Dr. Sabourin watched sadly as the coffin was lowered into to cold earth. She had told herself that coming to the funeral would be disheartening but she could not have stayed away.

"Did you know her well, Doctor?" Father Patrick, the hospitals chaplain, asked quietly, studying her somber face.

"No, I don't think anyone did. We never really knew her name. But I couldn't let her go to her final resting place without someone to acknowledge her passing." The mournful sound of a lonely flute caught her attention. Caine was seated at the graves edge, playing a song for the dead. "I think he might have known her best of all, though I think she never spoke a word to him."

"She was your patient?" The priest questioned, half-listening to her reply.

"In a way. She was brought in by the Police after a traffic accident. She had dashed out into the street to try to save a little girl from an oncoming car. Unfortunately, they were both hit and the child died. My patient lapsed into a catatonic state, completely unresponsive. She had no identification and no one claimed her, even after the newspapers printed her picture. Finally, when her physical injuries had healed, I arranged for her to be put in a nursing home, where she could be watched over."

"That was kind."

"She tried to save that child. It was the least I could do for her. Besides, I couldn't bear the idea of no one being there for her." The doctor turned away, working on her composure. "I've always told young doctors who wanted to specialize in Emergency Room medicine that they should try to distance themselves from the constant onslaught of pain and suffering they would be exposed to. If they didn't, they'd burn out quickly. I guess I didn't follow my own advice. This patient's plight became personal to me."

Caine rose gracefully, retrieving his hat from the ground beside him. He cast one last, sad look at the moral remains of the woman he had known as "Jane", then turned away, walking quickly to catch up with the retreating figures of the priest and doctor. At the curb, his son Peter waited impatiently, a file folder in his hands.

"Pop, Kermit got a reply to that search he did on Jane Doe. You've got some people pretty hot about this."

"I do not understand." Caine replied, watching his sons face as he talked.

"Someone didn't want Jane Doe identified. That's why the first request for ID that came from the precinct was dropped. Seems the lady had friends in dark places." Peter scanned the cemetery warily, looking for figures which did not belong. He had rarely seen his friend Kermit so agitated as he had been at the Station that morning. Whatever Kermit's contact in the Agency had said, it had been enough for him to warn Peter to watch his back.

"She was not capable of doing harm to anyone." Caine insisted.

"Someone that she was." Peter replied, "Kermit's friend did, at least, give us a first name for the lady. Manon."

"Manon." Dr. Sabourin breathed, 'What a lovely name! What was her family name?"

"Kermit's contact wasn't willing to go that far. Something about not disturbing old memories. Kermit said his friend sounded scared." Peter reached out and took his father's arm, none to gently trying to lead him away. Caine shrugged him off, his mind on other matters. On a name. The only word she had said to him in the six months that he had visited her. Yvette.

In a city along ways away from Sloanville, a man sat in the dark, a message in his hand, a request from a police department, needing assistance in identifying a woman who had been injured in an automobile accident. On the desk was the results of a search done on secret files kept in computers whose existence few people even acknowledged. Control laid the message beside the file, his deep-set eyes searching the darkness for an answer he knew was not to be found in this room.

"Robert will never forgive me for this one." He mused, remembering his old friends rage the last time this subject had come up. "Neither will Yvette. But I can't just let her be buried in some unknown grave, alone and forgotten. Not Manon. I owe her that much." He rubbed his tired eyes, then reached for the phone. "Book me a flight to Sloansville." He instructed the voice on the other end of the phone. "And get me Robert McCall on the phone, ASAP. Tell him...No, never mind. Get me another ticket to Sloansville in McCall's name and have it FedExed to him tonight. I'll talk to him when we arrive." The cool voice of his secretary assured the troubled agent that his wishes would be done. The end of Manon's story was finally at hand.

Pt. 2

Robert McCall watched his fellow travelers disembark at the Sloansville airport with a weary gaze. For most of them, there was a sense of excitement in traveling from place to place. But for him the excitement of new towns and new people had long since died. It had been just part of the job for too long.

"Earth to McCall. Anyone home?" Micky dropped their bags at the older mans feet, scanning the crowd with a practiced eye. He had been surprised when McCall had phoned and asked him to join him on this little jaunt. It seemed so out of character for his companion to take a trip anywhere at Control's request, much less to some mid-west American city. McCall hadn't explained much during the trip, just that his former employer and old friend had sent him a ticket and a request he meet him at a place called Sloansville. Nothing more. To Mickey, that was enough to raise red flags. But then, he had never really understood the complex relationship between the two aging spies.

"Sorry, Mickey. Just lost in thought." Across the terminal, McCall spotted a familiar figure. "There he is. Come on, colleague. Let's see why my presence in this place was so important to the Agency." He collected his bag and moved off, his companion in his wake.

Control watched the two men move towards him, rehearsing in his mind how he would break the news to his old friend. There had been many strains in their long and involved friendship, most of which had revolved around Agency actions McCall had found unacceptable. But this, he feared, would be the final act that would break apart their long relationship. Suddenly, a movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. A man slid out of the partial shadows to stand beside the Agency's spy master.

"What are you doing here?" Kermit hissed, his eyes bright and hard even through his dark glasses.

"I could ask you the same thing." Control replied, sizing up the man beside him. It had been years since Control had seen the mercenary. Griffin looked as he always did, his hair longer than the last time they had talked but few other changes. And he still carried that elephant gun of his, tucked inside his jacket.

"I asked you first." Kermit replied, ignoring Controls piercing gaze.

"Personal business."

"Personal my ass. It's that request for ID on Jane Doe, isn't it? Who the hell was she, some rogue agent."

"It's not your concern, Griffin." Control's voice was icy cold, his face revealing nothing. His physical resemblance to Paul had always unnerved free-lance people Blaisdell had worked with. It was a jarring scene for Kermit, to look into the face of a man he had trusted with his life and see a stranger's eyes looking back. "Now run along, I've got people to meet."

"Understand me." Kermit stepped closer, forcing himself to look into those steely eyes. "Whatever you've got going here, get it over with and be gone on the next flight out. If you try to involve me in your nasty little world again, it'll be the last thing you ever do. I owed Paul Blaisdell my life. I don't owe you the time of day."

"I'll keep that in mind." Control replied dryly.

Across the terminal McCall and Mikey had spotted the two figures engrossed in their conversation. "McCall, wait!" Mickey grabbed his friend by the arm, pulling him to a stop. "That looks like...damm, that is him! It's Kermit!"

"Kermit? Kermit Griffin? The mercenary that worked with Paul Blaisdell?" McCall eyed the man standing beside Control with interest. "Now what would a soldier for hire be doing here? And with Control, no less?"

"Maybe Control's in trouble with the Agency ?" Mickey suggested, recalling the mock-trial at which Control had been found guilty of treason. It had been a con job from the first, designed to discover which of the lower level control agents could be trusted, but to Mickey, it had been all too real.

"Let's find out." McCall

pt.3

Kermit watched from a safe distance as Control met with his two companions. As they moved closer, he recognized Mickey Kostemeyer from previous encounters in the field, when they both had followed a dangerous path for the Agency. But the older man was a mystery to him. He had that same deadly calm that Control wore like a shield, the same air of watchfulness ,yet even from this distance, Kermit could see the pain in the man's eyes. Pain and something else. A suppressed anger, waiting to bubble up and overwhelm it's owner. "Not a good person to get on the bad side of ." Kermit thought, before he turned to slip away.

"Care to tell me what that was all about?" McCall asked, stopping in front of his old comrade-in-arms.

"Nothing much. Just a polite warning to take my game and go elsewhere. Griffin always was the over-protective sort." Control shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "I'm glad you're here, Robert."

"Really! Do tell me, then, why I am here."

"It's a long story, Robert. I'll tell you on the way to the hotel."

Mickey looked in the direction he had last seen the ex-mercenary. "Listen, I think I'm going to try to catch up to Kermit. I'll meet you both later at the hotel. The Hilton, right?" He trotted off before McCall could object, leaving the two older spies to find their own way to their accommodations.

"Well, old son, looks like it's just you and me again." Control commented, reaching for his briefcase.

"Control, I'm not in the mood for games. Either tell me what you want or I will get on the first plane bound for New York." McCall stood his ground, arms folded, waiting for an answer.

"It's ....personal, Robert. Leave it at that until the hotel." Control walked away, trusting his old friends curiosity would get the better of him. McCall watched him for a moment, then with a sigh, followed with both his and Mickey's bags in his hands.

In the parking, Mickey looked around at the parked cars until he saw the unmistakable green of Kermit's vehicle. Kermit was sitting on the hood of the car, obviously waiting for him to catch up.

"Been a while, hasn't it Kostimeyer?" Kermit remarked, looking over his glasses at the agent.

"Beirut, wasn't it?" Mickey replied, taking up a stance across from him.

"Thought it was Angola. Who's your friend?"

"McCall. Use to be with the Agency. He's a good man and my friend."

"Your taste in friends is lousy. Always was."

"Yeah, must be. After all, I though you and I were friends. Till Beirut." Mickey watched carefully, looking for some reaction from the man opposite him. But the dark glasses hid his eyes, the only thing that would have given his thoughts away.

"What are you doing here, Mickey? This isn't Agency territory. Last time I checked, we were in the Continental U.S., not some two bit Third World country."

"When I know, I tell you. So where do I find you, on the off chance I want to talk about old time?"

Kermit considered lying but knew that Control probably already knew where to reach him if he wanted to. "101st precinct. I'm a cop."

"You! A cop! Give me a break! Playing by the rules isn't your style."

"It still isn't. I'll give you the same warning I gave your boss. Stay the hell out of my way. Come near me or my friends, and what happened in Beirut will look like a church picnic." Kermit slid behind the wheel of his car and gunned the engine, taking off out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

Mickey watched him leave somberly. "Great! Just great!" he thought. "Control's got some mysterious mission for McCall and now this. Nothing is ever simple around us, is it." He stalked off to call a cab, unaware of the eyes that watched him as he left.

Pt.4

McCall and Control rode to the hotel in strained silence, each man wrapped in his own thoughts. The sights of the city flashed by them, like scenes from a silent movie, each new site silently cataloged for future reference, as they had done in all those many cities before this one. It seemed an eternity before they arrived at the hotel where McCall and Mikey would be staying. The ride up on the elevator was full of a strained silence, of words unsaid hanging in the air.

"I'll be at the Blair estate, Robert. Security is better there." Control watched the numbers flash by on the control panel, mentally preparing himself for the job at hand.

"The Blair estate? Rank does have it's privileges." McCall watched his old comrade at arms carefully, his face blank. They had known each other too long for Control to hide much from him. His reasons for requesting McCalls presence in the city must be intensely personal and intensely painful. Otherwise, McCall was sure Control would handle the situation with his usual ruthless efficiency.

The door opened on the twelfth floor and the two men quickly found the suite reserved in McCall's name. It was more comfortable than the Agency usually allowed, with two bedrooms connected by a sitting room. It's very comfort made McCall wonder if Control were footing the bill and not the Agency.

"Don't you think it's about time you told me why I'm here?" McCall asked, looking directly into the other man's eyes.

Control looked away, unable to meet his old friends gaze. "I have something to tell you Robert, something you're not going to want to hear. Something about an old friend."

"What old friend? We don't have old friends, you and I. We have old colleagues and dead friends but last time I checked, no old live ones."

"It's Manon, Robert. I'm sorry..."

McCall stared at his friend for a moment, too stunned to speak. Then the rage which simmered just below the surface of his civility broke free. "Don't you EVER speak to me of Manon! Not after the last time, not after all the things you have done, to both Yvette and myself. Manon is dead. She has been for twenty years and I will not have you..."

"Robert, she died here in Sloanville a few days ago."

The room became suddenly silent.

"What do you mean, she died a few days ago?"

"The woman that helped to kidnap your son Scott and I, a few years back, the one who claimed she was Manon -- I told you she was delusional, that she was a KGB prisoner who had been programmed with that story to lure you to your death. I lied."

"Why? Why would you lie to me, to Yvette. My God, Yvette is your goddaughter!"

"Because the Manon we knew WAS dead, Robert. They'd beaten and drugged away all the traces of the bright, intelligent woman we both fell in love with. She needed time to find some trace of the woman she was and I agreed. So I made sure she disappeared." Control straightened, feeling the weight of this new betrayal laying heavy on his shoulders. "A few months ago, someone submitted her fingerprints for identification to the FBI. The request was forwarded to me, but I was away. It wasn't a priority request so no one thought to try to get it to me. By the time I saw it, she was dead."

"Why should I believe a bloody word you say to me?" McCall demanded. " After all of this, give me one reason why I should believe you!"

"Believe what you want, old son." Control reached into his forgotten briefcase and pulled out the information his local contact had acquired for him. "Check it out for your self. This is a list of people she spent her last days with. Talk to them. Specifically, talk to the man at the top of the list, Kwai Chang Caine. According to my sources, he visited her every day and was with her the day she died."

"One of your pet shadows?" McCall replied bitterly.

"No. A Shaolin priest. His son was the police officer who initiated the original request for information. His name is Peter Caine, a detective with the 101st precinct. Check out their stories, Robert, and when you've decided what you believe, call me. We still have one last piece of business to attend to before we go our separate ways."

"What more could you possible want from me?"

Control turned, his deep set eyes shadowed and full of pain. "Tell me what I must say to Yvette. How do I tell her that her mother was alive all this time and now...now she's gone?"

pt. 5

Kermit strode into the precinct, his mind racing. Control was here, in Sloanville! That was not good, not good at all, especially with Paul not here. Paul could always deal with his mirror image, the agencies shadowy puppet master who had sent both Paul and Kermit to the far reaches of the world on assignments which tore at their souls. Paul had always said they were mirror images of one another, the same face, the same voice but different somehow. Kermit had never agreed.

"Kermit, where have you been? Peter's been calling for you every hour on the hour." Jody looked up from her desk, a worried frown on her face.

Kermit strode on past her desk in silence and entered his office, firmly closing the door beind him. "Let it alone, Peter." he thought. "Just let it alone. This isn't something you or your old man can fix. Damn!" He sat staring at his computer screen for a few moments then with a sigh and began to send a message he thought he would never have to send.

Far away, in a little hostel on the border between France and Spain, a man was seated in front of the study window in his small home when a small noise aroused his interest. Across the room, his computer rang chimes to alert him to an incoming message. He frowned then walked across the room to read his missive.

TWIN ARRIVED TODAY. PURPOSE UNKNOWN. ADVISE COURSE OF ACTION.

Paul Blaisdell read the message in silence. There was no signature, but it was unnecessary. Only Kermit knew where he was and how to reach him. Kermit and one other. His mirror image, Control. Not that he had wanted his mirror image to know where he had gone to ground. But somehow, he always seemed to know everything about Paul's life, even when it didn't involve the Agency. Control had been accommodating, too accommodating, swearing he understood Paul's actions and could sympathize. He had even offered to keep an eye on Annie, but Paul had demurred, saying that his foster son would do that as a matter of course. In fact, Blaisdell had not ever been able to explain Control to Annie, explain his friendship, if that was what it was, with the man who shared his face but little else.

"What do you want, my old nemesis? What is on your devious little mind?" He thought for a moment then proceeded to send a reply.

At the 101st, Kermit had already begun to regret ever sending notice to Paul that Control was in town. Paul had needed to be away, needed the time to let his demons release their grip on his soul, and now he had probably loosed one on his old comrade at arms. He was considering his options when a message appeared on his screen.

HAVE TWIN CALL HOME. WILL TALK.

"Great, now what do I do?" Kermit thought, closing down his system. "What could they possibly have to talk about?"

pt. 6.

"Well this appears to be the place." Mickey drawled, looking at the brownstone with interest. Behind him, McCall was climbing out of the rental car Control had left for him. Using the car had been Mickey's idea, one that had not appealed to his older comrade. Anything connected with McCall's old "friend" seemed to be repugnant to him. The younger mercenary could not remember the last time he had seen McCall in such a rage, an anger more frightening for its coldness than anything else.

"Yes, so it would appear. Stay by the car, colleague. This shouldn't take long." He started for the door, then stopped, his friends hand on his arm.

"Listen, Robert, I don't know what went on between you and Control but from what I read in those files, this Caine character is a civilian. Try not to take it out on him that Controls ticked you off."

"He's done more than just "tick me off" my friend." McCall answered coldly. "Much more than that." With that he entered the building, leaving his young friend to watch the car and worry.

Inside, McCall followed the lonely sound of a flute down a corridor into what appeared to be a workshop. Another door led into a bare chamber with what appeared to be some sort of altar along the wall. A man sat cross-legged in the center of the room, playing a long wooden flute. He matched the photos McCall had found in Controls files The man was tall and thin, with graying hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was dressed in loose pants and a loose silk shirt with a crane applicaid on the back. There was an air of calm serenity about him, a peace McCall had not felt in another human being in a long time. The feeling bothered him. He didn't want to be drawn to this man, not to one of Controls puppets.

"Excuse me..." McCall carefully made his voice as neutral as possible, giving nothing away.

"You have come to talk of Jane, have you not?" the man asked, not looking back.

McCall took a deep breath, trying to suppress his surprise. "Her name was Manon. Did she not tell you that?"

Caine stood up, laying his flute on the floor at his feet. "In the short time we had together, she spoke only one word to me, a name. Yvette. A daughter, perhaps?" He watched the man in front of him, seeing the pain behind the wall of ice he tried to present to the world. This man was walking on the edge of despair. One little push could send him plummeting into its depths, from which he might never recover.

"Yes."

"She was someone very special to you."

McCall looked up sharply, searching the eyes which watched him for deceit. All he found was sympathy. "She was, once, very special to me."

Caine nodded, then moved toward the other rooms. "You will take tea with me?" he asked, not looking back to see if his visitor was following.

McCall stood in the room's doorway, determined not to be moved. "Another time. What can you tell me about the way she died?"

"I know what my son has told me, that she tried to save a child from being hit by an automobile. But I think that it was less the injuries to her body which caused her death then the injuries to her soul. Her spirit never recovered from the violence which had been done to her at some past time. In the end, I think she found it less painful to give herself up to death than to continue with life." Caine watched the emotions that played themselves out behind his guests impassive face. He eyes were haunted, full of pain, a pain he would not speak of and could not embrace. "It is more than her death which causes your sorrow. I would help you accept this pain, if you will let me."

"Pain is an old friend." McCall replied curtly, turning to leave.

"An old enemy." Caine answered gently. "It will never lesson until you learn to accept it, and to accept that which you can not change. You could not have prevented whatever actions lacerated her soul anymore than you could have prevented her ultimate death. Nor could this person who's betrayal wounds you so deeply."

McCall wheeled around, shock on his face. "How did you know...? You've spoken to him, haven't you? To Control!!"

"No. I know no one by that name. I have only seen your heart. It's grief is visible to any who would see."

McCall drew in a ragged breath. "Damn Control!" he thought, staring down at his hands. "He's playing mind games with me again and using this priest to do it." He looked back at the calm face and understanding eyes of the man in front of him. It was just too much .

Without another word, McCall stalked out of Caines rooms, his grief still tightly bound to his soul. Caine watched him leave silently, then retrieved his hat and coat and followed him out the door. Eventually, the man would have to face the shade of the woman he had loved and lost. And Caine knew he must be there to help him to survive the meeting.

Pt. 7

Control looked briefly at the messages which had been left on the desk for him. Most dealt with Agency matters. There was no message from McCall, but then, he hadn't really expected one. That friendship, he feared, had probably been strained beyond repair. He hadn't meant for things to be the way they were, but Robert was always quick to be hurt by what he perceived as betrayals. And even Control had to admit, this situation with Manon was more than a little white lie for a friend. But at the time, there had seemed to be no other option, for any of them. The ringing of the phone provided a ready excuse discontinue this train of thought.

"Yes?"

"Message for you from someone named Griffin, first name KERMIT?" Harris was a relative newcomer in the agency, only assigned field duty for the last six months. Control smiled, wondering how Kermit had reacted to having a green recruit question his right to call this number.

"Put him through, Harris."

Kermits voice, even through the distortions of the intercom, had a sour note to it. "Where did you get that kid? He sounds about five years old. Don't tell me the Agency is robbing the cradle for its field operatives these days."

"He's older than he sounds, and you've been off the playing field for long enough to be forgotten by all but us old dinosaurs." Control chuckled. "What's the problem? I thought we weren't on speaking terms."

"We're not. Your twin wants to talk to you. He says call home."

Silence descende on the room. "Thank you for the message, Griffin. Goodbye." Control flipped the intercom off, barely controlling his anger. The problem, of course, was deciding who he was most angry at, Kermit or himself. "I should have know you would go running to Paul about my being here." he thought. "Maybe that's why I let Kermit see me. Maybe I wanted him to .. NO! If I had wanted Paul involved, I would have called him myself." He reached for the phone, the number to the special line he had installed in Paul's retreat leaping out of his memory. The line had been a comprimise, the only way he would have allowed Paul to disappear. He had meant for it to be a way for Paul to reach back to his old life when the time came, without endangering himself or his loved ones. Now, it was a way for Control to reach out to his other half, the mirror image that held what was left of his conscience. It took a while to make the connection, the signal having to be shunted back and forth through different satellite and different computer systems. But a click on the other end of the line soon signaled he had reached his intended destination.

"Hello Control." The voice at the other end of the line had an edge of weariness to it, enough to make it huskier than normal.

"Kermit just talked to me. This isn't anything you need to worry about, Twin. It's a personal matter."

"Didn't think you had any matters that were personal, old friend. At least, none that you hadn't regaled me with at least a hundred times over." Paul chuckled, remembering some of the rather drunken conversations they had engaged in over the years.

"It's Manon, Paul. She's dead. I had to tell Robert what I had done and...well, looks like you may be the only person from our old days still speaking to me." Control closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for the self-pity in his voice. He hadn't meant to sound so...depressed, not to Paul.

"Don't worry about it, Twin. I'll always let you know what an unmitigated bastard I think you are." Paul teased, trying to keep the conversation light. "Do you want me to talk to Robert?" he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

"You left here for a reason, old son. " Control replied, grateful for the offer. "To find some peace from the demons of our past. There's no point in your coming back to face this particular item from our history now. Besides, the last thing you need is Robert finding out you were helping me to hide Manon."

"Robert was always your friend, not mine. It isn't as important to me that he believe I was trying to do right by Manon as it is for you. Do you want me to come home and help you?

Control thought about the offer for a few seconds. It was tempting, using Paul to deflect some of Robert's righteous anger. It wouldn't hurt Paul to be ranted at by their old comrade as much as it was hurting him. He shook his head with a sigh. "No, old friend. Stay where you are. This is a problem I created, I had better take care of it myself. Thanks." He gently laid the receiver back on its cradle, breaking the fragile connection between himself and his mirror image.

Paul laid the phone back down with a sigh, then began to rummage around his bedroom, looking for his suitcase. "Like it or not, old friend, I'm going to help you. Neither of us is going to defeat the shadows that haunt our souls if we don't face up to them. I guess this is as good a time as any to do that, for both of us."

Pt. 8

"Just how sure are that that she wasn't Manon"

Control's question echoed in McCall's head, even after all these years. He hadn't been sure, not then. That was why he had arranged her escape from the New York police. But over the years, he had managed to convince himself that the woman who the Russian had used to lure them to their deaths had not been his love. She couldn't have been. Manon was dead, dead in the crash of a commercial aircraft, dead for years before that phone call, before those few days when his life had been turned inside out. He had made himself believe she was an impostor. Now...

"We're here." Mickey stopped the car in front of the cemetery gates, waiting for a response.

"What plot number did Control give for this woman's grave?" McCall asked, staring out at the rows of headstones.

"You want to tell me what's going on, or do I just keep driving you around till you kill someone?"

"I have told you, Mickey. It's between Control and myself."

"Bull. You asked me to come with you because Control had wanted you here and you didn't trust him not to try to sucker you into something for the Agency. You haven't explained what we're doing here, why you wanted to talk to some Shaolin priest whose file Control arranged for you to have or what we're doing at the city cemetery looking for the burial plot of a Jane Doe. Come on, McCall. We've been friends a long time. What aren't you telling me about this case?"

McCall sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "You remember Yvette? "

"Your daughter? Sure, I remember."

"Her mother and I had a relationship in Paris, years before. I was a different man then, more a good Agency soldier, if you understand me. I was burnt out, dead inside. She was the only good thing to come of that part of my existence, but in the end I walked away from her as I have walked away from most of the things in my life I've loved. What I didn't know was she was carrying my child."

"Did Control know?"

"Oh yes!" McCall's voice hardened, his bitterness and anger breaking through. " My old friend not only knew but kept that knowledge from me for years. He said Manon asked him not to speak to me. So he says, but I will never know for sure. Manon died in a plane crash years later. I was told it was a terrible accident. Only later did I discover that she was carrying the order to rescind my Agency ordered execution."

"So what has that got to do with this Jane Doe?" Mickey watched his comrade's face, seeing his eye grow distant with pain.

"A few months after you met Yvette, her father Phillipe, Manon's husband, tried to kill both Control and myself. He was told that, if he succeeded, Manon would be released back into his care. He died in Yvette's arms, shot by the person who had ordered him to perform this service. "

"Whoa!!! I thought she was dead!"

"Philip was told that she had survived the crash and had been in a Russian gulag for all these years. He wanted to believe that it was true, that she was alive, so he agreed. It was all a trap, set by a spy we had helped imprison years before. He used a woman who resembled Manon, tortured her, brainwashed her, re-programmed her to be someone she wasn't, enough to fool Phillipe. Perhaps enough to almost fool me. That deception almost cost my son Scott his life."

Mickey stared at his hands, thinking about the stories he had heard from other's in McCall's little group of operatives. Something about a dead Russian spy and one that got away. "So you killed him. What happened to the woman?"

"She escaped custody...with a little help."

"From you?"

"I knew Manon was dead, but...what if I was wrong? How could I let her go on trial for being an accomplice, even an unwilling one, to her husband's death? Maybe I wanted to believe...It doesn't matter. She disappeared and that was the end of that, until now."

Comprehension dawned on Mickey's face. "You believe that this woman, whose grave we are looking for, was Manon and Control knew it. That's what's between the two of you. McCall, I never thought I would defend Control on anything, but maybe he had a good reason for what he did."

"What could ever be a good enough reason to separate Yvette from her mother and Manon from those who could care for her?" McCall yanked open the car door and started across the cemetery grounds, leaving his friend behind.

"Maybe she wanted it that way." Mickey whispered, watching the retreating figure of his friend disappear over the horizon. "Maybe she didn't have the strength to stay afloat in a sea of your love and your pain. Maybe she needed space, away from the burden of your guilt, of your uncertainty."

"Yes, she did." Caine's quite voice replied from beside the door. Mickey's head jerked up, one hand reaching automatically for his revolver. He stared at the priest's quiet face in amazement and annoyance.

"How the hell did you sneak up on me! Jeez, do you know how close you just came to getting your head blown off? Make some noise next time! Who the hell are you, anyway?" He climbed out of the car, scanning the area to make sure no one else was walking up on the automobile.

"I am sorry I startled you." Caine apologized, his eyes fixed on the spot where McCall had disappeared. "I am Caine. Your friend came to speak to me about my friend, Jane Doe."

Mickey eyed the man suspiciously. "How did you find us?"

"I knew he must come to make amends to the spirit of the one he felt he had wronged. I wished to be there when he did, to help him through his time of pain, for her sake."

Mickey looked across the open expanse of the cemetery, watching the lone figure of his mentor stop at one grave. "Sorry I yelled at you. I guess I'm just a little jumpy. What did you mean when you agreed with me just now?"

"Jane...Manon...needed to face her inner demons alone. She knew that she could not if she returned to the life she had run away from, a life she could not be sure was not all a dream conceived by a madman. Those who loved her would try to shield her from her past pain. In their kindness, and their desire to love her, they would have tried to keep from her the truth of all that had come before. It was not what she needed. She needed to face the pain, embrace it and make it a part of herself. Only then would she be whole."

Mickey looked at Caine's face, seeing something in his eyes that led him to believe that the man had experienced something similar. "Yeah, well, I get the feeling your right about one thing. Sometimes you can love someone too much. Knowing McCall, he probably would have done whatever it takes to keep her from reliving the hell she experienced, even if it meant never dealing with the consequences of those events."

"In the end, she was ready to go on, to release her spirit into its next life. Your friend must be prepared to let her go."

"Easier said than done."

"Yes." Caine sighed. "I know."

Pt. 9

McCall knelt down beside the grave, noting that the headstone read "Jane Doe" and no birthdate. "I'll have to remedy that." He thought, his mind trying to disassociate itself from the pain in his heart. There were flowers at the graveside, still somewhat fresh and colorful. Obviously someone had thought enough of this nameless woman to remember her at her passing.

"She is at peace." A voice said softly. Caine stood beside the former agent, his eyes kind and compassionate. "Now you must be as well."

"Peace! How am I suppose to find peace. If she had come to me..."

"You would not have been able to allow her spirit the freedom it needed. She would have been bound to you with chains of grief and guilt. Your grief and your guilt. Is that what you would have wanted for her?"

McCall looked up angrily. "She would have been alive."

"Yes." Caine replied. "But she choose to reach for another life, another way to deal with her pain. The choice was hers to make, not yours. Can you not respect her decision, grieve for her loss and move on with your own search for peace?"

McCall looked away from the priests searching eyes, not yet willing to hear his words. "Control should have told me what he was doing."

"If he had, would you have rested until you had found her, despite her wish to disappear? Perhaps your friend did what he could to protect you both."

"Control protects no one but himself." McCall responded icily.

"Your friend told you the of her circumstances and her tragic end only recently?" Caine shrugged then bent to rearrange the flowers leaning against the headstone. "If, as you believe, this "Control" only protects himself, why would he have told you anything of her death? Would it not have been wiser to let you believe that she had gone from your life years before?"

"He just wanted to convince me to tell her daughter that she had died, nothing more."

"You are sure of this?"

McCall straightened and brushed the dirt from his pants. There were no answers to his questions here, only barren ground and silent memorials to lives lived and died. He started to turn away from the grave only to stop, surprised as Caine laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"Are you so sure of your friends betrayal?" Caine asked softly.

"What do you want me to do, Mr. Caine, ask him if he meant to rip my heart out." McCall asked, bitterly.

"Yes."

"He has had years to explain himself to me. I don't want to hear anything more from him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find a way to tell my daughter what has happened to her mother."

Caine watched the man walk back to the car in sadness. His words had not reached the core of the man's pain and anger. Perhaps another man's would.

Pt. 10

Paul looked around the airport, automatically looking for signs of Agency activity. It was an old habit and one that was hard to break, even now. The flight from from his home in the snowy north of Canada would have been short and boring except for what he knew would be waiting for him at the other end. Kermit had sounded relieved when Paul had called him from Toronto and asked to be picked up. Annie had sounded thrilled when he had informed her of his decision to return home, if only for a little while.

"How long will you be home?" she had asked.

"Long enough to renew my acquaintance with my wife and get to know my grandchild." He had replied, keeping his voice light.

"And what else?" Annie had asked, sensing he wasn't telling her everything.

"I'll tell you when I get there." He had replied, mentally reminding himself to tell Annie a little about the situation before he brought Control to the house. She had always wanted to meet his elusive other half, yet there had never been time before to introduce them properly. Perhaps there would be now.

"What the hell are you doing here, old son?" a voice from behind him startled him out of his reverie. He turned quickly and found himself looking back at his own eyes in another man's face.

"I might ask the same to you. Where's Kermit?"

Control linked his arm through Blaisdale's and moved him quickly through the terminal. "Back at the parking garage. After our little discussion on the phone I had a sneaking suspicion you might decided to make a quick trip home, so I had my people check all incoming passenger lists from flights from Canada. You might have at least tried to use another name to book your passage under."

"Then how could I be sure you be here to meet the flight?" Paul laughed. "You never were very good at figuring out my plans, at least not without a major hint from me."

"You were always too unpredictable." Control complained, scanning the street for his car. "Do you know how hard that made it to arrange a rendezvous for you? You're suppose to keep the enemy guessing, not your own side."

Kermit edged the car up to the curb, and jumped out to greet his old friend. It still unnerved him how much the two men resembled each other, yet with the years, some differences had surfaced. Paul's eyes were warm and full of life as he grasped his old comrades arm. Control eyes were distant, even in the midst of a reunion with his oldest friend. If the eyes were the mirror to a man's soul, than these two men were as different as night and day. "First stop, home, right Paul?"

"No. First stop at whatever hotel McCall is staying at."

"This isn't your problem." Control protested.

"Don't argue with me, kid." Paul replied, ducking into the backseat of Kermit's car.

"KID! You're only 2 months older than I am." Control took the front seat, while Kermit slid behind the wheel.

"Two months is two months. You never learn not to argue with me, do you? Now behave or I'll tell Kermit what your real name is."

Control glanced back at his old friend in mock alarm then settled in silence for the drive to the hotel. It was soothing to have this easy banter to take his mind off the upcoming confrontation with McCall. He knew better than to hope that his old comrade would be as forgiving of his actions as Paul had always been. But then, he had never been as hard on Paul as he was on McCall. There had never been any reason to be. Paul had always been harder on himself then anyone else could be.

Kermit drove in silence, his disapproval of the turn of events carefully hidden behind his dark glasses and impassive face. Paul stared out the window in silence, taking in the sight of the city he had once sworn to protect and serve. It seemed like ages since last he had ridden down these streets with Kermit. He could feel the aura of disapproval Kermit was trying to suppress and made a note to himself to take his friend aside and explain as much as he could. But not now. Now he needed the time to consider what he could say to Robert McCall about Controls actions that would help heal the breach between the two old war horses.

At the hotel, the two older agents rode the elevator together, each lost in their own thoughts. Kermit had decided to wait with the car, assured by Paul that his assistance would not be required. Both men hesitated at the door to the suite, each waiting for the other to proceed. Control glanced at Paul then knocked forcefully.

"This is not a good idea." Control muttered.

"Just let me do the talking." Paul countered.

Mickey opened the door than stopped dead, amazed at the sight before him. He had heard that Control had a double but he had never believed it till now. Standing side by side, the two men were mirror images of one another, even to the way they both stood with a hand in a coat pocket and one foot in front of the other.

"Well, are you going to let us in or are you going to make us stand out here forever?' Paul asked, amused by the younger agent's reaction.

"Yeah, right. Come on in. McCall, we have company." He backed out of the two men's way, letting them enter before him.

"Company?" McCall asked then stopped dead. "What are you doing here?"

"Robert, we must talk." Control started, then stopped as Paul walked up to the enraged man in front of him.

"Sit down Robert, like it or not we are here to talk about Manon and you are here to listen." Paul locked eyes with the man in front of him, never letting his glance waver.

McCall sat down, furious at being forced to back down, yet curious as to what could have made Control's twin come out of retirement. As long as he had know the two, he had never been able to stand up to Paul Blaisdale. His quiet strength of character had a way of making even Control see reason on unreasonable issues. "What do you want, Blaisdale? This is not your affair."

"Afraid it is, old son. You see, my friend here asked me to do him a favor a few years back. Someone needed shelter, a place to hide away from the world. He asked me if I could provide it for her. And I did. That someone was Manon."

McCall stared at the man in shock. "You knew, didn't you, all this time...! Both of you! You, neither of you, had the right to keep this from her family or from me!"

"Shut up, Robert, before you make anymore of an ass of yourself than you already have." Paul replied calmly. " I knew that a Control needed help and that Manon needed a sanctuary, somewhere to reconstruct her past and face her future. So I offered one. It had nothing to do with you or her daughter. It had everything to do with her and how she wanted to begin her life again."

"You can never convince me that she choose to leave all that she loved behind." McCall spat back.

"I did, Robert. Why wouldn't she? I chose to leave a family I adore, a city I had served for years and everything that had ever been important to me to try to find my path out of darkness. Sometimes that's the only way to find the real person behind the mask that other people expect you to wear. You have no idea what it's like, Robert, to fight not only your own demons but everyone else's as well. Your love would have been more of a burden to her than she could have borne at that time. Maybe one day she could have gone back to you, but at that time, all she wanted was to rest." Paul sat in front of his former ally, keeping his eyes locked on McCalls. "Don't blame Control and I for wanting to help her get that rest, Robert. It was the least we could do for a friend."

McCall felt himself overwhelmed with emotion. Part of him didn't want to hear Blaisdale's words, just he hadn't wanted to hear Caines. But part of him knew that the man sitting in front of him probably knew more about the situation than he could ever hope to. They were right, of course, he would never have been able to bear seeing Manon's pain in dealing with the ghosts of the past, the nightmares of the torture she had suffered at the hands of the Russians. And she would never had been able to deal with his guilt.

"Why didn't you at least tell Yvette?" McCall asked, looking at the carpet in front of him.

"Because, she would have done just what you would have, insisted on taking care of her mother herself. Manon wanted Yvette to get on with her life, to not be chained by her mother's demons. Control and I honored her request for silence. Maybe we shouldn't have, but we did. Now she's gone. It's time, Robert, to let her go and begin your life again. She would have been miserable unhappy to think you were torturing yourself over a decision she made to protect you." Paul looked up at his twin with a sad smile. "Think about it, old son. If you want to talk, I'll be at home." He rose and started for the door, then turned a motioned to his twin. "Come on, you're not getting away from me that easily. I promised Annie a long time ago I would bring you home to meet her and I am a man of my word. Besides, you have to explain to her about that time in Cairo."

"I'll meet you downstairs." Control replied, his eyes never leaving McCall's still form.

Paul shrugged and stepped into the corridor, Mickey trailing along behind him.

"Think we should leave them alone?" the younger agent asked, casting a worried glance behind him.

"They'll work it out." Paul replied, straightening his coat. "There's only so much we can do. Now it's up to them."

Inside the suite, Control considered his options, then chose the path of least resistance. "I'm sorry Robert. Not for not telling you where she was, but for the pain that telling you now has caused. I know you're never going to forgive me for that, but ..."

"Go on with Blaisdale." McCall responded wearily. "He's waiting for you."

Control sighed and left, his footsteps and those of his twin echoing dully through the open doorway. Mickey entered and watched his friend worriedly for a moment, then sat down beside him.

"So, now what?" Mickey asked, quietly.

"Now, we go home, colleague . First, though, I must call Yvette. She deserves to know her mother's finally at peace. Then, ...I suppose I must start to begin again."

"What about Control?'

"I don't know, Mickey. Maybe one day, I'll understand why the three of them did this. But right now,... all I want is to go home."