burn
out quickly. There was a reason why the Agency upper-echelons had a
reputation for being... eccentric.

LiAnn held out the file folder she was carrying. "The autopsy report on
Fry."

The Director closed the file she was reading and reclined back in her
seat, her hands folded together in front of her. "Well?" she said
expectantly.

"Genetically, a near perfect match," LiAnn said, slipping into one of the
leather-bound chairs that sat in front of her boss's desk. "It took a
full genetic scan to find that several of his chromosomes had errors. The
lab techs called it a photocopy effect."

Di frowned at that. "In other words, an almost identical copy, with only
a slightly fuzzing of the details."

LiAnn nodded. "Exactly. It wouldn't be noticeable in a post-mortem unless
you were looking specifically for it. However, the brain was not fully
developed. Whatever it was, it wouldn't have been viable. But since Fry
had *apparently* died of a heart attack, they didn't bother checking the
brain."

"So the Fry we buried was a clone," the Director said, looking up at the
ceiling as she thought. "How very interesting."

"Do you want the others exhumed?"

She waved her hand in negative. "No. One exhumation was enough of a risk.
If we dig up the others, this New World group will get suspicious. No. I
suspect we'd just find the same thing anyway." She sighed. "Living, dead
and living again: that man is a *pain*."

* * * * *

From their vantage point overlooking de Venard's Marseilles estate, Mac
scanned the grounds. The night was moonless, but the night-vision
binoculars translated the darkness to a green haze in which he could
easily see the figures moving around.

"They've let the dogs out," he reported to his partner. "The guards just
finished their patrol and went inside."

Vic grunted in reply. "Let me know when they find the meat."

They'd cased the estate for two days before making their plan. Even
though Vince was still out of town, the estate was too busy during the
day to try to get in. But at night, guard dogs were let loose on the
grounds and the few patrols stayed inside most of the time.

They could have tried bluffing their way in, but that was too risky.
Vince might still have people who remembered Mac, and he wasn't about to
let Vic try it on his own.

So they had come up with a tentative plan, and had dry-run it the night
before.

Step one was to make a hole in the electronic circuit that ran through
the fence around the perimeter. That was both easy and difficult. All you
had to do was give the current an alternate route. The tricky thing was
to make sure that the resistence was so close to the original that the
switchover didn't trigger any alarms. They'd tried and succeeded the day
before. This had been done during the day when they didn't risk being
scented by the dogs.

Step two was to deal with the dogs. The night before, they'd slipped meat
into the compound to see if the dogs had been trained to avoid any food
not supplied by their handlers. If they had, the training had failed
miserably. The dogs had found the meat, distributed at even intervals
along the fence, and had eagerly devoured it all.

They'd repeated the bait tonight, but this time the meat had been dosed
with a knockout drug that was both odorless and tasteless, as well as
fast acting. As soon as the dogs were asleep, they would recreate the
hole in the fence and slip into the compound.

That just left step three, the only one untried: getting inside the
building and finding Vince's study, then searching it. If they were luck,
they would find something related to New World. Something to lead them to
the organization's home base.

If not... Well then they'd be back to square one.

Mac picked up the night-vision binoculars and did a scan. Finding the
motionless forms of dogs, he started counting. "I see six," he told Vic.
"None of them moving."

"How many were let out?"

"Seven. The last one might just be out of my line of sight."

"Maybe." Vic frowned. "We can't wait all night to be sure. We'll go in.
Just keep an eye out for lucky number seven."

"Gotcha."

Reopening the hole in the security fence was easier than creating it in
the first place. After only a few minutes, they were through.

Then it was just a matter of making their way across the lawn, avoiding
the security cameras that scanned at intervals regular enough to make
them a joke. All you had to do was watch them for an hour or two to work
out the pattern, then plan your moves accordingly. They'd figured out the
pattern the night before, and had taken the time to make sure it hadn't
changed when they arrived that night.

Finally, they were inside the building and things got really interesting.
Dorian's organization had managed to get a hold of the plans to the villa
as it was when it was originally constructed. There were no guarantees
that changes hadn't been made in the decades since then, but it was a
place to start. Looking at the plans, they listed off the most likely
places to be de Venard's office.

Choice one -- the library -- turned out to be just that. It was
beautifully decorated, and where he met with visitors, but a quick search
found no files or safe. It was also as far into the estate as Mac had
ever gotten, back when Old Man Tang had sent him to deliver a package to
de Venard. He'd only been inside the once - and had been quite intent on
keeping it as quick as possible at the time - but it was more than anyone
else in their group could say.

They moved onto choice two. That was a den attached to the master suite.
There they hit jackpot. The room had a desk covered with papers, though
none of them were of any use. Neither were any of the files in the
cabinet against the wall, so they started looking for a safe

Vic was the one who found it, set in the wall behind the bookcase. Move
the row of books out of the way, remove the concealing panel and the safe
was revealed.

Mac cracked his knuckles, grinning with anticipation, and set out to
prove once more that he was the *master* of cracking safes.

* * * * *

"I still think they should have taken me with them."

Dorian stopped and glanced over at his companion. He stifled a sigh.
Klaus was sitting in the corner chair, methodically breaking down and
cleaning his favorite gun. He didn't seem to be paying any attention,
although Dorian knew he was aware of everything in the room.

Dorian turned and started pacing again. The main problem was that he
hated being bored, and he was. Bored, that is. A good break-in was just
what he needed, but if it was a choice between him going alone and Victor
and Mac going as a team he had to admit that it was better that they
went. Besides, Mac had already been inside the mobster's home once
before, even if it were a long time ago.

But it meant that Dorian had to stay behind at the hotel and wait.
Patience just wasn't his strong point, despite his more than a decade
courtship of the dark-haired man now quietly reassembling his gun.

Finally he decided that enough was enough. With quick efficient motions,
he started to strip. Klaus looked up wide-eyed, like an animal caught in
the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and Dorian snickered to himself.
Ignoring the man, he pulled dark trousers and turtleneck from his bag and
started putting them on.

Klaus frowned, and his expression turned suspicious. "What are you
doing?" he demanded.

Dorian pulled the turtleneck over his head, then ran his fingers through
his blond curls, setting them back in place. "I'm heading to de Venard's,
just in case they need backup."

"Dorian..."

Dorian shook his head. "I'm not going to interfere," he assured the
taller man. "Just watch. If something *does* go wrong, they'll need a
rescue, or at least a getaway car."

Dorian grabbed the keys for the second rental car, the first having been
taken by the other two men, and headed for the door.

Klaus groaned. "Wait up," he said, slipping the now in perfect working
order gun into its holster. He stood and grabbed his trenchcoat before
following Dorian.

"Klaus, you don't..." Dorian started to protest, but was silenced by the
other man's glare.

"If you get me into trouble, I'll take it out of your hide. Now let's go."

Dorian couldn't suppress the grin, so he didn't even bother trying. "Yes,
dear," he said.

A growl was the only response.

* * * * *

Inside the study, Mac quickly had the safe open. He carefully removed
everything for examination, then sighed in frustration. "Nothing," he
growled to his partner.

Vic was frowning, but not at the pile of papers. He was carefully
examining the inside of the safe. "Is this the standard model for this
kind of safe?"

Mac took a closer look. "Looks like," he said. "Why?"

Vic reached in and started feeling around the inside of the safe.
"Because it's about four inches too shallow, that's why."

He paused, then pressed something not visible to Mac. With a grin of
triumph, he pulled out the back of the safe.

Behind a false panel were five diskettes. Vic brought them out.

"Unlabeled," he said, then reached for his bag. From it, he took a slim
box. It was looked like an external disk drive, the type you used with a
laptop too small for a built-in drive, but had a series of buttons on
the top.

Grabbing the first diskette, he slid it into the box, then pressed a
button on top. A green light went on, and there was a faint whirring
noise. After a moment, there was a beep informing the user that the file
copy was complete, and he exchanged the diskette for the next one.

After all five diskettes had been fed through the reader, he carefully
put the diskettes back, and re-inserted the back panel. Vic slipped the
disk reader back into his equipment bag.

Working quickly, Mac started putting everything back into the safe,
exactly the same way it had been before. The whole idea, like their Robin
Hood break-ins, was to get the information, but make it look like no one
had been there.

When everything looked just right, he moved to close the safe and reset
the dial to exactly the same setting as before. Mac was grinning.
Everything was working *exactly* according to plan.

So of course, that was the moment when all the lights came on, and a
mocking voice was heard from behind them.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Mac winced and turned around, his hands already going up in the air. Next
to him, Vic did the same.

Vincent diPaul de Venard. Five thugs. Guns pointed in their direction.

Busted.
 
 

----------------------------------------
Back-up
by Lianne Burwell
May 1999
----------------------------------------

Klaus pulled to a stop next to Ramsey and Mansfield's rental car and
turned the car's engine off. Dorian immediately jumped out and went to
check the section of fence where the two thieves had planned to go in
through.

He was back quickly, and slid into the passenger seat. "Everything's in
place, and the estate looks quiet," he reported. "Looks like everything
is going according to plan."

Klaus sighed. "Can we go, then?" he asked impatiently, not expecting an
affirmative answer. He'd learned over the years that Dorian had
difficulties sitting back while someone else did the job; he wanted to be
in the thick of things. Dorian was most definitely an adrenaline junkie.

Dorian reached over and patted his knee. "Relax, Darling. Let's wait
until the boys get out. Just because things are going find *now* doesn't
mean that something might not still go wrong."

Klaus rolled his eyes and relaxed into his seat. Knowing Dorian, it was
going to be a long wait. It wouldn't matter *how* fast Ramsey and
Mansfield were, it would still be too long for him.

He closed his eyes, planning to pass the time trying -- no doubt
unsuccessfully -- to ignore Dorian and mentally going over the case-load
of his department at Interpol. Officially he was on leave, recovering
from the stress of nearly being killed. A different office was handing
the official investigation into the bomb that had been planted in his car
and the related bomb at Dorian's townhouse. Unofficially, he considered
it far more likely that the four of them would solve the case first,
especially considering the resistance he'd run into over investigating
their earlier encounter with 'New World'.

He was shaken out of his reverie by a touch, followed by a weight
settling onto his lap. He opened his eyes and frowned at Dorian. The
blond just grinned back at him from his new position, sitting in Klaus's
lap, and wrapped his arms around the German's neck.

"Aren't you uncomfortable?" Klaus asked, determinedly not responding to
the obvious flirtation or invitation. A response would be taken as
encouragement, he knew well.

"Well, now that you mention it, the wheel *is* digging into my hip,"
Dorian said. "Perhaps you could move the seat back?"

"Perhaps you could move back to your own seat?"

"But it's much more difficult to make out with you from over there."

"Good," he replied in a flat voice. He was working very hard at ignore
his body's reaction to Dorian's nearness. Ever since that first night on
the train, he'd found his will to resist Dorian weakening. For years he'd
successfully resisted the man, and now he was dismayed to find that
Dorian could probably twist him around his little finger if he exerted
himself. It was purest chance that Dorian hadn't yet, but that seemed
likely to change in the near-future.

Dorian just snuggled in a little closer. "Come on, Darling. Haven't you
ever made out in a car?"

"No."

Dorian pulled away, a surprised look on his face. "Never? Well then,
we'll have to correct that. Or better yet we could get in the back seat
and..."

Klaus's jaw tightened. "No. We are not 'making out' or anything else in
this car. Not when anyone might walk by and see us." Despite his
pronouncement, a little voice was wondering what it might be like. He
squashed it down firmly. Unlike Dorian, he was not an exhibitionist.

"But Darling, that's half the fun. The possibility of being discovered."

"No! If we are here to provide backup for Ramsey and Mansfield, that is
what we will do. Otherwise we will go back to the hotel to wait for them."

Dorian pouted. "All right," he said, not moving an inch. "One kiss, then
it's all business."

"Dorian..."

"One kiss. Or we go back to the hotel and..." A hand wormed its way
between them and maneuvered its way down under Klaus's belt. He quickly
caught the hand and pulled it away.
 

"We don't have time," he said, wondering if the excuse sounded as weak as
his voice did to his ears. From Dorian's expression, it did.

"Just one kiss," he repeated, his lips only an inch from Klaus, waiting
for Klaus to make the move. His laughing eyes daring Klaus to make that
move.

Klaus sighed. Obviously he wasn't to get out of this without kissing the
blond. Dorian had always delighted in pushing his limits -- not to
mention his buttons -- and that obviously wasn't going to change now that
they were... whatever they were. Klaus flinched from the obvious term. He
still wasn't sure he ready for that.

Deciding that the best thing to do was to simply get it over with (he
ignored the voice in the back of his mind that snickered at that), Klaus
closed that last inch to bring their lips together.

The kiss started out chaste, just a light pressure against the other
man's lips. Like the rest of him, Dorian's lips were strong, but still
soft, and Klaus found himself touching them with his tongue, categorizing
the differences between them and the lips of the very few women he'd
kissed in his life.

But then Dorian opened his mouth, and Klaus found his tongue
automatically dipping inside. The sudden slide of Dorian's tongue against
his own had an immediate and dizzying effect on him. He gasped, and his
arms came around Dorian's waist, holding his body tightly. His hands
started moving, first rubbing Dorian's back through the knit fabric of
his poloneck sweater, then moving underneath the suddenly untucked top to
caress soft skin layered over strong muscles.

Meanwhile, Dorian wasn't wasting any time either. His hands combed
through Klaus's dark locks, ruffling the hair and twisting it around long
fingers before moving to toy with the tiny fine hairs at the base of his
neck. Dorian shifted restlessly in his lap, grinding -- no doubt
deliberately -- onto his genitals, which were quickly swelling to full
size.

And through it all, their lips never parted

Finally, Dorian pulled away with a muffled oath -- something about the
small confines of rental cars. He twisted around, obviously trying to
figure some way to straddle Klaus's lap. Klaus stared at him
uncomprehendingly for a moment, then came to his senses.

"No. One kiss, you said," he gasped, trying to regain his composure,
wondering what was happening to him. When had he lost his self-control?

"Darling," Dorian said in a mock-stern voice.

"No! What if..."

That was when the alarms started sounding and the lights came on in the
compound. Cursing, Klaus reached for his gun while Dorian extracted
himself from his awkward position.

What had gone wrong *this* time?

* * * * *

"//Well, what have we here? Two little thieves come to steal the life
earnings of an honest businessman?//"

"Right, Vince," Mac drawled in English. "You're no more an honest
businessman than I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Your highness," the Frenchman replied with a mocking bow. Victor
appreciated the switch in languages. While his French was quite good
after living in France for nearly four years, he still preferred to stick
to his mother-tongue when the stakes were high, and he had a feeling that
they didn't get much higher than this.

de Venard nodded to one of his men. Victor and Mac were quickly and
efficiently frisked. All their weapons were confiscated, along with Mac's
bracelet (which hid a wire-saw) and Victor's belt (which contained their
backup lockpick set) but they weren't restrained.

"Very good," the man said, nodding to his men. Then he turned back to his
captives. "Kneel."

Victor and Mac both snorted. "I don't *think* so," Mac said, stepping
forward aggressively.

Instantly, every gun in the room snapped to focus on them, and Mac
stepped back again. Victor glanced over at Mac, and they both shrugged
before sinking to their knees in matching fluid movements. de Venard
smiled, and stepped over to in front of Mac.

"A good position for you, monsieur Ramsey. Oh yes, I remember you. How
could a man forget that face, those lips." The older man reached out to
touch the lips in question, but a snap of Mac's teeth made him jerk his
hand back, a flash of panic passing across his face. Victor had to bite
back a snicker at the man's obvious cowardice.

However, de Venard immediately covered it up by backhanding Mac across
the face. The only thing that stopped Victor from ripping the man to
shreds for his actions were the guns pointed at both him and his partner,
held by men who were obviously competent and ready to use them.

"Really, my dear boy, you should be more cautious," the man said as a
thin trickle of blood ran from Mac's cut lip. "When last we met, you were
protected by the Tangs, but now they are gone. Even your Agency can't
help you anymore."

Victor froze at that. "Agency? Which one?" Mac asked, his face a study in
innocence.

Once again, de Venard backhanded him. "Oh, very nicely played, dear Mac.
However, I know all about your life since we last met."

"If you say so," Mac replied, shrugging his shoulders. Victor gritted his
teeth, willing his lover to stop baiting the man. Mac was going to get
himself killed if he kept this up. If he did, Victor promised himself
that de Venard wouldn't outlive him by more than a minute.

"You know, it's a pity, though," de Venard continued. "If you'd been more
accommodating the last time we met, I might be inclined to be more
accommodating now."

"You wanted me to give you a *blowjob*," Mac protested, sounding
nauseated. Looking at the overweight, greasy-skinned man, Victor had to
agree with the outrage. Not even for *money*.

"That wasn't so much to ask, was it? Perhaps I should give you a second
chance..." The Frenchman reached down and rubbed at his groin
suggestively. Victor could feel the bile moving in the back of his throat
at the sight. This was even worse than the Elvis-wannabe mobster who'd
called himself 'The King'.

Mac snorted. "Not likely, Vince. You were disgusting then, and you're
*still* disgusting. You couldn't pay me enough to touch you, let alone do
anything else." He turned his head, deliberately not looking at de Venard
any longer.

As a result, he didn't see the expression of pure fury that passed across
the man's face. Victor did, and it made his blood run cold. The man might
be a middle-aged, overweight, cowardly, out of favor gangster, but the
man was still dangerous.

For a moment, de Venard's fist clenched, and Victor was sure that Mac was
about to acquire another bruise, but then it relaxed. Instead, de Venard
moved over to the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a cell-phone of
a type that Victor had never seen before and punched a button, waited a
moment, then punched in a series of numbers too fast for Victor to
follow. Then he held it up to his ear.

"de Venard. I have Mansfield and Ramsey. No, no sign. Do you want me to
kill them?" he paused and waited. "Understood. At once," he said in an
ingratiating tone.

He turned the phone off and turned back to his waiting prisoners. "The
two of you are going to take a little trip," he said in a mock-cheerful
tone. "A final trip. A pity that we couldn't find another solution."

The man stopped, then turned to Victor with a speculative look on his
face. Victor growled as the man stopped in front of him and reached out a
hand to cup his chin. Victor flinched at the touch of those clammy
fingers.

"You know, monsieur Ramsey has excellent taste. Perhaps you would be more
inclined to avoid the same fate, though. What do you say, monsieur
Mansfield? I could tell them that you died in a foolish escape attempt. I
can offer you a life of luxury. In return for services, of course."

The bile was rising again. "I say move your hand before I rip it off at
the shoulder," he grated out, fixing the man with his coldest glare.
de Venard actually flinched at the sight.

"A pity," he said, stepping back. Victor resisted the urge to wipe his
face clean of the man's touch; he didn't think the man's thugs would
react well to him moving. "Take them out to the airfield," he told the
goons. "A plane will be here to pick them up in an hour."

The lead goon gestured with his gun for Mac and Victor to stand up. As he
did, Victor casually grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Instantly, every eye in the room was focused on him and he froze. "Drop
it," the goon said.

"No, let him keep it," de Venard said with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure
they'll be interested in seeing what two thieves bring to a job. But if
he opens the bag, shoot him."

Victor held his hands out to the side, trying to look innocent. Maybe
they didn't have a chance of escape, but if a miracle happened, he did
*not* want to lose the information they'd broken in to get in the first
place.

The goons escorted them out the front door and into a waiting van. It was
a little crowded, so two of the goons stayed behind. That left only the
driver, the goon in the passenger seat and the two in back with Victor
and Mac. The odds were improving, but not by much.

* * * * *

"Anything?" Klaus asked.

"No," Dorian replied, not moving the binoculars from his eyes.

After the alarm had gone off, they'd quickly straightened their clothes,
then moved the car to a spot where they could see both the drive and
estate's front door. They'd already seen the security guards move out
onto the grounds, finding the spot where the two men had gone in, along
with their rental car.

Klaus double-checked his gun, for the third time since they'd taken up
position. If Dorian hadn't insisted on coming out... He sighed. Much as
he hated to, he was going to have to say it.

"You were right to insist that we come out as backup," he said reluctantly.

Dorian didn't move, but Klaus could see the gentle smile blossom on his
lips. "Thank you," was all that the blond thief said. At least it wasn't
an 'I told you so'.

Suddenly, Dorian straightened in his seat. "Van," he said.

Looking down the drive, Klaus could see the dark van pulling up in front
of the main doors. The doors opened, and a large group came out. Dorian
frowned.

"The boys," he said. "And guards. Two got in back with them. One got in
up front with the driver. The rest are staying behind."

The van started moving, and Klaus started the engine in the rental car.
Next to him, Dorian stowed the binoculars away.

They could see the gate open and the van pull out onto the main road.
Klaus put the car in drive and set out to follow the van from a discrete
distance. Unlike his attempt at following Jackie Janczyk, nearly a year
ago, he had no intention of being spotted. At least, not until he
*wanted* to be spotted.

Dorian glanced over. "Do we stop them now?"

Klaus shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road or the vehicle
they were tailing. "Let's see where they're going first."
 

----------------------------------------
Got a Ticket For An Airplane
by Lianne Burwell
May 1999
----------------------------------------

Victor sat shoulder to shoulder with Mac, drawing precious strength from
the warmth of the lean body that pressed against the length of his side.
The two men guarding them sat opposite them in the cramped back of the
van, guns never wavering. de Venard might be a fool, but he hired
competent people. They'd been in tight spots before, but this one looked
like it could be the *last* one.

"Trouble."

Both Mac and Victor looked towards the driver, although the gunmen didn't
even flinch.

"What?" one of them asked.

"I think we're being followed."

The tension in the van immediately skyrocketed. "You sure?"

There was a hesitation. "I... I don't know. This car's been behind us for
a while now, but if it's a tail the driver knows what he's doing." The
man shrugged. "It's not like we're the only cars on the road. It might be
just my imagination. And it's a little tough to tell at night."

Victor avoided looking at Mac. He didn't want to get his own hopes up,
but his instincts were saying that it was Dorian and Klaus. They might
actually have a chance...

"What do you want me to do?" the driver asked. "The next turnoff is the
one to the airfield."

"You still see that car?"

There was a pause. "No."

"Take it, but keep an eye on the rearview mirror. Let me know if you see
*anything*."

"Right."

* * * * *

"Klaus, darling, you missed the turnoff."

Klaus glared at him. Dorian should really know better than that. "If I
take it, there's no way that they can miss me."

"But we don't know where they're going if we don't follow them."

Klaus growled, but was too busy looking for another exit to really be
able to really let loose. "There was a sign for a small airfield," he
pointed out, annoyed that Dorian hadn't noticed.

"They're going to fly the boys out," Dorian said, finally getting it.

"Obviously." Up ahead, he saw another turnoff with an airfield sign.
Ignoring the blaring horns of the drivers he cut off, Klaus wrenched the
wheel to get the car to the exit in time.

As soon as they were off the main thoroughfare, the road narrowed.
Without the lights of the other cars, combined with the thick trees on
either side of the road, it was nearly pitch black. Klaus slowed down,
paying more attention to the road. He didn't dare turn off the
headlights, but he also didn't want to give their presence away.

When the trees started to thin out, and he saw the lights of the airfield
up ahead, Klaus pulled to a stop and turned off the car. "We'll go on
foot from here," he said, pulling his gun from its holster. Even though
he knew it was in perfect order, he still checked it again. It was a
ritual that helped to focus his mind. A comfort.

He glanced over at Dorian and frowned. "Cover your hair," he snapped.
"It's too bright."

Dorian grinned, and brushed it back with one hand. "What, darling? Don't
you like it?"

"Whether or not I like it is irrelevant. It's night, it's dark and your
hair is too bright."

Dorian stepped closer. "But do you like it?"

"Dorian..."

"Just answer the question, Klaus."

Klaus's jaw clenched and his free hand curled into a fist. Why did Dorian
always choose these moments to push? "Fine," he said in a tight tone. "I
do like your hair. Satisfied?"

And he did. Dorian's hair was almost a complete opposite of his own.
Thick and generously curled, where Klaus's was dead straight and fairly
thin. Klaus's hair was a dark, almost flat, brown while Dorian's was a
cascade of bright gold in a thousand shades. Over the years, Klaus had
heard various poison-tongued upper-class types speculate on what bottle
Dorian's hair color came from, but Klaus knew the truth: Dorian's hair
was all-natural, in length, curl and color.

Dorian's smile went blinding. "Thank you, darling," he said, and leaned
in to quickly kiss Klaus. Before the man could snap at him again, Dorian
pulled a dark cap from his pocket and tucked his hair up under it. Almost
immediately, he seemed to dim and disappear into the backdrop of darker
trees. Klaus nodded.

"Let's go."

* * * * *

The van had been parked for a while when one of the guards glanced at his
watch. "Plane should be here in five more minutes," he announced.

The guy who was obviously in charge nodded. "All right, boys," he said,
waving his gun towards Victor and Mac. "Out of the van, and keep your
hands where I can see them."

Mac glanced at Vic, and they both shrugged. They shuffled over to the
back door of the van and hopped out, Vic still keeping a hold of his bag.
Mac wasn't sure why his partner was hanging onto it so tightly. After
all, it didn't look like it was going to be of any use.

The head goon obviously disagreed. "Drop the bag," he growled. "Someone
get some rope to tie these two up. I don't want any trouble from them."

Mac held his hands up, the picture of innocence. "C'mon," he said. "Do
you *really* need to do that?"

"Yes. I do."

"We haven't caused trouble so far," Vic pointed out, picking up on Mac's
lead.

"I. Don't. Care. The boss might be stupid, but I'm not." He turned and
glanced around. "Where the hell's that rope?"

"Right here."

The man turned quickly at the unfamiliar -- at least to him -- voice, and
found himself staring down the barrel of a gun that probably looked as
big as a canon from his point of view. Mac chuckled.

"Geez, what took you so long?"

Klaus glared at him. "If you aren't happy with the service, we could
always leave you here."

"No, that's fine," Vic said quickly. Mac struggled, Vic's hand clamped
over his mouth. "Where's Eroica?"

"Over here."

Dorian came around the corner of the van, two men held at gun point. At
this point, Mac relieved the leader of his gun. The other two were
unarmed, and their guns were tucked into the waist of Dorian's slacks. He
hoped that the man had put the safeties back on, or he was risking a part
of his anatomy that he was no doubt fond of.

As he approached, Mac caught a glance of the driver, still in the van,
starting to open the door. "Look out!" he shouted as the door slammed
into Dorian's shoulder.

The blond dropped to the ground with an undignified grunt. Vic tackled
the man's two prisoners before they could make a run for it, and Mac shot
the driver. The man went down and stayed down. Mac hadn't been inclined
to take any chances.

He turned to the tangle on the ground next. Vic didn't seem hurt, so he
kept his gun on the other two while Vic got to his feet. Dorian handed
him the two guns he'd taken from the goons, and they were all armed now.

"Well, that was exciting," Dorian said, pulling off the dark cap he was
wearing. "Shall we go?"

"No," Vic said. "They were sending a plane to take us someplace. I'd like
to know where."

Mac frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

Vic grinned at him. "Well, I've never hijacked a plane before. Have you?"

"You have got to be joking," Klaus said.

"Nah," Mac said, although his initial reaction had been the same. But
once he thought about it... "After all, if we weren't just going to be
dumped in the Mediterranean or something, the pilot is going to have to
know where we're going."

"We don't know how many people will be *on* that plane," Klaus pointed
out.

Vic shrugged. "We're four heavily armed men, and we have the element of
surprise on our side. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Didn't you find *anything* in de Venard's house?"

Vic picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it. He pulled the disk
copier from it. "Files from five unlabeled diskettes, with no guarantee
that it's related to New World. And they've been warned. This is our best
chance of getting to them."

"He's right, darling," Dorian said from where he was finishing tying up
de Venard's goons with the rope that they'd planned to use on Mac and
Vic. Mac glared at them, suppressing the urge to kick them where it would
hurt most. It had been a long night, and he had some hostility work out.

Instead, he restrained himself. "It's our best chance," he echoed.

Klaus grimaced, then sighed. "We better get ready, then. I can hear a
plane."

* * * * *

In the end, it was easier than expected. They set up, and were ready when
the plane landed.

The door opened downwards to become a stairway. Klaus was instantly up
the stairs and holding a gun on the man there, while Victor headed for
the cockpit to keep the pilot from radioing a warning. Before the woman
could reach for the radio, his gun barrel was pressed directly behind her
ear.

"You really don't want to do that," he said quietly. She let her hands
drop. "Now, how about you tell me where you were going to deliver us."

The woman didn't answer. She just kept staring straight ahead. Victor
pressed the gun a little harder against her skull and made a show of
cocking the gun. He didn't think he'd really be able to kill her in cold
blood, but his act must have been good enough.

"Romania," she blurted out.

Victor smiled. "Well, we're still *going* to Romania, then," he said.
"The circumstances are just going to be a little different than expected."

"And if I refuse?"

"My dear," came Dorian's voice from the cockpit door. "You're not the
only one here who can fly a plane. I'm sure that there's enough
information in the plane's systems to tell us where exactly we're going.
Come to think of it, we don't really need you, do we?"

Dorian's smile went feral, and for a moment Victor actually bought the
act. Then, when the pilot flinched and looked away, Dorian gave him a
small wink.

"The landing field has hidden traps," she said hurriedly. "If you don't
know where they are, you will kill yourselves."

"And you. We certainly aren't going to leave you here."

She gulped. "Fine. I'll do it."

Dorian's smile turned genuine now, and Victor grinned as well. "Smart
move," he told her.

While Dorian guarded the pilot and co-pilot, Klaus, Victor and Mac drove
the rental car and the van into the trees, out of sight of a casual
search, and made sure that de Venard's goons weren't going to get loose
any time soon. They would, eventually, but with any luck, it would be too
late to warn anyone about what was going on. They were obviously supposed
to be coming with them as guards, so with any luck, their disappearance
wouldn't be noticed prematurely.

They grabbed the bags from the rental, sealed up the plane, and took off.

Since Dorian could fly a plane, he stayed in the cockpit with the pilot
as co-pilot and guard. In the back, the others started planning.

Victor grinned when he saw that Klaus and Dorian had grabbed his laptop
from the rental car he and Mac had been using before de Venard's men had
found it. He grabbed the appropriate cables from the bag and hooked up
the disk-copier to the laptop.

"The files are encrypted," he said after a moment. "We may have hit
paydirt."

Klaus frowned. "That doesn't help us if we can't *de*crypt them," he
pointed out.

Victor grinned. "Don't be so negative. This baby has the best decryption
software around loaded."

"I've seen decryption software. It doesn't do much good unless the files
are using simple algorithms or old standards."

"That's because you've been using commercial and government programs,"
Mac said from the wet bar, where he was pouring everyone a small drink.
Klaus shook his head when offered a glass. Mac shrugged, and tossed back
his, draining the glass. He handed the other to Victor, who was focussed
on the screen. He typed in a few more commands, then smiled in
satisfaction.

"We, on the other hand, have the best decryption software designed by the
Agency. The Agency employs on the best."

"And the craziest," Mac muttered to himself, no doubt remembering the
brilliant but unbalanced researcher, Nathan.

Mac leaned over the back of his seat, and Victor grinned up at him. His
adrenaline was running high, and a thought occurred to him.

"This'll take a while," he told Klaus. "Maybe half an hour. Can you watch
the bozo here?" he asked, indicating the co-pilot who was tied and gagged
in one of the over-stuffed seats. Traveling on a private corporate jet
obviously had its benefits.

"Sure. Why?"

"I need to do something."

Klaus looked puzzled, but Victor didn't stop to enlighten him. He'd
figure it out, soon enough.

Victor got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. The plane had one
that was only slightly more spacious than the ones on commercial jets.

He relieved himself, and was washing his hands when the expected knock
came. He opened the door and let Mac slip into the washroom. It was a
tight fit, but they managed, especially once Victor hopped up to sit on
the edge of the tiny counter surrounding the stainless steel sink.

"Bullets flying, huh?" Mac said.

"Hmmm..." Victor purred. "Want to join the mile-high club with me?"

Mac grinned. "What do you think?" he asked, rubbing up against Victor.

Victor reached over to cup Mac's cheek, his thumb rubbing gently across
the purple bruise forming there from when de Venard had hit him. He
followed his thumb with his lips, brushing gentle kisses over the
cheekbone until Mac turned his head to catch his mouth in a deep kiss.

Immediately, all signs of gentleness disappeared. Victor let loose,
devouring his lover's mouth hungrily. Somehow, after a dangerous run-in
like this, he wanted to fuck. Hard and dirty. Love-making was saved for
later.

He fumbled at Mac's pants, pleased to find that the younger man was as
hard as he was. He reached inside and started stroking, while Mac's long
fingers undid his own pants.

A hard shove pushed Mac against the wall, barely leaving enough room for
Victor to drop to his knees in front of him. Not bothering to tease his
lover, he swallowed Mac's cock whole, working up all the saliva he could.
While he did that, he worked his pants and underwear down over his hips.

Free of the fabric, his cock almost slapped against his stomach, leaking
with excitement. Ignoring Mac's quiet groan of protest, Victor released
his cock and looked up.

Mac pulled him to his feet, and they indulged in a brief, but even more
heated kiss. Then Victor turned around and bent over the counter, his ass
presented to Mac. In the mirror, he could see Mac's face, eyes glazed and
mouth open as he panted. Mac stepped closer, using his hands to spread
Victor's ass-cheeks apart.

"Now!" Victor hissed, his eyes staying focussed on the mirror.

Immediately, he felt Mac press in. More than three years of experience
let him relax and take Mac in one thrust, even with only spit as
lubricant. In fact, he preferred it that way; it let him feel it *all*.

Mac's mouth fastened onto the side of his neck, and their eyes met in
the mirror. Mac made a small sound, like a growl, then slowly pulled out
until just the head of his cock was still inside of Victor's ass.

Then he slammed forward, and they both shouted, not bothering to keep
quiet for the people outside. The moment was all that existed. Again and
again, Mac slammed into him, hard and perfect. Victor's head fell back,
but he kept his gaze glued to Mac's through the mirror.

His hands were braced against the counter, trying to keep him from being
slammed into it. He desperately wanted his cock touched, but instead Mac
had wrapped both of his arms around Victor's chest. Victor was going to
chance moving one hand down, when Mac's growl stopped him.

"Don't," was all the man said. Instead, he adjusted his angle of entry
slightly, and suddenly every thrust was hitting Victor's prostate
directly.

Fireworks started going off. His eyes started to drift shut, but again
Mac stopped him. "Watch," he said.

So he kept his eyes open. The look on Mac's face was almost enough to set
him off by itself. That, combined with the hard movements inside him, was
too much to resist, and he felt his blood start to boil.

"Maaaaaaaac!" he bellowed, and his orgasm exploded. Without being
touched, his cock started shooting off volleys so strongly that the first
two actually hit the mirror, then dripped down the surface, leaving milky
smears behind.

Mac's teeth clamped down hard on his neck again, and he shot deep inside
Victor, only just barely more quiet.

They both slumped forward, breathing heavily, and stayed that way for a
few minutes until Mac had softened enough for Victor's body to expel him.

Without a word, they washed and tidied up, although Victor decided to be
perverse and leave the semen stains on the mirror.

Before Mac opened the door, Victor twisted around and caught him for a
slow, gentle kiss.

"I love you," he said quietly. Mac's eyes practically glowed.

"I love you too."

They opened the door and headed out to find out what the computer files
would reveal.
 

----------------------------------------
Welcome to Vampire Country
by Lianne Burwell
June 1999
----------------------------------------

Mac closed the washroom door behind himself, shutting away the heavy
smell of sex that would be lingering in the small space for a long time
to come, then followed Vic back out to the sitting area.

When they got there, Mac was amused to see that Klaus was sitting with
his back to the washroom. As he came past the man, he could see that
Klaus's jaw was clenched tightly, and that he was staring at the wall
behind the prisoner with a very determined blank stare.

As for the prisoner, the co-pilot was looking rather green. Mac grinned,
and patted the man on the shoulder as he passed him. He barely restrained
his snicker when the man flinched away from the touch. Obviously the
washroom's sound-proofing had been as ineffective as he had expected.

While Vic headed for the laptop to see if it had finished decoding the
files, Mac stuck his head into the cockpit to see how blondie and the
pilot were doing.

"How are we doing?" he asked.

"Another twenty minutes, Mac dear," Dorian said, looking up with a smile.
He'd managed to find a pilot's cap someplace, and amazingly it didn't
clash with the all-black outfit he was wearing. "Did you two enjoy
yourselves?" The pilot was blushing bright red, her eyes fixed on the
controls.

"Wow!" Mac said, his grin getting even wider. "You could hear us all the
way up here? I'm impressed. Vic doesn't usually get *that* loud."

"Hmm? You weren't overly quiet yourself, dear," Dorian said. His smile
was both wistful and faintly lecherous.

Mac just grinned back. He was feeling too damned good to care if the
whole world had heard him. Besides, he hadn't held back in the sound
department deliberately. There was just something about the uptight Klaus
that made him want to yank the man's chain.

"Here we go!"

Vic's voice pulled him back into business mode, and Mac went to rejoin
him and Klaus.

Vic was hunched over his laptop, doing the two-fingered hunt-and-peck at
a furious pace. Mac often asked Vic why he didn't take a touch-typing
course, considering how much time the job kept him on a computer, but Vic
always claimed that he typed faster this way than he would using the
standard touch-typing methods.

"So what are the files?" he asked eagerly.

"Financial accounts."

Mac's face fell. "Is that all?" he asked, more than a little disappointed.

"What did you expect? Complete details on New World's plans?"

Mac grinned. "Well, that would have been nice. So what do these accounts
tell you?"

Vic typed a little more. Mac peered over his shoulder as he funneled the
information from the files into an analysis and spreadsheet program that
organized the records according to destination, source and date.

After a moment, the results started showing themselves as charts and
tables. Mac's eyes narrowed as he read through them. He'd never much
liked the financial aspects of running a small company, but he'd learned
them. After all, it wouldn't have been fair to make Vic take care of
*all* the bookkeeping for their security firm.

"We've got major payments to companies that supply medical and laboratory
equipment. More payments to pharmaceutical companies."

"Does it say where the equipment was shipped to?" Klaus asked.

"Nope," Vic said. "However, there are also records of payments to
construction firms in four different countries. One of them *is* in
Romania, so I would say that we're on the right track."

Mac reached past Vic and brought up the next screen of information. "Oh,
*very* interesting," he said.

"What?" Klaus said suspiciously.

"Records of *incoming* accounts. Looks like Vince was one of the major
funnels for donations, and he kept detailed records of those too. With
names, even. Not very smart, Vince," he added under his breath.

"Let me see," Klaus demanded, already reaching for the laptop.

"Maybe he was planning on blackmailing members," Vic said in a
speculative tone.

"Or maybe he was just covering his butt in case he was arrested. After
all, this sort of information that might get him a lighter sentence."

"If it didn't get him killed first."

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by an impressive string of
invective mostly comprised of -- but not limited to -- German. They
looked up in surprise at Klaus, who was rapidly turning red.

"Klaus, darling, are you all right?" Dorian called through the open
cockpit door.

"I take it that you recognize a name or two?" Vic asked mildly.

The response was another string of curses, but Klaus calmed himself
rapidly. "For one thing," he finally said, "I found out why my superiors
didn't want me to continue investigating New World."

"Oh?"

"There are several large donations noted from the Contaro Corporation."

Mac rolled his eyes, wishing that the man would get to the point. "And?"
he said, pointedly.

"My immediate superior reports to Joseph Contaro. His family runs the
Contaro Corporation."

Vic hissed at that. "Not good," he muttered to himself. "Not good at all."

Maybe it was that they'd been together for all these years, or maybe it
was just the training from the Agency and the Tangs, but Mac picked up on
what Vic was talking about immediately.

"If they've got people inside Interpol, then we are screwed. We can't
contact *any* of the appropriate authorities," he said, just in case
Klaus or Dorian had missed the obvious.

"So the question is, now what?"

"Well, we better decide fast," Dorian called from the cockpit, "because
we've got ten minutes until we reach the landing field."

Mac started thinking fast. "We can't call Interpol, and probably not NATO
either. They'd be fools not to have people scattered throughout the
Romanian government, military and police forces."

"For all we know, they've got a private army," Vic added.

"We could turn around and leave. Come back later when we are better
organized," Klaus suggested.

Vic shook his head. "No good. They know we were captured, so they'll know
we escaped. And unless we kill these two," he said with a nod towards the
co-pilot, "they'll know we have these files. We'd be too busy running for
our lives to be able to do anything about stopping them. No. We face them
now or not at all."

Klaus gave a jerky nod. "Agreed. The question is, what *do* we do?"

Vic shrugged, but Mac noticed that he was covertly typing a string of
commands into the laptop. "Good question. We could always call in
Dorian's people."

"Victor, while the boys are very good at break-ins, I don't think they
would be much use in this case."

"How about the Agency?" Klaus asked.

Vic shook his head. "I'm not sure how safe that would be either. After
all, we know that several of the scientists associated with New World
were also with the Agency at one point. We don't know that they don't
*still* have people there. No. I think we may be on our own."

"We're also there, boys."

The radio in the cockpit crackled to life, and the pilot looked over at
Dorian. "Do I answer?" she asked in slightly sarcastic tone. "Or would
you like me to circle the field a few times while you make up your minds."

The woman flinched as Mac growled, and went for his gun. Vic grabbed his
arm before he could pull it out, though.

"What language?" Vic asked.

"Russian," was the sullen reply. Mac frowned. Why Russian, of all
languages? Romanians usually used German or Romanian, if he remembered
correctly. Besides, most pilots used English these days.

Vic glanced around. "I speak Russian," Klaus said, picking up on the
obvious question.

"Good. Make sure she doesn't give us away."

Vic nodded to the woman, and she started talking with whoever was in the
tower. The conversation was short and to the point, according to Klaus.
She confirmed that she had the two prisoners on board, and received
permission to land.

Strangely enough, she didn't use the paved landing strip. Instead, she
used a side-strip that was unpaved, but very even, dirt.

"Why?" Vic asked quietly.

She shot him a derisive glance. "The paved strip is a trap. It's used for
large deliveries, but is mined the rest of the time."

Mac shuddered, not wanting to imagine the results if she had tried to
land on a mined landing strip. It wasn't a pretty picture.

"So now what?" he asked.

Klaus headed for the plane's hatch and started unsealing it. "We take to
the hills, I'd say. We can leave these two someplace safe while we scout
out the territory."

"Or you will put your hands over your heads and exit one at a time."

All four froze, and Mac's eyes immediately started searching for the
hidden speakers.

"What the..." Klaus started to sputter.

"Really, Herr von dem Eberbach. Did you *really* think that we would not
monitor our planes? Especially one sent to collect two very special
prisoners?"

Mac swore under his breath. Back during their days with the Agency, he
wouldn't have been surprised. Hell, he would have *expected* monitoring.
More than three years as an independent had dulled some of his instincts,
it seemed.

Vic didn't look surprised though, he noticed. Instead, his partner just
looked resigned. Mac suddenly realized that Vic must have been expecting
this. He just hoped that the other man had some sort of plan in mind,
since he was coming up blank.

"Open the hatch, gentlemen."

Klaus looked back. There was a moment of confusion, then Vic gestured for
him to go ahead. Klaus opened the hatch, and let it swing downwards to
form the steps.

"Now, throw your weapons out."

Mac sighed, and tossed out his confiscated gun. Vic, Klaus and Dorian did
the same. Something was bugging him, though. There was something familiar
about the voice they were hearing. Something *very* familiar.

"Good boys," the voice said mockingly. "Now, hand on your heads, and exit
the plane one at a time."

Through the hatch, Mac could see two jeeps pulling up, armed men in each.

Mac leaned over and gave Vic a brief but heated kiss. Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw Dorian do the same to Klaus, and was a little
surprised that the other man didn't pull away.

Then Mac placed his hands on the top of his head and walked down the
steps. His balance wavered for a moment, and he wondered if the guards
would shoot him if he lost his balance and dropped his arms to break his
fall.

Looking at the hard expressions on the men's faces, he decided not to
risk it.

Once they were all down the steps, the were separated into the two jeeps.
Mac found himself sitting next to Klaus, staring down the barrel of a
rifle. Vic and Dorian were in the other jeep.

The driver spoke into some sort of communicator -- in Russian, Mac
figured, even though he couldn't understand what was being said -- then
put the jeep into drive. The sudden motion made him sway, but Mac kept
his hands on his head, more from force of will than anything else.

Luckily, the drive moved to a paved road, and the jostling disappeared,
letting Mac take a good look at their surroundings.

The land around the airfield was reasonably flat, but up ahead he could
see mountains reaching skyward, gleaming in the early morning light. They
weren't as impressive as the Alps, but they were still pretty damn high.

"Where are we, anyway?" he whispered to Klaus.

"Somewhere not too far south of Suceava, I would say," Klaus whispered
back. "Those are the Caparthian Mountains. Ukraine is north of us, and
Moldova is to the east."

Mac wracked his brain for historical details. "Both former parts of the
Soviet Union," he finally said.

"Yes."

"Once led by Lenin."

"Yes."

"And New World wanted his body. Why?"

"Quiet!" The guard shoved the end of his rifle right at Mac's nose, and
his eyes practically crossed keeping on it. Mac shut up.

Besides, it wasn't like he really expected an answer to his last
question. Vic had suggested that New World wanted to clone Lenin as part
of some bigger plan, but Mac wasn't sure that he really wanted to accept
that theory. It had some implications that he really didn't want to think
about.

The jeep started to slow down as the road became narrow and winding. Up
ahead, Mac could see what looked like a medieval castle on the side of
the mountain. It looked grim and foreboding. In fact, it looked like
something out of an old black and white horror movie. They were in the
right part of the world for it too.

By the time they pulled into the central courtyard of the structure, the
morning sun was starting to warm things up. However, it was still low
enough on the horizon that the courtyard was completely in shadow. Now
that they were at the building, Mac could see that despite its
appearance, the stone structure was new. It had all the rough edges that
an authentic period building would have, but it was too clean and there
was no wear and tear from long use.

The jeep pulled to a stop, and they all climbed down awkwardly. More
guards appeared, and led them up the wide steps to the main door.

"Think they buy them by the gross?" Mac asked Vic loudly, nodding towards
the gunmen. Vic didn't answer, but he did snicker. Mac's lips quirked
into a smile, and Dorian chuckled quietly. Only Klaus's expression didn't
change.

"Quiet," one of the gunman ordered, and Mac wondered for a moment if it
was the same one who'd been in the jeep with him and Klaus. Come to think
of it, all of their guards looked similar, as if from the same family. In
fact, very similar...

Maybe that joke about buying them by the gross wasn't as far-fetched as
he'd thought.

Inside, they were led to a set of double doors that opened in front of
them. After a wave of a gun in their direction, the four men walked
through, and the doors closed behind them with a disturbing sound of
finality.

Across the large room, a man stood next to a bar, pouring himself a
drink. "Oh, put your hands down already," he said, and Mac let his arms
fall to his side with a grateful sigh. "And don't bother trying to
overpower me, or anything stupid like that. The room is sealed, and
monitored. One hostile move from any of you, and it will be flooded with
gas before you could take five steps."

Gas. Why did that ring bells, Mac asked himself. Then the man turned
towards them, and the floor seemed to drop from under his feet.

"The Head," he and Vic said in unison, and Mac groaned. This was *not*
good.
 

----------------------------------------
Plans Revealed
by Lianne Burwell
July 1999
----------------------------------------

Victor groaned as he sank into one of the ornate chairs that decorated
the room. They were in *big* trouble here.

If this were a genuine castle, this would probably be some sort of
receiving room, designed to awe the visitors and put them at a
disadvantage. Working as freelance security consultants, he and Mac had
found themselves in many such rooms, so this one didn't overawe him. A
quick glance at the others showed that they were equally unaffected. By
their surroundings, at least

"Brandy?" the man who had been Head of the Agency before he'd disappeared
asked, gesturing with a fine cut-crystal decanter. A balloon glass,
already filled, was cradled in his other hand.

They all declined, so he put the decanter down then settled into the
chair closest to him. Victor noted that the seat had a slightly higher
seat than any of the others in the room. A small footstool prevented the
person seated in it from being made to look foolish by his feet hanging
above the ground, and the fancy carving and touches of gold gilt were
obviously intended to make the viewer think of a throne.

If nothing else, the man had a good grasp of psychology it seemed.

"I must say, I was not very surprised when you managed to take over the
plane. de Venard is a fool," he said with a snarl. "One that has just
reached the end of his usefulness. I don't," he added with a cold smile,
"keep fools around for long. In fact, he will have been taken care of by
now."

Victor felt a chill run through him, realizing that the man had so
casually ordered an employee murdered. On the other hand, it had been the
standard operating procedure of the Agency back when this man still ran
it. The Director -- now the actual Head -- had changed that. Fools were
given boring work in isolated areas of the world. Only the truly
dangerous, or traitorous, were actually disposed of in a more permanent
fashion.

"Anyway," the man continued, "I've been following your career since the
two of you left the Agency. A most impressive rise in reputation. And as
for Mr. Red Gloria and Herr Eberbach, I keep track of anyone who could be
either useful to me or a danger. That is," he said after taking a sip of
his brandy, "why I chose Mr. Ramsey and Mr. Red Gloria for the commission
some months ago."

"The body," Mac said with obvious distaste. "Why you would want to..."

The Head laughed, an not terribly pleasant sound. "I'm sure that between
the four of you, you've figured out why we wanted Lenin's corpse."

Mac shook his head. "We figured that you wanted to clone him, but not
why. I take it that the man who died at the Agency's Toronto office was a
clone too?"

Victor frowned, then said, "I don't think so, Mac. That one looked...
older," he added, staring at the smiling man opposite them.

"Very good, Mr. Mansfield. Yes, this is our latest success. Not just
cloning the body, but cloning the mind as well. I won't get into the
details of how, since quite honestly, it sounds like fiction to even me.
Suffice it to say, we have discovered the secret of immortality. Clone
the body and transfer the mind."

"But only for a very select few," Klaus said, speaking up for the first
time. "The carrot to keep people loyal."

"Exactly."

"And your ultimate goal?" Dorian asked.

"I'm sure that you can fill in the appropriate cliché."

Victor snorted. "Let me guess: Total world domination."

"Very good!"

"So why Lenin?"

The Head drained his glass and carefully placed it on a table next to
him. "Every good revolution requires a leader. Someone charismatic.
Someone people will trust. And since we plan to start with the former
Soviet republics, then spread outwards..."

Mac laughed. "What, you're going to say 'Here's Lenin, come back to life,
follow him'? Give me a break."

That brought a flash of anger to the other man's face. "Don't be a fool,"
he said. "Besides, he wouldn't *be* Lenin. After all, there's no mind to
transfer." The Head visibly forced himself to relax. "No. The charisma
will be trained back into him, along with the knowledge he will need.
However, Lenin is still revered by many; especially the communists. There
will be an instinctive response to him, since he will quite literally
make people think of a young Lenin. Don't laugh," he admonished. "If you
looked into people's minds, you will find that they often choose their
leaders based on a subconscious recognition, that the man or woman
reminds them of someone they know and trust."

"So the Bolsheviks come back to power, and they take over the world?"
Victor said, chilled by the truth of what the man had said.

"It failed before," Klaus said in a voice so cold that it almost froze
the room.

The Head chuckled. "Western economies are weaker than they were two
decades ago, and in recent years the former Soviet republics have built
themselves up financially. With a little help, that is."

Victor frowned. "How much help?" he asked, remembering what the Director
said the fake Head had revealed before his death, that the Agency had
been created for a purpose that was now over.

"You're not a stupid man," the Head said. "I'm sure you can figure it
out."

And he could. Agency assassins taking out obstacles, Agency operations
inadvertently helping the outfits that the Head wanted helped. He'd
worried about just that sort of thing while he'd been working for the
Agency. It was one of the reasons he'd agreed so quickly when Mac had
suggested taking the chance to get out.

"And," the man continued, "we have been preparing since before the fall
of the Soviet empire. Men and women have been placed in positions of
power, scientists funded in research we wanted pursued." He spread his
arms out. "We've come a long way since Dolly the sheep," he said with a
laugh.

"While this all is fascinating," Dorian said smoothly, "why tell *us*?
The other cliché of the criminal genius telling the hero his entire plan
before placing him in a position he can escape from? Or are you simply
going to kill us now?"

The laugh that followed chilled Victor to the bone. "Not quite. I have
plans for the four of you. You have skills that are far too valuable, and
access to others. No, I don't plan on killing you. Yet."

"Then what *do* you plan to do with us?"

The Head smiled. "I forgot to mention. During the transfer process, we've
discovered a way of... reprogramming the mind. All the knowledge is
preserved, but the personality is re-shaped to *our* specifications. The
earl is well known in both noble and criminal circles. Herr Eberbach also
has connections within sections of NATO where we have not yet gained
control. And as for Mr. Mansfield and Mr. Ramsey, well... *They* have the
trust of the new head of the Agency."

Victor and Mac exchanged glances. They could guess what the man wanted
with them. The man had tried to kill the Director before. This time he
seemed to be planning to use a different sort of weapon.

This was not good. Not good at all.

"Anyway," the Head said, pressing a small button in the arm of his chair.
"We can continue this conversation later. The lab isn't quite ready for
you yet, so we have prepared guest quarters for you."

The doors to the room opened, and more of the depressingly similar guards
appeared.

"Pleasant dreams, gentlemen."

* * * * *

The room they were put in was not the cliché that Dorian had referred to.
It was a featureless box with only a single entrance. The walls were
white, and the ceiling seemed to glow, providing a steady and bright
light.

Vic promptly dropped on one of the padded benches that ran along two
walls. Klaus started pacing, and Dorian... well, Dorian leaned against
one wall as if posing for a photo.

Mac wasn't about to do any of those things. Reaching into his pocket, he
pulled out the lockpick set that conveniently hadn't been taken from him
and headed for the door.

"Don't bother," Vic said. "I'm sure this room is being well-monitored.
And besides--"

Mac slipped a small probe along the edge of the door and was promptly
blasted across the room.

"It's probably booby-trapped," Vic concluded.

Mac didn't answer. He was too busy trying to get his limbs to work. The
door had been rigged to give an massive electrical jolt to anyone trying
to break out of the cell. Mac decided that he'd better concentrate on
trying to slow his heart-rate and breathing down.

When Vic helped him to sit up, the touch was almost painful, but he
welcomed it. "So what do we do?" he asked, ignoring the plaintive tone in
his voice. "Just wait for him to send us off to his collection of Dr.
Frankenstein types?"

Vic helped him to lie down on the bench, then sat down close enough that
Mac could rest his head in the other man's lap.

"There's not a lot else we can do," Vic replied.

"We have to do *something*!" Mac protested, his body relaxing as Vic's
fingers combed through his hair, soothing away the last of the
aftershocks. The touch was gentle, and Mac found himself slowly fading
into sleep. It had been a long and stressful day even *before* Vince had
caught them breaking into his study. He was out of gas. They *all* were.

"We will," Vic assured him. "They have to let us out of this room, sooner
or later. When that time comes, we'll be ready."

* * * * *

Nearly ten hours passed before the door opened again. The mechanism
worked so silently that the four sleeping men didn't wake until jabbed
with rifle barrels.

Across the room, Ramsey muttered something that sounded suspiciously like
"Five more minutes, Vic." The response was a shove so hard that he was
knocked to the floor. Klaus rolled his eyes in exasperation. Unlike
Ramsey, he had been awake the moment the moment the guards had made their
presence known.

The benches had been narrow and hard, despite the thin pads, but Klaus
prided himself on being to sleep anywhere. The only awkwardness had been
the fact that they weren't exactly long enough for all four men to
stretch out. Mansfield and Ramsey had managed to curl up tightly enough
to both fit on the bench against the longer wall, while Klaus had slept
sitting up against the wall at the end of the other span, allowing Dorian
to stretch out at his feet. The floor had been checked and found too hard
for anyone to be able to sleep on.

Actually, Klaus hadn't intended to sleep. He was going to keep watch over
the other three, but... Klaus tested his reflections and found to his
chagrin that he had been drugged. Their hosts had probably pumped a mild
sedative through the invisible air vents, putting them all to sleep.
However, it had worn off enough that Klaus was reasonably alert.

The guards gestured for them to move out of the room, and they found four
more of their kind waiting there; all armed, all silent. If the guard in
the jeep the day before hadn't spoken, Klaus would be wondering if they
could.

A loud growl echoed in the silence.

"What?" Ramsey said defensively. "I haven't eaten in nearly a day. Do you
think that the condemned will at least get a last meal?" he asked with an
impish grin. Dorian and Mansfield both snickered, and Klaus even had to
hide a thin smile. It wasn't really that funny, but the stress of what
had been happening to them since the bombs had gone off -- if not longer
than that -- had built to the point where anything would be funny.

They were lead down the hallway to a large elevator. When it started up,
Klaus noted that they were going down.

When it came to a stop, he knew that they had to be deep inside the
mountain. When the elevator doors opened, they found themselves in a
large, very modern laboratory.

"Ah, good of you to join us."

The man they knew only as The Head was coming towards them. He wore a
white lab coat and a small smile.

"We didn't exactly have a choice," Mansfield pointed out again.

"Any chance of breakfast? Or would it be dinner?" Ramsey asked, rubbing
at his stomach.

"I'm afraid not," the man replied. "However, I thought you might like a
tour of the facilities before we get started."

Mansfield glanced over, and they all shrugged. Klaus wasn't sure that he
*really* wanted to see the place, but anything that delayed the
apparently inevitable was welcome.

The tour was surreal. The equipment looked like something from a bad
science fiction movie, with lots of polished steel and screens full of
meaningless data. Perhaps it wouldn't be so meaningless if he were a
geneticist, but Klaus didn't care. He noted with instincts born of long
experience that the elevator looked to be the only exit for the level,
and while there were other men and women wandering around looking busy,
none were armed and they never came close. The only firearms in sight
were the ones carried by their guards.

Moving into the next room, they were presented with giant tubes full of
strangely colored bubbling liquid. Each contained human figures at
various stages of development, from fetus to full-grown. Klaus noted with
a sense of foreboding that there were four unoccupied tubes at the end of
the room, and teams in white bent over figures obviously just removed
from those tubes.

"And here is what will be our grandest success," the Head said proudly,
leading them to a tube set apart from the rest.

The figure inside appeared to be about ten years old, although Klaus
could already see the resemblance to Lenin. He shuddered in an
instinctive reaction.

"We'll be removing him in a few days time," the Head continued smoothly.

"Um... Isn't he a little young for what you're planning?" Ramsey asked
from his position right next to his partner.

"For the moment," was the response. "We are not programming him from
scratch, you see. We've found that there are... drawbacks to that. No, we
will implant basic memories now, and then train him ourselves."

"That's gonna take a while, you know."

The man laughed. "Mr. Ramsey, we have always planned for the long-term in
New World. We have been working towards our goals for more than twenty
years, since we realized that Communism was going to fall. Based on that,
a few more years is nothing."

"The thing *I* don't understand is why Communism?" Mansfield broke it.
"Don't tell me you actually *believe* in it."

The other man snorted in derision. "Of course not. However, it is a
system that encourages blind obedience, no matter *what* Karl Marx may
have intended. Look at China! Communism has been successful on a small
scale. We simply intend to expand it. Everyone in the world equal!"

"And following *you*," Klaus snarled, held back only by a gentle hand on
his arm.

"Not quite, Herr Eberbach," the man said smoothly. "I intend to control
matters from behind the curtain, you might say. People like him," he
said, nodding towards the young figure of Lenin floating in its
artificial womb, "are the ones who will lead, while I will direct."

"And that way, no one will notice when you're still around after fifty
years or a hundred."

"Very good Mr. Mansfield. You have a good grasp of reality. I shall enjoy
discussing this with you further."

"I thought we weren't long for this world," Mansfield replied with a
slightly bitter smile.

"Not quite. You see, we will begin the cloning process today, however the
new body must mature for six months before the mind can be transferred.
About the same age as our young leader-to-be here. Until then, you will
be carefully guarded to ensure you stay relatively unharmed. And then...
Well, your replacement will still have your mind. Just the loyalties will
be reprogrammed."

Klaus shuddered, and he could see the others doing the same. The idea of
knowing exactly who and what he was, but being unable to do anything
about it, was revolting.

"Now," the man said, gesturing towards the doorway. "We can get started."

Deciding that he would rather take his chances in a fight before he would
submit to what the man planned, Klaus tensed himself, preparing to attack
the nearest guard. From the reactions of his companions, he knew he was
not alone in his plans. He prepared to dive to the side as the came
through the doorway...

When there was a dull thud, the lights flickered and a siren began to
wail.
 

----------------------------------------
The Chase
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
----------------------------------------

Mac was ready to take out goon number one as they moved into the lab. To
someone who wasn't a professional, he would look completely relaxed. The
others were just as 'relaxed'. He wasn't sure what they were going to do
once they *had* taken out the goons, though. All he knew was that like
hell was he going to be turned into Dr. Frankenstein's latest experiment.

In fact, he was so ready that he almost didn't notice the faint rumble of
an explosion. All he knew was that the goons blinked and he moved.

A kick to the solar-plexus took out goon one, and Mac grabbed his gun as
he went down. A shot took out goon two. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw Klaus, Vic and Dorian take out the rest of the goon squad. In the
background he heard screams from the lab staff as the red lights started
flashing and the sirens started wailing.

"Now what?" he said, turning to Vic.

"Elevators are a bad idea," his partner replied, and another explosion
seconded the statement. "We'd be sitting ducks. Our best bet is to grab
the Head and use him as a hostage."

Mac grinned wolf-like. That was a plan he could get into. He turned and
headed back into the decanting room. The technicians who'd been working
on the latest goon-clone ran past him, but he ignored them. The Head
wasn't with them.

He glanced around the room suspiciously. The red flashing lights gave
everything an eerie appearance that went nicely with the periodic boom
and shudder from far above. Any second now he expected a man in riding
breeches and a monocle to jump up and yell "Cut!"

Nothing. No movie director and no Head. Mac cursed under his breath as he
peered down the rows of bubbling tubes. "Guys, hate to say this but he's
gone."

"Impossible," Klaus said, moving into the room after Mac. "He didn't come
past us. He *must* be in here."

"Well, unless you've got x-ray vision, he isn't here," Mac snapped back
at him.

"There must be a back door," Vic said.

Mac shrugged. "He had them all over the various Agency headquarters," he
said. "So stands to reason he'd have some sort of secret exit here."

"Yeah, but where?" Vic glanced at the doorway, but none of the lab techs
seemed inclined to butt in and the guards were all still out cold or
dead. Finally, he shook his head and shut the door. Damn thing looked
like it was solid metal, and the tiny window had the distinctive ripple
of bullet-proof glass. Vic found the lock and jammed it shut.

"Okay, folks," he said once he was satisfied that no one was going to be
rudely bursting in on them. "Find that door."

They fanned out, examining walls, ceilings and floors. Mac moved along
the rows of giant test-tubes, pushing at them experimentally to see if
any of them were sitting on top of tunnel exits or something.

"Tell me, Vic," he said as he worked his way down a row. "You don't seem
surprised about the explosions."

Vic shrugged. "That's because I'm not," he replied.

Mac straightened up. "And *why* aren't you surprised?" he asked, already
a little pissed. At the moment, he wasn't in the mood to play 'twenty
questions'.

"Well," Vic said with a grin. "That little laptop of mine was a present
from the Director. It's got all the latest bells and whistles. Software,
accessories, everything. Including a satellite-signal modem."

Mac blinked. "There is such a thing?" The only modems he knew of hooked
up to phone lines directly.

"Well, it's new and untested. A new Agency invention. The Director asked
me to try it out. It just arrived the day before everything went crazy."

Mac snorted. "I'd really appreciate knowing about these things, you know."

Vic grinned. "I thought you *liked* surprises," he said with a leer.

"Those kinds, yeah. These kinds, not really. So. What. Did. You. Do.
With. It?" he said slowly and clearly.

"I e-mailed all those files, plus our location to the Director."

Mac blinked. Of course. How obvious. "And you didn't say anything
because..." he prompted

Vic shrugged. "I got a little suspicious and wondered if we might be
monitored. If we were, then saying something might have forced them to
move. Keeping quiet gave the Director time to come up with a plan and get
here."

"Good point," Mac said with a sigh. Vic was right. Much as he hated being
out of the loop, it was the only thing that would have worked.

Didn't mean he couldn't punish his partner for not signaling him, though,
he thought with a smile. Punishing Vic could be *so* much fun. He started
filing away ideas for later, assuming that there was a later for them.

"Found it!"

Dorian's call brought them all running. Blondie had found a door in
behind the tube holding the Lenin clone. It was just a section of wall
that swung into a concealed space. There wasn't much room; they would
have to squeeze to get through. One by one they did so, their confiscated
guns held ready. Klaus, Dorian, Vic, then Mac last after a quick look
around. He shoved the wall section shut behind them.

They were in a small space carved into the mountain. Rough-cut stone
surrounded them, except for the small section of wall that led back to
the lab facilities. In the middle of the space was a spiral staircase
that led up. Overhead, Mac could see small lights at regular intervals,
giving enough light to see. Barely.

"Great," he said in a disgusted tone, looking up. The top of the
staircase was hidden. There was no way to tell how far up it went. Mac
wasn't scared of heights, but he was seriously considering making an
exception in this case. "There's probably bats," he added, muttering to
himself.

"We'd hear them if there were," Klaus said. Mac glared at the man who was
standing there, calmly checking his confiscated gun. Mac was hit with the
sudden urge to push the man into a mud-puddle, if he could find one.
There was just something about the uptight German that drove him nuts.

"You realize that there are probably cameras," he said.

Vic nodded. "Yeah, but hopefully he's too paranoid to let anyone but
himself monitor them," he said. There was a muffled thud, and a tiny
amount of dust drifted down. "And with any luck he's too busy to notice
us."

Klaus snorted. "Counting on luck is a good way to get killed," he said.

Vic glared at him. "You got any better ideas?" he snapped back.

Mac had to fight back the urge to laugh, losing his own annoyance in the
process. Place your bets, folks. Clash of the alpha males, right here,
right now. "Guys," he said, breaking in before it got nasty. "We don't
have time for this right now. Besides," he added, pointing upwards, "at
this rate Blondie is going to be at the top before you stop arguing."

That caught their attention. It was true too. Dorian was already almost
the equivalent of two floors up. Klaus snarled something in German, then
started taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with the thief.

Mac shrugged at Vic, and they headed after the other two.

* * * * *

There were exits at regular intervals, but they ignored them. Leaving the
hidden stairwell while they were still below ground probably wouldn't get
them anywhere. If they had known where the facilities control center was,
that might have changed their plans, but since they didn't, they kept
going.

Except for Dorian, they were all huffing and puffing by the time they
reached the top of the stairwell. Concrete block had replaced the rough
stone walls. Hopefully that meant they were above ground level.

At the very top was a small landing, similar to the dozen or so that
they'd passed on the way up, and a door that was ajar, *unlike* the ones
they'd passed on the way up. After glancing at the others, Victor lifted
his gun and took point. In the back of his mind a little voice was
screaming at him 'who died and made you boss?'. Easy answer was 'how the
fuck should I know?'. Based on experience, Klaus probably should have
been making the decisions. After all, he'd headed a large team back when
he was with NATO Intelligence according to Dorian. So why was even he
deferring to Victor in this?

Maybe because he was the only one making suggestions. Whatever the
reason, Victor seemed to be in charge, so he better not screw it up.

The exit led into a bedroom the like of which he'd never seen. In fact,
looking around, he wished he *hadn't* seen it. The floors were covered in
layered oriental rugs of a variety of hues, mostly shades of red. The
room was dominated by a large four-poster bed with red velvet drapes. The
walls were covered by a variety of oil paintings in heavy gilt frames,
with the occasional mirror thrown in to make the walls seem like they
went on forever. And to top it all off, the ceiling was painted.

While that might not seem too bad, the subject matter was... Victor
shuddered. The paintings on the walls were of battle-scenes, the gorier
the better. And the painted ceiling had to be the *most* pornographic
thing he'd ever had the misfortune to see. He felt dirty just looking at
it. Men and women in a variety of positions, with chains and whips being
liberally used. Even worse, he recognized many of the... participants.
His eyes slid away from a woman with the Director's face being tormented
by two men, only to land on another scene of rape where his own face was
featured. He looked away before he could register whether he was raper or
rapee.

He looked over and saw Mac looking up with an expression of absolute
horror. After a moment, that expression changed to one of fury. "He's
dead," the younger man muttered. "I am going to toss him off the highest
cliff in the area. This is *sick*!"

Even Klaus was looking a little green around the gills, Victor noticed,
while Dorian was refusing to look up.

"We have to *find* him before you can do that," he reminded his partner.

They moved across the room to the only other exit. At the door, Vic
paused and looked back. He shuddered, and promised himself that if they
won, before they left he would come back with primer and paint and cover
up that ceiling himself. The hanging paintings would make a nice bonfire
too, he told himself.

But first they had to win.

* * * * *

Out in the hallway, they could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance.
There was no way to tell if it really *was* the Agency attacking, all
they could do was hope. In the meantime, they had a sicko to catch, Mac
reminded himself.

"This way," Klaus said, heading down the hallway away from the sound of
gunfire. It was a good guess. After all, the Head wasn't like to run
*towards* the fight, was he? But something looked... off. Mac turned in
place, trying to figure out what it was.

Then he grinned. The curtains of one of the alcoves lining the hallway
were moving, ever so slightly. Mac headed for it and pushed the velvet
to the side.

"Guys!" he called, looking up a ladder towards open air and the dark reds
of sunset.

Vic came up behind him, looking over his shoulder. "Good," he said,
giving Mac a quick peck on the cheek before brushing past to start
climbing the ladder. Mac shoved his gun under his belt -- even though it
was a little large and awkward for that -- and followed his partner.
Behind him came Dorian then Klaus.

Up above, he could hear what sounded suspiciously like a helicopter
getting ready to take off, and he cursed and started climbing faster.
They were *not* letting the creep get away. Not this time.

Vic had reached the top of the chimney-like structure and jumped out,
apparently rolling for cover as he went. Mac held his breath as he heard
gunfire.

"Cover to the left!" he heard shouted, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'll cover you!"

Mac peeked over the edge. As promised, there was a low wall to the left
of the ladder's exit. As Vic opened fire, Mac took a deep breath, popped
out and rolled.

His heart nearly stopped, but he made it in one piece. Then he and Vic
laid down covering fire while Dorian and Klaus joined them.

At the other end of the castle roof, a helicopter was revving up, its
rotors spinning faster and faster. They didn't have much time. Either
they stopped it now, or they better pray that the attackers below had
something capable of shooting it down. But what the hell could they do
from this distance?

"Enough!" Klaus suddenly snarled, and stood up.

"Are you crazy?" Mac shouted, reaching to grab the man and drag him back
behind cover. Already bullets were pinging against the stone wall in
front of Klaus, although amazingly, none seemed to come even close to
hitting the man.

Klaus kicked his hand away. As the helicopter lifted off the roof and
started away from the mountainside that was behind them, he took careful
aim, then fired and kept firing.

At first it didn't seem to have any effect, although there was no longer
any return fire. Then the helicopter started to list to the side, heading
over the edge of the roof. Mac gaped for a moment, then followed the
others to the edge. He arrived just in time to see the helicopter hit the
side of the mountain, just below the castle, and burst into flames.

"Um... They aren't supposed to do that," he pointed out. Vic shrugged.

"Who know what they were carrying?" he replied.

Mac laughed. "Well, I did say I wanted to toss him off a cliff. I guess
this is close enough. Nice shooting Klaus," he added grudgingly. Klaus
just grunted.

At that moment, large metal doors that probably led to the *normal*
stairway to the roof flew open, and large numbers of armed men started
pouring through. The four men turned around slowly, placed their guns on
the ground, then raised their hands above their heads to wait and see who
they were dealing with.

After a moment, the sea of men parted, but instead of Moses, it was for a
petite redhead, followed by a taller oriental woman.

"Hello, boys," the Director said with a grin.
 

----------------------------------------
Reorganization
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
----------------------------------------

So this was the Director he'd heard so much about. If so, she wasn't much
to look at. She was definitely the shortest person, male or female, in
the room. Long red hair and an attractive face for her age. If Klaus were
going to guess, he would say somewhere in her late forties. Maybe even in
her fifties.

But despite her age and lack of height, Klaus had the feeling that he did
not want to get on her bad side.

While the Agency operatives went to retrieve the bodies from the crashed
helicopter, the woman led them back into the castle. In a few minutes
they found themselves back in the receiving room where they'd met the man
who'd planned to use them in his plans of world domination (Klaus still
had problems even thinking that without wanting to snort his derision. As
if that would work anymore).

The Director immediately dropped gracefully into the throne-chair that
the so-called Head had used that morning. The oriental woman with her
stood to the side and behind the chair. Mansfield and Ramsey chose seats,
and after glancing at Dorian, Klaus did the same. He was a little angry
with himself when he found himself shifting in his seat, and forced
himself to sit still, back ramrod straight. The woman had a presence that
would put the most intimidating drill-sergeant or Catholic nun to shame.

"Well, I must say that you did a wonderful job, boys," the woman said
with a smile. "We've been trying to track down what the former Head meant
when he said that the Agency had served its purpose, but without any
luck."

"I take it you got my e-mail?" Mansfield said, not looking at all
uncomfortable.

The woman nodded. "Actually, you tied with Nathan. He showed up with the
information tracing Fry to New World to this castle just as I was reading
your e-mail. I simply used an Agency jet to get here, and had the
Director for Eastern Europe supply the troops."

She paused, and frowned. The sight made Klaus shiver, though he hid it
well. He hoped. "Or rather, the office for Eastern Europe supplied the
troops. The Director balked, so I killed him."

"What?!" Ramsey exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

"Oh, relax Mac. Nathan had already linked him to New World. It seems that
I have three Directors who are still reporting to *him*, and have been
since I became the new Head," she said. She didn't sound very pleased.
"We'll be finding out who else was involved in New World and dealing with
them."

The way she said that made Klaus's blood run cold, but he didn't feel
overly sympathetic for the men and women who were going to find
themselves facing this woman's wrath. They'd made their choice and would
now have to live with it.

"What about the... um... people downstairs?" Dorian asked.

The Director favored him with a level gaze. "If you mean the scientists,
they will either be recruited or isolated. Their research is a little too
sensitive to unleash on the world."

"And the clones?" Klaus asked, not bothering to hide his distaste.

"The soldiers will be programmed to something a bit more innocuous. They
will not be capable of violence after we're done with them."

"And the Lenin clone?"

That brought a moment of silence. Then the woman smiled. "Well, I've
always wanted to raise a child. LiAnn and I will take him."

Klaus's jaw dropped at that, and his was not the only one. Even the
oriental, LiAnn, he assumed, looked surprised. "But that's... That's
Lenin!"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, it's a child. Physically he looks to be about
ten, and he's a blank slate. Lenin is dead. We'll be returning his body
to the Russians, by the way."

"But..."

The woman turned a laser-like glare on him. "What would you prefer, Herr
Ebberbach? That I simply execute him for the crimes of his forebears? In
case you hadn't noticed, we do *not* hold the children responsible for
the crimes of their fathers."

"But it's a clone, not..."

"Not a person? Well, I suppose we could get into a long philosophical
discussion about that, but there isn't much point, is there? We will be
taking the boy with us. End of discussion."

Almost immediately, the flames in her eyes died down, and she was all
smiles again. "I must admit, though, I am quite impressed with the
facilities," she said with a wave evidently intended to encompass the
castle and it's underground labs. "In fact, I think this would be the
perfect place to relocate the Eastern Europe Directorate, don't you,
Victor?"

Mansfield stared back at her, suspicion plain on his face. Then his eyes
went wide and he started shaking his head. "Uh-uh, no way. I am not being
drafted *again*," he protested. The woman just smiled. "Forget it. You
can just find yourself another patsy."

The smile got wider. "But Victor, who else could I trust? Especially
after the previous Director turned out to be so... flawed. I need to find
three new Directors, and I *know* I can trust you. I don't trust easy,
you know."

"But..."

"And you would be able to make sure that something like this never
happens again. Come on, Victor. I've been keeping an eye on you. You've
developed quite a flair for leadership over the years. Your security firm
has taught you organizational skills. And you'll have an assistant as
loyal and talented as Dobrinsky was for me."

"But..." Even to Klaus, the protest sounded weak.

"We'll discuss the details over dinner," the woman said, pouncing on that
weakness. From the expression on Mansfield's face, the battle was already
lost and he knew it.

* * * * *

A little while later, Mac found Vic back on the roof, leaning over the
parapet watching the Agency flunkies cleaning up all traces of the
helicopter crash under the floodlights that had been set up. They were so
bright that they made the stars fade out. Mac sat down next to the silent
man and waited.

"She can't honestly believe that I'll say yes," Vic finally said, but he
sounded defeated.

"Why not?" Mac asked, amazed that he was actually going to say this. "You
*are* the best person for the job."

Vic looked up at him, eyes wide and his mouth agape. Mac wanted to kiss
him. "You can't be serious!"

Mac shrugged. "Why not. C'mon Vic, she's right. You're perfect for the
job."

"But we wanted *out* of the Agency. That was the whole point of coming to
Europe in the first place."

Mac fiddled with his shirt-cuff trying to find a way to put his thoughts
into words. "We left the Agency because we never chose to join. The
Agency viewed us as disposable. But the Agency has changed. Much as I
hate to admit it, she's changed it. And *as* a Director, you can help
change it even more. Less brutal, less controlling. The Agency idea is
good. It was just the way it was working."

Vic shook his head. "You agreed with me when we said no last year."

"It wasn't right then. There was no way to tell if they really *would*
change. Now... I've kept in contact with LiAnn since then. She's kept me
up to date on everything that they've been doing. And you have to admit,
they do a lot of good."

"But what about Thornton & Blake?" Vic said, sounding almost plaintive.
"We spent so much time building it."

Mac shrugged. "C'mon, Vic. It was a way to pay the bills. Think of some
of the jerks we've had to deal with. The fun part was always the capers,
and nothing says that we can't keep doing *them*. The only difference is
that sometimes *we* can deal with the criminals instead of just handing
the evidence over to Interpol."

Mac could see Vic weakening. "Are you sure?" his lover and partner of
more than four years asked.

Mac leaned over and kissed him lightly. "This is right. Can't you feel
it?"

Vic sighed. "Yeah, I just don't like it."

Mac laughed delightedly. "Hey, if you liked it, you wouldn't be the right
person for the job! C'mon, dinner's waiting."

Vic stood up and turned to walk to the stairwell. Mac couldn't resist the
urge.

"Hey!" his lover said, turning around, rubbing his rear-end.

Mac grinned at him. "Just keeping you on your toes," he said, completely
unrepentant. "Besides, how can I resist such a gorgeous ass?"

Vic growled at him, but the grin was peaking through. "Just remember, I'm
going to be your boss now."

"So? Someone's got to keep you humble." Mac snickered, and when Vic made
a move in his direction, he was off and running, his laughing partner
right behind him.

Yeah, someone had to keep Vic from being too serious, and he'd always
enjoyed that job.

* * * * *

Dinner had been excellent, especially considering how quickly it had been
prepared, and Dorian had enjoyed himself immensely. The Head of the
Agency was quite the formidable woman, and he'd enjoyed flirting with
her -- partly because of her sense of humor, and partly because of the
daggers been glared his way from both Klaus and the lovely LiAnn, who was
obviously the older woman's lover as well as a Director in the Agency.

Victor saying yes hadn't been much of a surprise, and the woman had
accepted without showing any signs of triumph. She'd simply said that as
soon as the facility was secure and scanned for more hidden passageways,
and the computer system was checked for surprises, the files and
personnel from the current Eastern Europe office would be transferred
over. Victor would be given full control, and permission to dismiss or
hire as many people as he felt was necessary. By the end of the dinner,
the dear boy was obviously making plans in his head. You could almost
see the wheels turning as he and Mac had headed for one of the clean
bedrooms. Needless to say, no one was willing to spend the night in the
bedroom of their previous host.

Another bedroom had been found for him and Klaus for the night; they
would be flying back to Berlin in the morning. The room was more ornate
than Klaus would have liked, but reasonable plain compared to some of the
others. Dorian had bathed in the attached bathroom, and had come out to
find Klaus sitting on the edge of the bed, exactly as he'd been when he'd
gone into the bathroom.

"What is it, darling?" Dorian asked, dropping his robe and pulling back
the covers.

Klaus glared at him, but started to undress. He hadn't even protested
earlier when Dorian had specified one room for the both of them. "Work,"
he replied, brief and to the point.

"What about it?"

Klaus lay down on his back, staring up at the underside of the bed's
canopy. "My supervisor was part of this..." he stopped, obviously unable
to find an epithet harsh enough. It was true. The proof had already been
found by the Nathan person that had been mentioned earlier. The Head had
offered him, obviously an expert in searching out information, to Victor
for his staff, and the poor man had practically cringed as he said no.
From what Mac said, Nathan sounded much like James -- brilliant but
unstable.

Dorian propped himself up on one elbow to watch his beloved in the dim
light from the window. "What do you plan on doing, then?"

There was silence for a moment. "I'm going back to NATO Intelligence."

Dorian smiled. "I'm sure the Alphabet will be happy to have you back."
Klaus snorted at that. At least some of his old agents would probably be
horrified at having the Iron Major back again. "Will they take you?"
Dorian asked, wondering if Klaus had burned his bridges when he'd left.
Even in England, Dorian had heard about the fall-out from Klaus's
decision to resign.

"*She* said she'd arrange it," Klaus replied. "Besides, I left in order
to get away from you," he added, the corner of his mouth quirking
upwards. Dorian couldn't help snickering.

"Well, *that* certainly worked well."

"Indeed."

Silence reigned supreme for a while, but Klaus's eyes stayed open, and
Dorian stayed watching him. There was something else bothering the man,
and he knew that if he waited, he would find out what it was. He hoped.

"Last night..." Dorian made a questioning sound when the man stopped. "On
the plane. They... In the bathroom."

Dorian smiled. Poor Klaus was turning red. "They certainly seemed to be
enjoying themselves," he said encouragingly.

"They were..."

"Fucking," Dorian supplied helpfully.

"Why would anyone let someone *do* that to them?"

Dorian sighed softly, and reached out to stroke Klaus's shoulder.
"Because when done right, with the right person, it feels very, very
good. For both partners."

"Have you?"

"Have I which? Actually, I've done both sides, and enjoyed each equally.
Why?"

"Do you want..." Klaus stopped again.

"I want whatever you're willing to give me," Dorian assured him. "I would
never ask you to do something you didn't want to. If you never want to
try penetration, then I will quite happily do without it."

Klaus turned towards him, sitting up slightly. "What does it feel like?"

"Which?"

"Being..." Klaus paused. "Being fucked," he finally said, the coarse term
coming awkwardly to his lips.

"Physically? There's a burn at first, then heat from the friction. With
the right angle, the other man's cock rubs against your prostate, sending
almost electrical shocks through your body. Some men can reach orgasm
just from that feeling. Some need to be stroked at the same time, and
some don't orgasm at all while being fucked, but enjoy it all the same.
But not every man enjoys it. Some have trouble stretching, while others
have a prostate that is too sensitive."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Dorian smiled. "Very much. Would you like to fuck me?" he asked, sticking
with the one term. There were others more poetic, but none so evocative.
"I saw some lotion in the bathroom that would work."

"No." Dorian sighed, a little disappointed. "I don't know how to do it
right. You'd have to show me first."

Dorian blinked. "What?"

"I want you to... do it to me."

"What?"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?" Klaus demanded, sounding
exasperated.

"No. I..." Dorian laughed softly. "I just never expected to hear you say
that."

"Well?"

Dorian got up and headed for the bathroom. It only took a moment to find
the small bottle and come back. He handed it to Klaus, who looked at it
as if he'd never seen the like. Dorian sat down next to him. He reached
out and pulled Klaus's chin so that he could look in his eyes. "Are you
sure, Darling? I told you that I didn't need this. I don't want you to
feel like you rushed into this. Like I said, not everyone enjoys this way
of making love."

"And how will I know if I don't try?" was the reasonable answer. Klaus
looked a little nervous, but very, very determined, so Dorian kissed him.

They lay down on the bed together, and Dorian used every trick of hand
and mouth that he'd ever learned to arouse Klaus until finally the man
pulled away and grabbed his wrists. "Would you just get on with it
already?" he demanded, sounding frustrated as well as very aroused.
Dorian smiled.

"Of course, Darling," he said a little smugly. Mission accomplished.

He reclaimed the bottle of lotion from the bedside table and squeezed out
a generous amount onto his fingers. "The first thing that is necessary is
to stretch the muscles. It will be easier for you if you rolled onto your
side facing away from me," he pointed out. Klaus stared at him for a
moment, then followed the suggestion.

"I'm just going to use one finger," he told the slightly tense man as he
rubbed the finger against the tightly clenched opening. He didn't try to
penetrate, concentrating instead on soothing the muscle into relaxing.
After a minute, it did so, and he slipped the finger inside.

Klaus grunted, more from surprise, but didn't tense up. Dorian was a
little surprised, but was not about to complain. He started a gentle
thrusting motion with the finger, slowly loosening the ring of muscle.

"I'm moving to two now," he said quietly. "You might feel a slight burn."
He slid the second finger in, tight against the first. There was another
small grunt, but no protest, so he continued to stretch, finally slipping
in a third finger. He was more than a little surprised how easily Klaus
was taking this, but then his Major was very good on following through on
his decisions.

There was just one thing left to check. He curved his fingers and brushed
them carefully against the nub of the other man's prostate. Klaus jumped,
and Dorian held still. "That was your prostate. Like I said, for some men
it is too sensitive. Are you sure you want to..."

"Get on with it," Klaus growled. His voice had gone deep and husky, and
it sent shivers down Dorian's back. He pulled out his fingers and quickly
coated his own erection with thick coating of lotion. He spooned up
behind Klaus, then paused. "Last chance, Darling," he whispered.

"Do it!" Klaus said, almost a bellow. Dorian chuckled and pressed forward.

It was heaven. It was perfect. He wanted to stop time and live forever in
this moment. He was inside Klaus, and Klaus wanted him there. Dorian
buried his face in the hair at the base of Klaus's skull and breathed in
the scent of sweat and soap.

Unfortunately time stopped for no man, and Klaus obviously wasn't
satisfied with just holding still. "I think you're supposed to move now,"
he said in a slightly sarcastic voice.

"Whatever you say, Darling," Dorian replied. He started to slowly
undulate his hips in a movement that wasn't quite a thrust, but drew a
gasp from Klaus. As the man relaxed against him, Dorian increased the
depth of the motion as well as the speed, and reached down. He was
relieved to find that Klaus was completely hard, and he started to stroke
the erection firmly.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to draw Klaus's climax from him, because
Dorian wasn't sure how long he could hang on himself. He almost whimpered
as Klaus's contractions forced his own climax from him, the came to rest,
still firmly held by Klaus's flesh.

Eventually he softened until he slipped from the other man's grip. He
snagged his robe from the floor and used the sleeve to clean up the
seepage, then cuddled up against Klaus wondering if he'd been wise to
give in to the man's request. They hadn't been together sexually for
long, and penetration was a big step to take.

"That was..." Klaus paused and Dorian waited for him to finish the
thought. "Nice."

Dorian breathed a small sigh of relief. "You enjoyed it?" he asked
lightly.

"Yes."

"Will you do me?" he asked, already tingling at the thought.

"Not until we get home. In my-" He stopped. "In *our* bed."

Dorian blinked in surprise, then snuggled in even closer. "Whatever you
say, Darling."

'Our bed'. That had a nice sound. Very nice.

* * * * *

The next day, Victor was starting to feel a little better about his
choice, a little less trapped. Klaus and Dorian had left early in the
morning for Berlin, and the Director and LiAnn had left for the States
after lunch, taking their new son with them. His staff had been trickling
in all day, so he'd been too busy getting organized to worry about what
he was doing.

Much as he hated to admit it, they were right. The more he did, the more
fascinated he became by the job. There was so much to do to get
everything operational. Just the sort of challenge he could sink his
teeth into.

Of course, without Mac he would probably go insane under the pressure. No
wonder Agency Directors tended to go Looney Tunes. At least he'd managed
to get it written into his contract that he could quit whenever he chose,
as long as he trained a replacement.

One of the first things to do though was set up an office for him and
Mac, and there was really only one room appropriate: the former Head's
bedroom. The stairwell connecting it to every level made it perfect. But
first it needed a massive redecorating, and they'd spent most of the
afternoon on that.

First the over-done furniture went. Maybe they'd use it for firewood come
winter. For the time being it was all in storage.

Next went the paintings. He had been right: They did make a lovely
bonfire. Knowing the man who'd collected them, they were probably all
very valuable. Victor didn't care. They were sick and they went.

That just left one last thing to take care of.

Victor glanced over at Mac and couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling
up. His lover had been looking up while rolling the second coat of primer
onto the ceiling and now had a splatter of white on his forehead to go
with the white all over his clothes.

"Oh, very funny, Vic, very funny," Mac said, but Victor could see the
smile trying to peek through.

"What can I say?" he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "You look good in
white."

"I thought it was black that I looked good in," Mac shot back.

"And blue and green and brown. But you know what you look best in?"

"Besides white?" Mac asked, backing up suspiciously.

Victor grinned. "Nothing at all," he purred, then pounced. They went
tumbling to the floor, thankfully covered with several large drop-cloths.
The Persian rugs had turned out to have been covering a beautiful
hardwood floor that Victor planned to let shine.

However, without the cloths it would now be covered in white paint as Mac
deliberately rolled them over so that Victor landed in the paint tray,
then used his roller to paint the side of Victor's face white.

Victor rolled them over again, more because the tray was digging into his
back than from any desire to be on top. They were both laughing, and
Mac's eyes shone beautifully. Victor bent his head for a long kiss, then
pulled away, sticking his tongue out.

"Blech," he said. "You taste of paint."

"Well, if you let me up, we can finish this coat, then head for a bath to
take care of that."

Victor popped to his feet. "You've got a deal," he said, pulling Mac up
off the floor. Then he paused, still holding Mac's hand. "We're really
going to do this, aren't we?" he said.

Mac nodded, not bothering to crack the expected joke. "Yep."

"And we're going to do it right." That was a statement, not a question.

Mac snickered. "We better, or they'll never let us live it down," he
replied, referring to their former partner and their past boss who was
now their new boss.

Victor grinned, and shuddered theatrically. "You're right. We can't let
*that* happen," he said, then grabbed his roller. "Bet I finish my half
before you finish yours," he said, already attacking the ceiling.

"You're on!"
 

THE END (yes, it is)

Well, this was *also* supposed to be the end of the Drowning Sorrows
series, but the Director threw in a monkey wrench when she convinced
Victor to take the job of Director for Eastern Europe. That wasn't
planned, lady! So now there may be a Book Four someday. But not soon.

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