Title: Contact from the past

Contact From The Past
by Gail
*****

I knew they were out there. I knew they had plans for me. I know the DSD. I should. I used to be one of them.

I stare at the newspaper, but the print blurs, and I don't really care what it says. I let it drop on the floor. Clay didn't feel so great last night, a stomach ache, luckily not after a meal I cooked, so he told me to go home and call him in the morning. I didn't want to, but he seemed all right otherwise, so I did what he wanted. They were watching me. They knew. That's why I got this message from them with my Saturday paper.

I pick up the message from the table and read it again. It's not even in code, and I don't know if that's a good or a bad sign.

**Meeting needed. Someone will come to you today.**

Coming to me. That's a bad sign, but what do I expect? I haven't even tried to contact anyone from the DSD since I was pardoned. A few months they would have excused, but it's been longer than that.

I sip my coffee and think. Clay would say to tell him, like he told me to tell him about my nightmares. I did, and after a few talks they went away. This isn't so simple. If I tell him about
this message, he'll want to find them, which puts him in their line of fire. No way. Hell, I love him. Haven't said it yet and won't, but I do. He has to survive. I die, all right, but not him. But I don't want to die.

Hell of a Saturday I've got to look forward to.

I get up. No good sitting around.

*****

I can't concentrate on any book, and I don't have anything to cook except eggs, so I clean the place, then do stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, anything to keep my body going and my mind calm. I called Clay when I got my brain back and told him I think I've got some kind of bug, and he bought it. I hate lying to him, but I'm not letting him into this. I'll get this over with, then see if it seems safe to go to him. I hope so.

They make me wait, of course. That's how the game is played. I'd do the same thing myself. I don't let myself act differently than usual, except I don't go out shopping. It's what I'd normally do,
but the instructions were explicit. There's always pizza or Chinese.

By mid-afternoon I'm calm enough to read, so that's what I'm doing when the doorbell rings. I shut the book without bothering to put in a marker, toss it on the coffee table, stand, and answer the door.

"Mr. Palmer," Richard Morgan says, as quiet as ever. That's a surprise. I figured they'd send someone I knew very well or not at all. I was in on Morgan's training, but I got reassigned before he finished. I'm going to have to be even more careful. I don't have any cards to play against him, and he's too smart for any of the games.

"Mr. Morgan." I address him as a colleague. It won't do any good to treat him as an inferior. For all I know, we're of equal rank. I've been out of touch a while, and he's alive, which is better than some of the people I used to work with.

He nods, then comes in when I step away from the door. He waits until I close it to speak again.

"I trust your work with the CIA is satisfying?" His tone says the opposite, and I smile. I know how to play this.

"I get bored. Who wouldn't, if they had a brain?"

He nods again. "May I sit?"

Should have offered. But maybe it's better that he think he's running this. "Of course." I wait to sit until he chooses what side of the couch he wants.

"Is there a reason you declined to contact the organization?"

The organization. Nice neutral word. "I was told before they put me in Leavenworth to lie low and take the first chance to get out that I could. That someone would contact *me*." I hope to hell
there's no one around who can contradict me. I think they're dead, but I don't have all the information and connections I need any more.

He nods again. Yeah, Morgan's still damned good. That's why he's still alive. It's open season on the DSD. "And you found a way to get into the CIA."

Still a neutral tone. He's not going to give me anything. All right.

"Yeah." I give him a cool stare. "But you know that, or are you telling me we're not still watching the fucking Company?" It's not as hard as it ought to be to play the big bad DSD agent, and I wonder how much I have changed.

"We have fewer connections than we did."

That's good news to me, but I make damned sure not to let it show. "So what do you want from me?"

He smiles faintly at that. "I wondered when you'd ask." I don't say anything, don't smile, just look at him, and he keeps going. "We need to know the strategy you used to get out of Leavenworth, and everything you know about the CIA."

Yeah, it's what I thought. "Am I ordered to leave the CIA?" I have to say that, but god, if he says 'yes', I'll have a hard time not losing it.

He gives me another smile. "That's still to be determined, but I imagine the decision will be to leave you in place."

What he's not saying, I know, is that it depends on how much I give them. Fuck. I'd cheerfully fuck over the CIA, I don't owe them shit, but not Clay.

"If information is used against the CIA and it's information only I could get, I'll be blown regardless."

"No one's talking about using any information against them."

"Then why bother?"

"That's not your decision to make."

I don't answer that. It should be my decision to make, but I stayed away. Yeah, time to shut up now.

"Back in a moment."

He nods, and I get up and go into the bathroom. Got to have a few moments to myself. I wasn't as ready for this as I thought. Not good.

I run the cold water and splash it on my face, then stare at the stranger in the mirror. Haven't seen him in a while. "Where you been, buddy?" "Watching you fuck over your life. Watching you
think you had a future with some CIA guy." Still hope I do, but that's not up to me right now. It's up to Richard Morgan and some people I used to know but don't any more and never trusted.
Dammit.

He's waiting for me when I come out, and I stop in the doorway and wait to find out what he wants now.

"Come with me," is all he says, and heads down to the hall. So he's going to search the place. Good luck to him. He won't find anything incriminating.

He goes to my bedroom and motions to me to sit on the bed. I do, then wait. This is damned weird.

"All right." He runs a hand through his hair. "We can't take long, but we can talk here."

This is interesting, but I'll need more than that to talk. I raise my eyebrows and wait.

He sighs. "Right. You've got no reason to trust me. Here." He hands me a note, and I open it, keeping my eye on him. If this is a trick, it's a damned transparent one, and I know Morgan's
smarter than that.

I scan the note. It's from Tom Stone. I'd trust Tom with my life. I tried to find him when I got out, but no luck. Tom's good at hiding.

**Mr. Palmer,

I vouch for Richard Morgan. I have my concerns about your course of action, but I'll talk with you about them later.

Tom Stone**

The bottom right corner of the note has a series of marks that would look to the untrained eye like an attempt to get a pen to write, but I can read the code I taught him and Jack.

**Jack says hi.**

I smile. Simple and definite. Tom wrote this. I refold the note and put it in my pocket. The question is, can I still trust Tom?

"Mr. Palmer, I was sent by John Springer to plant a listening device in your apartment. It's under your couch. It's not strong enough to pick up conversations here. I'm supposed to put one in here, too, but I'll do that when we're finished."

I nod. "All right. What do you want to tell me?"

"They know you're sleeping with Webb. There's a minority who think you've turned."

They know. Fuck. I can explain it, of course, but I have to hope they don't know he matters to me. "What does Springer think?"

"He told me he thinks you're still ours, but if not, he's sure he can fix you."

Yeah, he would. I don't let myself think about what that means. "How do I contact Tom?" I need to talk to him. If he's on my side, then I have to convince him to stay there.

"That would not be a good idea, Mr. Palmer." He stands. "You need to be patient. I imagine Tom will contact you himself."

I hate waiting, and this is my fucking life they're playing with. But I nod and stand.

He goes over to my dresser and pulls out the bottom drawer, then reaches into his pocket, and I know he's switched on the bug. He pushes the drawer shut.

"All right, it looks clean."

Good cover. "Glad to hear it."

He shuts the drawer and while doing so slides his other hand between the dresser and the wall, and I know he's planted the bug. I would have missed that if I wasn't looking hard. Good job.

He starts out of the room, and I follow. Is he going to search any more? No, he heads back to the living room, but doesn't sit.

"When you check your e-mail, you'll find a message with an address. You will send your reports on your activities to that address. Make sure to send one today, and the quicker you get us up to date, the better."

"No special requests?"

"You'll receive instructions." He goes to the door. "Have a pleasant weekend, Mr. Palmer."

"Hey, it's better than hanging around Webb." That should help tip the scales my way.

He nods. "Indeed."

He opens the door, walks out, and closes it, and I shut my eyes. I did it. I want to leave and go to Clay, but I have to keep him clear of this, and I need to get going on a report. I'm fucking sure they'll have those instructions in that message with the address.

*****

Four hours and two pots of strong coffee later, I've answered their first two questions about what I did to get pardoned and what I've learned about the CIA, and sent the messages off.

I stand and stretch my arms over my head. One more to go, but this is the hard one, the one about Clay. I have to tell them enough of the truth to go along with what they've seen. I can do it, but I hate having to say I was using him. They might decide to show him the report to turn him against me. He'd talk to me about it, of course, but he wouldn't be happy to find out I kept this from him, and I'd probably have to play it as though I was going along with the DSD out of my own free will. Fuck.

I think about getting some food. I'm not hungry now, but I need to eat. I'll call in my order and pick it up myself. It'll be good to get out for a short drive.

The guy says it'll be half an hour, which isn't bad for a Saturday night, so I sit on the couch with a glass of water and drink some to wash down the aspirin.

I'll handle this. I've got Tom on my side, although I'm sure he's not happy about my involvement with Clay, and fooling him is going to be hard as hell. I'll do it, though. I'll make them all believe I'm using Clay, and then they'll let me back in the DSD, and then I can find out what I need to make sure no one screws with me or Clay.

I don't want to be part of the DSD, don't want to lead a double life, but I'll do what I have to do to make sure we're safe. Of course, the best way to keep Clay safe would be to break it off. Maybe I'll have to do that, then kill the DSD people who stand between me and control of the organization. I could do that if I could get them to trust me. Then I'd be fine. Then I could turn the whole organization over to Clay and not have to worry any more.

Then I'd be the traitor some of them think I am. Fuck. That still matters. I haven't turned. I'm not a goddamned traitor.

Time to get the pizza. I'm not thinking straight. Food will help.

*****

I wake up with the sun blazing through the window, and groan. God, I'm still tired, but I've got to get going. I roll over and check the clock, and it's eleven, even later than I thought. I used to be able to stay up all night and take an hour's nap and be fine, but I was younger then. I sure don't feel young now. But I'll get some coffee and take a shower, and I'll get myself together. At least I got the damned reports done. That should get them off my back, and I'll find some way to fool them into leaving me alone. Maybe I'll have to give them information. All right, the world won't end. I was too pessimistic last night. I'm smarter than any of them. All I need is some time and contact, and I'll be able to predict and then control them. Springer's old. Maybe he needs some help into the grave.

This good mood stays with me through making the coffee, taking my shower, getting dressed, and picking up the paper from the front, and then I open it and see the envelope. Another message. Fuck.

I tear it open and read.

**I hear you want to talk to me. I'll be at the bar you took me and Jack when we made agent this afternoon at two.**

I put down the piece of paper. I know what bar he means, and I'll be there, but at one, just to be sure.

*****

I park the car and go into the bar. When my eyes adjust, I see Tom at the bar, standing and smiling at me. I laugh.

"Haven't forgotten a thing, have you?"

"You taught me to anticipate." He turns to the bartender. "I'll have another of these. Clark?"

Well, my first name. Tom's never called me that before. I can't say I like it, but I should have expected it. "The same." It doesn't matter what it is.

"Two pints, then."

We wait while the bartender draws them, then I get out a twenty before he does and pay. I get the change and leave a tip, then let Tom pick the table. He chooses the one I would have, in a
corner, good view of the room.

We put our glasses down and sit across from each other.

"Too bad Jack couldn't join us."

Tom lifts his glass and drinks. "He'd like to be here, but he's working in Europe. Doing well."

"I never doubted that. There some reason you two aren't working together?" That's what they wanted all through training, and the last I knew, they'd gotten it. What happened? Did some woman get between them? I wouldn't have thought anyone could.

"The decision was made," he says tersely, and I can see from his eyes he's not resigned to it.

"Who made it?"

"Who else? Springer. He's had it in for us. You know that."

"Yeah, I know." So that's a reason Tom's on my side, to fuck with Springer. Perfectly good motivation as far as I'm concerned.

"I read your reports. The last one was interesting."

We're going to talk about Webb. All right. I knew we would sooner or later. "He's a good fuck. Makes my life at the CIA easier to give him what he wants." I drink some beer to take the taste of that out of my mouth, then make myself grin. "You know those Company boys like it in the ass."

He grins, too. "Yeah, that's what people say. But you taught me to look below the surface." And it's Thomas Stone, DSD agent, who's staring at me now with no expression other than dispassionate interest, and I know I'm in worse trouble than I thought. "Are you interested in what I see there?"

"Always." I'm glad I ate before coming here, and I wish I hadn't had any beer. But then he drank, too.

"I see a man who's working his ass off to protect what's important to him, and that is not his career or his position or even his life." He leans back in his seat. "It's his lover. I hate to say this, but they're right about you. You've lost your edge."

"You're a smart man, but you're wrong." Maybe this is a test. If I'm as weak as Tom thinks I am, I'd fold at this and beg him to help me protect Clay, but I'm not weak. I smile. "Clayton Webb is
my ticket to the easy life at the Company, but if he died tomorrow, I wouldn't cry for him."

"That's good, since he's going to die in about a half-hour." Tom's watching me with cold eyes, and I hope I'm doing what I want, which is to show nothing. The thought of Clay dead makes me want to reach over and take Tom by the throat and kill him, but I can't do that. "Unless the man targeting him gets a call from me to stop."

"Why kill him?" I've got time, if Tom's telling me the truth, and he's giving off all the right signs.

"Because he's what's got you hooked, and the first step to breaking any addiction is to remove the source." Tom bites out the words. "Say what you want, but you *care* about him." The worst accusation he could throw at me, in his mind, and once in mine, too. "You want to be with him."

"You're seeing it all wrong." I have to get him to believe that, but I'm pretty sure it's a lost cause.

"No, I'm not." Tom takes a breath. "I know you had to do something to get out of Leavenworth, and I tried, goddammit, I tried to get them to get you out, but no one would budge. What the hell did he do to you?"

I have to give him something, since there's no way I'm going to convince him Clay doesn't matter. Dammit. "Call off your guy, and we'll talk. I'll tell you everything I didn't say in the report, and you can tell me what you want from me."

"Tell me why Webb should live. We've got time. And objective reasons, please. I don't want any vague shit."

Like that I give a shit about Clay. Yeah, that's the problem, in his opinion. "If he dies, I'm out of there, and there will be no chance of any information coming from me to the DSD."

"You'll slant your information to protect Webb, so it's already suspect."

Fine. I'll try again. "Kill him, and you've lost all hold on me. I'll go on a vendetta against the DSD. And guess who I'll take out first." I give him a cold smile.

"It might be worth it to get you back." He waits for my answer, but I don't indulge him. "I'm sure you'd want to keep me alive, because you'd want me to suffer."

"That's right, Tom," I purr. "I'd find Jack, and I'd make sure you got to watch it all." Wouldn't enjoy it, but I might, if my Clay was dead. Let the world go to hell without him. "Sure you two aren't fucking? You seem pretty down about him being gone."

He grins, not the response I was hoping for. "You know we fucked in training. You told us how and why and helped us do it right." Good memories. They trusted me. I'm damned sure they don't trust me now, which hurts like a bastard. "Sure, I'd have sex with Jack if he wanted it or if either of our women were being bitchy, but I don't need him the way you need Webb." His voice hardens. "He will die if you pull that gun on me."

I pick up my glass. "You've got to be kidding." I'm not thrilled he knows I've got a gun, but I shouldn't have expected him to miss it. "Now what?"

"We make a deal. You want Webb alive; I want you back to your old self. I think we can have both."

"No deal until you call off the hit."

"Afraid your lover won't be able to see it coming? Smart. He won't."

Clay's smart. But is he watching? No, why the hell should he be? I kept him out of this. Goddamn. "Who?"

I don't really expect him to answer that, and he doesn't. "Listen, fuck Webb every day and twice on Sunday, I don't give a damn. But he's gotten to you, and that I care about. Work with me. You told me once you were going to make sure you were running things. Run them with me. We can take Springer and his people down."

Now we're at the real purpose for this meeting. "You want control."

"And I want you on my side. You can even bring Webb in if you like. There's room for an ex-CIA guy in my DSD."

"But not Springer's."

He smiles. "Of course not Springer's. Well?"

We're down to fifteen minutes, and I'm sweating through my shirt. Lost my edge, yeah, that sounds about right. "We'll have to make some plans, but sure, I'll help you. Now call off the guy."

"In a minute." He studies me. "You won't be in charge of this, you understand. It's my operation."

"If you do it all your way, you'll lose, and you know that, or else you wouldn't have run this game to get to me." I'm not going to work for Tom Stone. I trained him.

"More of you every minute. Much better. All right." He pulls out a cell phone. "I'll make the call, and when I get back, we'll talk."

"You do that." I stare at Tom. "Because you don't want me against you."

"I know," he says softly and stands. "Why do you think I did this?"

He waits a moment, but I don't say anything, and he goes outside. I finish my beer while I wait for him. He comes back with another round and sets a glass in front of me.

"You can relax. Your lover's safe."

I nod. I'm sure as hell not going to thank him.

He nods back and drinks his beer.

I got out of this, but I'm not safe yet.

*****

Tom and I set up methods of contact, and he seems pleased when he leaves. I tell him I'll think about ways to take down Springer as soon as he gets me more information on him, and he promises to talk to Springer and tell him I've got the right attitude toward Webb. Mutual need, the basis for a beautiful friendship. Now I have to make sure we stay friends.

I sit in my car. Now what? I can't tell Clay what's going on, and I should stay away from him. I will stay away from him. I can't put him in any more danger.

*****

I get through the week without any more contact with Clay than work by just going to my place after work instead of his. He doesn't say anything until Thursday, and even then it's a casual question about how I'm doing. I tell him I'm still not feeling so good and give him my best sick impression, and he nods and tells me to make sure to take it easy and get more rest. So far, so
good.

Rest? I'm too busy to rest. I spend my free time working on a plan for Tom once I get and digest the information on Springer and the DSD he sent. Hard to find one other than just killing the bastard and assuming command, and I suspect Tom's already figured that one out. I suspect I'll be the one to pull off the death, which makes me wonder if then I'm the one he'll throw to the wolves. He has to know I wouldn't stay put for that, but I'm not going to underestimate Tom. I'll have to work out a way to kill Springer that won't implicate me.

Saturday night I'm in front of the TV with a beer, taking a break and trying to decide if it makes sense for me to 'find' the damned bugs and take them out, when the phone rings.

"Palmer."

"I want you to come over here."

Clay. Damn. Not a good idea to go over, not yet. Not until I can be sure I can fool him. I can do it at work, but it's not so easy anywhere else.

"Sorry, I'm not up to it." I cough.

"Now." There's a pause. "That is an order."

I could tell him to fuck off, but that would be pushing it more than is wise. "Of course, Mr. Webb. I'll be there right away." The bug will pick this up, so I put some attitude in my voice.

He doesn't comment on my tone. "Fine."

Then the line goes dead, and I put down the phone. I wonder what's got him going. Maybe he's pissed about me not coming over. Maybe he missed me. Dammit, I have to stop that. I can't afford to think that way, but I can't seem to stop. I have lost my edge, but I'll get it back. I have to get it back.

*****

He's waiting for me in the living room on the couch, some of that jazz he likes playing softly. Nice and relaxing, but I can't relax.

"Sit down." He gestures to a chair, and I take it, even though I'd rather sit on the couch with him. I might need to use sex to distract him, but I'll move if I have to. Right now I need to play this smart.

I cross my legs. "What's the reason you needed to see me so urgently?"

"Someone tried to kill me," he says bluntly. "Today I learned that the assassin has DSD links. I've managed to keep that information private, but it's bound to get out."

Stone lied to me. Goddammit. He didn't call off the hit. Or the man didn't wait until the specified time. Some people are just stupid. I'll find out which, and someone will pay. "When?"

"Sunday. A couple of shots."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me about this?" I'm glad we're having this conversation here. I would have had trouble playing this for the bugs.

"You would have gone out to find the assassin and take him apart, and I didn't want that."

Yeah, he knows me. "At least you don't think *I'm* the assassin," I mutter.

Clay gives me a half-smile. "If you wanted me dead, you'd do it yourself, which is what I intend to tell anyone who asks. But, since this is a DSD matter, I thought you might have something to add." He stands. "I'll show you what we've got."

Nice to know he has faith in me, but I can't help him if the trail leads to Stone. Maybe I can get him to doubt the information. I'll make sure Stone hears about this. I stand, too, and follow him into his study. He gestures for me to sit down next to him, and I have to fight the urge to kiss him. I have to pull back, I remind myself. To keep him safe. The DSD is watching me.

"The assassin has not been identified, but the man who hired him has been." He clicks open a file, and I stare at the picture.

Shit. He doesn't need my help.

"Since he was your trainee, I thought you might know why he wants to kill me." Clay's voice is casual. "Maybe he told you when the two of you met Sunday." I don't say anything. Fuck, I'm screwed. "Would you like to tell me what's going on? I'd like to know."

I find my voice. "I had a drink with Stone, yeah, but it wasn't a meeting." I can't tell him anything more, but damn, I want to.

"Clark, if you're going to lie, we're not going to get anywhere." So calm and reasonable. "We've had a man on Stone for a while now, and he said that the two of you were having a heated conversation. I'd like to know what you were talking about."

Must be someone good. I never saw anyone.

He waits for me to answer, but I don't. "I've initiated contact with Stone. He'll be here in twenty minutes."

"What? No!"

"Why not? I want to know why he wants me dead, and I'd assume you wanted to know, as well."

I have to tell him everything. I take a breath and start with the note and Morgan's visit and end with my deal with Stone. Clay listens and doesn't say anything until I'm through.

"So now you know."

"Yes. Thank you." He frowns, and I know he's thinking. "Ah. I'll tell him that he has the support of the CIA for his takeover of the DSD, and we'll help him eliminate Springer and anyone else he
can make a good case for. Not you or me, of course."

"You can't do that."

Clay smiles faintly. "I can. Better that the new head of the underground DSD owes us something, don't you think, Clark?"

Well, yeah, but I still don't like it. I shake my head.

"We have to work together, and if that means getting Stone what he wants, we'll do it. But going behind my back is not going to work. Do you understand that now? I told you before: we're partners."

He's right, but - "I can't let them fuck with you."

"No one will fuck with me, or with you." The doorbell rings, and he stands. "I assume you want to be at this meeting, but if I'm wrong, you can leave."

I stand, too. "Like hell I'd let you have this meeting without me."

He smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Somehow I thought that might be your answer."

*****

The meeting with Tom Stone is short and sweet. Clay makes his offer, without a mention of the attempt on his life, and Tom accepts, with a look at me that makes me wonder if he set me up. He already has a plan to use CIA resources to take out Springer, although I grin when Clay finds some problems with it and suggests his own plan, and Tom has to accept it. Once they've settled that, Clay excuses himself with a look at me, and I realize that he's giving me a moment with Tom to straighten things out.

"So he did come to your rescue. I wondered if he would." Tom smiles. "And now we all get what we want."

"Which is what you wanted all along."

"I still want you back in the DSD, but I don't think that's possible. But Springer dead and the DSD mine..." He has a shark's smile. "I can live with that."

Yeah, I'll bet he can. "Try to kill him again, and you'll have me after you."

"I wish you'd get the proper attitude toward him, but I suppose it's too late for that."

He'd better believe it. "You did hear what I said."

Tom nods. "I need him alive for now. After that, it's anyone's guess."

I show him my shark's smile. "Make sure he stays alive."

"Wouldn't that be your job, Clark?"

Of course it's my fucking job, but I don't need him making it harder.

"I hope you fuck him good and hard and often."

I give him a cool stare. "No, he fucks me. Damned good at it, too."

Tom blinks at that, and I smile. So he didn't know as much about us as he thought.

Clay comes back in. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing. Thank you, Mr. Webb. Clark."

"Tom." I hold his eyes. "Tell Jack to watch his step, too."

"I'll give him your regards," he makes me wait, "and your message."

I just nod to that.

Clay shows him out, then comes back. "I think he's right."

I drink the rest of the glass of water, then put it down and turn to him. "About what?"

"Fucking me good and hard and often." His eyes are bright.

I scowl. "Stone was out of line."

"Stone doesn't understand what you're doing with me."

I turn away from the compassion in his eyes. "I'm going to have a drink. Want one?"

He comes over beside me. "Clark, no one ever would have thought this would work."

"Wasn't supposed to," I mutter, then make myself shut up. What am I doing? Next I'll tell him I killed his mentor David Stoner, for god's sake.

I can hear the smile in his voice as he continues. "But we are together, and it is working, and I want you in my life. So stop worrying."

I can't answer him, but he doesn't seem to expect me to.

"I think I'll get something for dinner. Want to come?"

And like that, we're back to normal.

The End