Mickey Kostmayer was still tired. He had just returned from his last assignment yesterday and after McCall had dropped him off at home he had sacked out for almost 12 hours. It had been a routine assignment--that is as routine as his usually were--but it had been long. Control sent him when they needed that extra bit of craziness that they credited him with. One of the local police officers, Lt. Ferraro, had said he was "like a loose grenade with no pin."

Michael (Mickey) Kostmayer was an agent with the Central Intelligence Agency. He was slightly under six feet, with broad shoulders tapering down to lean hips. His reddish brown hair was cut fairly short, but still long enough to occasionally fall in his eyes. He was in his early thirties, and had been with the Agency for quite a while. He wondered if he would make it as long as his friend Robert McCall. McCall had finally, after over 20 years of being an agent, quit and became a "private citizen". Now he went around helping people, occasionally with help from Mickey and other friends. Mickey didn't have very many close friends--their line of work didn't encourage close friendships--but McCall was his closest. They had shared many assignments before Robert retired and now they still worked together whenever McCall called.

He had spent the afternoon doing the usual "just getting back to town" errands and now he was heading to Brooklyn to meet his brother, Nick, who was a priest at St. Christina Church. He was looking forward to a quiet dinner and relaxing evening with Nick. He needed the relaxation.

He hadn't seen much of Nick since that affair with Solidarity. Of course Nick was always in town, but he'd been in and out of town so much recently. He felt closer to Nick ever since he had realized Nick had more guts than he had ever given him credit for--although not a whole lot of sense--by going after that group by himself to stop an assassination attempt on the Russian Ambassador.

Traffic was at a standstill, as usual at rush hour, so Mickey paid off the cab driver and decided to walk the rest of the way to the church where his brother worked. As he walked, he was remembering the times he and Nick had had growing up. Nick had been right when he said Mickey liked to fight his brother's battles.

He had just turned into the church's courtyard to go around to the side entrance that led to the parish offices when some sixth sense warned him of danger--a glint of light where there shouldn't be one--but the realization was too late. Almost simultaneous with the warning, the bullet hit him in the left shoulder and spun him around. No sound of a shot... must have a silencer... professional... All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he hit the ground and rolled under cover. He lay there listening, giving himself a few seconds to recover.

The courtyard walls cut out the sounds from the street and the silence was ominous. He ventured a quick look around, but saw no one. No one else had been in the courtyard, which wasn't surprising since it was rarely used. He continued to wait, all-the-while with thoughts running through his mind... This guy was waiting for me... Who knew where I was going to be... How'd he know I'd come through the courtyard... Someone knew a lot about his movements and that thought suggested "Agency".

After about five minutes he decided that the assailant had left. Cautiously he started to stand up, but ready to drop again at the first sign of movement. Nothing. He headed towards the gate at the back of the courtyard. He'd have to get out of sight as soon as possible and look at that shoulder. He also needed to find a phone and call Nick to cancel dinner. He wasn't about to drag his brother into this--that sounded familiar, Nick hadn't wanted his help either, before--and if he just didn't show up, Nick would come looking for him.

He couldn't go to any of his usual safe houses. The Agency knew where they all were. Maybe he'd be better off right where he was. He could get into the church basement and hide there while he planned his next move. If he remembered correctly from when he had been helping Nick work down there a few months ago there was even a phone. He could call Nick from there.

The basement had the usual damp, musty smell and it was cold, but it would do for a short while. First thing is to stop this bleeding, Mickey thought as he looked around for some rags or towels. He found the custodian's office. There were some rags in a box in the corner. They weren't sterile, but at least they were clean. The phone was there too.

His left arm hung numb and useless at his side and his shoulder hurt like hell. After what seemed like an eternity of struggling, he got his jacket and then his sweater off. Now he could see the wound. The bullet was still in his shoulder and it didn't look too good. He would need medical help before too long.

Using the rags he had found, he managed to make several compresses and applied pressure to the wound. Finding a comfortable place to sit, he just rested until he got the bleeding stopped.

He looked at his watch--six thirty. Nick had expected him a half-hour ago. As he stood up to go to the phone, the room started spinning and he abruptly sat down again. After a short period of nausea, he tried again, but this time moved much slower. The dizziness was there, but not as severe. He reached the phone and dialed Nick's extension.

"Father Kostmayer. May I help you?"

"Nick, sorry I'm late, but I'm going to have to cancel. Something's come up. I can't talk now, but I'll call in a few days and we'll have dinner next week sometime. See you later." Mickey had barely hung up the phone when he sank to the floor.

* * * *

Father Nicholas Kostmayer stared at the phone in his hand. Well, that was short! He was somewhat used to Mickey's abrupt changes in plans, but something didn't sound right. True, Mickey rarely explained things, but he usually didn't just say he couldn't make it and hang up. Since dinner was canceled, he decided to stay and finish what he was working on; but, maybe, he would go by Mickey's place later, just to check.

* * * *

It was about midnight when Mickey came to. He managed to get to the sink and splash some cold water on his face. That helped a little, but he realized he needed help and needed it now. The only person he felt he could trust right then was McCall.

He reached the phone and started dialing McCall's number when he realized that it was one of those in-house extensions that was not connected to an outside line. Somehow he would have to get to McCall's apartment and do it without being seen. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass of the door. If he went anywhere looking like that he would definitely not be inconspicuous.

An hour later, looking a lot better than he felt, he left the church. The street was deserted; this part of Brooklyn not being a major night spot. He would probably not find a cab cruising around within a mile of the church, so he started walking.

He stuck to the alleys and dim lit streets, constantly surveying the area for signs of anyone following him. He hadn't seen anyone when he went into the church earlier, but that didn't mean someone couldn't have seen him and waited for him to come out again. No one, it was almost as if the whole world was asleep--it probably was in that part of town.

He was in no condition to travel very fast--in fact, he was in no condition to travel at all. But since he hadn't found a cab yet, he had no choice. After he had gotten away from the church, he had found a pay phone and tried to call McCall, but there had been no answer, just that infernal answering machine, and he didn't want to leave a message on it.

He told McCall later that he didn't remember very much about how he finally got to the apartment. He had eventually gotten a cab and it was close to four-thirty when Mickey finally stopped it a few blocks from McCall's brownstone. He spent twenty minutes scouting the area and watching to make sure no one else was watching the building. There was a light in the window of McCall's third floor apartment; hopefully that meant McCall was in and still up. Finally, satisfied he wouldn't be spotted, he headed towards the building. Getting past that well-lit doorway would be the tricky part, but he had his lock pick ready and was able to open the door and get inside in a matter of seconds. He watched out the door for a few minutes to make sure no one had seen him, then headed up the stairs.

* * * *

Sometimes McCall thought he was getting too old for this business. Getting in at four o'clock, after an all night surveillance affected him more than he cared to admit. The man he had been following must not have eaten at all last night because he never stopped anywhere long enough to; which meant Robert hadn't had time to eat either. But, he had gotten the information he needed and the job was finally finished. When he got home, he decided he was more hungry than tired so he fixed himself breakfast. Now, with his hunger finally satisfied, he was starting to get ready for bed when he heard a cautious knock at his door.

He went to his desk and got out the automatic he kept there. It could possibly be one of his neighbors out there, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Any other legitimate visitors would ring up from outside. He edged up to the door quietly so he could look out the peep hole without alerting whoever it was out there that he was even near the door. At first glance he didn't see anyone, then he saw Kostmayer leaning against the wall.

"Kostmayer. What are you doing here this time of morning," he asked as he opened the door to let Mickey in. "Do you realized it's only..." He stopped short as he took in Mickey's condition and the spreading blood stain on Mickey's jacket where the wound had started to bleed again.

Now that he was finally at McCall's, all of Mickey's strength just seemed to fade away. He would have fallen if Robert had not caught him as he came in the door. McCall half carried Mickey to the back bedroom and got him on the bed.

"Mickey, what happened?"

"Can't you see I got shot." Mickey wasn't talking very rationally. He looked all in and he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Well, I'm going to call an ambulance and get you to hospital," Robert said, then headed toward the kitchen.

That reached Mickey. He shouted frantically, "NO. No, you can't."

McCall came back into the room. Mickey was struggling to get up, to try to stop McCall from reaching the phone. Robert gently pushed him back down on the bed and replied, "Alright, I won't call right now." Then when Mickey had calmed down asked, "Why?"

Mickey looked a little more alert, but it was several minutes before he seemed to get the strength to answer. "No hospital, Robert. You can take the bullet out. You've taken bullets out of me before."

"Only because there was no other help around."

"Robert, bullet wounds have to be reported. If I went to a doctor, the Agency would find me. At least this one isn't one of those new Russian 545 bullets."

McCall stared at his friend for a minute. What kind of trouble was Mickey in? Although Mickey hadn't said anything yet about what had happened, McCall somehow he got the feeling that Mickey didn't know. Well, he'd been in that position himself, and not that long ago. Ok, McCall, if you're going to do it, do it.

He headed to the bathroom to see what medical supplies he had. He hoped he wouldn't have to go out. It would be difficult to find a store open that time of morning, and he didn't want to leave Mickey alone till he got that shoulder taken care of.

He was just finishing bandaging Mickey's shoulder when the phone rang. A quick glance as he left the room assured him that Mickey was resting peacefully.

"Robert, have you seen Kostmayer?" McCall recognized Control's voice, and it didn't sound friendly.

"Hello to you too, Control. What's Kostmayer done now?"

"Don't stall Robert, just yes or no."

Remembering Mickey's fear of the Agency finding him, McCall lied without a trace of hesitation. "No. But I'll ask again, what's he done?"

"What makes you think he's done something?"

"Come on, Control. You don't usually need to look for someone unless he's purposely dropped out of sight. You always know where your people are. Never mind ringing me up at 5:30 in the morning looking for him."

"I can't tell you, Robert. But if you see him, tell him to come in and we'll work it out."

Yes, I'm sure you would, in the usual agency way too, I bet, he thought as he heard Control hang up.

* * * *

McCall had left Mickey sleeping an hour earlier and had gone looking for Jimmy or other agency friends to find out if they knew anything about what was going on. Jimmy was the first one he found. He was having breakfast at one of his usual hangouts.

"Good morning, Jimmy," McCall said as he came in and sat next to him. "Coffee," he said to the waitress. Then he turned to Jimmy, "How are you this morning?"

"Not to good. Saw my wife, ex-wife I mean, last night. How 'bout you?"

"I need some information. Has anything hit the street about Kostmayer being in trouble?"

"Yea," Jimmy answered. He waited until the waitress had poured McCall's coffee. "The rumor is that something leaked and Kostmayer was the only one outside of Control's office that knew the info. And he dropped out of sight right after it happened."

"And when was that?"

"Yesterday, late afternoon, I think."

McCall started thinking. That bullet had been in Mickey's shoulder for quite a while before he had reached McCall's apartment that morning. Possibly since late yesterday afternoon. Mickey had probably been shot then and had dropped out of sight until he could figure out who was doing the shooting. Classic frame, but it had to be an inside job to have been timed so perfectly. He wondered if Control would listen to him. Obviously the agency didn't know about Mickey's condition, and there was probably a red alert out on Kostmayer already. Actually, the red alert was automatic if an agent dropped out for more than 48 hours--unless there was evidence otherwise to shorten that time; so possibly he still had 36 hours. "Thank you, Jimmy. Let me know if you hear anything else."

McCall spent the rest of the morning checking with other agency friends and a few information "brokers" he knew. But they couldn't tell him anymore than Jimmy had. McCall finally decided he wouldn't find out any more information, so he headed back to the apartment to see if Mickey was awake yet.

* * * *

"Will that be all, Sir?" Carl Weber asked as he placed the file Control had asked for on the desk.

Control looked at his new assistant. Since the incident with John Fermann, his last assistant, he realized he had unconsciously been keeping Weber at a distance, not really trusting him. Weber had good recommendations and had been with the agency for four years, not field material, but definitely the higher administration type. Was it just what had happened with Fermann or was there something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"No, that'll be fine, thank you. You can go ahead to lunch. See you later," he replied absently. Control sat at his desk staring. He'd had reports coming in all morning of McCall asking questions about Kostmayer. Well, he's probably heard the story by now--even though it was unsubstantiated, the rumor was basically correct. Robert, I hope you can come up with some answers.

* * * *

McCall got back to his apartment around noon. Mickey was still asleep when he came into the room, but it didn't look like he was resting as peacefully as before. MaCall felt his forehead, it was warm, a slight fever had set in. He'd have to watch that; without proper hospital care, the possibility of infection increased.

"Mickey. Wake up."

"Helloo, McCall," Mickey answered as one eye opened slightly.

"Come on, Mickey, wake up. We have to talk, now."

"I'm awake..." murmured Mickey as both eyes closed again and he started to fall back asleep.

"NOW, Kostmayer." McCall's stern voice finally cut through the haze in Mickey's mind. He started to sit up, then the pain in his shoulder hit him and he fell back. Momentary confusion narrowed his eyes as he looked around, then it all came back to him.

"How are you feeling?" McCall asked.

"I'll live. How long have I been out?" This time he moved a little slower as McCall helped him to a half sitting position. Boy, does that shoulder hurt!

"About six hours. Mickey, tell me what happened."

"I don't know. I was about to meet Nick for dinner, when this shot came out of nowhere. But it wasn't a random shooting. Whoever it was, was waiting for me and knew where I'd be."

McCall came to the same conclusion as Mickey had earlier. Only the Agency usually kept that close of tabs on its people. That, along with what he had learned earlier, tended to support his theory that Mickey was being set up and by someone inside the Agency. The big question was who or why. Find out either of those and it would lead to the other.

"I talked to Jimmy and a couple of others. They said the word is out that you gave out some top secret information, which was suppose to have happened at the same time someone was taking pot shots at you."

"Mmm, nice timing. What info?"

"They didn't know, but it was limited access information, so that will narrow down the list of suspects. We need Control's help. First we have to find out what the information was and then work out a list of everyone who had access to it."

"Do you think Control will help?"

"I don't know..." McCall answered. He stood up and headed towards the door. "I'll go see him this afternoon. Right now, how about some lunch, then you go back to sleep?"

* * * *

After lunch, McCall headed out in his black Jaguar. First he checked in with Jimmy again to see if he had come up with anything new, but he hadn't. The only other resource left was Control. He turned the Jaguar towards the Agency.

It always gave him a restless feeling when he came back. He hated what his years at the agency had done to him, the kind of man he had to become to do his job. But it had been an important part of his life, had always taken first priority. Even now Control could usually talk him into helping out once in a while. Now it was Control's turn to help him... again.

When he entered Control's outer office, the secretary greeted him with a smile. "Hello, Robert. He's been expecting you. He told me to send you right in when you got here."

He nodded to her, then entered Control's office without knocking. Control was at his desk, going over a file with a man McCall didn't know. Control looked up as he entered.

"About time. Actually, I expected you sooner."

"I've been busy."

"Yes, I know. I've had reports coming in all morning." Control turned to the man at the side of his desk. "This is Carl Weber, my new assistant. Carl, Robert McCall."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Weber said as he extended his hand. "I've heard a lot about you." Robert studied the man as they shook hands. He was an nondescript looking man, medium height, in his late thirties.

"That will be all, Carl. Go ahead and get started on that and we'll finish it later." Weber went out of the office and closed the door behind him. Control turned to McCall and asked, "OK Robert, out with it. You want something."

"You know bloody well what I want."

"You're right. You want to know about Kostmayer. I'll tell you what I can, but it doesn't go any further than this room. Tell me what you've heard so far."

"I heard that Kostmayer is suspected of leaking information. I don't believe it and I bloody well don't think you believe it either. What was the information he allegedly gave away."

"I can't give you that, neither should Kostmayer. It's top secret. But if you let me talk to him, I'll let him know what it was and between the two of us we can come up with a list of people who had access."

"You think I know where Kostmayer is?"

"Yes. Not once this morning while you were talking with my people did you ask where they thought Kostmayer might be hiding--which means, you already knew where he was." Control studied his friend for a minute. "Don't worry, I won't ask you if you already knew where he was when you talked to me this morning."

Comes with the territory, McCall thought, lying to your friends. Oh, what this business does to us. "I'll have him call you."

"Robert, be careful. I don't believe Kostmayer did it, but we have to convince the boys upstairs and we need proof and the guilty person to do that. I can only help unofficially; the official investigation is going after Kostmayer."

"Unofficial. Isn't that the only way you usually help me."

"By the way, Jason Masur is heading the investigation team," Control said as he led Robert to the door and then shook hands. He slipped a piece of paper into McCall's hand. "Good luck, Robert."

McCall didn't answer, but a quick glance passed between them as Robert left. He waited till he got to his car to read the paper. It was a list of seven names. Five of them were agency people, including Control's and Kostmayer's names. The other two were Senators who worked closely with the Agency. After Mickey talked to Control, he would be able to complete the list from his side of whatever operation the information had come from.

* * * *

Earlier, on his way out of Control's office, Carl Weber casually asked the secretary if she knew what kind of car McCall drove. She told him a black Jaguar.

Weber entered his office and immediately made a phone call. "Get over here now, and I mean within the next five minutes. There will be a man, name of Robert McCall, leaving in a few minutes. He'll be driving a black Jaguar. Follow him, he could lead you to your target." After Weber hung up he went over to the door that connected his office to Control's and listened.

After McCall had left he made another call, this time to Jason Masur. "I just got a tip that Kostmayer might be calling Control sometime this afternoon. Maybe you can trace the call."

"Thanks, we'll rig it," Masur answered.

* * * *

McCall was just a block from the agency when he picked out the tail-- the usually brown sedan with two men in it. He had expected it after his visit to the Agency. Control would have no choice--he wouldn't order it, but he couldn't stop Masur from ordering it. When he noticed the second tail, he wasn't really surprised. What did surprise him was that he hadn't been expecting it; but it made sense. If whoever was behind this was at the Agency, he would have found out about McCall's visit, and since it was well known that he and Kostmayer were close friends, would assume McCall knew where Mickey was.

He played cat and mouse with them for a little while but then decided it was time to lose both of them. He would have liked to turn the tables on the second tail, but to do it right took advanced planning. He'd get Jimmy to help him prepare a little surprise tomorrow, if necessary, then "arrange" to pick up the tail again.

He was sure the other two in the brown sedan were agency men and they would know his address, so all they had to do when he lost them was go to his apartment and wait for him. What he had to do was make them think that he had gone to see Kostmayer during the time they had lost him, so they wouldn't suspect he was right under their noses at McCall's apartment. Although he had a few safe houses the Agency didn't know about (he was pretty sure they didn't), Mickey was too ill to be left alone for more than a few hours, so McCall's apartment was the best place for him to stay.

To make his bluff work he needed to wait at least an hour before he went back to the apartment, so he decided to go by Mickey's house and pick up some of Mickey's files they could use for cross-checking the names on the list. There was one man watching the house when McCall got there, and he looked very bored--looking as if he figured he was wasting his time, that home would be the last place Kostmayer would go. McCall knew he could get inside without being seen. He didn't want this guy to get together with the other two agents who had been following him and realize McCall had not gone to meet Kostmayer.

After double checking to make sure there was only the one surveillance in front, McCall was able to slip in from the back. He went straight to the study where he knew Mickey kept most of his papers. Although not a very good housekeeper, Mickey was meticulous with his files. He kept whatever unclassified records he could of his assignments in a locked file cabinet in his weapons arsenal, which was located behind a false wall in the study closet. Although McCall didn't have the combination to the arsenal, the fact that he knew where it was made it fairly easy to get into; and it was easy enough to get into the file cabinet.

McCall glanced through the files, but realized without the complete list of suspects to cross-check with, there was little he could do with them now. He bound them into a package to take with him, then took a few minutes to look around the study. He stood staring at the desk, feeling that something wasn't right--Mickey always left the items on top of his desk in certain positions so he could tell if anyone had searched it while he was out. McCall realized he was not first one to search Mickey's house. Someone else had been there and had rifled through the desk. Now instead of looking for anything of Mickey's that might have helped, he started looking for clues on who the intruder or intruders had been.

There was not much. It looked like there had only been one man--two men wouldn't have been as careful not to leave any evidence. The man was a professional; the moved items on top of the desk were the only evidence of his having been there, and he had almost gotten those back in the right places--almost, but not quite. Luckily he had not found the weapons closet and the files or else he might have destroyed them.

* * * *

Nick was still uneasy about his brother. He had a feeling something was wrong. He had gone by Mickey's house last night. His brother's car had been there but there was no sign of Mickey. Nick had parked his car up the street, so he'd gone back and waited around for about a half hour in case Mickey came home. Even though he wasn't an agent or anything like that, he couldn't help but see the other two men watching the house, and there was no way they could have missed seeing him. They didn't seem to be together; in fact, they were in such positions that they may not have even seen each other. Nick had managed to be between them and able to spot them both. Realizing that Mickey would easily spot the two men if he did come home--and therefore would turn around and leave before they could spot him--Nick decided it was no use to wait any longer and went home.

He had arrived at work early that morning and had been hoping to hear from Mickey all day. Now it was late afternoon and he still hadn't heard anything.

"Going to work another late night, Nick?" his superior asked as he stuck his head in the door. Nick nodded yes. "Well, don't work too late."

He didn't work as late as he had planned. He couldn't concentrate. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he was too uneasy to sit still anymore. It was only 7:00 when he locked the parish doors behind him and headed through the courtyard, but it was already dark. He would go get some dinner, maybe that would calm him down. He knew there was nothing he could do to find Mickey and he hated just waiting.

He was approaching the gate to the street when two men jumped him. Before he could react, they had his hands handcuffed, thrust a gag in his mouth, and were dragging him towards the alley. They shoved him into the back seat of a car and one of the men got in next to him. The other man got in the driver's seat. They didn't drive very far, only a few miles. The car pulled into an alleyway and stopped. The man in the back seat with Nick waved a gun and motioned for Nick to get out. The two men pushed him through a door and towards a chair in the middle of a large room.

"Sit down," the man with the gun said. Nick did as he was told. The other man came over and tied him to the chair.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Nick asked when the gag had been removed.

"My name is Weber and what I want is your brother." The second man started taking some pictures with a polaroid camera. "You are going to be the bait. These pictures my associate is taking will be delivered to your brother tomorrow morning and then he will come running."

The two men moved away from Nick and started talking. What am I going to do? Nick kept asking himself. He strained at the ropes, but they were too strong. He just had to think of something before morning. He couldn't let Michael walk into a trap.

Weber was heading to the door. "I'll be back in the morning, after I've made arrangements for these to be delivered. You stay here and watch him. Don't hurt him unless he tries to get away. We need our bait alive and fresh." Weber laughed as he went out.

The other man sat down at a table with his gun pointed at Nick. "If I hadn't missed killing your brother last night, this would have been over by now. But, actually, the boss man was kind of glad it worked out this way. He really didn't like the fact that he couldn't watch Kostmayer die with the original plan."

Now Nick knew what had happened to Mickey last night. He wondered if Mickey had been hurt or if this man had missed him totally. Nick couldn't figure out any way out of there--he knew it was going to be a long night, and all he could do was pray.

* * * *

McCall had left Mickey's house and gone straight back to the apartment. As he had expected, the two agency men in the brown sedan were waiting for him, but he ignored them as he went into the building.

"It's me, Mickey," McCall called when he entered the apartment, in case Kostmayer was awake. He entered the bedroom just as Mickey was reholstering the gun he had on the nightstand.

"Hello, McCall"

"I see you're looking better than at lunch time. Feel up to doing some work."

"I think so. What've you got?" Mickey replied.

"If the man we are looking for is at the Agency, it would follow that this is somehow connected to a past assignment. So, I stopped by your house and picked up these files.

"Have any trouble getting in?" Mickey asked jokingly.

"No, I didn't. Neither did someone else. You had a visitor search your place. Luckily he didn't find your files, though."

"Could you find out who it was?" Mickey asked.

"No, he was good. The items on your desk were just barely out of place. There was no other sign of his being there. I also fixed your phone to forward to Control's office. We can call your number and get Control, but they won't be able to trace it back here. Jimmy will go by later and disconnect it."

"I'll call Control now, then we can get to work on these files." McCall went and got an extension and brought it into the room, then went back to the kitchen. He poured himself a brandy, and orange juice for Mickey. It was only a three or four minutes later that Mickey called him back in.

"Got it. Good thing you rigged that phone forwarding. Masur got wind that I was going to call and had a trace set up. Control couldn't say much, but enough to let me know what the info was."

Robert handed the orange juice to Mickey, then picked up the files and pulled a chair up to the bed.

"Orange juice?"

"Drink it, and don't complain."

"Okay. So, let's see who Control has on his list." McCall handed the list to Mickey. "Oh, that's cute, Masur is on this list. Just what we need; he's investigating me and we're going to be investigating him. Let's see..." Mickey studied the list some more and then started writing down additional names. When he was done, there were six more names. "That makes thirteen; cross off me and Control and that leaves eleven names. Okay, let's start on those files."

Two hours later they were only halfway through. Mickey looked totally worn out, so McCall suggested a break for dinner and then for Mickey to get some rest while he finished going through the files. While McCall was fixing dinner, he checked to see if the agency men were still outside; they were. He didn't see anyone else though, so possibly his other tail didn't know where he lived.

When McCall returned to Mickey's room with dinner on a tray, he found him asleep. He decided to let Mickey sleep and took the tray back to the kitchen. He went back to check Mickey's shoulder and see if he still had a fever. He had seemed better during the afternoon, but it could have just been the flow of adrenalin while they were working. He still had a slight fever, but it didn't seem any higher. He checked Mickey's shoulder and it didn't look like it was becoming infected.

Mickey had really been worn out. He didn't even wake up when McCall rebandaged his shoulder. McCall went back to the kitchen and put Mickey's dinner in the refrigerator, he would reheat it later when Mickey woke up or when he woke him up to give him his medication.

He went back to the bedroom and brought all the files out to the living room. He took his dinner in and sat down to work, eating absently while he continued to go through the files. He didn't notice when the clock chimed eight o'clock, then nine, ten, eleven. It was midnight when he finally put down the last file. He had narrowed the list of suspects to four names.

He had found that Mickey had not come in contact with either of the senators in the past; four of the other agents he had worked with on this operation, he had never worked with before; and one of Control's staff had not been mentioned in any of Mickey's files. The four names left were Jason Masur, whom Mickey and McCall had both previously had run-ins with; Paul Jackson, an agent who had worked with Mickey twice before; another agent, Sachi Tai, who had worked with Mickey once the previous year; and, surprising, Carl Weber, whose own name had not been in the files, but an agent named John Weber had worked with Mickey four and a half years ago.

With the let down of adrenalin now that that part of the job was finished, McCall suddenly realized he had not had any sleep for 42 hours. It would do neither he nor Mickey any good for him to get worn out. He went in and woke up Mickey to give him his medication and see if he wanted anything to eat, but Mickey barely woke up enough to take the medication, then immediately went back to sleep. McCall decided it was time for him to do the same.

* * * *

McCall was up at seven the next morning. Mickey looked a little better after a full night's sleep. As they were eating breakfast, they discussed the four men whose names remained on their list.

"I don't know about Jason," Mickey said. "Sure we have our differences, and it's no secret we don't like each other, but I don't think he has any reason to go this far out to get me."

"I tend to agree with you," Robert replied. "How about these two agents you've worked with before." McCall handed Mickey the files on the three assignments which Mickey had worked with them on.

Mickey spent several minutes looking through the files. "These were fairly successful operations, they all went smoothly. I don't remember anything that happened that could have caused bad enough feelings for someone to frame me."

"That leaves this operation five years ago. Is there any possibility that Carl Weber is connected to this John Weber. What happened back then."

Mickey's face clouded as he remembered back. "It was a bad one, Robert. John Weber was killed, but not before he had almost gotten the rest of us killed... He sold us out." Mickey hesitated a moment, "I was the one that killed him."

McCall watched Mickey. He could tell there had been more to it than that, but he wouldn't pry. He just needed enough information to figure out what was happening now. "So, if Carl Weber is somehow connected to John Weber, then we would have a motive for what is happening now."

"I suppose so," Mickey answered.

"Let's see, it's almost nine o'clock. Control should be in his office. I'll head over there and check out Weber. You get some more rest. I'll be back before noon." McCall picked up the breakfast dishes and carried them to the kitchen, then started getting ready to leave. He checked on Mickey just before he left and saw he was already back asleep. I'll be glad to get you to hospital, Mickey, when this is all over, he thought as he went out the door.

* * * *

McCall stopped to see Jimmy and set up a trap for his second tail from the day before if he showed up again. Then, for the second time in two days, he headed for the Agency. This time Control was alone when he got there.

"What can you tell me about your new assistant, Carl Weber?" McCall asked of Control.

"What do you mean?" A sinking feeling hit Control as he looked at Robert. He knew he should have analyzed that feeling of distrust he had of Weber, instead of just writing it off as just being gun-shy after Fermann.

"Kostmayer and I have cross-checked everyone who had access to the information with his files of past assignments and came up with four names. Carl Weber was one of them. An agent named of John Weber was killed during an operation four and half years ago. Kostmayer was the one who killed him. Can you find out if there is any connection between them."

Control got on the phone. "Bring me Carl Weber's personnel file and everything you got on an agent name of John Weber who died four years ago." While they waited for the files, McCall filled Control in on the rest of the details of what had been happening the last two days. Control had not known that Mickey had been shot. Robert still didn't tell Control where Mickey was, just in case someone might overhear.

A clerk brought in Carl Weber's file five minutes later. They started looking through it. Weber had started working at the Agency four months after John Weber had been killed. He had advanced rapidly, always picking positions that had finally led to Control's office. His personal background data didn't show any connection with John Weber, but Control noted that Carl's background investigation had been done prior to his starting at the agency and hadn't been repeated. He had come highly recommended from another civil service job.

"If they are brothers, he could have lied to us, and since we didn't do his security clearance again, we wouldn't have noticed the discrepancy." Control got on the phone again, "Get hold of security and have them check Carl Weber's security clearance paperwork for a connection with a John Weber." Control finished giving the rest of the particulars over the phone, then turned to Robert. "That will take a while. Let's hope John Weber's files will give us something conclusive."

At that moment the clerk came in with John Weber's files. The top one was the report of the operation when John Weber was killed. Control handed that to Robert to look through, while he dug through the pile for Weber's personal background data and security clearance paperwork.

"Here it is." Control read from the file, "parents deceased, died when John was thirteen; raised by his brother, Carl Weber, who was nine years older than him."

"There was no mention of Carl ever checking about his brother's death in this file," Robert said. He picked up Carl Weber's file again. "But the fact that he transferred here only a few months afterwards seems to indicate he was already planning something."

"Robert, here's something else." Control had been looking through John Weber's security clearance papers. "The agent that interviewed Carl Weber about John's clearance said that Carl had just gotten out of a psychiatric hospital. The medical records had only stated he had had a mild emotional breakdown and was there for only three months."

"How the hell did this man, Weber, get this far up in the Agency, without being found out?" McCall exploded.

"He must have been biding his time, doing everything by the book, until he got to a position where he could get at Kostmayer; to be able to arrange to have Kostmayer branded a traitor, like his brother was."

"Where is he now?" McCall asked.

Control looked away. "He didn't come in this morning. He called in sick."

"He what! Why didn't you say so sooner? If he didn't come in, that means he anticipated being able to get to Kostmayer, somehow, today." He was heading out the door when Control tried to call him back.

"Robert..."

"I'll call," Robert said over his shoulder, then he was gone.

* * * *

The incessant ring of the doorbell woke Mickey up about an hour after McCall had left. By the time he had pulled on one of McCall's robes and gotten to the living room, someone was knocking at the door. When he looked out, he saw a delivery boy with a large envelope in his hand. The boy must have gotten one of the other tenants to let him in. Don't they ever learn, Mickey thought, they shouldn't just let anyone in. Mickey didn't open the door; no one was suppose to know he was there, so he just waited. Eventually the boy slipped the envelope under the door and left.

Mickey picked the envelope up and inspected it. All it had on it was McCall's name. Mickey normally wouldn't have opened McCall's mail, but he had a feeling this was important and something Robert should know about immediately. He carefully slit the seam and pulled out several polaroid photographs. He was shocked to see his brother, Nick, in the pictures, tied up in a chair. He quickly found the note that had come with the photos and read it. "McCall, get these to your friend, Kostmayer. Tell him if he wants to see his brother alive, he had better call this number, 555-1687. Don't follow Kostmayer. If my men see you, a car that looks like yours, or anyone following Kostmayer, his brother dies."

It was hard not to go off half-cocked, but Mickey knew that would do nothing but get both him and Nick killed. He spent several minutes studying the photographs. It looked like Nick was being held in an old abandoned service garage. He studied as much of the layout of the building as he could from the photographs. The person who had taken them hadn't been too careful and had obligingly gotten quite a bit of the interior of the garage in the pictures.

Once he had learned what he could about the building, he called the number on the note. A muffled voice answered, "Hello."

"This is Kostmayer. I got your message. What do you want."

"YOU." The man gave Mickey an address in Brooklyn, not to far from St. Christina's. "Be here in an hour, and come alone." Then the man hung up.

Mickey called for a cab to meet him outside a neighborhood bar about a block away in ten minutes. He went back to his room and got dressed, then went to McCall's weapons closet and picked out an automatic with a shoulder holster, a semi-automatic machine gun, and a second, smaller automatic which he stuck in the back of his jeans. He would go alone as told to, but he sure wasn't going unprepared. He tried to get hold of McCall on his mobile phone, but there was no answer. He left the note, one of the photographs, and the address on McCall's table. He checked the front of the building, but McCall's tails from last night were gone; they had probably followed McCall earlier.

Ten minutes later Mickey was waiting when the cab drove up in front of the bar down the street. He gave the driver the address and told him to stop a block before he got there.

* * * *

Robert returned to the apartment just past 11:30. He shed his coat and then went straight back to Mickey's room. "Well, Mickey," he started saying as he was heading down the hallway, "I think we have found out who our man is..." He stopped as he entered the room and saw that Mickey was gone. He quickly searched the room for signs of a struggle, but there weren't any; and Mickey's clothes were gone. That meant he had probably left on his own. McCall went back to the living room; then he saw the photograph on the table. While he read the note and the address he wondered how long Mickey had been gone. Oh, Mickey, why didn't you wait for me? he thought as he went to his weapons closet. He noticed three of his guns missing. At least Mickey wasn't unarmed. It will take me forty-five minutes to get there, but maybe Control can have some men there sooner.

It was less than five minutes later when McCall drove his Jaguar out of the parking garage. He got on his mobile phone and called Control. "Kostmayer is gone. Weber has his brother and he went after them." Robert gave Control the address, then asked, "How soon can you get someone there?"

"Not any faster than you can get there from where you are. But we'll meet you there as soon as possible," Control answered.

"McCall hoped Mickey wouldn't try anything till he got some backup. Mickey was hot-headed sometimes, especially when his brother or anyone else he cared for was in danger.

McCall drove like a madman, narrowly slipping through openings to get past the noontime traffic. He pulled up in front of the abandoned garage only seconds after Control. Control's men were already beginning to surround the building. Suddenly, as McCall was approaching Control, a burst of gunfire echoed inside the building. McCall ran for the door...

* * * *

It was about 11:30 when the cab finally stopped and Mickey got out. It had been a little over an hour since the phone call, but Mickey was sure the man wouldn't hurt Nick. He wanted Mickey too much. He took an additional ten minutes to scout the area around the garage. It was a three story building at the end of a half of block of similar, connected buildings. The garage was on the first floor and tenements on the upper floors. The large garage doors were boarded up and locked. There was a short alleyway at one side of the building leading to the alley in back. There were three other doors in addition to the big ones, one in the front, one on the side, and one in the back. There was a row of narrow windows high up along the back wall. He had seen them in the photographs, so he could place Nick's location inside in his mind. There were several crates piled against the back wall, so he climbed up to look inside. He saw Nick in the middle of the room where he had expected him to be and there was a man pointing an automatic rifle at him. A second man was sitting at a table not far from them. He had an automatic rifle, too, which was loosely pointed in Nick's direction.

Mickey had formulated several tentative plans on the way there. One was to just take out the man guarding his brother from the window; but he'd never be able to get the second man before he could shoot Nick. He studied the inside of the building but could find no way he could sneak in. The garage had been stripped of all equipment and it was just one big, open area, with nothing he could hide behind.

That left only one alternative. Go in there openly. I hope McCall got back on time, he thought, remembering Robert had said he'd be back before noon. If I can stall these fellows till he gets here, Nick and I just might make it out of this alive. He stalled outside as long as he felt he could, to give McCall more time. How did Nick get involved in this? Mickey wondered while he was waiting. His main objective was to get Nick out of there alive, any way he could. When he noticed the man at the table looking at his watch every minute, he decided it was time to go in.

He went to the side door and found it unlocked. He slipped in quietly, but the man at the table saw him. "Welcome, Mr. Kostmayer. Please throw down your gun." Mickey did as he was told. The second man came over and searched him and found the automatic in his shoulder holster, but missed finding the smaller gun in the back of his jeans. One point for us, Mickey thought.

Mickey looked at his brother. "Are you okay? Have they hurt you?" Mickey looked as if he would kill if they had.

"No, I'm fine so far," Nick answered.

The man at the table laughed. "Yes, so far, but maybe not for long. Enough of the family reunion. Do you know who I am?" he asked Mickey.

Mickey recalled having seen the man around the Agency although he had never met him before. But he was guessing the man was Carl Weber. "Carl Weber?" he answered.

"Good, you've done your homework. How'd you find out?"

"You figure it out. You're John Weber's brother, right?" Mickey replied.

"Think you're smart, do you? Think you've figured it all out? Well, do you know how it's going to end? You're going to watch your brother die, like mine did. Then you're going to die labeled a traitor."

"How'd you do it. Get the information out and make it look like I did it?" Mickey asked, trying to stall for more time.

"You figure it out," Weber answered, echoing Mickey's earlier words. "You're going to be labeled a traitor, like you had my brother labeled." Weber was getting worked up. He looked as if he would pull the trigger anytime. He had been waiting over four years to get Kostmayer and now he was losing his patience.

As they talked, Mickey maneuvered himself so that Weber was between him and Nick. "Your brother was a traitor, he sold us out."

"NO! You're lying," Weber shouted. "You killed him."

"Yes, I did; but it was him or the rest of the men on the team. He tried to save his own skin by turning us in. He was a traitor. A traitor." It was a dangerous game Mickey was playing, but if he got Weber mad enough to make a mistake... At the least, he would keep Weber's attention focused on him and away from Nick. Mickey was watching for that one moment when both Weber's and his gunman's attentions (and guns) were away from Nick. He would have only one chance to get the gunman before the man could turn his gun back on Nick. And, since Weber's back was to Nick, he hoped he would have still have time to get Weber.

But, Weber didn't give him any more time. He had waited long enough. "Now you can watch your brother die." As Weber started to turn towards Nick, the gunman finally turned towards them. In less than a second, Mickey had reached the gun hidden in the back of his jeans and was aiming for the gunman. His aim was true, and the man was dead when he hit the floor. However, Weber reacted faster than Mickey had anticipated. He had just gotten the shot off that had hit the gunman, when the bullets from Weber's gun hit him. He had been diving for the floor, so the bullets had hit him in the side and had thrown him off balance enough so he couldn't get a bead on Weber.

"Hold it right there, Kostmayer," Weber said. "Drop it." Mickey dropped the gun--or more to the truth, it fell out of his hand. As he lay there, not being able to move with a couple bullets in his side, he berated himself for underestimating Weber's skill with a gun. He had gambled and lost. Weber still had the upper hand and Nick was still in danger. "I'm sorry, Nick," Mickey said softly as he looked at his brother.

Nick had always known that Mickey's line of work could get his brother killed, but he had always avoided thinking about it. He prayed every night for his brother's safety. But now, seeing Mickey lying on the floor bleeding and this man standing over him about to shoot again, he was ready to do more than pray. He tugged at his bonds trying to get loose.

"You're a dead man, Kostmayer, and so is your brother," Weber said.

Mickey looked up at Weber. He was still trying to think of a way to stop him, but knew he wouldn't be able to move to do anything. McCall, where are you? It's too late for me, but please, Lord, have him get here in time to save Nick. What followed seemed like slow motion to Mickey. He saw Weber aim the rifle at him and start to pull the trigger. Then, as he heard a shot, he saw a brief look of surprise on Weber's face as he sank to the ground.

McCall had sized up the situation as he had come through the door. He had aimed and fired almost before he was completely in the room. He came running across from the door and knelt by Mickey's side. "A little late, aren't you?" Mickey said weakly as he passed out.

Control had followed McCall into the garage and was untying Nick. "I'll call an ambulance," he said when he finished and went to the phone. Nick knelt down next to his brother. He took Mickey's hand in his and just sat there. A brief memory passed through his mind of a stranger who had died in his arms and he started praying that Mickey wouldn't die.

The ambulance arrived in just a few minutes. Robert pulled Nick away from Mickey while the paramedics worked on him.

"What happened?" Robert asked gently.

"Mickey tried to get both of them, but he wasn't fast enough." Nick looked stunned. "I might have killed Weber myself if I had had a gun. When he was aiming that gun at Michael... I..."

Robert knew the anguish Nick was feeling. Even with as many men as he had killed, he still felt that same anguish every time he had to pull the trigger. And as for Mickey's brother, with his deep conviction of the sanctity of human life, Robert knew that even the thought of wanting to kill someone going though Nick's mind could tear him apart.

The paramedics had Mickey stabilized and were lifting him into the ambulance. He had regained consciousness and was calling for Nick. Robert put his hand on Nick's shoulder comforting him. "Remember how you felt in there about wanting to protect him. Now you know how he has always felt towards you, and, maybe, now you can understand him better. Go with him, he'll need you now. You'll be able to work it out, together." Nick smiled gratefully at Robert as he climbed in next to Mickey.

"McCall," Mickey called weakly from the ambulance. McCall looked in. "Thank you, Robert, for saving Nick's life."

"You're very welcomed, Mickey," McCall answered as he shut the door and motioned the driver to go. Yes, very welcome. McCall watched as the ambulance drove away, then went back into the building. Now that he felt that Mickey would be alright, a smile of relief crossed his face as he watched Control's men working. Then, he turned to Control. "Just like Kostmayer. Leaving us to clean up the mess he made."

"Robert..." Control started to say something, then just shook his head and smiled, too.

* * * *

It was two months later. Mickey was having dinner at McCall's. He had spent a month in the hospital and then another month at home recuperating. Now he was more than ready to go back to work. "Nick's fine," he was saying in answer to McCall's questions about his brother. "It took him a while to work it out, but he did. And, we've worked out a lot of things between us too." Suddenly, between the spaghetti he was eating and talking about Nick, he remembered. "Hey McCall, you remember last year, when Nick had that trouble with Solidarity, you never did pay off that bet you lost on..."

The End