On the Wall

A fanfic by Linda O.

I will follow you will you follow me
All the days and nights that we know will be
I will stay with you will you stay with me …


Mickey Kostmayer moved through the crowd like a tiger through high grass, intent on his prey. He had one hand in his pocket. He fondled the cold metal of the handcuffs as he moved. No time for uncertainty, not now; he moved with familiar, decisive precision.

He gained on the woman, despite the crowd, aided by the fact that she stopped often. Five people separated them, and then three, and then one. He waited while she took another picture and lowered the camera, waited until her left hand came down. Then he grabbed it with his free hand.

She snapped around, but he was faster. Before she saw him he’d snapped one of the cuffs around her wrist. "What the hell?" she exclaimed, and her right arm came around, camera and all, aimed at the side of his head.

Mickey grabbed her wrist, stopped her in mid-swing and held her there. "Easy," he said quietly, "it’s just me."

Her eyes registered this, but it didn’t make her any less angry. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Anne hissed.

"Shh, shh," Mickey soothed. "Just listen a minute, just listen …"

She jerked fiercely at the chain. "Let me go right this minute."

Don’t like it either, do you, Mickey thought bitterly. But he shoved it out of his mind. "Here. Here’s the key." He pressed the key into the palm of her hand. "You unlock it whenever you want. Take the cuff off, walk away. You have the key. You make the call."

Anne stared at him, confused and still a little frightened. He tried to call up his best crooked smile, but it wouldn’t come. He was frightened, too. "Annie, please," he said, very softly.

A hand the size and weight of a whole ham landed on his shoulder. "This guy bothering you, ma’am?" a deep Texas bass demanded.

Kostmayer turned, annoyed. He looked the intruder squarely in the chest. The chest was as Texas-sized as the voice. Well, he thought, coiling, the bigger they are, the harder they hit you.

"No, it’s okay," Anne answered quickly. She lifted her hand and tugged the chain lightly; Mickey could feel her trace it to the end, to the cuff around his right wrist. She got it, at least some of it. "He’s just a … a …"

"A romantic fool," Mickey supplied.

The massive American considered the two of them. "Well, all right then," he thundered, and vanished into the crowd.

Mickey turned back to Anne. She studied his face, still confused, but now unafraid. Her fingers toyed with the cuff on his wrist. "Mickey," she asked softly, "what the hell are you doing?"

"I’m trying …" he began, and unexpectedly his voice caught. He blinked, looked down, licked his lips. The crowd pushed them closer together, or maybe it was just Anne moving to him; either way, her closeness gave him comfort and courage. He looked up again. "I’m trying to fix this," he said simply.

Anne frowned. "With handcuffs?"

"I’m staying with you," Mickey explained. "I’m staying until you unlock the cuffs and tell me to go. I want to … to … try to talk this out. I don’t know if we can – if I can – but I want to try. Please, Annie, let me try."

"Oh, Mickey." Her hand came up, chain and all, and touched his cheek. He could see in her eyes that there was no question. Of course she would give him another chance. His heart lurched, and just for a moment he couldn’t speak. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

The crowd buffeted them again. "Let’s go somewhere quiet," Anne suggested.

"No," Mickey answered firmly. "You will never get pictures like this again."

"It doesn’t matter …"

"God, I love you for that," he blurted. He caught her behind the neck and kissed her, hard. "But it matters. You take your pictures. Go wherever you want, I’ll come with you. We’ll talk as we go."

Anne smiled, shaking her head. "I thought you were taking me to your work, not the other way around."

Mickey shrugged, his own crooked smile returning. "Well, I try not to be a chauvinist about these things."

"Yeah? Since when?"

"Since your career started paying better than mine."

Anne sobered. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Mickey answered tersely.

She stared at him, waiting for more. "Because sometimes you act like it bothers you."

"It doesn’t."

"Oh." Anne looked down and toyed with the camera.

Mickey sighed. Talking, they were supposed to be talking. He was supposed to be talking. He took a deep breath. "I love your work, Anne. I love that you’re successful. I love it that you’re getting the recognition that you deserve. You have a huge talent, and you’ve worked your ass off, and you deserve it. And – and I’m really proud of you, even though I don’t really think I have any right to be." He paused for breath. "Your mouth is open."

"That was amazing," Anne answered warmly. "I don’t remember the last time you said that many words in a row."

Kostmayer felt his cheeks grow warm. "Yeah, well. It’s all true." He pointed past her shoulder. "Look."

There was a crowd of students on top of the Wall again. They were helping a very old man climb up to them. He wore a black suite and a black fedora and a bow tie. Anne raised her camera and shot as he was hoisted up, as he was steadied by the welcoming, turbulent hands of the Wall dancers. As he reached into his jacket and brought out a jeweler’s tiny silver hammer. As he knelt, still protected and supported by the youngsters. As he raised his tradesman’s tool and brought it down defiantly on the reviled concrete that had broken his city.

His frail blows were largely ineffective, raising only dust, but the crowd applauded his gesture anyhow. He struck the Wall over and over, wincing as every blow wracked his gnarled hand, but jubilant beyond words.

Anne Keller wiped her eyes impatiently on her sleeve and kept shooting until the old man tired and was lowered carefully, lovingly, to the street again.

She sniffed. "That was great."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. His own voice was just a little unsteady.

Anne turned, used her fingertips to wipe away what were definitely not tears from his eyes. "You done good, boy," she whispered.

Mickey shook his head. "I didn’t do this."

"You helped."

"So did you."

"Me?" she asked, genuinely surprised. "I’ve never even been to Berlin before."

Mickey shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. The pictures you take, they make people see …" He faltered, searching for the right words. "They make people see how alike we are. The way you see things … when you’re done, that won’t just be an old man in Berlin. He’ll be everybody’s grandfather." He shook his head again, impatiently. "I’m sorry, I don’t have the words for this. But what you do – it’s important. It’s really important."

She leaned against him, out of words herself. "Thank you. I didn’t know you felt like that."

"Well, I do."

"But what you do," Anne argued, "it’s just as important. It did make this all happen."

"Maybe," Mickey conceded. "But half of what I do …" He hesitated. "Half the time, I think what I’m doing just makes things worse."

"But for a greater good."

"I used to think that. Now I’m not so sure."

Anne studied him for a moment. He’d never talked about his job with her, not like this, not about how he felt about it. He could tell she didn’t know quite what to make of it. "Then why don’t you quit?"

Kostmayer sighed. "For the other half, I guess."

She nodded seriously. "The things you do for Robert. They help you keep … even."

"Yes," he breathed, relieved. "I wasn’t sure you’d understand that."

"I would have if you’d ever told me."

Mickey looked away. "I’m trying, Anne."

"I know you are," she answered, touching his face again. "You’re doing so good."

The crowd shifted, moving them north again. Anne checked her camera, frowned, rewound and started patting her pockets. She got her arm tangled in the chain; Mickey moved quickly to unwind her.

"This is kinda silly," Anne said as she reloaded. "The chain. It’s sweet, it really is, but it’s not necessary."

"Take it off, if it’s in your way," Mickey answered quietly.

She looked up at him. "You don’t want me to."

He shrugged, expressionless. "It keeps me from losing you in the crowd."

"You won’t lose me."

"I already did once," he said solemnly.

Anne shook her head. "I would have taken you back. I always do."

"Not this time. This time you were done. And I don’t blame you."

"Are you saying I was right?" Anne asked, fumbling for an empty pocket for the exposed film.

"I might be," Mickey agreed. He took the film from her and tucked it into a back pocket on her vest.

"Then, ah, you’d be admitting that Lily was right, too."

Kostmayer froze up. "Leave Romanov out of this," he warned.

"She was trying to help us, Mickey."

"Leave it," he snarled. "I will settle things with her later."

"I won’t let you hurt her, Mickey."

His eyes narrowed to furious slits. "You think you can stop me?"

Anne took a half-step back. "Mickey, stop it."

He could see her fear, and he hated it. But his rage at Lily was white-hot again, and he couldn’t hide it. "It’s between me and Romanov," he warned darkly. "You stay out of it."

"I can’t, Mickey," Anne protested, defiant through her fear. "What she did, she did for both of us."

I am going to kill her, Mickey thought fiercely. But if he said that aloud to Anne – if she ever found out – and then there was Control, coming after him, which hadn’t mattered, when Anne was gone –

Damn it.

"Promise me you won’t hurt her," she demanded.

"Fine," Mickey snapped. "I’ll make sure I kill her quick and painless."

Anne stared at him. Then she jerked away, forgetting about the chain until it snapped taut and spun her back around. "You’re crazy!" she shouted. "She’s your friend, she did everything she could to help you, and you want to kill her for it?"

The crowd was turning towards the commotion. "Anne, stop it," Mickey ordered, low and dangerous.

"Stop it? I’m not going to stop it! You just said you …"

"Anne, shut up!"

She froze for one instant, swallowed, blinked back tears. Then she fumbled frantically for the cuff key.

Mickey knew at once what she was looking for. He also knew, with great certainty, that if she got the cuffs off, she was gone. Really gone. "Annie, don’t."

She found the key. "We’ve got nothing to talk about."

Anne reached for the cuff. Mickey’s hand closed over hers. "Anne, stop."

"Let go. Get away from me!"

"Anne, please!"

For the second time in less than an hour, she swung her camera at him. He caught her other wrist, stopping her, and then he twisted her around so that her back was to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and his arms around her. "Annie, just stop," he said directly in her ear. "Just stop."

She struggled, and brought her foot down as hard as she could on his instep. "Let me go!"

"There is a problem?" a voice in the crowd said.

"Go away!" Anne shouted. "Damn it, Mickey, let me go." She gave up escaping his arms and turned her efforts back to unlocking the cuff.

"Annie, please," he said desperately, "I love you."

She shuddered, stopped struggling. "And I know you love me," he continued.

"I don’t even know you!" she yelled.

Mickey sighed. "Okay," he said. "Okay." Slowly, he released his grip. "Then go."

Anne turned to face him. "I don’t want to go. I want you to say you won’t hurt her."

"You don’t understand."

"I understand just fine. I understand that you’re mad at her because she got the drop on you. She embarrassed you, is that it? She faced you? And you’re so mad at her you’re willing to let me go to get at her. That’s it, isn’t it?"

Mickey growled. "Yeah. That’s it."

"And you couldn’t find her in this crowd. If you could, you’d be off killing her instead of trying to fix things with me. Isn’t that right?"

"Absolutely," he agreed darkly.

Anne unlocked the cuff from her wrist and handed the key to him. "Good bye, Mickey."

He watched her, numb, dumbfounded, as she moved away into the crowd. Michael Kostmayer was a man who lived by his wits, by his ability to make a quick decision, and suddenly he was rooted, unable to move, to think. To decide.

It was such an easy decision. Let Lily Romanov live, let his rage go, or give up the woman he loved more than his own life.

Insane that he should even have to think about it.

But he was so furious still.

But he loved Anne Keller.

Love, or rage.

He took one deep breath, and went after her.

Mickey moved up behind her again, but didn’t grab her this time. Instead, he leaned very close and said, "All right. I’ll let her live."

Anne spun around and snapped the cuff back on his wrist. "Damn, but you’re a pain in the ass to live with."

Mickey grinned uncertainly, still off-balance. "Yeah. I know."

***

Well, the government bugged the men's room in the local disco lounge
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
To keep the boys from sellin' all the weapons they could scrounge
And all she wants to do is dance
But that don't keep the boys from makin' a buck or two
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
They still can sell the army all the drugs that they can do


"We're gonna die," Jimmy said grimly.

Stock shot him a look, but he wasn't entirely sure his companion was wrong. The three young black men they faced were grim and determined, and any one of them outmassed the two agents combined by a factor of at least two. From the look of them, they also outgunned the agents by at least as much.

"You Lily's friend?" the tallest of the black men asked.

"Yes," Stock answered. "I'm, uh, Jacob, this is Jimmy." It seemed wiser not to use last names. In his mind, he designated the three men Tall, Round, and In-Between.

"Where's Lily?"

"She's been called away. She'll be back for the party, though."

The three young men exchanged looks warily. "You look like a cop," In-Between said.

"We aren't cops," Jimmy assured them. "We're just looking for a place to have a party. We have cash."

The tall one said, "You don't look like a cop. He does, but you don't."

"We aren't cops," Jimmy said again.

"Lily said you could help us," Stock prompted.

Another look. The young men came to some silent agreement. "Come on inside," Tall said.

Jimmy and Stock shared a look of their own. Jimmy patted the back of his jacket significantly. They followed the young men into the warehouse.

The ground floor was empty and bare, concrete and dust. "Parking," Round said. "There's a door in back. Nobody can see you from the street that way."

"Good, good," Stock answered. That would make Control happy, anyhow.

They continued to a freight elevator at the back wall. The five of them were not very crowded on the brief ride to the second floor. "You understand," Tall said, "it's not that we don't want to help. But this club does not appear on the official records of the City of New York."

"You don't have a liquor license," Jimmy translated. "We don't care."

"No license, no inspections, no limit on our hours. This is a private club, not an open bar. It makes the paperwork easier. You understand."

"We understand," Stock assured him. "We're not into any kind of law enforcement. We just want to throw a party."

The elevator opened onto a small lobby. Beyond, double doors opened onto the main club.

"Welcome to The Velvet Elvis, gentlemen," In-Between man said, ushering them into the club.

The agents considered the club for a long moment. "This'll work," Jimmy pronounced, with more than his usual enthusiasm.

"Oh, yeah," Stock answered. "This'll be great." He considered the bar, the dance floor. The lights, the speakers, the mural behind the bar – well, at least he knew where the club got its name and holy cow, did anyone really think Elvis had been that well-endowed? There was everything they needed here, except food, and that was Sterno's problem. "It'll be great," he repeated.

"We close at midnight tonight," Round told them. "The cleaning crew will be done by five a.m. and you can have the keys then. We re-open at noon on Monday."

Jimmy shook his head. "If you're not on the books, why close on Sundays?"

The three men turned as one to look at him. "Sunday is the Lord's day," the tallest one said. "Wouldn’t be right to sell liquor on the Lord's day."

"Oh."

Round snickered. "Besides, his mama would kick his ass."

"Oh."

Stock and Jimmy shared another look. There were details to work out, money, bartenders, and so on. But they had a place to party.

***

I, I can remember
(can remember)
Standing by the wall
(by the wall)
And the guns shot above our heads
(above our heads)
And we kissed as though nothing could fall


They walked in silence for a long while. Anne took pictures of the Wall dancers, and the Wall woodpeckers, the people with hammers and mallets and other creative tools of destruction. She found a baby-faced East German soldier peeking through a new hole in the Wall and took a dozen pictures of his grinning face. She caught some of the graffito on the flat places, found shred of ancient torn cloth on barbed wire. Mickey moved with her, anticipating what she needed, more film, a different camera, a different lens. His hands moved freely over her vest, keeping hers free for the camera. But for a long time they found no words.

Lily had said they needed to talk, he thought bitterly, and now because of her they had nothing to say to each other.

But then – what had she said? Something about a deal-breaker. "Do you want to have children?" Mickey asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Do you want to have children?" he repeated. "If we were married, would you want to have children?"

Anne lowered her camera and looked at him. "Honestly?"

"Yeah, that would help."

"No."

"No?"

She shrugged. "If Gregg had lived … it would have been different. I mean, if we’d had him …" She gestured around. "But I wouldn’t be here, then. Neither would you, probably."

Mickey nodded slowly. If their child had survived, if he hadn’t been stillborn, all those years ago … he shook his head. Too many roads had ended with the child’s unstarted life. To think about them now was madness. "I just always assumed … I mean, you come from such a big family and all."

"I think that’s the problem," Anne answered. "From the time I was out of diapers, practically, I was changing somebody else’s. I mean, I love my brothers and sisters, I do, but … when you and Nick were out playing kick the can, I was feeding babies. Remember?"

He considered. He hadn’t ever thought about it that way. "But it would be different with your own kids, wouldn’t it?"

"Maybe," she agreed. "And sometimes I think about it … but mostly … I’m scared I’d turn into my mother."

"Your mother and her frightening hips."

Anne laughed. "You see what I mean." She slipped her hand into his and they moved further along the Wall. "Do you? Want kids?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "I guess not. I mean, I don’t feel very strongly about it either way. If you wanted them I’d go along with it, but … apathy means no, right?"

"Right."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I can’t believe I didn’t know that about you."

"You never asked."

"I know."

They walked a little further. The crowd had thinned here to normal street traffic, and even that was fading as the light left. Berlin had been celebrating for more than a day; it was finally going to bed.

"I like this," Mickey said, quiet and surprised.

"Walking and talking?" Anne asked. "We could do it more often, you know."

"Yeah." He jingled the chain between them. "I might have to keep this."

"We don’t need that." She squeezed his hand warmly. "We have these."

He stopped, and she turned, and they kissed.

"Not so hard, is it?" Anne coaxed.

Mickey smirked. "It’s a lot easier when you aren’t yelling at me."

"It’s a lot easier when you stick around, too." She touched his face gently, almost by way of apology. "How come I can’t get a decent argument out of you?"

"I don’t see any point in arguing." He was already stiffening up. "I mean, you yell, I yell, nothing gets accomplished."

"But nothing gets accomplished when you just leave, either."

"Maybe. But at least we don’t break up."

Anne frowned. "You won’t fight with me because you’re afraid we’ll break up if you do?"

"Well … yeah."

"We damn near broke up because you didn’t."

Mickey’s shoulders inched up. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

She sighed. "I’m not mad, Mickey. And I’m not going to yell, I promise. But I think we really need to talk about this."

He drew a long, deep breath, and started walking, still holding her hand. "I just … I just don’t see why we need to fight. I just don’t."

"All couples fight."

"No, they don’t."

"Of course they do."

"No," Mickey repeated with certainty. "They don’t."

Anne considered, then tried a different strategy. "Didn’t your parents ever fight?"

"No."

"They must have."

"Nope."

"Maybe when you weren’t around."

"Anne. My parents never fought."

"Never?"

"Never."

"I can’t believe that. All couples fight."

"They didn’t."

"Never?" she asked again.

"Never," Mickey insisted. "Just that once."

Anne heard the catch in his voice. "Mickey?" she asked gently.

He looked pointedly in the other direction. "I don’t want to talk about this," he said again, and this time his voice actually cracked.

"Mickey." Anne stopped him with a gentle pressure, turned him towards her and put her hands lightly on the sides of his face. "Mickey, what happened?"

He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. "They had a fight, okay? A big blow-out argument like we’re always on the verge of having. And then my dad left."

"And then what?"

"And then nothing." He jerked his head away from her, turned so that his shoulder was towards her. "He never came back."

"Oh, Jesus … oh, Mickey!" Anne went around in front of him, and though he tried to turn away again, she caught him, this time with her arms, wrapped them around him and held him tightly. He resisted, stiffening against her. "Oh, Mickey," she murmured, "oh, love, I’m sorry, I didn’t know."

Slowly, the stiffness left him and he wrapped his arms around her as well. He buried his face in her shoulder and held her tighter still. One of them, or both of them, trembled. She kept murmuring reassurances, apologies, and he shook his head without looking up. "How could you know, Annie? I never told you."

"You should have told me, I never would have … oh, Mickey, I’m so sorry. If I’d known … my parents fought all the time, I never thought about … oh, Mickey, I’m sorry."

"Okay, stop," he muttered. He untangled himself, but gently, from her embrace. "It was a long time ago, it shouldn’t matter any more, it’s just … it’s just …"

"That every time we argue you think I’m going to leave you. Because that’s what you learned."

Mickey shook his head. "I should know better."

"I should, too. I wish you’d just said something."

There was a long silence. Mickey looked around them. It was nearly full dark, and the streets were almost deserted here. There were houses between them and the Wall now. He’d hidden in a chicken coop once that used the Wall as the back of the pen. Close by, in fact. The place with the weird graffiti.

"Come here," he said, moving again. "I want to show you something."

She followed, willing but concerned as they cut behind people’s houses.

"Your parents argued all the time?" he asked. "I didn’t know that."

"All the time," Anne answered, chuckling. "Screaming, yelling, about everything. But it never meant anything, they still loved each other. It was just how they communicated."

He nodded thoughtfully. "So that’s how you thought couples should be."

"Yeah, I guess I did. And all the time that was exactly the wrong way to be with you … I’m sorry, Mickey."

"My fault, too. I didn’t even realize that was why I kept leaving." He sighed. "Damn it."

"What?"

He twisted his mouth. "I hate it when Romanov’s right."

"You don’t have to tell her.’

"No. I don’t think I will." He stopped just beside the Wall and pointed. "Read this."

Anne squinted in the shadows. Mickey produced a pen light and pointed it to a tiny spot. There were shallow scratches there, old words almost too faint to be read. "My ear?" Anne read curiously. "Is that what it says?"

"Uh-huh. 'My ear, my ear, where the hell is my ear'."

"What’s it mean?"

Mickey shrugged. "I have no idea. I found it a long time ago, when I was hiding out here." He hesitated, then went on. "The spotlights have sweet spots. Dead places, places they don’t reach. So if you come off the Wall, or through it, you can just stay here, wait until they quit looking."

"But I thought once you got to the West you were safe."

He gestured towards the top of the Wall. "High-powered rifles, they’re not great respecters of boundaries."

She followed his gesture, gazed at the Wall for a moment. Then she looked back at him. He could see her putting it together. Him crouching here – right here – in this small sweet shadow, while above men with guns waited for a glimpse to shoot at. Men right there, trying their damndest to kill him … she shuddered, and he touched her arm. "Annie, I’m right here."

Her eyes filled with tears anyhow. "You were … you could have … how often have you … ah, shit. I was happier when I didn’t know so much about your job."

"Yeah."

She framed up the scratching on the Wall and took a couple flash shots. "I’m tired," she announced.

"We can head back," Mickey answered. "There’s not going to be much more to see tonight."

"In a minute." Anne leaned her shoulder against the Wall, resting. Mickey joined her, took her hand again. "What are we going to do, Mickey?" she asked softly.

"About us?"

"Uh-huh."

"We’re doing it," he answered. "We’re going to talk it out. Everything we need to talk about, we’ll talk about. That’s all."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Well, it ought to be a little easier now, anyhow."

"Now that I’ll quit yelling at you."

He shook his head. "It’s okay if you yell at me. As long as I know you’re not leaving me."

"You think … maybe you could yell back sometimes?"

"That’s a stretch. But I can try, if it’s important to you."

"It is."

"Why?"

She considered, biting her lower lip. "My parents had these big screaming fights, and then they’d go upstairs and make up. They weren’t quiet about that, either."

"You’re kidding."

"Mickey, until I was about six years old, I thought people made babies by screaming at each other."

Mickey laughed. "Oh. So you’re trying to pick fights with me to spice up our love life?"

"No, but …" Anne stopped and thought about it. "You know, maybe that is part of it."

"We’re quite a pair, you know that." Mickey took a deep breath. "I love you, Anne."

"I love you, too."

He looked around. The sweet spot. No surveillance here, no spotlights, even if they’d been running tonight. The chicken coop blocked them from the street, mostly. The houses were dark and quiet. The concrete of the Wall was cold on his back, and colder still through his jeans. Anne’s hand in his felt like an ember. "We could try it," he ventured softly.

"The fighting or the making up?"

"Yeah." He turned and put one hand behind her neck, drew her face to his and kissed her long and hard and deep. "Yeah."

Her body came tight against his – and the cameras and film and lenses in her vest pockets jabbed at both of them. "Wait," Anne murmured against his mouth. She got her hand between them, unzipped the vest and pushed it open. Less hindered, she drew tight against him again, her arms twined around his head as far as the chain would allow, and the kiss continued.

The explosion happened almost directly over their heads. Mickey lifted his mouth and moved their bodies in one instinctive motion, pushing Anne roughly against the Wall and covering her with his own body even before he looked up to the source of the blinding white light.

The firework blossom faded, the embers hissing down to the cold earth below.

"Shit," Kostmayer breathed. Other fireworks went off all along the wall. He moved off Anne’s body enough to stop crushing her. "I hate fireworks. You okay?"

"Uh-huh," she said faintly.

Mickey leaned back and studied her. Her eyes were cloudy, but she wasn’t frightened, wasn’t hurt. It was some other emotion entirely. His body recognized it before his mind did. It made his mouth go dry, his knees go soft. "You, uh, want to head back to the safe house?"

"No," Anne answered. She pulled his close again and kissed him, deeper than before, harder.

"Anne," Mickey said desperately, "Anne, please." This was crazy, he thought. His jeans were suddenly way too tight. It was cold, the fireworks kept exploding over their heads, they were literally in the shadow of the Berlin Wall, it was the middle of the night, and if she kissed him like that one more time …

She did. She moved so that her foot was between his, and then her knee, and then her thigh was tight against his, her whole body, and he could feel the heat through their clothes, way too many clothes between them, his reindeer sweater that was no less itchy from the outside than the inside, his leather jacket too cold, too slick, he fumbled to get that zipper open, too, and that was better, they were closer, still not close enough, they were never going to be close enough …

This was insane. "Anne," he said, as firmly as he could, "stop it. We can’t do this."

She nibbled at his left ear, and her hands found their way under his shirt, ran up his chest. Her hands were warm, but the trailing handcuff chain was icy; the combination was intolerable. "Why?" she purred.

"We … you … damn it, Annie …" Her left hand had found the most sensitive spot on his chest. The chain dragged frozen across his taut stomach. And her right hand was … was … "Annie," he groaned, half protest, half resignation.

"The Wall won’t be here in a month," she protested. "We’ll never get another chance."

"But … but …" Mickey insisted. His mouth continued to protest even as hers closed over his, but his body had already agreed with her logic … if that’s what it was. Maybe it was just a lack of control … oh, hell, if Control ever found out about this … too many people, too many cameras, too much risk, out here in the middle of everything …his hands were all over her, now, too, and the cold didn’t matter, he didn’t even feel it, neither did she, only the heat, mouths and hands and skin and heat …

… too many clothes, too many clothes in the way, zippers and buttons and shirts and what he wanted was his skin against hers, what he wanted was … was …

Another explosion overhead, and he moved, backed her against the wall again … the Wall, he corrected … still way too many clothes, but the important ones out of the way and nothing else mattered, he moved and they were together, joined in heat, his body held hers tight against the Wall, her arms around his neck, her leg came up around him and they were together, so close, so tight, so impossibly hot where they met …

It couldn’t last, and it didn’t, but it ended as swiftly and as spectacularly as the airbursts that continued over their heads. Mickey fought for air and for balance as Anne’s body slumped against him. He got his feet a little further apart, braced himself and just held her for a moment. She was trembling. Or maybe it was him. After another moment, they both started to feel the cold.

Anne put her feet down and steadied herself. "Um."

"Uh-huh," Mickey answered. They both adjusted their clothes, standing very close still, covering each other until they were decent. They got tangled in the chain of the handcuffs and had to stop. Anne started to giggle. Mickey grumbled, then started laughing himself. They got untangled, eventually. Zipped each other’s coats. Anne patted her pockets, found her camera. Assembled, respectably holding hands, and without another word, they stepped back into the light.

They had walked perhaps fifty yards before Mickey said, rather plaintively, "Now can we go back to the safe house?"

Anne laughed. "That depends. Will Ginger be there?"

"I hope not."

"After this, I thought you might be up for two redheads."

"You are such a brat."

"I know. And you’re so very indulgent."

He grunted. "If they weren’t tearing this Wall down …"

"You’d have done it anyhow."

Mickey glanced sidelong at her, a small grin playing at his mouth. "Yeah, I would. With you, I would."

"You say the sweetest things."

They walked a little further. "Maybe your parents had something," Mickey finally ventured. "Maybe there’s something to this fighting after all."

"Told you so." Anne bumped against his shoulder as they walked. "We should do it more often."

"Yeah."

"But you were right, too," she admitted. "Maybe a little more talking, a little less yelling."

"Uh-huh."

"You’re not talking," Anne pointed out.

Mickey cleared his throat. "Sorry. I was just wondering … only we’re doing so well, I don’t want to bring it up again …"

"Getting married?"

"Yes."

"I’d like to marry you."

They walked a little further. "But?" Mickey asked.

"But what?"

"You’d like to marry me, but."

"No but. I’d like to marry you. If the offer still stands."

"Oh." They walked; Mickey’s face was perfectly expressionless. "It’s the handcuffs, isn’t it?" he finally ventured.

"Well … they helped."

"You’re just a little kinky, aren’t you?"

"A little. And you like it, just a little, don’t you?"

"A little."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So do you still want to marry me? Kinks and all?"

Mickey shrugged. "Let me think about it."

"Oh, and you said I was a brat." Anne stopped in her tracks, grabbed his face, and kissed him again. "Don’t make me throw you up against that Wall again, buddy."

He stood very still and considered her for a long moment. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay, let’s get married."

Anne grinned. "Okay."

Mickey sighed. "Now can we go back to the safe house?"

They did. They found a warm room with a door that locked securely, they took off the handcuffs and many other things, and sometime before the dawn, he finally remembered to put his mother’s engagement ring on her finger.

***

The radio is blastin', someone's knockin' at the door
I'm lookin' at my girlfriend - she's passed out on the floor
I seen so many things I ain't never seen before
Don't know what it is - I don't wanna see no more
Mama told me not to come …


Robert stopped the Jaguar at the end of the long gravel drive and considered the building dubiously. "This can’t be the right place."

Beside him, Pete O’Phelan consulted the address she’d scrawled on a carry-out form at the restaurant. "It’s what I’ve got, too," she answered uncertainly.

At the end of the drive, a three-story warehouse stood dark. Every window was boarded over. A single light shown yellow over the empty concrete lot beside the building. If there was a party here, it was starting late.

McCall suspected he had been sent on a great snipe hunt.

"They said to go around back," Pete offered.

Robert grunted, but he pointed the sleek car down the dusty drive. At the back corner he turned and was greeted by two more overhead lights, a wide garage door, tightly closed, and three men in dark clothes. Of its own accord, his hand strayed to his gun even before he stopped the car.

The hand returned to the wheel as Jacob Stock came to the side of the car. Robert rolled down the window. "Hey, McCall, glad you could make it. Hi, Pete."

"Are we early?" she asked.

"Early? No, lots of people here." He frowned, puzzled, then brightened. "Parking inside," he explained. "Take the service elevator up."

McCall nodded grimly. "Just another Control special."

Stock laughed. "You’ll see, McCall. Go on in." He stood back and gestured; the garage door opened with mechanical smoothness, silent.

The parking area, the entire ground floor of the building, was a third full of cars. As soon as he opened the door, Robert could hear the pounding bass line of the music playing above them. Warily, he rounded the Jag and offered his hand to help Pete out.

She eyed the ceiling above them as well. "Maybe we could just put in an appearance."

"A brief appearance," Robert agreed. "You just say the word."

They walked to the elevator, which appeared as disreputable as the rest of the building, but ran with precision quiet. It opened onto a small lobby, where the music was louder than below but not as loud as inside. On the wall, a vast graffiti tag read, "Welcome to the Velvet Elvis."

"The … Velvet Elvis?" Pete asked carefully.

"I’m not sure I want to know," McCall answered. He walked to the push-through double doors to the main floor. There, a hand-written sign read, ‘One night only, this area officially designated THE FIELD.’

Robert actually groaned.

"I don’t get it," Pete said. "The field? What field?"

"The proverbial field," McCall answered. "As in, ‘what happens in the field, stays in the field.’"

"Oh," his companion said, understanding completely, "it’s going to be one of those parties."

Grasping her arm firmly, Robert pushed the door open and resolutely entered the fray

***

When I get lonely and I'm sure I've had enough,
She sends comfort coming in from above.
Don't need no letters at all.
We got a thing that's called radar love


Control, being Control, found the back entrance, a rusty set of stairs, and made his entrance nearly unnoticed. He lingered in shadow, taking stock. Who was here, and in what configurations. Where the exits were, and where one could shelter from gunfire. Where the bar was, and the bathrooms. It took him less than a minute, his long-honed instincts doing most of the work, bringing only the exceptional details to his conscious attention.

Item of note: At the small table nearest the door were five men with uniformly short hair, painfully good posture, and powerful self-assurance. They were not Control's, but he fleetingly wished they were. None of their beverages appeared to be alcoholic, and they were not mingling, not chatting up the available women. Whoever they were, they were there with a purpose. They were working.

Item of note: The bar had taken its name from the mural which hung behind the bar. It was, of course, a painting of Elvis on black velvet. From the quality of the painting, it might well have been a paint-by number – of mammoth proportions. It was made of four panels, each ten feet tall, and the whole portrait was perhaps forty feet long. The King was lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, a glass of champagne in the other. He was nude.

It was not the young, fit Elvis.

A significant portion of his anatomy was highly improbable.

Item of note: There were two men working the bar, and neither of them belonged to Control, either. They were running their legs off. Three tip jars were half-full, but otherwise no cash changed hands. Open bar. Control felt his wallet groan.

Item of note: They had, as threatened, put Sterno in charge of the food. Three long tables near the wall away from the bar literally bowed under the weight of the buffet. He'd been to every carry-out joint in the city. Control's wallet gave up groaning and began to weep quietly.

There were small tables between the bar and the buffet, four chairs each, and some had already been put together. Beyond the bar, closer to where Control had come in, was a large dance floor, polished wood but with the annoying inset disco lights. Huge speakers hung from the ceiling on all four corners of the floor, blasting the dancers with sound.

Item of note: Of the two-hundred plus agents and supporters already present, perhaps six had any business trying to dance to rock music. The rest were enthusiastic but hopeless.

Item of note: Behind the buffet was a series of doors. They had doubtless been offices when this factory was serving its original purpose. Now they seemed to be private rooms for party-goers. Lovely. It would be instructive, Control mused, to see who went into the rooms with whom. Instructive, and quite possibly disturbing.

Item of note: At the rear of the club, where Control had come in, there were several larger tables which seated up to eight people. They were behind the speakers, where it was somewhat quieter, and they afforded a clear view of the entire room. My spot, the spymaster decided at once. For as long as I have to stay.

Item of note: The only person who had noted his arrival was the most beautiful woman in the room.

Lily Romanov stood at the bar, surrounded by young agents, and although she was listening to them, she frequently glanced in his direction. She could not possibly see him in the shadows, but there was no question in his mind that she knew he was there, and that he was watching her.

She wore a little black dress, the sort of dress that many women owned and few should actually wear, sleeveless, v-cut in the front and back just a little too far, just half an inch too short, half a size too tight. Stiletto heels on strappy sandals, and she should not have been able to walk, much less dance. Yet she did both with ease. Lily lived in her blue jeans, and he liked her that way. But cleaned up and dressed up, she was stunning.

Control reached instinctively to straighten his tie. He paused, with a grimacing smile, remembering that he didn't have one. He had gone as casual as he ever intended to with this particular crowd: black pants, black turtleneck, charcoal gray sport coat to cover the gun that he certainly was not attending without. He felt self-consciously underdressed, despite the fact that many of the others were wearing jeans. He was, after all, Control.

He ran his hand through his hair – which was longer than it had been in years; the woman was playing havoc with his personal grooming standards – and stepped into the light.

***

You might've heard I run with a dangerous crowd.
We ain't too pretty. We ain't too proud.
We might be laughing a bit too loud,
But that never hurt no one.


Jacob Stock climbed onto the bar and gestured for quiet. He didn’t, of course, get it. He turned around and spoke to the bartender, who turned off the tape deck. The background silence was a little disturbing, but people kept right on talking. Finally, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled at a volume that made dogs shudder twenty blocks in every direction.

The warehouse got quiet.

"Hi," he said, suddenly nervous. "Uh, before we get really started here, there’s a couple rules and stuff I have to go over." There were general groans from the gathering. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll be quick. The first thing is, uh, we have to thank Control," he gestured towards the spymaster at the back of the room, "for authorizing this party and more importantly, for signing off on our expense reports."

From the floor, Lily tugged at his pants leg. Stock bent and conferred with her, then straightened and cleared his throat again. "Uh, well, I hear he hasn’t signed off on them yet. So if you love us, you’ll be nice to him, okay? Otherwise I’m going to need a second job to pay for this bash."

The crowd giggled. Control nodded sternly.

"Anyhow," Stock went on, "when he agreed to this party, Control had three conditions. One, that he didn’t have to make any speeches." There was applause, and Jacob shook his head. "You’re killing us here, you know that, don’t you? Two, that it had to be somewhere the KGB wouldn’t be taking all our pictures." He gestured around the warehouse. "So here we are. And three, that nobody gets stupid and dead. So, the bar is open, drink all you want …" again he had to wait until the applause died down, "but there by the door, those large men? They are with the, uh, special unit of the Army Rangers which does not officially exist, and they’re here to be our designated drivers. If you try to leave and they think you’re drunk, they will take your keys and drive you home. And fair warning, if they think you’re drunk, they’re right. You can ride home in the back seat or they can fold you up in the trunk, but you’re not driving."

There were scattered laughs, but the crowd understood.

"Uh, okay," he continued, consulting his notes. "So the bar is free, but feel free to tip your bartenders, and don’t be ordering any girlie blender drinks, please. And Sterno was in charge of food, so there’s lots of it." He gestured to the tables at the far side of the club. "Eat all you want. Really. He's outside watching cars right now, but feel free to tell him what you think. Music – some of you know Robert McCall’s son Scott, he made the tapes for us from all your suggestions at the office – well, most of your suggestions. And we have another tape of songs used to torture various terrorists throughout the world. If anyone tries to make a speech, we will not hesitate to use it." He gestured to the bartender again, and the first strains of 'Muskrat Love' wafted over the floor. The crowd groaned, and Stock relented, gestured for it to stop before the words could start.

"What else?" Lily tugged his pants again, and again he leaned down to consult with her. "Oh, right. This place is the Velvet Elvis, for obvious reasons, and it is open after hours every night except Sunday. The owners are friends, sorta, so feel free to give them your business any time you're, um, out after hours. And thanks to Lily for setting this up for us." Another brief consult. "And if you're going to use the private rooms, for God's sake lock the doors, okay? Because, frankly, we don't want to know the details."

"Other than that, have a good time, and we'll see you all at work tomorrow."

There was a smattering of laughter; Jacob climbed down, and the music resumed.

***

Where have all good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?


"Robert!"

McCall grinned. "Charlie McGuinn. I might have guessed you'd be here first." He embraced his old friend lightly.

"Anywhere with an open bar, of course I'm here first. How've you been? How's the, what do we call it, the altruism business?"

"It goes as well as can be expected," Robert allowed. "There seems to be no shortage of bad men in the world, I'm afraid."

"You didn't think there would be," Charlie told him. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink. Well, I won't buy it, of course, but I'll pretend to tip for you."

Robert turned to check on Pete, but she was already off with a number of her old colleagues. Nodding, he followed Charlie to the bar. "I didn't expect so many of the old crowd," he commented, looking around.

"Open bar, remember?" Charlie prompted. "And why shouldn't we be here? We won the war. And this is the only celebration we'll get for it, probably. Scotch, two, top shelf," he ordered.

The drinks arrived. Robert accepted his, and they shared a wordless toast. "Won the war?" he mused. "Or just this incarnation of it?"

Charlie sighed. "You're right, of course. But for tonight, we're all going to pretend we won the whole war."

"A little group self-delusion?" Robert mused, not unkindly.

"And here's how," McGuinn agreed, raising his drink.

"Ah, good," Lily Romanov said as she joined them, "grown men at last. I'm so glad you're here. The little boys are boring me senseless."

"Hello, darling," Charlie said, kissing her cheek.

"I believe she was talking to me," Robert countered, kissing her other cheek.

"Both of you, actually," she said. "How've you been?"

"Busy," Charlie told her. "And about to be busier, I imagine."

Lily shook her head. "Tonight there is only good news and peace in the world."

"What, you've cut all the phone lines?"

"And taken the batteries from all the radios," she answered. She turned to Robert. "I have something for you. For Scott, actually – are you going to see him this week?"

"I usually do," he said. He watched with interest as she reached over the bar, retrieved a rather well-stuffed envelope, and handed it to him. "What's this for?" he asked suspiciously.

"For the music," she answered. "He made our soundtrack for us, on no notice."

"He won't accept this."

"I know. That's why I'm giving it to you." To Robert's scowl, she went on, "It's not like it's my money, it's …" she gestured towards the back of the room, where Control was holding court, "… well, the Company's. And it's half of what we would have had to pay some studio guy to make it for us, I know he stayed up all night finding this stuff, and it's not like he can't use the money."

There was, Robert allowed, no arguing that point. She was probably right, too, that Scott would accept the money from him. Still, "I don't know."

"Tell him if he won't take it, I'll just break into his apartment and hide it in his underwear drawer," Lily threatened. "And I will look through them while I'm there."

Robert laughed and tucked the envelope away. "I will tell him."

"Thank you."

From the elevator, Sterno rather stridently called, "Romanov! Hey, Romanov!"

"Gotta go," Lily said brightly. "Have another drink."

From where they stood, both senior agents could hear Sterno's next words. "Hey, Romanov, there's a squad of Marines outside looking for you."

"Uh-oh," Charlie said quietly.

But Lily practically bounced towards the elevator. "Excellent!" she called.

***

Now the man in the back
Is ready to crack as he raises his hands to the sky
And the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner
She could kill you with a wink of her eye


The ripple of rumor carried swiftly to Control's ears and he excused himself, made his way uneasily towards the front of the club, wondering if he would need to go downstairs and rescue his lover from a bunch of jarheads. What in the world had she gotten herself into this time?

Before he could reach the elevator, Lily returned. As advertised, she was trailed by a squad of six Marines in BDU's. The men carried two body bags. At Lily's instruction, they placed the bags on two hastily-cleared tables. Neither bag looked quite long enough for an adult body, but both were obviously heavy enough. A chill fell over the room.

Control moved closer.

Romanov glanced around, smiled into the silence. "You people are so literal. Lighten up." She spoke more quietly to the men, directing them invitingly to the food and the drinks. Predictably, they headed for the food first, except for the squad leader, who lingered near the woman.

Control growled very quietly. The way the man acted with her, his posture, his voice, his physical proximity: He thought he was taking her home.

She wasn't doing anything to discourage him.

"Come, come children, gather 'round and see what I brought you," Lily called. A percentage of the crowd gathered around the table. Lily unzipped the smaller body bag. It contained fist sized-rocks – no, concrete, splattered here and there with bits of paint. There were also half a dozen small hammers. "Arts and crafts time. Make your own souvenirs. Have a piece of the Wall in your own home."

"All right!" Roelen said. "I didn't think you'd pull it off." Eager hands were already reaching to break up the rocks.

Control stood right behind her, trying not to glower too visibly at the Marine who still lingered.

Lily gestured. "Getting it was easy. Getting it home was the tricky part."

"What's in there?" Stock asked, pointing towards the larger bag.

The woman grinned, glanced back over her shoulder at Control. "This is going to the Farm, I think." She looked around for Robert, gestured him closer. Then she zipped back the top.

Inside the bag was a single flat piece of concrete, three feet square, coarsely hacked out of the larger Wall. Its graffiti was intact. The line, the nose, the curved head, the eyes, in faded blue paint. Below, in red, also faded, the words: Kilroy Was Here.

Control began to chuckle softly. He knew this piece of the Wall well. Very well indeed. It had been many years ago, when he and Robert were young agents. He'd told Lily about this particular incident on what he had come to call the Night of the Great Betrayal – what she called the Night of the Great Revelation. He would never have thought she could retrieve it for him.

He touched the small of her back, very lightly, very briefly.

The gathered agents laughed their appreciation. "I had to have it," Lily said. She looked to Robert. "Your artwork, I presume?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Why mine?" She pointed one slender finger to the edge of the art, where he had scribbled his initials in wet paint with his fingertip. McCall grinned, nodding. "Very observant, my dear."

Lily nodded. "And bonus points for whoever can identify this rather distinctive handwriting."

There was a pause, and then almost as one the agents got it. They'd all had notes from him. Lily looked back at Control again. "I'm shocked."

He shrugged, grinning. "We were young and not very bright. How did you get it?"

"I have my ways. You also sent a piece to the Smithsonian, one to the DCI, and one to the White House."

"Ah. Did I send nice notes with them?"

Lily nodded. "Positively poetic notes," she promised. Then she slid away, taking her uniformed admirer by the arm. "Tony, I've got somebody I want you to meet."

Control followed her with his eyes. She led the tall Marine to the bar, where she introduced him to Vanessa Wong, the New York recruiter. He nodded to himself, understanding. Lily was bringing another poor sucker into the fold. He glanced at the rock again, considered it with satisfaction. He would not have asked for this, but he was pleased past words to have it.

"Quite a remarkable accomplishment," McCall said conversationally at his elbow. "Quite a coincidence, her knowing exactly what piece to get."

Control looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "It is, isn't it?"

"And a Marine recruit as a bonus. Is there nothing that young woman can't do?"

"She can't shoot straight," Stock offered, brushing past him.

Robert and Control shared a long look. Then McCall shook his head in amused disapproval and walked over to obtain his own piece of the Wall.

Control watched Lily for a moment longer. She was working hard to land her young man, her hand on his thick forearm, her smile focused just on him. He wasn't resisting. Vanessa was wisely just waiting while they chatted. She knew well enough the boy was already in the boat.

Control couldn't decide whether to be proud or furious.

He slipped back into the shadows.

***

In Europe and America, there's a growing feeling of hysteria
Conditioned to respond to all the threats
In the rhetorical speeches of the Soviets
Mr. Krushchev said we will bury you
I don't subscribe to this point of view
It would be such an ignorant thing to do


Robert wanted to hate the music. He expected only rock-and-roll, too loud, too mindless. Instead, the soundtrack for the party was remarkably mixed. There was rock, of course, but there was also Sinatra. Broadway selections rubbed elbows with soft jazz and Elvis Presley. There did not, at first, seem to be any common thread to the musical selections.

The longer he listened, though, the more Robert understood that the songs did, indeed, have a theme. They were all about one of two things: being a spy, in all its incarnations, or being far from the ones you love, far from home. The first batch, he was willing to bet, had come from the office staff. The second were the longings of field ops.

He looked around the room. Their lives, set to music. Indeed. It was more than background music.

One wordy ballad he was half-ignoring, until the refrain stopped him dead in his tracks.

But what might save us, me and you, is if the Russians love their children, too.

A simple sentiment, and profound as well. Perhaps this pop music had more to say than McCall had given it credit for.

The world was changing, he mused, changing profoundly at this very moment. Perhaps it was fitting if he changed just a bit, too.

***

Espionage is a serious business,
Well I've had enough of this serious business,
That dancing girl is making eyes at me,
I'm sure she's working for the KGB


James Simms arrived at the party directly form the airport. He had had a grand time in Berlin, but he was exhausted. He intended just to put in a token appearance and take himself home to a hot shower and a warm bed. The minute he hit the door, though, Walker was at his elbow. "Thank God you're here, I'll have somebody to talk to."

Simms looked out over the sizable crowd. Three or four hundred people here, and Walker couldn't find anyone to talk to? "You need a woman," he muttered.

"Oh, yeah," Walker snorted. "Catch me dating one of the help. You know how fast Control would bounce my ass?"

Simms shrugged. His colleague had a point. Down in the ranks, a little fraternization was fine. Expected, even. At their level, it would be career suicide.

He caught a glimpse of Lily Romanov moving through the crowd. She had on a little black dress, and she wore the hell out of it. Here's to falling on your own sword, Simms thought grimly. But it wasn't an issue. Lily was friendly and helpful and sometimes insanely cheerful about her job, but as far as he could tell, she didn't date the people she worked with. Any of them.

There had been that matter with Harley Gage, but that had been years ago. Maybe it had been enough to put her off Company men entirely.

He shrugged again. "I'm going to get a drink," he announced, and did.

***

Swear allegiance to the flag, whatever flag they offer.
Never hint at what you really feel.
Teach the children quietly for someday sons and daughters,
will rise and fight while we stood still.


Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, McCall found himself in the back corner of the room, at a table hidden in shadows, behind the speakers. Control was already there, comfortably sipping a Scotch with Charlie McGuinn. They’d had the foresight to bring the bottle with them.

Control gestured to a chair. "Welcome to the senior center," he rumbled genially.

Robert grunted and graciously accepted a refill of his glass. "At least it’s half-way quiet."

Pete O’Phelan arrived, with Ellen in tow. She brought a second bottle with her. "Is this the dinosaur table?"

"It is," Charlie told her. "Make yourselves at home."

"The children seem to be having a good time," Ellen commented, pouring herself a hefty refill from the open bottle.

Control gazed out over the crowd. There was dancing and drinking and a lot of arm-waving story-telling. He wondered sardonically how many of the stories were exaggerations, and how many were out-right lies. Half? More? It didn’t matter.

It was easy to find Lily, despite her petite stature. All he had to do was find the biggest collection of young men, and she’d be in the middle of it. Like Scarlett O’Hara taking barbeque. The Marine had disappeared, thankfully. She could have any of them, he thought. Or any five or six of them, for that matter. What in the world was she doing with him?

It was far from the first time he’d had that thought.

He looked away, and found Robert gazing at him with a knowing expression. His old friend knew who he’d been looking at, and probably guessed what he’d been thinking. Control half-shrugged.

"When did they all get so young?" Charlie mused.

"All the old ones died off," Ellen answered.

Pete shook her head. "Or they’re all at home in bed, with their heating pads and their Ovaltine."

"Not all of them," Control countered. He nodded towards the dance floor. In the middle of it, the mailroom attendant was gleefully wheeling his chair among the writhing bodies. It didn’t seem to matter, to him or anyone else, that he’d lost both legs on a Company mission years and years before.

"Walker looks a little awkward, though," McGuinn observed.

It took Control a moment to locate his lieutenant. The man was on the far fringe of the crowd, pretending half-heartedly to dance. He still had his tie and jacket on. "I wonder if Jason will put in an appearance."

"Was he invited?" Robert asked.

"No one was invited," Ellen answered. "It was all word-of-mouth, wasn’t it?"

"I was invited," Pete said. "Repeatedly."

McCall nodded. "Me, too. But I doubt anyone would have spread the word to Mr. Masur."

"You’d think a security chief would find out on his own," Charlie replied. "Walker, now, he reminds me of someone."

"Reiser," Control said immediately.

The table collectively groaned. "That’s it," Charlie agreed.

"What an asshole," Ellen pronounced with her usual directness.

"The perfect combination of ambition and incompetence," Robert agreed. "There was a time when I was genuinely afraid he’d be made a Director."

"And then he vanished," McGuinn mused. "I wonder what really happened to him.

There was a moment on conspiratorial silence around the table. Finally, quietly, Pete said, "Equipment failure."

"Oh." Charlie considered her for a moment. He’d half-forgotten that she’d once been the head of development. "Bless your heart." He took her hand and kissed it.

"I think Jason could do with a little equipment failure," Ellen snorted. She gestured to Control. "You were right, he did have my office bugged. Thanks for the heads-up."

He nodded grimly. He was still angry over the incident.

"As I understand it," Robert ventured carefully, "Jason does have occasional bouts of, er, personal equipment failure."

"Do tell," Pete urged.

"We must know," Ellen insisted.

McCall chuckled. "It seems that our Jason has a problem with color-changing urine." To the women’s questioning looks, he added, "Bright blue, day-glo orange, chartreuse."

The table erupted in laughter. "How did you manage that?" Charlie demanded.

"Not me," Robert replied innocently. "I am only reporting what I’ve heard."

"Who, then?" Ellen wanted to know.

"I really can’t say."

McGuinn turned to Control. "This has your fingerprints all over it."

Control shook his head. "I have absolutely no knowledge of any of this." He looked up, a little startled, as Lily Romanov came to the table. "Speak of the devil."

Lily grinned. "Talking about me again?"

"We were most emphatically not talking about you and your relationship to Jason Masur’s medical issues."

She shrugged. "It’s his mental issues I’m more concerned with." She pulled up a chair, sat, and stuck her glass out.

Charlie filled her glass, emptying the first of their bottles. "Well, there’s another soldier done," he said. "You’ve done well, soldier." He kissed the empty bottle on its label, passed it to Control, who did the same and passed it on. When the bottle had made it around the table and been properly thanked by the gathered company, he tossed it over his shoulder.

"Have you lost the Marine already?" Ellen asked.

Lily shook her head. "He’s out with Vanessa, smoking and talking about contracts and career possibilities."

"You’re just a walking recruitment drive, aren’t you?" McGuinn said. "That’s what, ten this year?"

"Twelve," Lily answered. "I do so love my signing bonuses."

Ellen shook her head. "I don’t know. The problem with a Marine is, you can’t make a decent agent out of him until you get the stick out of his ass."

"Ah, but she’s just the girl to do it," Charlie countered.

Pete nodded across the room. The Marine, immaculate posture and all, had returned. "Four days," she speculated.

"Three, at least," Ellen agreed. "If I were twenty years younger, I’d take a run at that one myself."

"Something about a man in uniform," Lily sighed. "Even when he’s not." She turned to study her latest recruit. "Maybe two days," she said, turning back to the table, "if I ever get my handcuffs back."

"You have handcuffs?" Pete asked.

"And more to the point, dear," Charlie added eagerly, "where did you leave them?"

"I handcuffed Kostmayer to a bed in West Berlin."

Control’s eyebrow shot up, but he managed to keep the rest of his face blank. "Why?" he asked, his voice half a pitch higher than usual.

"He was having marital problems," Lily answered sweetly.

"He’s not married," Pete pointed out.

"That’s the problem," Lily agreed. "He proposed to Anne Keller. She said no."

"Really?" Robert asked. "That’s a surprise."

"It was to him," Lily answered.

"So," Charlie ventured, "how do the handcuffs help that?"

"I gave Annie the key," Lily answered, as if that explained everything. He frowned, still puzzled, so she went on. "I told her she could keep him chained up until they talked through their issues."

"Tough love," Ellen observed. "Think it’ll work?"

Lily sighed. "Too close to call. But it was the only option I saw."

Control templed his fingers. "How did Mickey take all of this?"

"Wellll …" Lily smiled nervously, "he wasn’t happy about it. If it works out, then it’s fine. If it doesn’t, I’m gonna need to avoid him for … oh, five or six years."

"That’s delightful, Lily," he said dryly. "He will break your pretty little neck for this."

She shrugged uneasily. "He has to catch me first."

"I’m sure Mickey wouldn’t …" Robert began. Then he reconsidered the reassurance he’d been about to offer. "I’ll talk to him for you."

"Can’t hurt," Lily agreed. Her eyes never left Control’s. For all the lightness of the banter, they both knew how serious the situation could become. But only his eyes showed how furious he was at the chance she’d taken, and they showed it only to her. "It’ll be okay," she said softly.

Control straightened, changed the subject. "About Miss Keller. I understand she’s been traveling on Company credentials."

"You told me to get really good pictures of the Wall," Lily answered. "Anne Keller is the best there is."

"I didn’t tell you to take a civilian with you."

"You didn’t tell me not to."

"You didn’t ask."

"No," Lily admitted. "I didn’t."

There was a discernable pause.

Charlie leaned over the table. "Are you sure she’s not really a politician?" he asked.

"I brought you something," Lily told Control, changing the subject. "But you have to promise not to ask any questions."

"Asking questions is what I do," he answered firmly.

The woman sighed. "Fine. Then I’ll just keep it." She reached into the v-neck of her dress and drew a parcel from her cleavage, rather more slowly than was strictly necessary. It was small enough to be concealed by her hand, wrapped in a white handkerchief. She cupped her hands on each side of the item and waited.

There was a long pause. "He can’t resist it," Ellen ventured.

"No," Robert agreed. "He’s like a cat. Now that he’s seen it, he must know what’s in it."

Control scowled at him. "I am not like a cat." He turned his most commanding gaze on Lily. She continued to wait.

"He has the patience of a cat, too," Ellen added, after another pause. "He’ll sit there all night if he needs to."

"He’ll give in, sooner or later," Pete predicted.

"Look, I want to know what that thing is," Charlie said with exasperation. "Just tell her you won’t ask any questions. You can always renege later."

"No, he can’t," Lily answered. She sat perfectly still, watching, waiting, her eyes bright with mischief.

Teasing, and Control knew it. He would have his revenge for it later, in private. He loved being teased by Lily, and teasing her back. He loved being playful, a trait he thought he’d lost years before. The episode with Kostmayer was fading into the background, no doubt exactly as she’d planned. No matter what she did – including baiting one of his most lethal agents – he couldn’t stay angry with her. He was utterly, unreservedly besotted with the woman.

But here and now, he needed to hide it.

He tore his eyes away from hers and regarded the tiny parcel again. She had handled it like it was heavy for its size. It would be something quite remarkable, he was sure of that. But he couldn’t imagine what it was.

He wondered if he was fast enough to reach across the table and grab it.

He caught her watchful eyes again and knew he wasn’t …

… unless he distracted her.

Control shifted his gaze over her left shoulder and tensed ever so slightly. "Kostmayer," he said quietly.

Lily tensed, too, but she didn’t turn. "I doubt it," she answered. His expression revealed the trick, and she grinned. "Nice try, though."

They fell into stand-off silence for a third time.

"Oh, for God’s sake!" Robert finally exclaimed. He leaned and whispered briefly in Control’s ear.

His friend considered, then nodded. "Yes. Good." He looked back to Lily. "I will not ask any questions about that object. I promise."

The agent regarded him with considerable suspicion. She glanced at McCall, who put on his most harmless and innocent face. With an unconvinced sigh, she reached across the table and placed the parcel gently in his hand.

Control received it cautiously, curiously. It did not move, which he considered a great relief. It was heavy, cool, lumpy. His slender fingers trembled as he peeled back the corners of the handkerchief.

When he finally saw the contents, he could only say, "Oh."

The other seniors leaned forward for a look. There on the bed of white in his hand lay the most ordinary of objects: a padlock. This one was bulky and oversized, built for heavy duty. It was pitted and rusty with age, testimony to its three decades of exposure to the elements. It was also savagely broken, the hasp cut and twisted with bolt cutters, the stark wounds shiny on the rusted body.

An old, common, broken padlock.

"Oh, my," Robert breathed.

"That can’t be," Pete whispered.

"Good Lord, child," Charlie said, very softly, "how did you get your hands on that?"

Control barely heard them. He stared across the table into the eyes of his lover. For one unguarded moment he could see in her face the depth of her love for him. This most ordinary lock, this most extraordinary gift from the most extraordinary woman he had ever known. And how in the world …

"It’s the last lock, isn’t it?" McCall said softly. He reached two fingers out to touch it, as if it were a sacred relic. In a way, it was.

"It is," Lily answered, her face returning to its customary composure. "Last on, first off."

The last permanent lock on the last gate closed in the Berlin wall. Checkpoint Charlie’s locks didn’t count; they opened and closed on a regular basis. This lock had been locked, and stayed locked, the entire time the Wall had stood. This had been the last lock, the lock that broke the hearts of a city – and a world.

Charlie McGuinn reached out and touched it as well. "How in the world did you get this?" he asked again.

Control shook off his wonder and nudged McCall. Robert sat up. "Right then. How exactly did you come by this?"

Lily Romanov just shook her head. "Questions through surrogates are still questions. I’m not telling you how I got it."

Pete took her turn touching the artifact. "It belongs in a museum, really."

Control grunted. "I’ll leave it to one in my will." His hand, the one with the lock in it, was still shaking. How in hell had she managed this?

"Are they dead," Ellen asked, her own fingers brushing the lock, "or just very, very satisfied?"

Lily smiled sweetly. For a moment she looked like an innocent ten-year-old who’d finally managed to really surprise someone on Christmas morning. Then she stood up. "I’ve got a party to liven up," she announced, "and a Marine to de-stick." The walk, as she left the table, was definitely not that of a ten-year-old.

"Remarkable," Robert said, though whether he was commenting on the lock or the walk was unclear.

"You know," Charlie mused, opening the second Scotch bottle, "I’ve never taken an interest in a much younger woman, but that one could change my mind."

McCall grinned slyly. "Well, she does seem to be the adventurous type. You could take a run at her, see what happens."

McGuinn poured himself a drink. "I just might do that."

"You wouldn’t know what to do with her if you caught her," Ellen snorted, holding her own glass out for a refill.

"And I suppose you would?" Charlie retorted.

The senior spy took a long, slow drink of Scotch, watching the younger woman cross the room. "Well, I don’t usually swing that way. But if I did, I think I’d start with the handcuffs."

Control glanced up at her. "What?" Ellen protested. "For God’s sake, Control, would you look at that woman? If you had a pulse you’d be chasing her, too."

"Hmmm," Control allowed. He carefully folded the handkerchief back over the lock.

"I thought you were, for a while, Robert," Pete said cheerfully.

McCall shook his head ruefully. "Ah, no. Not that particular young lady, no. I am far too old and wise to join in that chase."

Control glanced at him sideways. "And when are we going to meet the new lady, old son?"

"Never," Robert answered crisply. "I am keeping her well away from all of you pirates." He watched while his friend tucked his gift away in his shirt pocket. There was a curiously serene look on Control’s face, a look that said he was planning something. Robert could always hear the gears turning when his friend’s face took on that expression. "Give it up, Control," he advised. "She’ll never tell you how she got it."

Control smiled tightly. "We’ll see. We’ll see."

***

There is someone walking behind you,
Turn around, look at me.
There is someone watching your footsteps,
Turn around, look at me


"Ah, no," Vince Norris muttered. "No, no, no." He looked around. "Lily," he called, "Lily, honey. I need your help."

The courier slid around the edge of the bar to his side. "What’s up?"

Vince nodded toward the dance floor. "He’s at it again."

Lily followed his gesture. Couples snuggling up, slow-dancing. Some to be expected, some not. At the fringe, Harley Gage was wrapped around Vince’s trainee, Nancy Campbell. His hand was a shade too low on her back already, and her eyes were much too enthralled with whatever he was saying.

"Ah, shit," Lily pronounced.

"He never learns."

She shook her head. "Hang on, let me find – Mark! Mark, come here a minute."

The young field op ambled over, grinning uncertainly. "Hey, Lil."

"I need you to rescue a damsel in distress."

He reached for her empty glass. "Sure. What can I get you?"

"Not me." She turned him around and pointed. "Her."

"Who, Harley’s girl?"

"She’s not Harley’s girl," the two older agents protested in unison. Lily took Mark’s arm. "C’mon."

"Hold it," Vince said quickly. "Too slow."

Across the floor, the ill-advised couple was already being separated – by no less person than Control himself. As the trio watched, the spymaster firmly, politely shouldered Gage aside and took the startled rookie in his arms. Bewildered, Harley stammered some protest and stalked off.

"Very nice," Vince observed.

"Uh-huh," Lily agreed. She never took her eyes off the dancing couple.

"Yeah," Mark said, "but now who’s going to rescue her from him?"

Vince shook his head. "She don’t need rescuing now," he said. "She’s safe as in her mama’s arms."

Mark stared at him, then looked to Lily. "He’s kidding, right?"

Lily shook her head, still watching the couple. "Control has his faults, but he’s always a gentleman."

"She doesn’t look very happy," Mark protested.

Lily studied the dancers. Control was talking softly. Whatever he was saying, Nancy Campbell was drinking in every word. She was far more enchanted by Control than she had been by Gage. He wasn’t talking, Lily realized; he was chanting to her. The voice, the rhythm of his words, the pitch. She couldn’t hear them, not this far away, but she could feel the power of his chant anyhow. The rookie was unwinding in Control’s arms, and Lily with her. Whatever Mark thought he saw, Nancy Campbell was perfectly content.

If he hadn’t been such a gentleman, Lily mused, Control could have taken the young agent directly home from there. But of course Control’s behavior with female subordinates had always been beyond reproach.

As far as anyone knew.

Lily watched the younger woman’s rapt expression and felt a sudden surge of envy. She got to be in his arms, got to hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his vague smile. Lily could only stand and watch. She did not dare approach him, did not dare dance with him even once, with all these people watching …

Or did she?

She took a deep breath. You have your dance, she thought smugly. I still get to take him home.

She looked around, and caught Robert watching her watching Control. His lips were pursed, but his eyes twinkled with disapproving amusement. Robert had never quite known what to make of her relationship with Control. If he’d had any idea how things stood now …

Then Pete O’Phelan claimed Robert’s hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, too.

"We gotta go get her," Mark insisted.

Lily turned, startled. She’d forgotten he was there. He was watching Nancy anxiously, as if she were already his girl. Well, Lily thought, she really shouldn’t, but for Mark’s sake … for Nancy’s sake … and because Robert would so thoroughly disapprove …

The song wound down; a new one started before the dancers had a chance to leave the floor.

Restless hearts sleep alone tonight, sending all my love along the wire.
They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family …

It would be that song. She’d put it on the list, but Scott had decided how to line them up. That song, as close to a theme song as she and Control had. If that little rookie thought she was going to get to dance with him to it, she had another thing coming.

"Now," she said. She grabbed Mark’s hand and dragged him onto the floor.

He followed eagerly. He might have expected some elegant transition, but Lily simply edged between their boss and the rookie. "My turn," she announced, sliding into Control’s startled but unresisting arms.

Nancy stepped back, bewildered, and Mark caught her into his own arms. "Hi, I’m Mark," he said, already moving to the music.

"Uh, hi. I’m Nancy. Where’d you get that scar?"

Mark chuckled. "Everybody asks me that."

"Told you so," Lily called.

Control spun her away, to the edge of the floor. They were still very visible, and they were very aware of it. They danced, maintaining artificial tension between them. Their bodies were too accustomed to the motion; they wanted to relax, to melt. The bodies remembered too many nights when he’d pulled her off the couch and danced her sensually around her living room. Too many nights when they’d ended up back on the couch, horizontal and still slow-dancing. Their bodies remembered, and their bodies desired. But their minds knew better; they fought, wordlessly, to keep from looking too comfortable.

"We thought you needed rescuing," Lily said conversationally.

He snorted. "One more song, and I’ve had her loyalty unto death."

"One more song and she would have been a puddle at your feet."

Control nodded. "Well, that, too."

"And I would have had to fly into a jealous rage – it would’ve been ugly. I'm your favorite courier, and don't you forget it."

He leaned a little closer, lowered his voice. "This probably isn’t wise."

Lily nodded her understanding. "Then drop me off somewhere."

"No." His hand tightened just a bit on her back. "No." And then, his voice strangled, "Lily."

She’d been looking over his shoulder, but she shifted, looked into his eyes – for an instant. Her breath caught, and she looked resolutely over his shoulder again. "Stop looking at me like that."

Control chuckled, aware that he was suddenly supporting her weight. "Every man in the room is looking at you like that."

"Yeah, but none of them make my knees go weak when they look at me."

"And I still do? After all this time?"

She looked back into his eyes. "Every damn time," she answered honestly.

He held her gaze; let his become his absolute most smoldering. "How’d you get the lock, Lily?" he purred.

She threw her head back and laughed out loud. People did turn to look then, but it didn’t matter. The laugh was definitely not of the intimate sort. If they wondered what the spymaster had said to make the woman laugh like that – let them wonder. Control had many mysteries about him.

Being apart ain't easy on this love affair,
Two strangers learn to fall in love again.
I get the joy of re-discovering you …

"I’m not telling," Lily said firmly.

"You’ll tell me sooner or later."

"No, I don’t think I will."

"We’ll see," Control said serenely. "We have ways of making you talk."

Lily raised one speculative eyebrow. "We?" she inquired. "You and the mouse in your pocket?"

"Are we calling it a mouse now? Last time it was a rat."

Lily laughed again. "Rat it is," she agreed.

They fell silent, enjoying the novelty of being so close, of touching in a crowd of people. They had been fiercely careful to keep their relationship a secret. But this occasion gave them a single chance, a single dance, to be together where other people could see them.

You really know me, that's all I need to know.
Maybe I'm an open book because I know you're mine,
But you won't need to read between the lines.
For your eyes only, only for you.

"May I?" Robert said, tapping his oldest friend on the shoulder.

Control growled. "Of course. We’ve been expecting you." He surrendered Lily, turned and nearly stepped on Ellen. "Hello, dear."

"Hello, Blue Eyes." She slid into his arms. "Nice party. What’s it gonna cost you?"

He sighed. "I’m afraid to ask." He looked over her shoulder and just for a moment watched his lover, shimmering gracefully in Robert McCall’s arms. "But it was worth it."

***

Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok makes the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me


Simms watched his boss with great interest.

He knew exactly why Control had moved to take the rookie out of Gage's arms. There were, by Simms' count, no less than five men prepared to do exactly the same thing. They knew Harley, here in New York. They weren't about to give him a free shot.

But when Control then danced with Romanov, that was something different. It indicated, for one thing, that Simms himself was now allowed to dance with her, or with any other of the employees. He probably would. But for a moment he stayed where he was and just watched them.

An impossible notion danced through the back of his mind. He dismissed it, unexamined. There was no way in hell that Control would ever, ever think of … it was impossible.

Simms already knew they were close. Everybody in the Company did. She's taken a bullet for Control once, saved his life. He'd gotten her back on the job after the incredible screw-up that had landed her a prisoner in Nicaragua. She was his favorite courier. Possibly his favorite employee. But that was all there was to it.

Still – the way the man looked at the woman. The way the woman looked at the man. It was one instant and then it was gone.

Impossible. Even if the woman would—and Simms knew Lily well enough to think that she might not be above sleeping up – Control absolutely would not. It was inconceivable.

He drank slowly as he watched McCall cut in on them. There were rumors about Romanov and McCall, too. Romanov and Kostmayer. Romanov and Gorbachev, for heaven's sake. She did look as easy in his arms as she had in Control's. The woman was an incurable flirt, that was all. Hell, she'd brought her own Marine to the party. He was imagining things.

Yet, Simms' instinct nagged, there was something there.

He sipped his drink, and he watched, and he pondered.

***

Who wants to live forever?
There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us


Nancy didn’t notice the music transition. "It must have been so scary," she said. Almost on its own, her hand came up and brushed across the red scar on Mark’s forehead. "You could have been killed."

The young agent shrugged. "It’s just what we call in the trade a boo-boo. It bled like crazy – head wounds do – but it really wasn’t that bad."

She frowned, concerned. "But just a fraction of an inch …"

Mark shrugged again. "You should have seen the shot Lily made. She was on her knees, crying her eyes out …"

"Wait – what?"

"She wasn’t really crying," Mark corrected. "I mean, she was, but it was just to throw them off. Vlad had a major thing for her anyhow, and once she started crying like that you could see him start thinking below the belt … sorry, that was crude."

Nancy shook her head. "It’s okay, but start at the beginning."

"Can I get you a drink first?"

She nodded, smiling. Mark took her hand and led her off the floor, found her a seat at the bar and told her his adventures in Yugoslavia.

The rookie courier listened with undisguised fascination.

***

His comrades fought beside him – Van Owen and the rest
But of all the Thompson gunners Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland’s head


Vince Norris claimed Lily’s next dance. "I’m not sure that’s much of an improvement," he grumbled, gesturing towards the couple at the bar.

"It’ll be okay, Vince. Mark’s a good guy."

"I don’t like it."

Lily chuckled, noting the lines of worry on her former trainer’s chocolate features. "She’s not a little girl, Vince."

"She’s still a rookie. She’s still my rookie. And she’ll be good, if she doesn’t get tripped up too early. She could be better than you are."

"Nobody’s better than I am," Lily replied pertly.

"Well … nobody’s luckier, anyhow."

She considered the couple at the bar. The spark between them was obvious, even from this distance. "Field ops and couriers," she mused. "You can’t fight biology. At least it’s not Gage."

"Him!" Vince snorted. "Next time I’ll get you a live grenade."

"Next time I’ll use it."

***

Hungry as hell no food to eat
And Joe said that he would sell his soul
For just a piece of meat


"Shoulda’ got more food," Sterno fussed from behind a three-inch high sandwich.

"We’ve got plenty," Stock answered. "They’ve barely made a dent in it."

Sterno surveyed the table. Food left for maybe two hundred people. "What if we get a late crowd? They’ll be hungry."

"If they come late, they can go to the drive-through up the street."

The rotund agent shook his head. "Maybe I should call for some pizzas."

Stock threw his hands in the air and walked off.

***

Why can't you see
What you're doing to me
When you don't believe a word I say?
We can't go on together
With suspicious minds


Ellen crossed her arms and frankly stared. "I don't know," she finally said. "It seems unlikely."

Pete, at her shoulder, also stared at the most outstanding aspect of the Velvet Elvis mural. "Interesting to look at," she agreed, "but only from a distance."

"I don't think I'd have wanted to see it up close and personal, no."

"I seen bigger than that," Harley Gage commented. He was fairly drunk, starting to slur his words.

"Where?" Ellen challenged. "In prison?"

He smirked crookedly. "In the mirror, every morning."

The two older women looked him up and down – and silently agreed that he was lying. "Got to get that magnifying mirror out of your room," Peter commented dryly.

"Ah-ha-ha. You could come and see for yourself, if you want." He gestured towards the side rooms.

The women shared a look and burst out laughing. "Both of us," Ellen asked, "or one at a time?"

"Whichever you ladies prefer."

"I think I prefer to have another drink," Pete said. They moved away, still laughing.

Harley watched them go, glowering. He turned around just in time to see his first choice, the luscious Nancy, snuggling up at the bar with the brat Mark. How the hell had that youngster managed to cut his time?

But he knew that, too. It wasn't Mark that had kept him from the pliant rookie. It was Romanov, on her babysitting crusade. And Vince Norris, and even Control. What was with these people? He wasn't such a bad guy, was he?

It wasn't fair, Harley thought grimly. Grumbling, he went to get another drink.

***

It seems crazy but you must believe
There's nothing calculated, nothing planned.
Please forgive me if I seem naïve,
I would never want to force your hand,
But please understand I'd be good for you.


McCall could not resist it. There were so few chances to tango these days, and fewer still with a partner who knew what the hell she was doing. He snagged Pete O'Phelan out of Vince Norris' arms, kept her hand and flung her out to the end of his reach.

She paused there, looked at him and smiled. A bare twitch, and she spun back towards him.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and they stepped, twice. Then he shifted his grip and dropped her, almost to the floor. Spun her back up. It had been a decade since they danced like this, and yet Pete still remembered every move, every cue. It was as if they were making up the dance with a single mind as they went.

The floor cleared for them.

It was, Robert thought to himself, a perfectly marvelous party.

***

You're seeing now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars:
My energy is spent at last, and my armor is destroyed,
I have used up all my weapons, and I'm helpless and bereaved.
Wounds are all I'm made of!


"You call that a scar?" Jimmy grumbled. "That ain’t much of a scar."

Mark turned, uneasy. "No, I keep telling her, it wasn’t much of anything, really …"

"You want to see scars? I got a scar here that’ll turn your hair white."

"No, no, really …" Nancy tried to protest.

Too late; Jimmy had already untucked his shirt and pulled it up, turned to show her a scar that ran all the way across his back. "Now that, there, that’s a scar. Went all the way to the bone, you could see my ribs beneath it."

"Oh, for God sake, Jimmy, put your clothes back on." Carter Brock joined them at the bar. "Beer, please?" he called to the bartender. "If you hadn’t been with that woman’s sister, she wouldn’t have cut you like that."

"Hey, it wasn’t like that," Jimmy protested. "We broke up. She had no right to be all jealous like that."

"You broke up that morning," Carter pointed out.

"So that isn’t from … work?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, he was working," Brock laughed. "At least as far as the record shows."

Jimmy scowled. "Go on, show her that piddly little thing you got."

Carter pulled back his collar and pointed to an old gunshot scar just below his collar bone. "See? That’s what a real scar looks like."

"Yeah," Jimmy mocked, "from a .22"

"Hey, at least it’s a gunshot, and not from some kitchen knife."

"It was a butcher knife! She could have killed me."

"Hey, I got a way better gunshot scar than that," Stock said as he joined the group. He put his left foot up on the edge of the bar and pulled his pant leg up. The scar covered most of his calf. "Mach 10. Bulgaria. Lost most of the meat off there. Hurt like a bitch." He noticed Nancy. "Pardon the expression."

She flustered, turned pink. "No, just … I … how did you get away?"

"I crawled," Jacob answered, as if that were obvious.

"Hey, that might be more impressive," Carter protested, "but this one could have killed me. Nobody dies from losing a pound of ground chuck off his leg."

"Well, I’m the one that caught the head-shot," Mark protested.

"You should’ve ducked," Jimmy advised dryly. "Everybody knows Romanov can’t shoot straight."

"Lily didn’t shoot me, this Yugoslav terrorist did …"

"Are you sure?" Stock asked.

"Yeah, I’m … uh … pretty sure."

"Uh-huh." Stock put his foot down, pushed up his sleeve. "Now this one here, this is from …"

"You have no scars worth discussing!"

The group turned. A very tall, very thin man stood behind them, a tall, thin glass of vodka in his hand. "Eyeore!" Stock called. "How the hell are you!"

"Eyeore?" Nancy asked under her breath.

"Igor," Carter assured her, "but with the silent ‘g’. He came over the Wall ten years ago."

"Yes, I did!" he boomed. "And I have the real scar to prove it!"

He raised his hand to his left ear and removed it. "You see?" he said, pointing to the place where his ear should have been. There was only mangled flesh and scar tissue, enough to attach his prosthetic ear to. "My ear, I left on the razor wire on the Wall. This, now, this is a scar."

"You left it …?" Nancy asked.

"I climb the Wall," he told her. "They shoot at me. I hurry, I jump. I clear the wire, all but my ear. I fall to the ground in the West, in a chicken yard. The soldiers still try to shoot me. I hide in the shadows, all night long, and I look for my ear, but I never find it."

"Well, maybe they’ll find it now," Jimmy said gloomily. "It’s got to be there somewhere."

"It is gone," Igor answered. "The chickens ate it, long ago. I leave a note on the Wall, where I hide all night and try to find my ear. Soon the Wall will be gone, and the note, too." He slipped his false ear back on. "It is good." He lifted his glass and drained it. The gathered company drank with him.

The contest over, they returned to their various pursuits.

"You okay?" Mark asked quietly.

Nancy shook her head. "Just so many … interesting people here. I mean, I knew … I thought I knew what I was getting into, but … but …"

He put his arm around her, lightly, protectively. "Just stay close. You’ll be okay."

She nestled against him gratefully.

***
From out of the shadows she walks like a dream
Makes me feel crazy, makes me feel so mean
Ain't nothin' gonna save you from a love that's blind
When you slip to the dark side you cross that line

Sometime after midnight, as Control was moving to exit quietly the way he'd come, the carrier landings began.

The maneuver had other names – bar slide, beer dive, body bowling, suicide slam – but Control always thought of it by the first name he'd heard for it, back in his flying days. It was a simple stunt, in theory: take a running start, jump head-first onto the bar, and slide to the far end. Done correctly, it was impressively athletic, almost elegant. In reality, however, it was only ever attempted by men too drunk to accomplish it.

Harley Gage started it. Having failed to obtain female companionship, he'd settled on becoming stumbling drunk. As soon as Control heard the words, "Watch this, watch this," he knew what the agent intended. He turned to watch, his face expressionless.

Gage ran, jumped, slid the width of four bar stools, and fell off behind the bar. There was a long silence before he called, "I'm okay."

Control shook his head and turned to go.

"Hell, I can do better than that," someone called. The next contestant went two stools further and fell off on the public side of the bar.

"I got it now, I got it," Harley promised. On his second approach, he missed the jump entirely and ran full-on into the end of the bar.

"He's done," Lily announced as she and Sterno hauled him up from the floor. They handed him over to a designated driver, over his rambling protests.

I was young and foolish once, Control mused, and I was very good at carrier landings.

It might have ended at that, had not Lily's Marine decided to take his turn. He was not nearly drunk, and he slid smoothly to within a yard of the far end of the bar, then dismounted gracefully, to the enthusiastic applause of the crowd.

Control was not nearly drunk, either. Far from it. But he'd had one drink too many to watch his lover applaud another man, her eyes sparkling with fun and admiration, and let it pass. He walked slowly to the bar, poured himself one last drink, then climbed onto a stool and then up to stand on the bar itself. The crowd grew quiet.

"Queue up the torture tape," Stock said, just a little too loud.

"I haven't signed that expense report yet," Control reminded him lightly. The agent visibly flinched. "I am not going to make a speech," Control went on. "Just a brief toast before I go."

The agents around him fell respectfully, if rather unsteadily, silent.

"Everyone here tonight," Control said, "has done exemplary work towards this achievement that we're celebrating. Each of you in your own way contributed, and you deserve far more thanks and appreciation than you're likely to get. So from me, personally, thank you all."

He considered, then continued. "There are a lot of people who aren't here tonight. To those who are still working, I also extend my thanks. And to those who have gone on ahead of us … our deepest thanks. We miss you."

He brought his glass up. "Ladies and gentlemen, to the fall of the Wall."

"The fall of the Wall!" they repeated, and they drank.

Control climbed down from the bar and walked towards the elevator. When he got to where Lily stood he stopped, considering her. Then he nodded in silent decision. He put his empty glass down on a table. Then he took off his sport coat and handed it to her. She took it, surprised. When he handed her his gun as well, comprehension dawned in her eyes. Her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding."

He winked and turned back to the bar. The crowd quieted again, not sure what he was doing. Certainly none of them expected what happened next.

Their cool, reserved, unapproachable, respectable boss, dressed entirely in black, took three running strides, dove onto the bar, slid at high speed all the way to the far end, grabbed the brass rail there and flipped himself completely over, so that he landed in his feet, facing the same way he'd begun.

Then he turned in the silence, walked back to the woman, collected his gun and his jacket, and left.

Behind him, the room went crazy.

***

Swingin' on the Riviera one day
And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day
Oh no, you let the wrong word slip
While kissing persuasive lips
The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.


Holy shit, Simms thought suddenly, he is sleeping with Romanov.

He couldn't prove it. Couldn't begin to prove it. All he had was a dance, a look, and a stunt. But he was absolutely certain.

It was, he considered, possibly a lot more than 'sleeping with'.

The realization shook him to his core. He'd known the human failings of his fellow lieutenants. But to find out that the unshakable, unfailable, all-knowing, all-seeing Control was as human as he was …

… and holy hell, that he'd landed that woman …

Simms shook his head. So Control is human after all, he thought to himself. You never thought he wasn't, not really. You've seen him bleed. So now what? Tell someone? Absolutely not. There was no threat in this, no danger to the Company. Even if you had the proof, which you don't … do what Control would do. Gather it, save it, wait for your moment. The moment might never come at all.

But it might. It might.

Simms went home.

***

I've got a .38 special up on the shelf
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid
I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead


"Have you gone completely mad, Control?"

Control slipped his jacket on, adjusted the collar. "Jealous, Robert?"

"Of what? That you can still perform some frat boy stunt when you get enough Scotch in you? That you still feel compelled to show off for your girlfriend, regardless of the risk?"

"I wasn't showing off."

"The hell you weren't. What's next, Control? Fight a bull and present her with the ears? You aren't twenty years old, Control. You're going to … to break a hip or something."

Control regarded his old friend coolly. "What's really bothering you, old son?"

McCall shoved himself away from Control's car, where he'd been sullenly leaning. "You're going to get her killed if you're not careful. Do you know how many eyes were on you tonight? These people are trained observers, Control. And it only takes one of them to notice something, to start a rumor, and it could be all over for both of you."

The blue eyes that leveled on him were glittering dangerous. "Robert. Don't start this again. I'm not giving her up."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just asking that you use a little common sense. For God's sake, man, do you even know how you look together?"

"Like people who are very much in love?" Control snapped.

"Yes," Robert snapped back. "That's exactly what you look like. And that's exactly what you must never look like, to anyone."

Control stared at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, Robert could see the depth of the pain his friend felt. But he said nothing. Instead, the spymaster took out a cigar, and offered another to McCall. He took it, and they completed the ritual of lighting together, strolled very slow around the parking lot.

"It was a good party," Robert finally allowed.

"Yes," Control agreed.

"But also sad. So many people not here."

Control nodded. "I remember them all. Every single name, every single face. They should be here."

"Ghosts in the shadows."

From above, raucous screams of laughter and a thump. Someone else had fallen off the bar.

The two old spies shared a look, and shared their cigars in silence.

***

He seemed like such a nice guy
To his neighbors
Kept to himself and never bothered them with favors
Nobody ever knew him
There was nobody to see through him
He was left alone to plan the death of his betrayers


Lily Romanov had both elbows on the bar. It was late – or early, depending on your view – and all but a few pockets of die-hards had gone home. She was headed for the door herself, after she finished her drink and took care of a few details.

She saw a flash of motion, a shine of metal, and then there was cold pressure on her neck, yanking her body backwards, off balance, while it choked her.

Lily went with it. She leaned back, putting her weight against the man who stood behind her. She didn’t bring her hands up, though that was her first instinct. There was no room between the chain and her throat, and she knew she didn’t have enough strength to fight him straight on. Instead, she brought her hands down and back, reaching behind her to grab Mickey Kostmayer firmly by the most sensitive portion of his anatomy. She felt him wince, heard his breath hiss, but he needed both hands to maintain the chokehold on the handcuffs. He couldn’t defend himself without releasing her.

"You really think groping me’s going to help you now?" he growled softly, his breath hot on her ear.

The chain crushed against her trachea, compressed her arteries and limited the blood to her brain. He had left her enough room to breathe, for the moment, but nothing else. "No," Lily answered, "but at least I can die listening to you scream like a little girl." She flexed her grip, demonstrating her own strength of position.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn’t snap your pretty little head off."

"Pastrami on rye."

The chain tightened. "That’s it?"

"With horseradish and Swiss." Lily considered, sipping air. "And a pickle."

"Uh, hey, Mickey," Stock said from their right.

"Hey, Stock," Kostmayer answered conversationally. "How’s it going?"

"Uh … great. Everything all right here?"

Mickey glanced at him. He was choking Lily Romanov with a set of handcuffs; she was crushing his balls with both hands. Just another after-hours Company party. "Just fine."

"Lily?" Stock asked.

"It’s okay," the woman wheezed. "If he was going to kill me, he’d have done it by now."

Stock looked at the two of them for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "You guys are way too kinky for me." He refilled his drink and walked away.

"So," Mickey said, his mouth still against her ear, "you don’t think I’ll kill you slow?"

"Not if you’re smart."

"You still haven’t given me one good reason not to."

"Because my boyfriend will kick your ass."

"He went home."

"He’ll find you."

"I’m better than he is."

Romanov made a curious gurgly noise. "He’s more devious than you are."

Mickey considered this. "I’ll chance it."

"I was trying to help you, Mickey," she said calmly. "I was right and you know it."

The pressure on her neck increased, and suddenly there was no air at all. "I think you thought you were helping me, which is the only reason I’m letting you live." Kostmayer shifted his weight, letting her breathe again. "Let go."

Lily hesitated, debating whether to try to make him go first. Then, slowly, her grip on his crotch loosened, though she kept her hands positioned for another grab.

"Don’t you ever do that again," Mickey warned. He unlooped the chain from her neck, let her slump against the bar, and did a credible baseball player’s adjustment of his jeans. "Damn, girl, you go right for it, don’t you?"

She straightened, rubbing her neck. "Never fight fair when you’re fighting for your life." She cleared her throat experimentally. "Buy you a drink, sailor?"

"Oh, that’s the least you can do," he agreed.

Lily leaned across the bar, snagged a bottle, filled her glass and gave it to him. "So how’d it go with Anne?"

Mickey drank, sighed, threw the handcuffs on the bar. "You can have those back. I don’t even want to know why you have handcuffs."

"Well, see, we like to …"

Kostmayer shot one hand up in a ‘halt’ gesture. "I don’t want to know," he repeated firmly.

Lily picked up the cuffs, noted the extended chain. "These aren’t mine."

"No. I broke yours."

"I forgot." She looped the chain around her waist like a belt and locked the cuffs together.

Mickey handed her the key, then tossed the small jewelry box onto the bar as well. "You might as well have this, too."

Lily considered it dispassionately. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

He shrugged. "Keep earrings in it. Smuggle microfilm. I don’t care." She looked puzzled. He reached to pop the box open.

The engagement ring was gone.

"Ahh." Lily claimed the glass and took a long drink. "Well, good. You set a date yet?"

"Don’t push it." Mickey took back the drink and turned, rested his elbows behind him on the bar. "Looks like it was a hell of a party."

"Still a little life in it," Lily said. "Though you did miss a carrier landing that is already legendary."

He raised one eyebrow. "The old man?"

"Uh-huh."

"How drunk was he?"

Lily rolled a hand from side to side. "Drunk enough to do it, sober enough to land it."

"You’re a bad influence on him. You know that, don’t you?"

"Yes."

Mickey finished the drink. "I think I’ll go home and get an ice pack." He adjusted his jeans again. "Damn, girl."

"Sorry. I overreact when I can’t breathe."

"I guess so. Can we drop you somewhere?"

Lily shook her head. "I think I’ll get my recruit to take me home." Mickey frowned; she gestured to a tall, stiff-postured young man in uniform who was slow dancing with Ellen, of all people. Despite their age difference, he seemed genuinely interested in whatever she was saying.

"What is that, eleven this year?"

"Twelve," Lily corrected. "But having teased him all night to get him to sign up, now I have to explain the reality of the situation to him."

Kostmayer snorted. "Which reality, Lil? The one where the old man will break his spine for looking at you?"

"No, the one where I don’t bang rookies."

"So it’s not just me, you’re breaking everybody’s balls tonight."

Lily shrugged. "It’s a hobby."

"Uh-huh. I’m going home."

"Give Annie my love."

Mickey winced, adjusting yet again. "I’m not even sure I’ll be able to give her mine for a while." He walked away slowly, with a gently exaggerated limp.

Lily watched him go, smiling contentedly. Then she poured herself one last drink before she set out to claim her marine.

***

And oh, the time that I can lay this tired old body down
and feel your fingers feather soft up-on me
the kisses that I live for, the love that lights my way
the happiness that livin' with you brings me.


Anne stepped out of her darkroom, expecting that her minder would still be there. Instead, Mickey was sprawled on her couch.

"Where's French?" she asked.

"Sent him home," Mickey answered. "I'll stay and make sure you don't print anything improper. At least until the office sobers up."

"Means you'll have to spend the night," Anne mused. "Could be hazardous."

Kostmayer shrugged. "I'll be careful."

"I meant for me." She slumped down next to him. "So? Did you see her?"

Mickey nodded.

"Did you let her live?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I let her live."

"Thank you."

"You owe me one."

"I'll make it up to you. After I get some sleep."

Mickey nodded again. He was bone-tired, too. "How're the pictures?"

"Come and see," she offered. They both sat still for a minute, gathering the strength to move. Then, stiffly, they went to the dark room.

Mickey looked over the proof sheets slowly. Many of the pictures were throw-aways, blurs of crowds, misframed, or simply black. But some of the others were, even to his untrained eye, spectacular. He took his time, enjoyed them all. "Do you have enough for a book?" he asked.

"I might. I'll know better once I make some prints." She drew out a page. "Check this out."

Kostmayer leaned over the tiny square prints to look where she pointed.

Lily Romanov, standing on the Wall, jeans and a tight little t-shirt, a bottle of vodka dangling from her fingers, the sun bright on her face. Lily Romanov, unguarded, happy. She was, Mickey realized with a start, a truly gorgeous woman.

"You can't publish this one," he said.

"No. But it's her. It's really her."

"Print it," Mickey said quietly. "Print a big one."

"For you?" Anne asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Kostmayer shook his head. "No. For her lover."

Anne stared at him. "Who's her lover?"

"I can't tell you."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?"

"I can't tell you."

"Mickey!"

"I can't, Anne. I'm not teasing you, I would if I could, but I can't."

Anne thought about it, then sighed. "All right. But …"

"No."

After a pause, she gave him a small, wicked smile. "You want to fight about it?"

Kostmayer grinned. "Sure. Why not?" He put his arms around her waist, drew her very close. "Or we could just skip to the making up."

She rested her head wearily against his. "Or we could just skip to the rolling over and falling asleep."

"You might have a point there."

"Come on." She pulled him to his feet. "We'll fight about it tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

They went to bed.

***

They would kill me for a cigarette
But I don't even wanna die just yet
There has to be an invisible sun
It gives its heat to everyone
There has to be an invisible sun
That gives us hope when the whole day's done


Control waited quietly, smoking a cigar, in Lily’s apartment. He was physically tired but emotionally restless; it was one of those nights when he knew it would do no good to try to sleep without her by his side. He left the lights off, lit a few candles, put on quiet music to soothe himself. None of it helped much.

But the apartment itself did. Make a home for yourself, he’d asked, and instead she’d made a home for both of them. The living room had been plain white a few months ago. Now the walls were deep gold, the color of old leather. Scott's ratty furniture was gone, replaced by a deep burgundy couch, a deep green wing-back chair. Antique wooden furniture completed the room; it resembled a fine old gentleman's club, or perhaps something from 'Casablanca'. It was not feminine, but it was warm, comfortable, and lovely.

Lily's despised red trunk had been relegated to basement storage.

Control had expected that she wouldn’t – couldn't – leave the party until the last bottle was empty. He had expected to wait. Instead, she arrived barely an hour after he did.

Lily locked the door, came to the couch to kiss him. He could see her glimmering with excitement. The dancing, the laughing, the party in general had her wound like a spring. Yet she sensed his mood immediately, and hers came down to meet it. "What’s wrong, kedves?"

"Nothing," he sighed. He drew her onto his lap. "Nothing now. Did you have fun?"

"I always have fun."

He frowned at the red marks on her neck. "What’s this?" He pulled gently on the handcuffs wrapped around her waist. "Kostmayer," he stated. His voice went cold. "Where is he?"

"We worked it out," Lily said. She caught his face in her hands. "Hey. I started it. Leave it alone." She added a shrug. "Besides, he may have more marks on him than I do."

Control raised one eyebrow, but he grudgingly let it be – at least for the moment. He lifted her to her feet and stood up. "Come here," he said quietly. He wrapped his arms around her and they danced, as they had wanted to dance all night.

"Mmmmm," Lily purred. "This is so much better."

Control nodded his agreement. Here, right here, was where she belonged. In their home, in his arms. "Did they work things out? Mickey and Anne?"

"Well, she took the ring, anyhow."

"My little yenta." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Can I get you a ring, Lily?"

She leaned back to study his eyes. He was only half-teasing. "No. Thank you."

"Hmmm. Well, perhaps something else, then." He struggled to reach around her into his pocket. "This is for you. Something appropriate to the occasion."

Lily frowned as he placed a set of car keys in her hand. "Umm?"

"There is also a car to go with them," Control said logically. "It’s in garage on the corner."

She blinked. "You bought me a car?"

"Yes. Well, technically, you bought it, the money came out of your account. But will all be back in a month or so. A little at a time, of course."

"I don’t need a car …"

"You’re going to be in the city at least half of your time on this new assignment."

"… there are buses and cabs, and rentals if I really need one …"

"It’s a beautiful car, Lily. I couldn’t resist it."

"Then why didn’t you buy it for yourself?"

Control scowled fiercely. "Because of that stupid import ban from Carter. Government executives are expected to drive domestic cars. To support the economy. Remember?" She frowned, puzzled, and he touched the keys in her hand. "Look, love."

She looked. "You bought me a Mercedes? I can’t …"

"The smaller sedan. Four doors, black, with the diplomatic package. Body armor, bullet-proof glass, re-sealing tires …"

"I can’t explain that on my salary, even if I wanted to ..."

He sighed patiently. "The West German representative to the U.N. has a limo for official business and a Mercedes sedan for personal use. Naturally he gets a new model every year, and his cast-offs make their way to mid-level diplomats in the delegation. This one is three years old, and was most recently owned by a Swiss attaché who has just divorced his fourth wife to marry his pregnant mistress. The wife got everything, and since she’s rather bitter, she was more than willing to part with the car cheap."

Lily gazed at him steadily. "Is that the truth or the cover story?"

"You are very cynical, my dear." Lily raised a single eyebrow. "The car is beautiful," Control continued, not quite answering the question. "It’s in pristine condition, it’s sleek, it’s quick, it’s elegant. It’s beautiful. It reminded me of you. I had to have it."

"But I don’t need …"

"I know you don’t need it!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "I didn’t need the last lock from the Berlin Wall, either, but you moved hell and earth to get it for me, didn’t you? I want you to have the car. Just take the damn thing." He folded her hand over the keys. "Just take it because I want you to have it."

Lily stared at him for a long moment. Her old, deep-seated aversion to accept anything that felt like charity ran directly against her equally deep commitment to make him happy at any price. Finally, uncertainly, she shrugged. "Okay."

Control blew out a deep breath, nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I have some people I want you to pick up in it tomorrow."

"Ah, I see." She smiled her new understanding. "Thank you." She kissed him gently, settled against his shoulder. They moved together, slow, easy, calm. After a moment, she said, "What else is bothering you?"

"Nothing."

Lily looked up. "Kedves."

He shrugged. "What could possibly be bothering me? We won the Cold War. I gave my whole life to it, but we won. And for my reward …" he touched her cheek possessively " …for my reward I got to dance with my girl in public for a whole three minutes. What could possibly be wrong with that? What more could I possibly want?"

"Oh, love …"

Control shook his head impatiently. "This is your night, Lily. Yours and all the others. You can still have a whole life past the Wall. But mine … damn it. I don’t want to spoil this day for you."

"Shhhh," Lily soothed. She slid out of his arms, took his hand. "Come lay with me under the stars."

I want real stars, he thought mournfully, and sighed. He might as well want the moon. He nodded and followed her to the bedroom. As he stripped off his clothes unceremoniously, he looked around and remembered anew why he loved this woman. The walls were dove gray, the ceiling the color of storm clouds. The bed had a cast metal canopy frame, draped with scarves of blue and gray and green, a few of gold, a bower. The bed covers were sea covers foam green, as were the drapes, and when they were drawn the room was night-dark even at high noon. There was no room for anything but the bed, two tiny night stands, and a dresser that ran the length of the wall, and yet the room was cozy, inviting. A place to sleep, if your career forced you to sleep day or night, and a place for lovers. But the ceiling was the most wondrous thing of all.

Hidden just below the ceiling were two tiny black lights, and flecked across the dark ceiling, invisible in normal light, were dots of florescent paint. With the lights off, the ceiling lit up in a galaxy of artificial stars.

Control climbed under the covers, rolled his lover into his arms, and settled back to look at the stars – the only stars they would probably ever lie together under. "I’m sorry, Lily. I know you were having a good night."

"I still am, kedves. I’m here with you."

"Hmmmm." He had to admit, here under the stars with her skin against his, he could feel the sadness draining out of him. He sighed. "Tell me about the other life, Lily."

"Hmm?"

"The one where we lay in our yard under real stars. The one with the house on the beach, and the dogs and the children. The other life. Spin a dream for me, Lily."

"Ah, yes." She shifted against his shoulder. "Well, the school called again today, little Alpha’s starting fights in the lunch room again, and Beta’s been making book in the teacher’s lounge. Charlie got her ears pierced by one of her little friends and they’re getting infected, so you’re going to have to buy her some real gold earrings …"

Control laughed. "Have we settled on names, then?"

"Well, they’re not official names, just their designations so we can keep them straight. Once we got past a dozen, it was an absolute necessity."

"A dozen," he repeated, bemused.

"Hey, if you’re going to dream, you might as well go all out."

"We’re gonna need a bigger house than the one I’d imagined," he said ruefully.

"Imagining bigger is easy," Lily answered. "Just imagine the contractors are honest."

"That’s a pretty big stretch."

She chuckled warmly. "Anything you want, love. Tell me and it’s yours."

Control sobered. "In the fantasy, or in real life?"

"Either," she answered quietly.

He tightened his arms around her. "Tell me …" He paused, struggled for the right words. "Tell me that it’s still out there. Tell me that there’s some hope that some day we’ll have the dream."

Lily rolled over to look at him. "I told you before. I will quit, if that’s what you want."

Control considered, then shook his head. "It’s not what you want."

"I want you to be happy."

He drew her head down, wrapped his arms very tight around her. "Just be here with me, Lily. It’s enough. It’s enough for now."

***

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world

From a speech made by Willy Brandt on 10th November 1989: "This is a beautiful day after a long journey. But it is only a stage. We have not yet reached our goal. We still have a long way to go."
***

THE END

Appendix: The Fall of the Wall Party Soundtrack (partial listing)

AC/DC "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap"
Armstrong, Louis “What a Wonderful World”
The Beatles “Back in the USSR”
Beaver Brown Band "On the Dark Side"
Blue Oyster Cult “Veteran Of The Pyschic Wars”
Bowie, David “Heroes” (from Theresa)
Browne, Jackson “Lives In the Balance” (from Theresa)
Buffet, Jimmy “Fins”
The Buoys "Timothy"
Church, The “Memories in Future Tense” (from Theresa)
The Clash “Rock the Casbah”
Collins, Phil "Don't Let Him Steal Your Heart Away"
Collins, Phil “Don’t Lose My Number”
Collins, Phil “In the Air Tonight”
Croce, Jim “One Less Set of Footsteps”
deBurgh, Chris "Moonlight and Vodka" (from Anna)
Denver, John "Back Home Again"
Eagles, The “Those Shoes”
Easton, Sheena “For Your Eyes Only”
Flack, Roberta “Killing Me Softly”
Frey, Glenn “Smuggler’s Blues”
Frey, Glenn “Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed?”
Gabriel, Peter "Games Without Frontiers" (from Anna)
Gabriel, Peter "Wallflower"  (from Pen)
Gaye, Marvin and Tammy Terrell "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"
Genesis “The Conqeror”
Genesis “Follow You, Follow Me”
Genesis “Land of Confusion”
Golden Earring “Radar Love”
Golden Earring “Twilight Zone”
Guns N’ Roses “Paradise City”
Guns N Roses “Welcome to the Jungle”
Hagar, Sammy “I Can’t Drive 55”
Hagar, Sammy “The Girl Gets Around”
Hart, Cory “Sunglasses at Night”
Head, Murray “One Night in Bangkok”
Henley, Don “All She Wants to Do is Dance”
Henley, Don “New York Minute”
The Hollies “Long Cool Woman”
Idol, Billy “Rebel Yell”
Jefferson Starship “Assassin”
Joel, Billy “Goodnight Saigon”
Joel, Billy “Only the Good Die Young”
Joel, Billy “You May Be Right”
John, Elton “Nikita”
John, Elton "Someone Saved my Life Tonight"
Journey “Faithfully”
Klark Kent (a.k.a. Stewart Copeland) “Strange Things Happen”
Laing, Shona "Soviet Snow" (from BJ)
Lennon, John "Imagine"
Lynyrd Skynyrd “Gimme Three Steps”
Lynyrd Skynyrd “Sweet Home Alabama”
Martika “Toy Soldiers”
McCartney, Paul and Wings “Live and let Die”
Mellencamp, John “Paper in Fire”
Mellencamp, John “Crumblin' Down"
Midnight Oil “Beds Are Burning”
Mike & The Mechanics “Silent Running”
Molly Hatchet “Flirting with Disaster”
Palmer, Robert “I Didn’t Mean to Turn You On”
Palmer, Robert “Simply Irrestistable”
Pink Floyd "The Wall"  Pink Floyd (from Nina)
Police, The “Every Breath You Take”
Police, The "Invisible Sun" (from Pen)
Presley, Elvis “Suspicious Minds”
Queen “Another One Bites the Dust”
Queen “Keep Yourself Alive”
Queen “Killer Queen”
Queen “Princes of the Universe”
Queen “Who Wants to Live Forever”
Rice, Tim from Evita, “I’d Be Surprisingly Good for You”
Rivers, Johnny "Secret Agent Man" (from Pat D.)
Seger, Bon “Her Strut”
Shaw, Tommy “Girls With Guns”
Simon, Carly “The Spy Who Loved Me”
Simon & Garfunkle "Homeward Bound"
Sinatra, Frank “My Way”
Sisters of Mercy "Dominion/Mother Russia" (from Theresa)
Sisters of Mercy “Lucretia My Reflection” (from Theresa)
Springsteen, Bruce "Born to Run"
Springsteen, Bruce “Cover Me”
Sting "Russians"
Sweet "Ballroom Blitz"
Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants to Rule the World”
Thin Lizzy “The Boys are Back in Town”
Thin Lizzy “Soldier of Fortune”
The Three Degrees “When Will I See You Again”
Three Dog Night, "Mama Told Me Not to Come"
Timbuk 3 “The Future’s so Bright”
Tommy James & The Shondells “I Think We’re Alone Now”
Tull, Jethro “She Said She Was a Dancer” (from Pen)
Tyler, Bonnie “Holding Out for a Hero”
The Vogues “Turn Around, Look at Me”
Was (Not Was) “Dressed to be Killed”
“What’s Up”
The Who “Behind Blue Eyes”
Zevon, Warren "The Envoy" (from Pen)
Zevon, Warren "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead"
Zevon, Warren “Lawyers, Guns and Money"
Zevon, Warren "Roland the Headless Thompson-Gunner" (from Pen)

Torture Cuts

B-52’s “Love Shack” (from Pen)
Barnes & Barnes “Fishheads” (from Pen)
Boone, Debbie “You Light up My Life”
Herman’s Hermits "I'm Henry VIII, I Am" (from Paige)
Jacks, Terry “Seasons in the Sun” (from BJ)
Johns, Sammy “Chevy Van” (from BJ)
Los Del Rio "La Macarena" (from Mike)
Manilow, Barry “Copacabana”
McGovern, Maureen “The Morning After”
Murphy, Michael Martin “Wildfire”
Peter, Paul & Mary “Puff the Magic Dragon” (from Theresa)
Ronnie and the Daytonas “GTO” (from Vicki)
Sherman, Richard M. and Robert B. “It’s A Small World After All” (from Grace)
The Starland Vocal Band “Afternoon Delight” (from BJ)

Return to Part I