The Magnificent Nine

by Herman

PROLOGUE

Jeffery Miller stretched his legs out on the salmon-colored marble floors of Highland Towers. His job was tedious; long hours of greeting people and staring vapidly on the security screens. He might as well have been a doorman for all the "excitement" that was in his job. Still, there were many interesting people - stockbrokers, their wives and "private secretaries". A man from the D.E.A. lived here. He would usually relate his adventures in Columbia or Peru to Jeffery and that would make him grateful. It was an interesting sideline to an otherwise dull job.

Jeffery lifted the Delightful Donuts paper cup to his lips and sipped the hot black coffee. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and then resumed reading the sports section of the paper. The Chicago Eagles had an advantage over the Calgary Torches, it would appear. The Stanley Cup finals were only days away.

The revolving entrance doors swung open. Jeffery lifted his head from the paper. It was Jerry Walston, the man from the D.E.A. He was not a happy man.

"Nice day at the office?" Jeffery joked.

Jerry didn't answer. He shook his head and rubbed the tension from his face. The black briefcase he carried seemed heavier than usual. Jerry walked into the elevator going to the fifth and Jeffery bade him good night. Didn't he like his job?, Jeffery asked to himself.

Jeffery began to read the paper again. The security cameras were now in full swing but Jeffery didn't realize it until it was too late. He casually looked at the screen again. A tall, dishy blonde walked into the hallway in front of Jerry. Instantly, she pulled out a silencer and shot Jerry. She opened the briefcase, pulled a computer disk from one of its pockets and headed for the elevator.

Jeffery was aghast. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He pulled his walkie-talkie out of its holster and pressed the speaker button.

"This is Miller at the front entrance desk, over. A resident on the fifth floor has been shot, over. The suspect is a female, approximately 6"0 tall, blond hair, big, black army boots, over. Requesting police assistance immediately, over."

There was no response, not even static. Jeffery was terrified. He tried contacting someone again but no response. He looked at the elevator. The dull red lights indicated a descending assassin on her way. Jeffery pulled his gun.

No guts, no glory, he thought and prepared himself for a showdown.

The elevator door opened. Jeffery tensed up. No one emerged from the elevator. Jeffery furtively preambled over to the elevator and jumped in pointing his gun. No one was there. He gaped in amazement. He turned to walk out when in front of him the phantom blonde appeared out of nowhere. Drawing his gun, he screamed at her, vowing her immediate death. but Jeffery spoke too soon.

The woman skipped away from the dead body of Jeffery Miller, jubilant at a task well-performed.

CHAPTER ONE

The standard-issue brown cowhide boots tread the decrepit gray streets of Chicago. They walked assuredly in a steady pace but occasionally stopped that the wearer might see where she was going. She wore a brown-felt Stetson and a navy-blue coat. Her ice-blue eyes looked up a paper-brown colored building - Chicago Police Department, 27 precinct.

This must be the place, she thought and walked in.

Constable Benton Fraser walked alongside his erstwhile partner, Detective Ray Vecchio. Their difference in dress matched their difference in personalities. Fraser was a Mountie, a by-the-book man whose sense of justice and duty overwhelmed his humanity. Ray, on the other hand, was simply a cop, toughened by the mean streets of Chicago and seasoned by his earthy Italian heritage. But even these differences could not separate them. Their dissimilarities seemed to tie them together.

"Ray," Fraser explained, "one cannot simply deny the possibilities of a gradual upshift in the kinetic activities of any one particular person."

"Look, Benny," Ray retorted, "I don't care about 'upshifting kinetic activities'. What I do care about is the Chicago Eagles' defeat over the Calgary Torches. You know I think you're scared that they might not win."

"No," Fraser denied hastily, " I was merely postulating that a change in their movements might improve in their next game, that's all."

No this is not about apprehending criminals but rather about a hockey game, but that is a different story.

The woman ascended the stairs that led to the violet crime division of the 27 precinct. She looked around her rather puzzledly. Might he be in here, she thought.

Elaine Besbriss worked studiously at her desk. Everything she did bore the brunt of serious, life-consuming concentration.

Absorbed in her own world, she was torn from it by a slight pat on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," the woman said, "I'm looking for Constable Benton Fraser. I was told that he was here."

Elaine scrutinized the woman carefully. The woman wore a uniform very similar to the one Fraser affected everyday. She wore a brown-felt hat, a navy overcoat that covered the red serge tunic of the Mounties, black trousers with bright yellow stripes down the sides and large brown boots.

"Are you from the Canadian consulate?" asked Elaine.

"No," replied the woman," I am..."

Before she could finish, Fraser, who had just caught sight of her, ran up to her and embraced her heartily.

"Bess!"

Elaine and Ray observed them with a curious fascination. No one knew that Fraser had a sister.

Feeling it necessary to give an explanation to his onlooking colleagues, Fraser then turned to Elaine and Ray.

"This is Bess- Elizabeth- my fraternal twin sister," Fraser explained.

Bess extended her hand to Elaine.

"Fraser," Elaine said in bewilderment,"I never knew you had a sister."

Fraser looked at Elaine apologetically.

"Well," he meekly explained, "no one ever asked me."

Fraser turned to Ray.

"Bess, I would like to introduce Detective Ray Vecchio. I work with him from time to time - often - a lot."

Ray stared at Bess, transfixed by her Caledonian beauty. As she removed her Stetson she revealed a mane of dashing black hair unjustly tied behind her head. The baby-blue glint in her eyes merely complimented the soft glow that seemed to surround her. Somewhere, the beautiful aria Mio Babbino Caro was sung by unseen angels praising her beauty. Ray could not speak. The power of speech left him. He was bereft of reason, forsaken of sensibility. Only an overwhelming love for this goddess of the North possessed his soul and displayed itself in the uncontrollable rivulet of drool that escaped his mouth.

"Ray," Fraser said softly and with a hint of annoyance in his voice, "you're drooling."

Ray unconsciously wiped the drool from his chin and extended his hand to Bess.

"Pleased to meet you, Detective Vecchio," Bess said politely as she shook his hand.

"No, please," Ray pleaded,"call me Ray."

Bess nodded and smiled back at Ray.

Eager to dilute the developing chemistry between Ray and his sister, Fraser began to inquire Bess' purpose of her visit.

"So, Bess, what brings you here?"

"I have a mission for you, Ben," she replied.

"What is it?"

"To catch a killer," she said matter-of-factly.

Fraser and Bess walked in High Street Park side by side. The spring day was crisp and clear. Snow lay on the ground, slowly being melted by the welcoming sun.

"Have you heard of Ernesto Parava, Ben?" Bess asked inquisitively.

"I've heard of him, yes," answered Ben, "Colombian kingpin, head of the Cordoba drug cartel. Why?"

"I've been apart of operation that's been investigating his activities for the past year now. He's been smuggling cocaine on the West Coast and we've had confirmation that a huge shipment is heading this way. The team and I want to go in and finally apprehend him."

Bess stopped walking and faced Fraser.

"We need the cooperation of the Chicago Police department in order for us to finally complete this mission. Two handpicked officers will work with the seven of us to bring him in."

Fraser's brow furrowed at such an undertaking.

"Why not just go in and apprehend him?" Fraser queried.

"It's not diplomatically correct, you could say," Bess explained. "We would be intruding, essentially. Arresting American culprits on American soil. Besides, the D.E.A. have been after him for a long time, as well. It would give them peace of mind, for all that's worth."

"I'm sure you'll get the cooperation you desire, Bess. Detective Vecchio would be a fine asset to your operation."

"Our operation, Ben," Bess corrected him. "If you agree to help."

"Who does the team consist of?" Fraser asked.

"McClellan, MacLeod, Muir, the O'Donnells'..." Bess hesitated for a moment. "You."

Fraser looked at his sister and accepted with an austere resignation the assignment that was thrust upon him.

Lieutenant Harding Walsh rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes as he looked over the proposal handed to him by Constable Elizabeth Fraser. He wished he could wipe away the frustration as easy. The R.C.M.P. letterhead taunted him. He could not deal with one Canadian. Now, there was a deluge of them, flooding into his precinct and onto the mean streets of Chicago. There would be more red-coated officers helping little, old ladies across the streets, being kind to small children, pointing out minor traffic obstructions, tasting things. His brain hurt.

Bess beamed.

"I assure you, Leftenent Walsh, this plan will work out for all involved. Cooperation is essential for this operation."

Walsh looked at Bess.

"Well," he said defeatedly, "what choice do I have?"

Bess glowed. Now the fun could begin.

CHAPTER TWO

A cranberry Ford Jimmy pulled up to the curb in front of the 27 precinct and stopped. The passenger side door opened. A stocky, young man stepped out and stared up at the grungy building. This is where he would work for the next week.

He was followed by four other men; a tall, pale man with black cropped hair, a pudgy man with a shaved head and two skinny kilted men.

It was now 8:03 AM. They had arrived early.

Ray sat at his desk going over the deposition papers which stated assured cooperation with the Mounties. He was decidedly hesitant of this job. He looked up to see a Mountie puzzledly looking for a place to set his box. Ray rose from his chair and walked over to him.

"Hi," he said offering his hand to the first Mountie, a rather chubby man with light brown hair and glasses. "You must be the Mounties."

"Indeed we are," he replied,"but I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Oh, yeah - I'm Detective Ray Vecchio. I work with Constable Fraser."

He nodded. "Ah, yes - Detective Vecchio. Constable Fraser has told me so much about you."

Ray laughed. "All good stuff I hope."

The Mountie and his colleagues stared stonily at Ray. His stab at humour did not impress them. This worried Ray. Could they be as dull as he thought they would be?

"I am Leftenent Gordan McClellan, head of the anti-drug force of the R.C.M.P."

Ray nodded and looked on at the silent Mounties laden with huge boxes of supplies.

"Where is Constable Fraser?" asked Gordan.

Ray looked at his watch. "He should be here by now," he explained.

The black-haired man swiveled his head with an inhuman quickness and dropped to the floor. Ray began to shiver.

With his ear to the floor, Ron began to dictate sounds he allegedly heard.

"Two people...one heavy, approximately 95 kilograms, the other...55...each walking within close proximity of one another. I'd say 5 centimetres apart. Wait - one is wearing thick soled boots."

He removed his ear from the floor and looked at his watch.

"They should be here in 5..4..3..2..."

Fraser and Elaine made their anticipated entrance.

"And that," Fraser told Elaine, "is why we don't torment the muskox."

Gordan beamed at Fraser.

An air of recognition washed all over Fraser.

"Gordan!" he cried and shook hands with him heartily.

"How are you, Gordan?" asked Fraser.

"Quite well, Ben."

Ray tried to preserve his sanity. He asked gingerly who the silent Mounties were.

"Ray, I would like you to meet Leftenent Gordan McClellan, head of the R.C.M.P. anti-drug force situated in the Greater Calgary area."

Gordan shook hands heartily with Ray.

Gordan turned to Elaine. He did not smile but rather eyed her suspiciously.

"You must be Elaine."

Elaine nodded. She was frightened of him.

Gordan smelled the air. "You wear L'air du Temps, a touch of Evian skin cream - but not today."

Gordan leered at her. "Do you like lamb chops, Miss Besbriss?"

Elaine stared at him, part in terror and part in confusion.

"Why?" she asked.

"Quid pro quo, Miss Besbriss. I tell you, you tell me. Now I will ask again. Do you like lamb chops?"

"Yes," Elaine answered hesitantly.

"Good, good.." muttered Gordan.

Fraser tried to salvage some chord of sanity before Elaine ran out screaming.

"This is Corporal Ron MacLeod of the O.P.P., Scarborough Division and Constable Stewart Muir of Halifax."

Stewart dropped his box with a big crash.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed, "A real American cop!"

Ray seemed touched by Stewart's enthusiasm.

Stewart edged closer to Ray.

"Is it true you have a .45 Magnum in your desk and you shoot wrongdoers indiscriminately?"

Ray was caught up in Stewart's little fantasy.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Stewart shivered in excitement.

Ray smiled.

"Interesting group you have here, Benny."

"Ray, these are few of the finest officers in the force," Fraser rejoined.

"And the weirdest," Ray snapped back.

A tall, skeletal man walked up the stairs and into the violent crime division. He carried a flag post with him.

"Ben!" he cried.

"Simon!" Fraser acknowledged.

"Wow, Ben, it's great to see you. The last time I saw you was at Sergeant Thompson's retirement party."

Fraser's face instantly became void of cheer. That fool would reveal what happened.

"I remember it like it was yesterday," Simon laughed. "There you were lighting the barbecue, setting fire to things. What did Alan say? Dear God! There goes my pension!"

Simon laughed. Fraser could not laugh.

"Oh, well," Simon chuckled, "it's only a yacht."

Fraser tried to hide the annoyance he felt toward Simon at this moment.

"Ray, this is Constable Simon O'Donnell of the Royal Newfoundland Regimental Corps."

"Hi, Ray!" Simon exclaimed shrilly as he shook the hand off of him.

Ray pointed to Simon's kilt.

"What's with the skirt?" Ray asked.

Simon was shocked.

"Oh no, Ray. This is a kilt with the tartan of Newfoundland. I wear it proudly.

"Say what you will," Ray retorted,"but to me it's a plaid skirt."

Simon chose to let this snide remark slide for it was a plain fact that Americans could not understand the fine art of kiltwearing.

"Alex has been looking forward to seeing you again, Ben."

A young blond man carrying a box walked over to Simon.

"Excuse me, Constable, where do I put this?"

"This is Charles Wilters, an attache from the Consulate," Fraser explained.

"Great to meet ya!" Simon declared and slapped him on the back.

Wilters was told to put the box in a room adjacent to Lt. Walsh's office.

Another man as scrawny as Simon climbed the stairs. It was Alexander O'Donnell, brother to Simon and gun-crazed loner to the rest of the world.

Alexander saw Fraser and immediately walked over to him.

"Ben! It's good to see you," he said as he grasped his hand. Suddenly, Alexander jerked Fraser forward and headbutted him. Fraser recoiled and grabbed his head in pain.

"I don't think we need to ask what that was for," Alexander said nonchalantly and smiled quietly to himself.

Ray was shocked.

"What was that for?" he asked.

But Alexander didn't answer. His dark smile hinted at an injury of long ago still felt, still bleeding.

Alexander turned to Elaine who, after her frightening experience with Gordan, was now sorting out papers. He took her hand gently and kissed it.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said in an unusually suave voice. "My name is Alexander, Alexander O'Donnell. And you are?"

"Elaine," she said retrieving her hand.

"Elaine, Elaine..." he murmured, "the name rides on the gentle breeze that blows across St. John's Harbour..."

Elaine had no idea what he was talking about but she could see that he was trying to come on to her.

"If you don't mind," she tried to say politely, "I'm really quite busy."

Alexander insisted on helping her but she would not allow it. He walked away from her, enraptured by her virtue which he knew not of.

As Simon helped Stewart carry in something rather heavy he caught sight of Elaine. He was smitten with her beauty. Forgetting his burden, he walked over to Elaine.

"What, pray tell, is thy name, o jewel hanging off Ethiop's ear?" he asked as he took her hand and kissed it tenderly as his brother did before.

"Elaine," she said rather vexed.

Stunned, as if struck by a bolt of electricity, he began to rave.

"Ah, whom the angels named Elaine, nameless here nevermore. The name is the gentle sea-foam splashing on the rocks at Peggy's Cove. Oh sweet Elaine! If only words could describe the way you make me feel. I ..."

His tirade was cut short by Gordan's clamour to duty.

Fraser made himself useful by helping set up the office out of which his fellow officers would work. In the corner of his eye, Fraser could see Elaine and a few other female officers lift things from a box. He moved closer it. On the cardboard box, in bright red letters, were the words:BENTON FRASER PARAPHERNALIA. Fraser was shocked. He knew instantly who perpetrated this foul deed - Bess. But why? What could make his sister display to the world his first pair of skates, numerous humiliating baby pictures (especially the bathtime ones), snugly, cuddly Mountie Bear and the teeth which acted as a reminder of the long games of hockey with his playmates? Then he remembered at age of five the fateful decapitation of Molly Mukluks. Justice reared its head nearly thirty years later.

"Ben," Gordan called, "the briefing."

"Elaine," Gordan said, "I would like you to join our staff meeting. If you will."

Elaine followed Simon into the room that served as the Mounties' office. In the very centre of the room hung a picture of Canada's first prime minister, Sir John A. Macdonald. At the sides, Canadian flags drooped on their poles. A map of Chicago was on the far right wall along with a bulletin board with pictures of wanted men on it. On the left hung a picture called Canadian Gothic. It depicted two men (respectively, the philosophers, Robert and Douglas Mackenzie) in toques and lumberjack coats. Elaine could not understand the significance of this painting.

Elaine sat next to Simon at a round conference table. Bess, who had arrived much earlier than the others, stood at the head of it. Her hair was tied back unattractively as before. Her face bore a grave expression. Ray quietly snuck in and sat beside Elaine. He fixed his eyes on Bess. When it was clear that all had arrived she began to speak.

"As you all know," she started, "Ernesto Parava arrived in this city two days ago. He's expecting a shipment of approximately 400 kilos of cocaine- quite a large shipment but nothing unusual for this man. The ship, a Venezuelan vessel, arrives on Thursday. Parava will make contact with the dealers, pick up the merchandise and leave with it from a private airfield. This means we have only six days to wrap this up."

Ray was smug. He had seen this all before. This Parava person was no more than another goldfish in a very big pond.

"So where's the challenge?" he asked.

"Detective, Parava is a very dangerous man with many powerful connections. For all the indictments brought against him, none produced convictions. Two days ago, D.E.A. agent Jerry Walston and a security guard were shot dead presumably by someone working for Parava. Also, a disk containing the names of judges, government officials, business people was stolen. We believe it is in Parava's possession and, more than likely, it is destroyed."

"So where do we come in?" asked Ray cynically.

"There are various cracks in this mission," Bess admitted. "We know that a shipping magnate is involved but we've been unable to find out who. We know that someone here is supplying Parava with weapons and - more importantly - we need to know the whereabouts of that disk."

"Detective Vecchio, it will be your task to get us through to these people," demanded Ron. "You are more familiar with the mob and who we can contact."

When Bess had finished her briefing, Gordan stood from the table.

"We will work in teams of four," he announced. He turned to Ron. "Corporal MacLeod and I will work together. We'll stake out the port. Alex, Simon, you two will work together because no one else trusts you. I want you to find out who is supplying the fire power for Parava. The last thing we want to do is to walk in the middle of a gun fight. Detective Vecchio and Bess, I want the both of you to work together. Find out who the shipping magnate is and bring him in."

At last, Gordan turned to Fraser and Stewart.

" Ben, Stewart, you have the task of tracking down this man, Gerhardt Wagner, the brains behind Parava's manufacturing. He decided to 'disappear' after arriving in Chicago. Find him and find out why."

Gordan paused for a second. His face lit up as he had, what he thought was, a brilliant thought.

"You will need a third person for this operation, a helpmate. Someone with guts of steel, a mind as sharp as a muskox's horn thrust into someone's behind..."

Gordan turned on his heels only to face Elaine.

"How about you?" he chimed.

Elaine looked shocked. Indeed, she was shocked for in all her time in the Chicago police force she had never been asked to do something like this and by someone as amiably spooky as Gordan. She was constantly asked to find the files of this and look up the license plate number of that. She seemed too terrified to take on such a task. She felt that she was unready.

"Sir," she replied meekly, "I don't know if I should..."

Gordan raised his hand. "I won't hear of it, Miss Besbriss, I want you on this case."

Elaine tried to object but Gordan refused to hear her out. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Look, Elaine, the streets out there are mean, I know. Why, if I looked out the window right now I could see people breaking all of the Ten Commandments at once, but the world needs you. The world needs a cop with a sense of justice, a mind to crack the most boggling puzzle, a fist to deliver the hardest of punches, hands to make a wonderful stirfry."

"Why is that necessary?" Elaine asked.

"It's not really necessary but I like people who have the ability to make sure that all the pea pods stay in the pan, but that's not the point. The point is that we need you. Will you do it, Elaine?"

Elaine made up her mind. She did have what it took to work on this case (and, coincidentally, she could make a nice stirfry).

"I'll do it," she said eagerly.

Gordan was proud of her.

"Good. You'll work with Ben. Remember, team, we're doing this for Lorne Greene. Dismissed."

The team dispersed leaving Fraser and Elaine alone in the room. Fraser stared down at Elaine who looked into his cloudy blue eyes.

"Well," Elaine shrugged, "I guess we're partners."

"Yes," Fraser answered quietly.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Elaine wanted to say to him, wanted to seize the moment but something strangled her growing desire. Fraser, too, kept quiet. It was as though the need for connection was hindered by years of solitude and self-reliance. He had forgotten the essence of human companionship, a companionship Elaine secretly yet desperately wanted to kindle.

"Perhaps we should get started," Fraser suggested pertly.

Elaine nodded in agreement. It appeared that the budding flower of companionship had been stifled once more. But not if Stewart could help it.

"Guys," he admitted,"this is so exciting. I think we need a group hug to get us on our way."

Having admitted that, Stewart hugged them.

CHAPTER THREE

The steel-gray sky was unappealingly characteristic of spring in Chicago. The sun concealed itself behind the clouds. Below the foreboding clouds stood a large building made of decaying wood. Longshoremen moved crates from the hulls of rusty ships into the yard. Behind the mountains of crates two figures in the habits of nuns slowly revealed themselves to the unsuspecting world.

"Gordan," said Ron insecurely, "I don't know about these costumes. I mean - won't they wonder?"

"Stop your whining," snapped Gordan, "it was either this or the shepherdesses."

With discretion, the two Mounties wove their paths around crates. They made their way into the building.

"Now we have to find the office," announced Gordan.

Tiptoeing, they searched for the office.

"Can I help you two?" inquired a loud voice.

Petrified, the two men covered their faces with their black habits and turned to face him. A tall man in a lumberjack coat stared down on them.

"Yes," answered Gordan in a high-pitched voice, "we are the Sisters of..."

Frantically grasping for words, Gordan noticed a newspaper on the floor and then the glaring white First-Aid kit.

"Sisters of the Band-Aids," Gordan replied.

The man seemed doubtful.

"Band-Aids?"

"Yes," replied Gordan in his mock girlish voice," we take after the holy people who gave Band-Aids to the poor."

"Yes," Ron followed up, "I am Sister Marie...Marie from Quebec and we are here to collect for the Zairian Childrens' Ebola Fund. May we go into your office and discuss this further."

*the author of this story would like to state that Ebola is a terrible disease and it is truly a tragedy when children are afflicted with it.*

The man agreed and led them unwittingly into his office.

"I feel really terrible about those poor kids. If there is anything I can do to help I will."

The 'nuns' were pleased to hear this. In the corner of his eye, Ron saw a tall, voluptuous woman with bushy blond hair and bright pink lipstick. He recognized this woman to be Bess in disguise.

"Cynthia, please get the nuns some coffee," the man asked.

"Allow me to help," piped in Ron and left Gordan to squirm in the room.

"Have you found anything?"

"This is a mob-owned shipping yard in the name of Gary Smith . I am trying to find out who actually profits from this."

Bess and Ron returned with the coffee. Gordan tried to convince the man to give to this imaginary fund.

"It really is a worthwhile cause," said Gordan.

The man nodded his head in agreement. He pulled a chequebook from his back pocket and produced a pen. He began to scrawl on the cheque but was interrupted by a skinny man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses who had just kicked down the door.

"F.B.I.! Nobody move!"

It was safe to say that Gordan was as mad as hell and certainly wasn't going to take it any more.

"Lt. Walsh!" he cried desperately. "Lt. Walsh!"

Lt. Walsh stopped eating his Hoagie only to face an irate Mountie in a nun's habit.

"Lt. Walsh, I must speak with you."

Gordan and Ron stomped into Lt. Walsh's office. A skinny man in a business suit followed them. He was Federal agent Maldin.

"Lt. Walsh, I protest," Gordan clamoured, "we were to have no interference. This is our case."

He pointed at Maldin.

"This is a direct violation. I would appreciate it greatly if would tell him to stay out of this investigation."

Maldin began to speak.

"Lt. Walsh, I am Special Agent Maldin of the F.B.I. I'm investigating the death of agent Jerry Walston. These people have no claim on this case. They're not even apart of this country. If they really want to help they would stay out of the way of professionals and if you know what's good for you, you'll keep out as well."

Lt. Walsh preferred to speak for himself in this matter.

"Special Agent Maldin, these Mounties have every right to be here. If anything, it appears that you are in their way."

"That's right!" Gordan fumed. "So if I were you, I'd go back to Washington and investigate UFO's or whatever the hell it is you do there!"

Maldin became incensed.

"I am not going to be swayed by you or your fruitcake friend!"

The fruitcake, or Fraser, walked in amidst the clamour and met eyes with the agent. He was followed by Bess.

Maldin glared at them.

"This was the dumb blond at Smith's office," he said as he pointed to Bess.

Bess removed the wig and that which gave her figure more substance. Maldin did a doubletake.

"You're not a blond," he said with surprising perception.

"I know," Bess replied sardonically. "I'm not a fruitcake, either. Nor is my brother."

"Look, Miss..."

"Constable Elizabeth Fraser to you, and I, as well as my colleagues, have diplomatic immunity. This is our case, Mr. Maldin."

Maldin did not like her tart reply.

"Look, Lizzie..."

"Perhaps you are hard of hearing. I am Constable Fraser and I have a hands-on grasp of this case and not you. If you don't like it, perhaps you should take it up with the governor of Illinois, after all, it was he who gave us the go-ahead."

Fraser produced a crisp white sheet of paper which Maldin grabbed and read with great dismay. Angered, he left the office giving all unfriendly glances. Fraser shut the door loudly and succinctly.

"God, that felt good," he mumbled to himself.

Ray felt enormously glad that Bess told the Feds what for. She had spirit in her, he could see it.

Bess and Fraser walked out of Lt. Walsh's office grinning proudly.

"Benny," Ray smiled," you stood up for yourself. I'm proud of you."

"On the contrary, Ray," corrected Fraser, "I was merely passing on pertinent information of which Agent Maldin was willfully ignorant."

Still beaming, Fraser joined Elaine in her tedious computer searches.

Bess gleamed.

"He's never felt that happy since he roundly defeated Gordan at hammer toss during the Highland Games."

"Oh, really?" Ray asked. He was being introduced to a side of Fraser he never knew existed.

"It reminds me of the story of Angus Fraser," Bess told Ray.

"Who's he?"

Bess locked eyes with Ray. Her mouth curved in a devilish grin and her eyes were wild.

"Angus Fraser, the Mad Dog of the Glens and Homicidal Maniac of the Highlands, was the first Fraser ever to set foot on the Canadian mainland. In Scotland, he was a rebel, an outlaw. He had no respect for the law and he wanted Scotland to be its own country. But the English didn't like that, so they captured him and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. He could accompany them to the New World and fight the French or he could be hanged and leave his sister, Jezebel, to starve and die. He agreed on the condition that he could kill as many men as he desired and he would one day return to the Highlands he loved. He left Scotland with his claymore and tartan.

Once in Canada, he served under James Wolfe. He helped capture Quebec. He fulfilled his end of the bargain. The battlefield was strewn with the bodies of disemboweled and beheaded Frenchmen. When the battle was over, he washed the blood and brains out of his long, black hair. On his claymore, one could see the dents made by bone. One officer, a Commander Brighton, noted what a savage he was. Angus only looked at him and said: One day, you'll be next. And sure enough, when Angus requested to go home, Brighton refused. He had told Angus that his sister had been hanged for sedition. Possessed with an inhuman rage, Angus plunged his hand into Brighton's ribcage and pulled out his heart. Angus Fraser fled out West and was never seen by the British soldiers again."

Ray winced at the horrific story.

"Sounds like he needed Prozac," he grimaced.

Bess only smiled.

"So what happened to the rest of the Fraser family?"

"What do you mean?" Bess queried.

"Well," Ray explained, "I wouldn't see Benny rip out someone's vital organs."

"The rest of the clan just mellowed out; they had a much calmer and serene outlook on life after they came to Canada."

"So is Canada a retirement village?"

Bess threw her back and huffed.

"We're a quiet people, Ray," Bess replied, "not arthritic."

Ray accepted this.

Ron, now out of the nun's habit, gently took Bess' hand and kissed it.

"Dinner at 7," he said and walked on.

Ray was disappointed.

"You're having dinner with him?" he scowled.

"Why not?"

Ray glared at Ron. Bess was his woman, he felt. MacLeod, he thought, there can be only one.

Wilters handed Elaine a file.

"Here is the file we have on Wagner."

Elaine quietly thanked him.

"You know, Officer Besbriss," Wilters suggested, "I could do some leg work if you wish. It would certainly make me feel useful."

Elaine smiled warmly.

Wilters chuckled and made his way to the coffee machine. It was an ounce of pure optimism that he might do something a little interesting.

Elaine quietly punched the keys of her computer. She tried to keep her gaze off of Fraser but the effort proved difficult. She would glance quickly and try to avoid his attention. He leaned over her to read the monitor. She would feel the muscles in her back tense.

"I have the flight manifest from O'Hara," Elaine said as she handed a piece of paper to Fraser. "He left Geneva last Saturday and arrived in Chicago on Sunday morning. He rented a car, a white GEO, license plate number 147 LSE. No word of him after that."

Elaine avoided eye contact with Fraser. Everything she did or said from the point when they were first grouped together was to diffuse the awkwardness between them. Stewart was a foil in this group, the fulcrum on the seesaw that balanced up and down in no one's favour.

"It would seem pointless to leave a former employer only to arrive in the place where he started,' observed Fraser, "unless, of course, he himself had unfinished business."

"That seems plausible," Elaine concurred. "I'll continue to run checks on the car, see if he's had any traffic violations or anything."

"Thank you kindly, Elaine," Fraser said as he left.

Stewart sat down next to Elaine.

"I have the Interpol reports on him..."

Stewart could see that Elaine was preoccupied.

"You know," Stewart said slyly," Ben's a great fan of La Boheme."

"Is he?" Elaine echoed indifferently.

"Oh, he is," Stewart concurred. "It would tickle him pink if, oh maybe, someone gave a CD to him as a present. That opera makes him lose total control of his person."

Elaine's eyebrow arched and her lip curled vivaciously into a smile. She had a cunning plan. Diefenbaker could see that. He hid further under her desk.

The stress of fatigue was written all over Ray's face. He could not keep his eyes open any longer. It was 11 PM. He spent all day chasing leads that led to nowhere. He thought if he could only take a few minutes rest he could continue working.

A minute later, Ray felt Bess gently shake him. He lifted his head up and faced her.

"Oh, Ray," she breathed, "I can't hide it any longer. I adore you. I adored you the moment I set eyes on you. I want to be with you forever." With this proclamation of suppressed passion, Bess reclined sleekly on the desk and effortlessly removed the pin that kept her wild black hair captive. She looked at Ray lovingly. Ray could contain himself no longer. Instantly, he pulled Bess towards him and kissed her passionately. Nothing in the world could tear him away from her.

"What are you doing?" cried a voice.

Ray broke his embrace from Bess and stared in horror at the face of her very concerned brother, Fraser.

"Ben," Ray tried to explain, "this isn't what it looks like..."

Bess glared at her brother.

"I love him, Ben, and I don't care what you think."

"I was merely going to tell you that I think you would make a lovely couple," Fraser explained. "Why, if you wanted to get married I would be absolutely giddy with joy."

Ray couldn't believe his ears. He was free to be with Bess forever.

Ron ran into the room. His face was flushed.

"Bess, you can't marry him. What about me?"

Bess smirked.

"Oh, Ray, get rid of him," she commanded seductively.

"Gladly," agreed Ray in the most evil tone voice he had ever affected.

He pulled a .45 Magnum from his desk and shot Ron. After Ron fell dead, he kissed Bess even more passionately than before. It was only when he ended his kiss that he noticed something wrong with Fraser.

"Ben," Ray asked in horror,"why do you have Diefenbaker's head?"

For reasons unknown, Fraser now had the head of his trusty wolf, Diefenbaker.

He looked at Bess. Hers was no longer the head of a beautiful Mountie but the oversized head of a Martian with very large almond-shaped eyes.

Ray at last figured it out.

" Oh, I get it. This is a dream, a stinking dream. I'll wake up and Bess doesn't want me...Fraser still irons his underpants...Ron doesn't have a hole in his chest..."

Ray woke to see Bess staring at him.

"Ray, Ray, I have something to tell you."

Ray looked at her attentively but then shook his head.

"I know what this is. If we keep this up Fraser will have Diefenbaker's head and you'll look like a Martian."

Bess stared at him confused.

"No, Ray, I was going to tell you that Roger Wills, the shipping magnate, is throwing a party tomorrow evening. I've been running some checks on him. He owns the shipping yard we went to today. Apparently, he is getting a cut out of the deal with Parava. If we get this on tape, Parava is done for. I think it would be wise if we made an appearance there."

Ray shook his head. "Oh, yeah- right."

Simon stretched his legs out on the sloping rocks of Peggy's Cove and watched the waves lap the soft-gray granite. Behind him, a lighthouse stood solidly as beacon for the wayward ships seeking refuge from the harsh Atlantic Ocean. He loved it so. He felt that this is where he belonged. No longer would he stare over the cliffs of Labrador and soak in the vast powerful ocean and wonder what it all meant. No, Peggy's Cove was his shelter for eternity. Simon turned his gaze from the sea and looked at a slender young woman walking towards him. It was Elaine. He walked towards her hoping the twain should meet. He reached his hands out and met her outstretched hands. Just as he was about to kiss her, a wave crashed over him...

Stewart stood over Simon's sleeping body with a glass that once contained water.

"Say," said Stewart, "would you like to watch 'The Planet of the Apes'?"

Tired yet unable to return to his fantasy, Simon said yes.

Summer had cast its much wanted grace upon the barren tundra of Grise Fjord. The wiry grass sprouted abundantly behind the heavy ashen rocks. Tiny purple flowers peeked behind tall yellow ones that appeared intermittently throughout the landscape. A pale blue sky rested on top of it. Fraser remembered this. The happy hours of childhood whiled away running through the vast, uninhibited North. He sat down on the wild grass snatching the fox-tails and listening to the hum of dragonflies. He was decidedly oblivious to the world, no longer alert like a hunter but content and complacent like a man at rest. Suddenly, Fraser was pushed to the ground. He rolled and was pinned down. The warm brown face of Elaine stared at him. At once, Fraser felt a closeness to Elaine he had never felt before. He moved his head to hers. Just as Elaine was only millimetres from his face she began to lick in childlike earnest.

Fraser felt this to be disturbing. He looked again only to see the furry muzzle of Diefenbaker covering his face with warm drool. Rather annoyed, Fraser threw a pillow at the unruly wolf and tried to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

Alex and Simon washed glasses in their waiters' uniforms. Getting into Roger Wills' waterfront estate was not challenge. They remained aloof as they waited for the signal.

Gordan peered at Alex and Simon from the pantry. In his brown uniform, he went to the back where Ray and Bess, already dressed for the event, waited.

"Remember, men," he said, " root out Wills. Don't let Parava on to you."

"And don't eat the pate," Ron added.

Instantly, Gordan and Ron tore off their Mountie uniforms to reveal sharp evening suits, rather James Bondish. Stewart, for some reason, showed up in a shimmering pink evening gown.

"Wrong outfit," he cried and went to change.

Gordan and Ron mingled suavely throughout the guests.

Alex and Simon, still aloof, served drinks to bubbly party-guests.

Ray and Bess stood aloof in the crowd. Bess, Ray decided, never looked lovelier. Her hair was no longer austerely tied behind her head but allowed to fall gracefully on her alabaster shoulders. Her streamlined form seemed better suited in the black sheer dress she now wore instead of the stuffy Mountie uniform.

"Stay sharp, Ray," Bess warned.

"As a tack, baby." he replied.

Bess looked at Ray. "Baby?" she asked.

Ray tried to recover. "We have to have an element of realism in this operation, don't we?"

Bess tried to keep her cool. She smiled Ray's innuendo off.

Fraser walked through a herd of bourgeois partygoers. Ron stood monolithically through them all. He fixed his eyes on the dark, tall man at the far end of the room - Parava.

"He's quite a social butterfly," said Ron.

"Eh?"

"Parava - on the other side of the room. Keep out of sights."

Fraser agreed and walked from Ron. Ron pretended to sip champagne. He removed the glass from his lips when he felt a solid object prod his ribs.

"Hello, Constable MacLeod. It's been a long time."

Without lifting his eyes from Parava, Ron replied to the woman.

"It's Corporal, now, Alicia."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It's been a long time," she apologized. "Now," she said trying to control her anger, "move quietly outside. I wouldn't want to shoot you and ruin this lovely party."

Ron and Alicia willowed through the partygoers to the French doors which led to the docks.

Bess swiveled her head. She saw Ron being led away from the crowd by a tall, blond woman.

"Ray," she whispered frantically, "it's time."

Ray lifted his lapel slightly. "Action," he said.

Fraser riveted his head towards the door. Simultaneously, as though the portent of animosity had alerted the dangerous Norwegian, Alicia turned her attention from the doomed Ron to Fraser. The Mountie she had so many years ago snubbed almost fatally had returned. Alicia abandoned all sense of discretion, pulled her gun from Ron's side and fired. Just as she fired her gun, Ron grabbed it. The stray bullet pelted into the crowd to the far right. Bess reacted quickly. With lightning speed, she flipped backwards three times and pushed a rather portly man to safety. Ron tried to wrestle the gun from her hands but she whipped him with the end of it. Stunned, he remained still for a few seconds. Fraser chased her out on to the dock. Ray grabbed Bess and both ran outside to pursue Alicia.

Gordan grabbed his lapel. "Nab Wills!"

Roger Wills, a tall man, rubbed the sweat from the wisps of flaxen hair. Something had gone dreadfully wrong with one of Parava's cronies. He had to speak to him; he needed reassurance.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," Stewart rasped as he grabbed his arm. Stewart led him away as Gordan followed.

Alicia had removed her high heels and ran full pelt down the dock to a waiting speed boat. Fraser was right behind her. He managed to grab her and pull her to him. She struck him in the face with the heel of her palm but he would not let her go. The man in the waiting speed boat pulled out an Uzi and fired at him. Fraser dropped for cover. Ray, who was only seconds behind Fraser, pulled out his revolver and fired at the man in the speed boat. All of the bullets missed. Alicia quickly hopped into the boat and yelled at the man to take off. Bess leapt on the tail-end of the boat just as it was leaving. Fraser stared in terror. Bess was unarmed on a boat carrying two dangerous and armed people and precariously hanging on to a loose end of rope attached to the ship.

Ray took the initiative to hop another boat and speed away. Fraser joined him. The two boats skirted across the water aimlessly. Alicia looked behind nervously. She had barely gotten away. Bess gripped on the bow of the ship and climbed on. Alicia turned and lunged on her. Both of the women struggled. Ray's boat sided up to Alicia's boat. The man on the boat fired his Uzi at Ray who returned fire. Fraser jumped on the boat and knocked the man unconscious. Alicia and Bess still struggled. Alicia kneed Bess in the solar plexus and shoved her down. Bess thrust her foot between Alicia's ankles and tripped her. Before Alicia could react, she looked up at Fraser. The battle, for the mean time, was over. She consigned herself to uneasy defeat.

The two boats veered into a quiet shipping dock disused for the night. Ray radioed the precinct for backup and waited. Alicia's erstwhile companion was tied up on the floor of the boat.

Alicia took a cigarette from a pocket in her evening gown and lit it. She filled the still, cool night air with smoke rings.

"Okay, Garbo, you'd better start talking," Ray warned, "this could be a very long night."

Alicia simply laughed. "I want to see my lawyer," she scoffed," or won't you allow me to see one?"

She looked smugly at Fraser. "Tell me, Benton, why do you work with him? He doesn't seem as...sophisticated as you."

Ray took offense to her snide remark but Fraser merely looked at her.

"If I were you, Miss Tornkvist," Fraser responded," I would cooperate. Charges of murder in the first degree, refusal to submit to arrest and assault of a police officer are extremely serious charges."

Alicia jeered. "You can't get anything on me. You only lucked out on Baffin Island because I didn't kill you outright... and I worked with a stupid whaling crew."

"When we get Parava, lady, you're toast," Ray retorted.

"Parava? Who's he?" Alicia asked naively.

"You are fooling no one, Miss Tornkvist," Fraser cut in. "We know you are connected to Parava and we know you are responsible for the death of Agent Jerry Walston."

Alicia took another puff from her cigarette. "Do you still have that match I gave you, the one I told you to use if you ever lived to smoke your first cigarette? If you have it, you'd better use it, it could be your last opportunity."

Fraser walked away from her abject.

"What's with Blondie?' Ray asked.

"Miss Tornkvist and I go back a long time. Ten years ago, Ron and I apprehended her on a Norwegian vessel off the coast of Baffin Island. They were illegally hunting narwhals. Alicia acted as their bodyguard'. She'd killed three R.C.M.P. officers before we got to her."

"And?"

Fraser looked at Ray.

"And she tried to kill us," Fraser admitted. "She locked us in the compartment of an icebreaker and set an explosive on the hatch. She didn't succeed. The last we heard of her she was in a maximum security facility in England."

"The girl gets around," Ray smirked.

"Indeed," Fraser agreed.

Alicia finished smoking her cigarette. A car pulled up and Elaine got out.

"Fraser, Fraser!" she cried. "Wilters and I know where Wagner is."

She tugged his arm and pulled him aside.

"Wagner rented a cottage just north of here. He doesn't know he's been followed."

Fraser beamed.

"Excellent! Thank you kindly, Elaine."

Elaine smiled. Had she finally curried favour with him?

Ray pulled Alicia up.

"Let's go, Ingrid Bergman. You're staying at the Hilton lockup."

Alicia walked slowly. Suddenly, she backhanded Ray and pulled his gun from its holster. She aimed at Elaine, whom she thought was armed, and fired.

Fraser leapt on Elaine and pinned her to the ground.

"Are you hurt?' he asked.

Elaine shook her head.

Alicia turned the gun on Ray. Ray moved but was skinned by the bullet. He grabbed his arm and winced because of the pain.

Alicia started to run. Fraser rose and tried to grab her but not before she grabbed Bess and held the gun to her head.

"I'm going to walk away and not be followed. If I am, the Mountie girl gets to wear her brains on the outside."

Fraser walked over slowly.

"I'm not kidding!" she yelled and pressed the gun to Bess' temple.

"Alicia," Fraser said softly, "In a few minutes, a contingent of police will be here, fully armed. You will be surrounded and if you try to escape, you more than likely will be shot, though I can't say that without any certainty, but nevertheless. Your only recourse is to surrender quietly."

"I won't be here," Alicia laughed.

A helicopter cruised overhead and landed gently on the dock. Alicia backed into the helicopter still pointing the gun menacingly at Bess' head. The helicopter lifted off carrying Alicia and Bess.

Ray picked himself up and attached himself onto the landing gear.

The helicopter rapidly ascended with Ray clinging on for dear life.

Fraser stared at him.

"MY God," he remarked to Elaine, "didn't his father ever tell him that attaching himself to the landing gear of a helicopter was an extremely dangerous thing to do?"

Ray avoided looking down. He held on to the cold metal landing gear with more intensity as the seconds wore on.

"Why am I doing this?" Ray asked himself. "Why didn't I listen to Dad? Ray, he says, don't ever do anything stupid like grab on to the landing gear of a helicopter that's taking off. But did I listen? Oh no."

Ray pulled himself up and tried to get into the helicopter.

"Ray!" Bess screamed.

Alicia kicked his hands but Ray still held on. The helicopter swerved left and right dangerously. Bess tried to subdue Alicia but to no avail. With a great thrust, Alicia shoved Bess out of the helicopter.

"Bess!" Ray screamed and grabbed her wrist before she could fall to her death. Bess swung precariously, the lifeline of Ray's firm grip being the only thing saving her from dying.

"Ray! Ray, don't drop me!" Bess pleaded.

Ray could feel the sweat in his hand. It was loosening his grip on the landing gear.

Alicia kicked Ray's hand once more until it came free from the landing gear.

Ray and Bess dropped from the helicopter. Several feet below, a roof acted as their rough cradle from death.

They landed with a thud. Moments later, Ray stared at the sky. It was black and starless. Ray did not grasp the world any longer. It was now an abstract thing, something unattached from his body, very much like his shoulder.

Bess sat up. She felt severely bruised. She looked at Ray who had not woken up.

"Ray," she said passionately, "you saved me. What can I do to repay your heroism?"

Ray gazed into Bess' blue eyes with love.

"I know,' she said at last softly, "I'll make sure you get the Cross of Valour for this."

Defeated, Ray shut his eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alex slowly turned the pages of The Art of Torture in the 90's, stopping every so often to give a nervous Roger Wills a quick smile.

Simon paced the interrogation room restlessly.

"Do you have to read that book?" Simon asked exasperatedly.

Without lifting his eyes from the book, Alex answered him: "I swore when I first became a police officer that I would make criminals swim in their own blood and I aim to keep that vow."

Roger loosened his tie.

Gordan walked in and sat across from Roger.

"Mr. Wills," Gordan said calmly, " I am going to make things very easy for you."

"Like hell you are! I want to see my lawyer now!"

Gordan laughed.

"All in good time, Mr. Wills. Now, if I may be allowed to finish. You, in a nutshell, are in very hot water. The prosecutor is outside and she thinks that you could go to prison for a very long time."

"You've got nothing on me," he snapped.

"That's what you think, Mr. Wills. How does aiding and abetting a known felon and conspiracy to accept monies from a known felon sound? We have evidence that you are guilty of this. You could be in prison for at least 10 years. It doesn't have to be that way, of course."

Roger's face was drained of color.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean cooperate with us and you might get off easy is what I mean, Mr. Wills. Do I hear a yes?"

Roger nodded. Helping the cops did not appeal to him but neither did prison.

Alex stood over the sitting Roger.

"We're going to have to have a little chat with your arms dealer, as well."

"Screw you," Roger said rudely.

Alex took out a pen knife.

"I'm going to cut off your fingers not because I want you to talk but because I want to see you suffer."

Gordan stood and glared at Alex.

"Constable O'Donnell, this is not a scene from Reservoir Dogs. You can't cut off the fingers of a suspect you are interrogating and not expect punitive action to be taken. Is that clear?"

Alex huffed but forced himself to comply to what he felt was an utterly ridiculous rule.

Fraser shuffled into his apartment. Bess and Ray would be in the hospital for the night. Diefenbaker rose from his slumber and nuzzled Fraser's hand. Fraser pet Diefenbaker and slumped into a chair. He was very exhausted. Not only did he nearly lose Bess but he was nowhere near finished his assigned task. Secretly, he damned the elusive Wagner.

A knock disturbed Fraser from his thoughts. He rose to answer it.

Elaine appeared out of the crack of the door.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Fraser let her in and bade her to sit down.

"It looks like Bess and Ray will only be in the hospital overnight," Elaine said casually.

"I know," Fraser replied.

A moment of silence passed.

" Oh, I bought you something," she said meekly.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Elaine nodded.

"What is it?" asked Fraser impassionately.

Elaine pulled out a portable CD player from her shoulder, set it on the table, placed a CD in it and pressed play.

Instantly, Fraser recognized the notes of La commedia e stupenda with a metaphysic fatality. His legs became rubbery and could support his weight no longer. He fell into the chair behind him.

Elaine watched all of this with great interest. Fraser felt something, he was moveable.

Fraser turned to Elaine.

"How did you know? I mean - La Boheme - one of the finest operas ever made.."

"It doesn't matter," she said as she stroked his face tenderly.

Fraser rose and walked away from her.

"What?!" she cried.

Fraser grasped for the words but was at a loss.

"Don't you feel anything?" Elaine asked. "Don't you see? I am more than fond of you. I..." Elaine forced herself to say what she had felt all along. "I want to be with you. Forever."

Fraser did not speak. He could only look at Elaine.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed. She took dark eyeliner from her bag and scrawled on her forehead 'I EXIST'.

Fraser became more confused.

"Elaine? Is something wrong? Are you choking?"

Unable to control her frustration any longer, she let fly a slap on Fraser's face.

This slap was like a jolt to him. He did not look at Elaine with confusion any longer but with a genuine sense of affection.

"I'm leaving,' she announced and proceeded to walk out the door.

Fraser pulled her back and kissed forcefully, passionately. Elaine did not, could not resist. The two let the last notes of the act consume them fervently. The moon rested complacently in the dark night sky like a pearl on a bed of black velvet.

The sun dawned on another Thursday. For Ray, the pain in his shoulder had all but dulled. He switched on the T.V. in his hospital room. The Inuvik Racers, a Cinderella team, made it to the Stanley Cup finals. The last game in the series was being played on Friday.

Great, Ray thought, I'll be able to watch it. I'm not going any where.

Ray heard a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Fraser, followed by Gordan, Ron, Stewart, Alex and Simon, entered the room.

"It's great to see you guys," Ray said casually. "It looks like I'll be able to watch the hockey game tomorrow, huh?"

"It certainly would appear that way," Fraser observed. "How are you?'

"Ah, my shoulder gives a little trouble but I'll live," Ray admitted.

"Ray," Fraser said, " I haven't been able to thank you..for Bess, I mean. Though she and I haven't spoken to each other for a while...Thank you."

Ray smiled.

Gordan thumped a bunch of roses on the bedside table and slapped Ray's bad shoulder.

"No doubt, you'll be up and out of here in no time," Gordan laughed.

Simon, too, laughed

. "I remember when I broke a leg for this girl in high school..."

"Simon, the only girl for you is Raggedy Ann."

Hurt over Ray's remark, Simon brushed the burgeoning red curls from his face and strolled down the hallway. He noticed the childrens' ward in its bright and cheery finery. Simon felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around he saw the very vision of perfection - Raggedy Ann herself.

"Excuse me," she said, "is this the way to the childrens' ward?"

"Yes. Down the hall."

She thanked him politely.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Simon asked.

"Sure."

"Is your name really Ann?"

She laughed.

"Mister, I'm from Rigolet. People there think that if your name isn't the same as the character you're playing than the shebang just won't work."

*the author of this story would like to state that they have nothing but admiration for the people of Rigolet, Labrador and are not seriously implying that they adhere to the above practice.*

Simon slapped his head.

"You're from Rigolet? I'm from Goose Bay!"

Simon and Ann sauntered down the hallway to the childrens' ward arm in arm.

Wilters knew where Wagner was hiding. It was a matter of simply apprehending him. He perpetually questioned the reason why he hesitated. He looked up at the clock. 6:03 PM. Could arresting Wagner wait until tomorrow? Wilters thought not. He grabbed his car keys and made his way to the garage. He pulled out of the garage and drove to the Interstate. A red car pulled out of the shadows and followed him. The driver gripped the wheel and fixed her gaze on the car ahead of her. It was 6:07 PM.

Wilters looked at the cottage from his car. Wagner walked back and forth in front of the window. Wilters stepped out of his car and walked to the cottage. He was determined to bring Wagner in himself. How hard could it be?

Wilters let himself in. Wagner stood back in terror.

"You work for Parava, don't you. I guess the game is up."

Wagner ran his fingers through his graying blond hair. He trembled uncontrollably.

Wilters shook his head.

"Hardly. I'm Constable Charles Wilters from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I"m here to bring you in."

Wagner laughed. He seemed relieved.

"You're hardly a professional, are you?"

"Gerhardt Wagner, I am arresting you..."

Wagner cut off the young officer. He shook his hand at Wilters.

"Look, Constable Wilters, I don't think you understand what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into. I'm a wanted man. If I go with you I'm a dead man. There is no way you can protect me. You'll be killed trying. There are much more lethal things than prison, you'll find."

"I'll see that you are put in protective custody, then. At least..."

Wagner cut Wilters off once more. He walked to a desk and pulled a gray computer disk from one of its drawers.

"This can have me killed."

Wilters stared in amazement. It was the missing disk taken from Agent Walston.

"Agent Walston's disk! You have it!"

"I've always had it," Wagner admitted. "The truth of the matter is that he's never had it. I switched the disks before he retrieved the one he has -had- now."

Wagner became grave.

"This disk contains the names of everyone I have done business with and this frightens Parava. I was hoping to get out of this business while I still can but the temptation to receive financial comfort from my now former employer was too great. Now I see I cannot go any further. Take this disk from me. I'll go quietly; I'll cause no trouble."

Wilters reached for the disk. As he touched it he felt a sting. He looked at his hand. A minute scratch developed.

Wagner laughed.

"You see, Constable Wilters, I cannot be brought in. I have too much to lose. My security, my life...so I've taken the liberty of preserving what I hold dear. The scratch you now have is infected with a little something I've been working on. It's quick and deadly, I'm afraid."

Wilters could not feel his strength being sapped but he could see the overgrowing darkness signaling his life coming to an end.

Ron climbed in the car with Gordan and Fraser.

"He's gone," Ron said worriedly. "You don't think that idiot has gone to get Wagner, do you?"

"There is only way to find out," Gordan said as he started his car. "Contact Stewart. Tell him to gather the others and meet us there."

Ron dialed the numbers on his cellular phone as Gordan raced to the Interstate.

Ron looked at Wilters' pale face. A stream of white vomit seeped out of the corner of his mouth and ran down the side of his face.

"He's dead," Ron concluded as he rose.

"Damn!" Gordan exclaimed.

"Wagner must have slipped him something while he wasn't looking," Ron supposed.

"Was that before or after he pumped a series of shotgun shells into Wagner's chest?" Gordan asked sardonically.

In the next room, Fraser examined the body of Wagner. He lay peacefully in carmine pools of his own blood.

"What do you think, Ben?" Gordan asked.

" Wagner has been shot at close range with a sawed-off shotgun. His watch stopped at 7:03 P.M. leading one to think that he killed Wilters first and was surprised by his assassin shortly thereafter."

"Alicia," Gordan offered.

"No,' Fraser countered, " a different assassin, perhaps not a professional."

"A local, then?"

"Not a professional," Fraser countered again. "The scene of the break-in, the tracks on the soil indicate an unsophisticated culprit, one who is used to breaking and entering but not murder and certainly not covering his tracks after such a crime. His brand of boots, it would appear, are seen in only one place..."

Before Fraser could finish his sentence, a rustling of leaves outside distracted Ron.

"Outside," he whispered and motioned Gordan and Fraser to the backdoor. Behind a small shrubbery, a figure moved stealthily trying to avoid capture. Ron reached for the doorknob. The tiniest movement was measured in the strictest decisiveness bearing in mind that the slightest noise or imbalance might thwart the hunter's plans for the hunted. Ron touched the doorknob and started to twist it slowly and noiselessly. Seconds were stretched out. Just as the crucial act of opening the door and ultimately surprising the prey was at hand, Stewart popped out of nowhere and surprised Ron.

"Do you think we should serve Peek Freans at the G7 conference later this month?" he asked at a very inappropriate time.

The prey, Alicia, sped away on foot.

"Oh, I see" said Stewart suddenly, " I've ruined your plans for a surprise attack. Not to worry."

On that note, Stewart ran out the front door and began to pursue Alicia. Fraser, Gordan and Ron followed.

Stewart, it was at a time noted, did not observe social conventions and customs. He met his wife at the Highland Games and decided once she had wrestled a 300 pound woman to the ground that he would marry her. He whiled the foggy Halifax evenings away by armwrestling with her. Needless to say, Stewart had no compuncture of clobbering a woman.

Stewart pounced on Alicia. She fell under his weight and tried to push him off of her.

"That being done" he muttered to himself proudly.

He spoke to soon. Alicia punched him. She ran to her car but before she could open the door she was struck from behind. Elaine pulled her back from her car and struck her. Alicia struck back over and over until it appeared that Elaine would succumb. Elaine immediately headbutted Alicia. Alicia did not recoil in pain or even notice that she had been struck.

"Amateur!" she snipped and headbutted Elaine in reprisal. She then got into her car and sped away.

Alex jumped out his car and fired his revolver at her. The bullets hit the rear window.

Fraser lifted Elaine from her pain-induced stupor.

"She got away," she said as she grasped her head in pain.

"Not if we can help it. Come on."

Fraser and Elaine got into Alex's car.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked urgently.

"I'm going to finish this for once and for all," Fraser panted finally.

"Let me join you," Ron grinned and jumped in.

Alex and Simon hopped in as well.

Fraser punched the gas and cruised down the Interstate. Alicia looked in the rearview mirror constantly. A few seconds later, a glare of headlights and the screech of brakes signaled that the hunt for the fugitive as on. Alicia went faster. She went left sharply racing down the Interstate. Fraser followed her every move and matched it. He drove up along side her and pushed the car into hers. She pushed back harder. Up ahead, a tanker truck filled with petroleum ambled its way down the road. Alicia tried to stop but instead swerved and ran into the side of the tanker. Fraser could not brake quickly enough. He tailspinned and went off the side of the road, a mere couple of metres from the tanker.

The driver of the truck stepped out. Once he saw the gaping hole Alicia's car had left he ran into the darkness.

Alicia stepped out of her car, dazed. The front end of the tanker was twisted and bent. A rupture at the side spewed forth petroleum at a disturbing rate.

Fraser peeled himself from the dashboard. He looked at the passenger seat where Elaine was sitting. She was slightly disoriented but without injury. Knowing that, he stepped out of the wrecked car and walked over to Alicia. Alicia tried to strike Fraser but he caught her wrist and held it firmly. She struck again but was subdued. Ron and Alex extricated themselves from the car. They pulled Simon out and backed away from it.

"You probably think I killed Wagner," she vented through clenched teeth, "I wish I had but I didn't."

Alicia fingered a piece of jagged glass from the windshield. In a second, she broke off a piece and tried to slash Fraser. Elaine bolted on Alicia. She shook the piece of glass from her hand and, with a graceful arc, headbutted Alicia into submission. Elaine was proud. But Alicia would not surrender so soon. She pulled her gun from the driver's seat of her car and aimed it at Elaine.

"Benton, how would you feel if I shot your woman? Maybe even the tank?" She laughed. "I bet you wished you kept that match I gave you!"

Fraser's nimble fingers lifted out a small stick of wood from his breastpocket. Alicia stared in horror. He had kept the matchstick from so long ago. All eyes were on Fraser. In his fingers held the Damocles Dagger that could send them all to hell (or Heaven- depending on how good the parties involved were). Tension gripped the three men who were only metres away from inevitable destruction. Fraser flung Elaine from his person, ignoring her pleading brown eyes. He struck the match with a fatal, prophetic resonance on his badge. He held it aloof. Alicia waved her hands desperately. Ron could only stare in horror. He will do it, he thought.

*the author of this story, though they have outstayed their welcome in this regard, would like to state that dropping a lit match in a pool of any explosive fluid is a very bloody stupid thing to do.*

"Oh sh-" he uttered.

The match dropped. Fraser grabbed Elaine and pulled her closer to him. A mere second after, an orange ball consumed the lot in a fiery greatness.

CHAPTER SIX (PART ONE)

Ron woke up to see that his pants were on fire. He slapped the flames out with his hands. His clothes were burnt, as were Alex's and Simon's. Alex and Simon regained consciousness. Their uniforms were nearly blown to shreds. Their hair stood frighteningly on edge. Realizing that they had cheated death, they embraced each other.

But Ron did not celebrate. The fire still burned. Fraser and Elaine could not have survived the blast. He bowed his head and beat the ground forcelessly with his fists.

A car braked. Gordan stepped out and slapped his head in disbelief.

"Holy Calgary!" he cried.

Bess ran out of the car.

"Ben! Ben!" she cried.

Ron restrained her.

"Bess, listen to me," he pleaded, "It doesn't look like your brother made it. I'm sorry"

Bess was distraught. She broke free from Ron's embrace.

Another car drove up to the scene. Ray, with his arm in a sling, stepped out. Huey remained in the car, too stunned to believe what he saw.

"Jeez Murphy!" he swore. "What the hell happened?! It looks like Ben pulled an Angus Fraser!"

The area was blackened; trees were blown down, smoke wafted heavily in the air and fires still raged. Nothing and no one could have survived the devastation.

Stewart looked ineffectual.

"May be he jumped before the tanker exploded. He could still be alive."

Ray spun his head at Stewart.

"Are you kidding? We're gonna be peeling him off the trees for months!"

Ray didn't realize what he had just said. He didn't want to admit for a single moment that he would be living the rest of his life without his best friend.

More and more cars drove up. Curious voyeurs, TV crews, cameramen all wanted to see the hand of destruction in full force.

"Oh, cripes!" Gordan muttered.

The last thing he wanted to see was this - eager news reporters and their ambitious entourage lining up to see the death of an officer and friend.

He walked by Alex and Simon.

"Look presentable. Straighten your ties."

Alex and Simon no longer had ties but that was beside the point.

Gordan presented himself to a redheaded newswoman and explained the situation. She naturally wanted to see the next-of-kin and possibly even a shot of the charred body providing it could ever be recovered. Cameramen went as close as they could to the burning wreckage.

Amid the smoke, shadows rose from the acrid flames. As the shadows moved closer their figures could be more defined. A woman walked beside a man. The man carefully fit a Stetson around his head. They walked further away from the fire. Fraser and Elaine had won.

No one could believe it. Least of all Ray.

"I am convinced that this family is from Krypton."

Fraser and Elaine looked terrible despite having survived. Their clothes were tattered and hung loosely from their bodies. Smoke stains covered their bare skin. They approached the waiting news groups. The microphones and cameras were prepped to hear their shocking stories.

When Fraser reached the reporters he stood silently. They anticipated his first words. He opened his mouth and blew smoke on the microphones. Excitedly, the news groups recorded and played back that single moment.

Bess ran to him and embraced him.

"I thought you were dead."

"For a while I thought so, too. The trick is to..."

Stewart cut Fraser off.

"I just spoke to Major Abworthy on the cellular phone. He has nothing but praise for you, Ben. He is, however, eager to know how the explosion happened."

Ron backed away instantly and whistled an unhappy tune.

Gordan laughed.

"Well, that's simple. Alicia started the fire. Didn't she?"

Alex and Simon became silent.

Gordan stared at Fraser aghast.

"Ben, please say you didn't do all of this. Please."

"I didn't," Fraser said.

Gordan let out a sigh of relief.

"But I did."

Gordan slapped his head.

"Oh, jeez, Ben! I told not to tell me. Do you know what this means? Do the words immediate dismissal mean anything to you?"

"Well," Fraser admitted, "they do sound rather dismal but I am sure that once Major Abworthy hears the whole story he will understand."

Bess made her way through the smoke and burnt wreckage. It was amazing that anyone survived the inferno. Bess threw jagged pieces of metal aside. When she picked up one sheet, she saw two pair of blackened army boots. She picked them up and scrutinized the ashened lace-ups and thick soles. I have to get me a pair of these, she thought.

Fraser stood at attention in his crisp red tunic. Major Abworthy and his assistant, Sergeant Levensky, stared down on him. Their trip to the consulate was all but enjoyable especially under the circumstances.

Major Abworthy stroked his white mustache.

"Constable Fraser, in all my time in the police force I have never heard of a situation where one was forced to cause an explosion because, in your words, the suspect needed to die."

"Yes, sir."

Sgt. Levensky glared at him. His shade of unnaturally blond hair reflected light from the sun.

"It is my opinion," Levensky rasped, " that you be drummed posthaste out of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The force has no place for unorthodox rapscallions like you."

Levensky stepped forward and came mere centimetres from Fraser.

"You are fired, Constable Fraser, or should I now say, Mr. Fraser. You are a joke. Your whole clan is a joke. Your devotion to duty is as noteworthy as your predilection to, to use a colloquialism, screw things up."

Fraser bit on his lip.

"Permission to speak candidly, sir."

"Of, course."

"I never did like your hair. I always felt that colour was unnatural."

Levensky fumed.

"Get out!"

Fraser sauntered out of the office. Gordan rose to meet him.

"He fired me, Gordan."

"Again?"

Elaine, who had accompanied Gordan to the consulate, became angry.

"They have no right to do this to you, Ben," she said.

"Apparently, they do," he resigned.

"Well, let's see how far they can get with this," Gordan clamoured and barged in the office.

Abworthy and Levensky looked at Gordan. They disliked his insolence in this matter. Elaine followed him.

"Major Abworthy, Sergeant Levensky, I have known Constable Fraser for twelve years. Not only is he the finest officer to don the uniform of the R.C.M.P., he is also very good at the hammer toss, which is kind of irrelevant right now. I am requesting urgently that you reinstate him."

Levensky laughed.

"The likelihood of that is very slim, Leftenent."

Elaine scowled.

"Sir, Constable Fraser saved my life and a countless number of other lives."

"His heroism is commendable, Miss.."

"Besbriss. Officer Besbriss."

"Officer Besbriss. But we can't allow this recklessness, can we?"

Elaine smirked.

"Sir, you're not from Chicago."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning if we observed all the niceties in the police etiquette book we would never get anywhere. Isn't your motto "We always get our man"?"

Abworthy looked astonished.

"Actually, it is "Maintain the right" but I see your point.

Bring Fraser in here."

Fraser came into the office.

"Consider yourself reinstated, though put in check," Abworthy beamed.

Levensky frowned.

"But sir?"

"But nothing, Sergeant."

Fraser, Gordan and Elaine left the consulate for the 27 precinct.

Ray sat at his desk, waiting for news.

Fraser walked along side of Elaine.

"Well?" Ray asked.

"Well what, Ray?"

"Well what happened?"

"They fired me and then rehired me."

"So you're not angry. You've been shafted, for crying out loud. Don't you feel a little mad, at least?"

Fraser shook his head.

"Ray," Fraser said smugly, "I am only glad that I am able to continue work."

Fraser picked up the phone on Ray's desk and dialed a number.

"Hello. Is this Dan MacAshley's Bagpipe Service? Yes, I was wondering if you are familiar with Lord Lovat's March? Oh, you are. Good. I have this colleague who has trouble sleeping. Could you please go to the Hilton on Regent Street, Room #2134, at 3 AM? The name is Levensky. Yes. Thank you kindly."

CHAPTER SIX (PART TWO)

The shipyard was barren with the exception of Roger Wills who stood on the oil-stained gravel. Under his long black wool coat, a wire and tape recorder were placed in his shirt. He was nervous. The balmy spring air breezed past his face.

Alex hid in the rafters of the warehouse in his tactical suit. He cocked his Remington .243 rifle and aimed for Roger.

"How's it looking?" he spoke to Ray in his earpiece.

"Looking pretty good. I've got the east end covered," Ray replied.

"And the game?" Alex quizzed.

"The Inuvik Racers are leading two to one but the Eagles will come back."

"You want to bet on that?"

"Simon to Alex. Are you set?"

"Yes, I am, little brother."

"Huey?'

Huey sat in his car across from the shipyard. He resented being called Huey.

"All quiet on the western front," he said in his mouth piece.

"Wait! I see a car. Parava has arrived."

Simon made himself obscure in the rafters of the warehouse.

Below, Parava approached Roger. A small group of tough-looking men joined him.

"Your ship awaits, Mr.Parava," Roger said devoid of expression.

Mr. Parava smiled. He took out a wad of dollar bills and handed them to Roger.

"Your money, Mr. Wills," Parava smiled. "You'll get the rest when I get my merchandise."

With that in agreement, they sauntered over to a huge rusty vessel and climbed in.

Fraser, in a lumberjack coat and a toque, rolled a barrel to the side of the ship.

"Parava is now aboard," he whispered.

"You!" Roger called. "Take us to the holding tank."

Ron lead the group of men to the holding tank. He picked up a crowbar and cracked open a crate full of straw. He threw the straw on the floor and removed a kilo of cocaine.

Parava was very pleased. He lifted his gaze from the cocaine and looked at Ron suspiciously.

"You look very familiar," he noted.

Parava turned to Roger.

"Who is this man? Where did you find him?"

"He's just a local," Roger said nervously.

"No he's not!" Parava screamed. "Pig!"

Parava's men pulled out their guns and aimed at Ron. Ron jumped out of the holding tank and onto the floor. He ran down the galley.

"Guys! In case you haven't heard, they're on to us!"

"Bring them out into the open," Alex said, "we'll take care of them."

Parava's men chased Ron down the galley, firing their guns intermittently Once on deck, Fraser picked up a mallet and hurled it at one man. He fell unconscious. Ron picked off another and began to fight with him, as well.

Parava's other men took Parava to their waiting cars. Alex fired his rifle and skinned one of them. He cocked it again and fired.

Parava's man fired his Berretta. Alex fell from the rafters onto a stack of tarpaulin-covered crates.

"Alex!" Simon screamed. He left his post and ran to his brother.

Alex was bleeding quite badly.

"I'm hurt," Alex sputtered, "but it's a good kind of hurt. Tell Ma that I love her, tell Aunt Madge that I'm sorry about last Christmas. I didn't know that carpet was so flammable. Tell Dad...tell Dad I'm sorry I spilled the paint in the garage."

Alex closed his eyes.

"I'm coming Grandma!"

Stewart climbed up on the crates.

"The bullet went clean through his arm. He'll live."

"Do you still want me to tell the folks all that?" Simon asked tearfully.

"NO, you don't have to tell them."

Ray fired his gun at Parava's car.

"They're heading for the airfield," he said and climbed into his car.

Simon agreed to stay behind with Alex. The second phase of the mission was nearly complete. The axe would soon come down.

Parava's car braked at the air field. He and his men rushed into the waiting airplane. They slumped into their seats, unsatisfied that they had lost their merchandise. Now they only wanted to get away.

Ron and Gordan held the levers in their hands with great, sadistic confidence. Gordan picked up the microphone and began to speak.

"Good afternoon, everybody, and thank you for flying Air Gordan. Our destination today is to the Area 7 holding cell in the city of Chicago and finally on to Vancouver for incarceration, trial and conviction. Our stewardesses, Stewart and Ray, will be happy to serve you, serve you your rights, that is, and the Frasereseses will detain until such time as the Chicago P.D. will take over. Until then, enjoy your flight and thank you once more for flying Air Gordan."

Ron issued a thumbs-up gesture to Gordan. Ron noticed a glaring red light.

"Oh my God!" Ron cried,"It's the fuel light! We're all gonna die!"

"No, no," Gordan shook his head, "that's the intercom light."

The plane flew soundly over Chicago.

EPILOGUE

Back at the precinct, Fraser helped Ron shift boxes from the office. Their mission done, the team were headed back up North. Parava was being flown back to Vancouver later on in the afternoon. The Inuvik Racers won the Stanley Cup in a defeating swoop over the Eagles. A night of raucous cheering and many cases of Scotch later, the Mounties had settled down and fallen into the rhythm of packing up.

Bess shook Ray's hand.

"Ray, I can't begin to thank you enough."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged.

"I'll make sure you have what's coming to you," she said.

Ray moved closer to her.

"Really?"

Bess nodded.

"Mummy!"

A little boy, no older than three, ran up to Bess. She lifted him and hugged him.

"Ray, I would like you to meet my son, Rory."

Ray stared at her in disbelief.

"You have a son?"

"Yes," Bess said plainly.

Ron spotted Rory and swept him away from Bess.

Bess laughed.

"Didn't you know that I was married?"

Ray tried to laugh.

"Of course, I did."

Ron called for Bess. It was time to leave.

"When will I see you again?" Fraser asked.

"I'll see you, Ben."

Bess started to walk out the door when she turned around to face Ray.

"Don't wait up," was all she said.

Ray frowned. His heart was crushed under the weight that was Bess, good and true.

"You never told me you had a nephew,' Ray whimpered.

"You never asked," Fraser answered.

And so it was that the two friends went their way with saying so little for so much.