Custodial Interference 
 
Author: Linda Wilson AKA ranapipens4ever (rana pipens =
bullfrog–love frogs!)

E-mail: Linda_31467@msn.com

Rated: PG-13–some strong language
 
Summary: Nick has to deal with two children taken abroad
by their father. Now with his community service and his probation
almost over, he must decide what to do with his life.

Premise: This story is fast-forwarded and set in the near future when
Nick is almost finished with his probation and community service and
wondering where his life is going from there. Both LSP and F&F are
doing their usual thing, but the relationship between Nick and Burton
is in a down phase, chiefly on Nick's part.

Disclaimer: Nicholas and Burton Fallin, the firm Fallin & Fallin,
LSP, Alvin Masterson and Burton's Cadillac are all taken
directly from "The Guardian." All other characters are my own
creation. Christine Karling Darmstadt's offer of a $25,000 retainer
happened before "Where You Are" revealed that figure as the F&F going
rate. My thanks to my husband for his reminiscences about his summer at
TASIS. Resemblance to any person living or dead is purely
coincidental; similarity of events, dates, characters or the
portrayal of events is unintentional. The garden is imaginary; the
toads that live there are real.

Thanks to Janet, Deb and Suz, whose joint efforts make me sound a lot
smarter than I am.

Custodial Interference
Part 1

Nick Fallin walked into the Legal Services of Pittsburgh office,
wondering what new paths his community service sentence would lead
him down today. This straddling a fence between the two different
worlds of LSP and Fallin & Fallin had given him callouses in
unmentionable places during the nearly three years he had been
working off his community service sentence, he thought. Sometimes the
difference between the clients of the two firms where he spent 90-
hour weeks was amusing, sometimes it was disheartening and always it
pulled him in two different directions, a feeling he did not
appreciate. If Stanton wanted me to discover who I really am, this is
a hell of a way to go about it, he thought of the judge who had
engaged in some very creative sentencing when Nick pleaded guilty to
a misdemeanor drug possession charge. As was happening more and more
these days, his common sense took over. Look, dumb-ass, you could be
picking up litter along a highway–or sitting in a cell somewhere,
he told himself. Be thankful for small favors.

Alvin Masterson came out of his office. "Nick, I'm glad
you're here," the head of LSP said. "Right now, in my office is a client with a
problem we've never handled before. She doesn't look to me
like she's at the poverty level–far from it–but she seems to think
we're the best outfit to deal with this."

"So what's her name and what's her problem?" Nick
asked.

"Her name is Christine Karling Darmstadt," Alvin replied.

Nick, who had been walking with Alvin toward the latter's office,
stopped dead in his tracks. "Who?"

"Christine Karling Darmstadt," Alvin said.

"That's what I thought you said. Do you know who her father
is?"

"No, but I thought you might. Hell, just by the way she's
dressed I gather there's money involved. I figured we just might have a
private-sector, self-pay client here."

"That's one way of putting it. Her father is the CEO of
Grimsby Hutchinson–they're only one of the biggest specialty chemical
and nonferrous metal processing conglomerates in the country. Our firm
represents them–hope we don't have a conflict of
interest."

"I don't think so—she says it's a domestic matter,
that's why she's here instead of at your dad's offices."

They had arrived at the door to Masterson's office and went in. A
woman about Nick's age was sitting in Alvin's visitor's
chair. As Nick came in, she rose and went to him. "Nick! Nick Fallin!
I–I'm so glad to see you."

"Christine Karling!" Nick said. "When was it we last saw
each other–-Covington's dancing school?"

"At least," the prospective client, an attractive blonde,
said. She had taken his arms and held on briefly. Plainly, she saw Nick as one
familiar object in alien territory.

"Sit down, Christine." Nick eased her into a chair.
"You've met Alvin Masterson–he's my boss here. What brings you to Legal
Services?" He perched on the edge of Alvin's desk as Alvin took his accustomed
seat in his chair behind it.

"You know that I married Paul Darmstadt?" Nick nodded.
Christine Karling's engagement and wedding announcements had occupied a
good part of the society sections of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and every
other paper in town, even the New York Times.

"The Darmstadts were a wealthy and powerful family of German
industrialists, weren't they?" he asked. "Started over
after World War II and hit it big?"

"Were is right," Christine said. "I met Paul when Grimsby
Hutchinson decided to make some overseas acquisitions. Paul's branch of the
family, especially, were good at throwing away what the previous two
generations had accumulated. Not long after we married I discovered
it was my money he was interested in. When he found out it was in a
trust fund he couldn't touch and would go to any children we
might have he–became abusive." She lowered her eyes and Nick
averted his gaze–there was no reason to scrutinize her humiliation,
especially when she admitted it so openly.

"We have two children–a boy and a girl. Jonathan is nine and
Susan is six now. I finally had all I could take and I divorced him three
years ago. I got custody and he got visitation. For two years,
everything worked out–he had them for two months during the
summer and most of the time he took them to Cape Cod or Disney World here in
the United States."

"Uh-oh." Nick had a feeling he knew what he was about to hear
next. Christine nodded. "This year he took them to the Cape as usual.
Then, a week ago–just before they were supposed to come home–he
called me from Germany. He told me to enjoy my memories of my children, because
I would never see them again."

"International custodial interference," Nick said. "What
have you done so far, Christine?"

"I told my father and he suggested I talk to this firm,"
Christine said. "Legal Services has experience with custody cases, he said.
His company's law firm isn't the place for this sort of
thing."

"It's not something that comes up too often at Fallin &
Fallin," Nick
commented.

"Can you help me?" Christine asked. "These are my
children–they need their mother."

Nick and Alvin exchanged looks. "Christine, I have to tell you,
I'm not sure," Nick said. "This is outside our experience here at
Legal Services, but I do know that State Department publications say that
the first thing to do is file a missing persons report with the local
police department, and we'll help you do that. I think that's
enough to get us started for now."

"That's more than I hoped for," Christine said. "Mr.
Masterson, I've never worked with Legal Services before, Do I give you a
retainer?" "Sure," Alvin said. Christine took a check from her purse and
handed it to him and he took it without really looking at it. She stood up
and both men did.

"Christine, I'll walk you out and then Alvin and I will get
things started," Nick said.

Nick returned from escorting LSP's newest client to the elevator
to find Alvin staring at the check Christine Darmstadt had given
him. "What's the matter?" he asked. Alvin handed him the
check. "And?" he asked his community service supervisor.
"Don't worry– these people have money coming out both ears."

"So I notice," Alvin said. "Nick, in the 27 years I've been running 
this place, this is the first time a client ever handed me a $25,000
retainer. I'm used to $10 and $15 from the city, never mind the
clients."

"Yeah," Nick said. "What we're likely to make on this case could put
this outfit in the black big time. There's just one catch–we've got
to earn it, and from what I know about these things, we'll have
to be awfully lucky."

"How come?"

"Alvin, there's nothing more I'd like to do than settle this one, for
your sake and hers, but we're looking at some pretty long odds here.
If the kids already had U.S. passports, the State Department won't
revoke them, even if Christine has primary custody–even if she has
full custody, for that matter. Foreign courts usually don't recognize
orders from American courts in custody cases. If we can get the
Justice Department to seek extradition of Paul Darmstadt, extradition
still wouldn't apply to the kids. That's for starters."

"That's more than I knew when we started this conversation. How do
you know all this, anyway?"

"That's just what I've picked up here and there. Let me go online and
I'll dig up some more information, but from what I can see, you might
have to kiss that 25 grand goodbye."

"Well, at least I can fondle the check for awhile. I don't get many
chances to do that. Speaking of kissing goodbye, you know, don't you,
that you don't have too long to go before you've completed your
community service hours?"

Nick shook his head. "Alvin, you're not going to believe this–I don't
believe it–but I haven't really thought about where I was with that
for a long time–just been too busy, I suppose. There's no shortage of
things to do around here. Now that this thing with Darmstadt just got
dropped in our laps I still can't spare the time to think too much
about it. Anyway, I know you'll throw a brick or something when the
time comes."

"Yeah. Fond farewell–don't let the doorknob hit you." They both
laughed.

Nick looked at his watch. "And now you mention it, I do have to get
back to the other half of my life. I'll do the research on this and
we'll make another appointment with Christine and talk about our
options tomorrow, okay?"

For once Nick was on time to a conference at Fallin & Fallin and the
matter at hand proceeded smoothly, resulting in a lucrative deal
melding a medical insurance company and a brokerage firm. Nick
congratulated himself on a successful conclusion to a complicated
matter and went to his office to complete his day's work for the firm
his father had founded–and for the legal clinic where the late Judge
Richard Stanton had decreed he would act as a child advocate. He
connected his laptop computer and went onto several Web sites to find
more information applicable to Christine Darmstadt's case, frowning
thoughtfully at some of what he learned.

He was heading out when he heard the familiar "Nicholas–my office"
from his father. Now what, he thought, resenting the peremptory tone.
Burton Fallin might have changed the name of the firm but as far as
Nick was concerned, his father still ran things and he, Nick, was
managing partner only in that he did more of the grunt work. Fallin &
Fallin, my ass, he thought. This has never been a real partnership,
not that I ever really expected it to be. Shit rolls downhill and I
live in the valley. Damn, it, I'm tired of being taken for granted,
I'm tired of doing the crap work and I'm really tired of being jerked
around.

A man about Burton Fallin's age, but with thicker hair on the top of
his head stood up as Nick entered his father's office.


"Nick!" Warren Karling exclaimed, much as his daughter had done in Alvin's
office earlier. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, sir," Nick said.

"Christine said she had a good talk with you at–where is it?–Legal
Services."

"Well, we got things started," Nick said.

"Nick, I'd really like to see this settled and my grandchildren back
home," Karling said. "I knew Paul Darmstadt wasn't exactly the cream
of the crop, but he was what Christine wanted and I thought at the
time that things would be all right. Then–"

"Yes, sir, I know," Nick said quietly.

"Whatever you think you'll need for this, Nick–whatever resources you
want–just say the word. Grimsby Hutchinson has some joint ventures
over there, you know."

"That might be helpful, sir. I'll let you know."

"Good. I knew I could count on you. Burton, it was good to see you
again. We can move on the Leffingwell deal, can't we?"

"Sure, Warren. We'll be in touch." Burton and his old friend and
client shook hands and Karling did the same with Nick, adding a pat
on the shoulder. The Fallins watched as he left.

"I hope this works the way he thinks it will," Nick said.

So do I," his father commented. "Doing that kind of a favor
for that
kind of a client could be a very good thing for this firm." He
was
gazing at the sun setting over Pittsburgh framed in his office window
and didn't see the look Nick aimed at him.

"Yeah," Nick said quietly, wondering if his father knew how
complicated recovering children abducted abroad could be, all of
which he had gleaned from his researches that afternoon. He must
know, Nick decided. He must know and he expects me to bring this off,
no matter what happens–especially to me. All for the firm. Well,
hasn't it always been that way? Why should things be any
different
now?

Burton turned. "Nicholas, how about dinner? I want to talk to you
about where we can be going in the next couple of months."

"I'm going to a meeting tonight–I still have to do that," Nick said,
giving voice to a decision he had made a nanosecond before.

"Oh," Burton said, concealing his disappointment better than he
realized. "Some other time then, but soon, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick said and left.

What's the matter with you, Nicholas? Burton wondered. I really want
to talk with you about what I want for you and the firm. You've got
what, two months or so left of your probation and you surely must
have worked off almost all of that community service time so we can
put all this behind us and go forward. I'd really like to tell
you what I've got in mind for you–I think you'll be pleased.
What just happened here?

The next day, Nick walked into Alvin Masterson's office. "Hey,
champ," Alvin said. "I saw you at the meeting last night but I didn't
have a chance to talk to you. What's the story on the Darmstadt
case?"

"It doesn't look good, Alvin," Nick said. "She'd do better consulting
a German law firm and seeing what they could do. Her father has
connections over there and that could help–I'm sure they could
recommend someone–but the plain fact is, most of these kids are never
recovered. And what the State Department calls desperate measures–
abducting the kids back–even if it's possible, could lead to the
arrest of the person or persons responsible, once they are back on
U.S. soil. Like I said yesterday, you may have to give that 25 grand
back."

"The Darmstadt woman is coming in here in an hour," Alvin said. "We'd
better decide what we want to tell her."

"All I can figure is, we tell her the truth," Nick said. "That won't
help her get the kids back, but it's about as much as we can do. Our
hands are tied for the most part."

Christine Darmstadt came into the office punctually at 9 a.m. As they
had before, Nick and Alvin rose to greet her, and then everyone sat
down around Alvin's desk.

"Christine, you may decide to find another firm to work with after
we tell you what we've found out," Nick said. "If you do, we'll
understand. This is a difficult, complicated issue and there's no
guarantee of success. We ask that you hear us out, is all."

"I understand," Nick's childhood friend said.

"All right," Nick said. "Child custody disputes are fundamentally
civil legal matters between the parents. The State Department has no
jurisdiction. If you and Paul can't resolve this matter amicably, it
will have to be settled by judicial proceedings in Germany, because
that's where the children are now located–even if Paul violated a
custody decree issued by a Pittsburgh court in bringing them there.
You therefore may want to find a German law firm to represent you;
your father says his company has joint ventures in Germany and that
may be helpful in finding the best one.

"The State Department can act as your primary point of contact. It
can liaise with federal and state agencies if you decide you'd rather
work with them instead of us. Since the Hague Convention on
International Child Abduction applies, the State Department can
assist you in filing an application with German authorities for
return of the children. It can also attempt to locate, visit and
report on the children and determine their general welfare. It also
can provide information on the German legal system and its custody
laws and inquire as to the status of German judicial or
administrative proceedings and assist you in contacting local
officials. It can provide information about how federal warrants
against an abducting parent can affect the return of a child to the
United States. It can also alert foreign authorities to any evidence
of child abuse or neglect. This is what it can do. We also might get
lucky because of the Hague Convention, which has improved the
likelihood and speed of returning abducted children from countries
that are party to it."

Christine nodded. "So far, so good," she said.

"Now," Nick continued,"American custody decrees are not automatically
enforceable outside of United States boundaries–if they were, we
probably wouldn't be having this conversation. The State Department
can't intervene in civil legal matters between you and Paul. It can't
force another country to decide a custody case or enforce its laws in
a particular way. It can't pay legal or other expenses–that's not a
problem for you. It can't act as a lawyer, give legal advice or
represent parents in court–that's what you're talking to us for. It
can't take custody of a child and it can't revoke a child's passport."


Nick paused, and then went on, leaning forward to emphasize what he
was saying. "I think what may affect us most is this: the State
Department cannot–and will not–assist the parent left behind–you–in
violating foreign laws or reabducting the children to bring them back
to this country."

Christine looked at him. "Why are you stressing this point,
Nick?"

"Because I think we should all be clear on it. I know there have been
some cases where children have been brought back to the States by
people who specialize in this sort of thing. We cannot, as officers
of the court, participate in or condone any such action. Trying to
settle this with Paul out of court is probably the best thing you can
do."

"What if I can't?"

"The International Parental Kidnaping Crime Act makes removing a
child under 16 from the United States or keeping a child outside the
United States with the intent to obstruct the lawful exercise of
parental rights a federal felony. Paul could be prosecuted under this
law if he returned to the U.S. That seems to me a good reason for him
to stay away. The police may ask you to file criminal charges against
your ex-husband; the State Department recommends against that because
if your ex-husband wants to return the children himself he can be
arrested if he enters the United States. That could work against the
return also."

"If I refused to prosecute–"

"It might not be up to you. Local or federal law enforcement agencies
might decide to step in even though we don't want them. Our best bet
would be to ask a German law firm to represent our interests."

"Could we do that? I really want my children back."

"Certainly we could. If you don't mind, I'll speak to your father
about the firm he uses over there."

"Oh, please. Whatever it will take."

After Christine left, Nick called Warren Karling and obtained the
name and overseas phone number of the firm Grimsby Hutchinson used.
He had always been good at foreign languages and was able to
establish contact with a firm in Hamburg, where Darmstadt was
supposed to be living. Over the next few days he learned from his
client that Darmstadt could be the recipient of a large amount of
money if he could be persuaded to return the children to their mother
and this more than anything else gave rise to a glimmer of optimism–
his first since Christine Karling Darmstadt had walked into the LSP
offices.

"How about it?" Alvin Masterson asked, briefly startling Nick.

"Didn't hear you come in. How about what?" Nick asked.

"The Darmstadt case."

"It's starting to look like we can get this one resolved without
having to get in a court fight, Alvin, and I'll be just as happy. One
thing's got me worried, though."

"What's that?"

"Someone may have to go to Germany to work with the German firm and
resolve this."

"Yeah, you probably–isn't German one of your
languages?"

"It is. That doesn't bother me."

"What does?"

"Karling wants to send a guy along–says it's a friend of his, but I
think he's a hired hand, not that we aren't."

"Why does that bother you?"

"If this guy is who I think he is, he's there to get the kids back if
the negotiations fail."

"What's that mean?"

"As I said when we were talking to Christine, the State Department
publication calls them `desperate measures'–it's another name for
reabducting."

"I think I'm beginning to see the problem," Alvin said.

"Yeah. If we can't do this legally, Karling's going to have it done
illegally–and that means whoever's there with this guy–he's an ex-
CIA agent, I think–is going to be considered an accessory. And even
if the kids are reabducted back to the States, whoever did it is
still subject to arrest and extradition to Germany–not to mention the
psychological harm it might do to the kids. We're supposed to be
children's advocates here. While I agree that the kids belong with
their mother, especially since she seems to be the more fit of the
two parents, I can't see that reabducting them is acting in their
best interests."

"That's a good point." Alvin looked hard at Nick. "There's something
else bothering you about this, isn't there?"

"You're right, there is. The day that Christine walked into this
office for the first time I went back to–the other place–to do the
research on it. Warren Karling and my father were just finishing a
confab. Karling very strongly hinted that it would help things at the
firm as well as here if this thing with his grandchildren works out.
My father's been pushing this ever since. All I've heard is what a
great thing it will be for the firm if we can bring this off. Never
mind I could end up doing time in a foreign prison somewhere."

Alvin's eyes widened. "Really? That doesn't sound like your father at
all. You're almost through with this probation and community service
business–I'd have thought he'd want you to play it as safe as
possible so you could get through the last few months and be done
with it."

"Yeah, me too. On the other hand, Alvin, he's always known about the
ramifications of every client and every case I've ever been involved
with. I can't believe he doesn't know about the risks involved with
this."

"Well, it's an LSP case, really, and I'm your supervisor for your
community service. I won't ask you to do something that could result
in you risking this clinic's license, your law license or time in a
German jail. I don't see that as part of my court-ordered
responsibilities. I'm not being entirely altruistic, either. People
doing community service here is one thing that helps me handle as
many clients as I do. Nick, I know you're here because you have to
be, but that doesn't minimize your contribution. There are other
people here because a court ordered them to be. I won't tell you who
they are because it's up to them to talk about it, but what happens
if this thing with the Darmstadt kids goes wrong? I'll never get
another community service placement again. I can't afford to pay
someone to do what you community service types do. I won't blame you
if when your time is up you walk out of here and never come back, but
I've appreciated what you've done here and I won't ask you to risk
blowing it now. I can reassign you."

Nick thought for a few minutes. "I won't ask you to do that. LSP
really needs this and maybe I'm worrying unnecessarily. After all,
this Darmstadt guy must have an instinct for self-preservation. Maybe
all it will take is a big enough incentive, and Karling is certainly
in a position to offer one. I just have to clear this with my
probation officer, and since it's for court-ordered community service
I don't expect any problems."

"Well, I hope there won't be any," Alvin aid. "If anybody deserves to
have this go smoothly, you do."

"Thanks, Alvin. I appreciate that," Nick said. He picked up his
briefcase and left the LSP offices, reflecting that getting
acquainted with Alvin Masterson over the past three years had
definitely widened his horizons. Alvin had taught him something about
commitment to a vision of a better world and making a difference. He
had, in turn, he thought, introduced his community service supervisor
and sometime 12-step sponsor to the idea that "profit" is not always
a dirty word and that it was possible to make good and do good as
well. Would he miss LSP? I don't know if I will or not, Nick
reflected. For sure, though, it'll be strange not having to spend
half my life in that place. I won't know what to do with myself.

US Air has a direct flight from Pittsburgh to Frankfurt, Germany, and
Nick and Karling's employee–Nick thought of him as the hired gun–were
booked on it two weeks after Nick and Alvin had discussed the case in
the LSP offices. John Niebauer had retired after 25 years with the
Central Intelligence Agency and from the moment he met him Nick had a
nagging feeling that he had encountered the man somewhere before.
Since he couldn't pin the thought down and had other things to think
about, he let the matter drop. He was pushing 35, he reminded himself
and between school, college, law school, Swann and Cranston, Fallin &
Fallin and LSP, must have met a couple of thousand people in his
lifetime so far. There was no way he could possibly remember them all
with pinpoint accuracy. At least, he thought as he and Niebauer took
their seats in the first class cabin, since Karling was paying for
this trip he'd make the flight in relative comfort–an eight-hour
plane ride with his knees hooked around his ears in coach was
something he didn't relish.

The plane lifted off from Pittsburgh International Airport at 5:20
p.m., and Burton Fallin, who had been caught in an afternoon rush
hour traffic jam, was unable to see his son off, something he had
especially wanted to do and which he felt frustrated and angry at
missing. For the weeks before Nick left on this trip the boy had been
so occupied with renewing his passport, packing and laying groundwork
with the German law firm with which he would try to negotiate with
Paul Darmstadt–and tying up some loose ends at Fallin & Fallin–that
he had scarcely spoken with his father. Burton also sensed that his
son had been deliberately avoiding him, and was puzzled and hurt by
it, especially since he could think of no reason for Nick's attitude.
He watched from outside the security checkpoint as the jet took off,
wondering what it was about this case that was making his son pull
further away from him.

"Hello, Burton," Alvin Masterson said. "You just missed
the takeoff."


Burton turned to see Alvin, Christine Darmstadt and Warren Karling
coming toward him. "Yes damn it," he said. "I wanted to say goodbye
and wish Nicholas a safe trip, but there was a horrendous traffic tie-
up getting here."

"Oh, well. I'm sure he knows you'd have been here if you could,"
Karling said.

Alvin turned to his client. "Mrs. Darmstadt, I know waiting is going
to be hard on you, but remember what Niebauer told us—your ex-husband
may want to turn the children directly over to you, so I'd recommend
going home and getting your own travel papers in order."

"Yes Mr. Masterson, I'll do that," Christine said. "Daddy, let's go."


"Sure, honey," Karling said. "Burton, I'll call you tomorrow–there
are some things I need to go over with you."

"I'll be waiting for your call," Burton said absently. He watched as
his and Alvin's clients departed and then turned to the head of
LSP. "Alvin, who was that–Niebauer–person you mentioned?"

"That's the ex-CIA guy who's going over there with
Nick," Alvin said.

"What for?"

Alvin looked at Burton. "What do you mean, what for? You know what
for–if this doesn't work the legal way, Karling wants to try strong-
arm tactics. I told Nick I didn't want him to take the risk and to
duck out before this thing blows up in his face–if it does."

"Alvin, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Wait a minute–you mean you really don't know?"

"I know Christine Karling came to you people asking for help in an
international custodial interference case. I know she asked
specifically for Nicholas. I know he's going to Germany to work with
a firm that does things for Warren Karling's outfit. I know he's
trying to get this Darmstadt–that's his na me?–Karling's ex son-in-law–
to give Christine's kids back. That's all I know–Nicholas hasn't said
much about it. Hell, he hasn't talked to me much at all for the past
two weeks or so. If he's mad at me about something I don't know what
it is."

"You don't?"

"No, I don't."

The two men had been walking through the airport concourse and Alvin
steered Burton into a coffee shop. "Let's sit down and go over this,"
he suggested. They found a table in a corner and when a waitress
came, ordered coffee.

"Now, what's this about?" Burton asked.

"Nick thinks you know what can happen if this ex-CIA guy that Karling
hired snatches the kids if the negotiations fall through," Alvin
said. He met Burton's look of shocked surprise with one of his
own. "My God, you mean you don't?"

"Alvin, all I know about any of this is that Nicholas is working on a
custody case for you that also happens to affect an old and valued
client of mine. I told him it would be a good thing for the firm if
he could bring this off and I'd appreciate it as a favor to an old
friend."

Alvin shook his head. "A lot of people find negotiations and working
with foreign law firms doesn't work and try the reabducting route–the
State Department calls what they do `desperate measures'. You mean
you don't know what can happen to somebody who tries to reabduct a
child that's been taken abroad illegally?"

"No, I don't. We don't get many custodial interference
cases."

"This is the first international one we've ever had and frankly, I
hope I never have another one. As nearly as I can quote from what I
remember of all the stuff Nick's been getting from various sources,
an attempt to reabduct a child from a foreign country–even a
signatory to the Hague Convention–can result in the arrest and
prosecution of the person who does it and anyone who assists in the
attempt–or appears to assist. The U.S. embassy will not be able to
secure the reabductor's release. And even if a reabducting parent,
like Christine, and her helpers make it back to this country, they
could still be arrested and extradited to Germany, where they could
be convicted and sentenced to prison."

Burton turned pale. "Oh, my God. I told Nicholas I wanted him to do
this–for the good of the firm. I've been talking it up every chance I
got."

Alvin turned one hand over. "Well, as you say, this kind of a thing
doesn't come up very often at your place. Nick told me he's never had
a case that you didn't know all the ramifications of. You probably
know every precedent for every case he handles when it's corporate
law. This is outside your specialty area."

Burton's eyes had fixed on a point somewhere over Alvin's right
shoulder. Then he returned his gaze to the man sitting opposite
him."That's no excuse, Alvin. Why didn't I ask more questions? Why
did I miss that Nicholas was trying to tell me something? What the
hell is the matter with me, anyway?"

Alvin shrugged. He didn't have an answer to that one. "I don't know
what to say, Burton. All I can tell you is what Nick said to me:
maybe we'll get lucky and Darmstadt will fold before we have to worry
about any of this."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'd like to. If I've developed any kind of an operating philosophy
in this business at all, it's: hope for the best and plan for the
worst."

The waitress brought the check and both men reached for their
wallets. "I've got this," Burton said. He and Alvin rose.

"Karling's going to call you tomorrow, isn't he?"
Alvin asked.

"Yes, and I'll have quite a lot to say to him when he does," Burton
said.

"I'll bet you will," Alvin said.

The two reached the short-term parking lot and headed for their
respective vehicles. I hope he makes it back all right, Alvin thought
as he watched Nick's father approach the Cadillac. And I hope Nick
does, too. He's come so far and done so much. I'd hate to see it all
destroyed because Warren Karling decided he doesn't need to play by
the rules.
 
The End of Part 1
 
Part 2

He had forgotten how Germans drive on their autobahns, Nick thought
as he and John Niebauer sped up the highway from Frankfurt to Hamburg
in a rented Mercedes. They had decided to drive to the north German
city rather than take another flight or the train because they wanted
to do some serious strategic planning and had the time and preferred
the privacy. Now Nick found himself wondering if taking the train
might have been a more sensible thing to do–they could always have
postponed their discussion until they got to their Hamburg hotel.


"Some things have changed a lot since I was last here, and some
things are still the same," Nick remarked.


"When were you over here?" Niebauer, who was driving, asked.


"The first time was the summer before my senior year in prep school–
that would have been 1985," Nick said. "Everyone at school was
delighted with the way I picked up foreign languages, so the
headmaster suggested I attend the summer program at TASIS–The
American School In Switzerland at Lugano. I spent July and August
being ferried around Europe with about 30 other kids. We'd spend a
week or so at the school studying the history and culture of a
particular country and whatever language is spoken there and another
week or two touring. We camped on various hostel grounds, with two or
three of us to a tent in the more remote areas, but in the cities we
stayed in some pretty nice hotels. That was the first time I visited
Hamburg." Nick grinned at his companion. "We were all underage and
the chaperones had their hands full keeping us guys away from the
Reeperbahn."

"Did you make it there after all?"

"Yeah, and it wasn't worth the effort. I mean, I was your average
hormone-crazed 16-year-old boy and I didn't consider myself a
connoisseur at that point, but I got turned off real fast by what I
saw there. I guess I've gotta have someone pretty that I can have a
better conversation with than `How much?' in whatever language I'm
speaking at the moment."

"Yeah. Then again, trying to deal with someone else's feelings can
really screw things up, too." They both sighed.

"So when you were in high school–excuse me, prep school–" Nick made a
face at Niebauer's words "–that was the first time. When were you
here again?"

"There was another study tour when I was in college–that one was
England and Scotland, some of France and Italy, a little part of
Greece. I was an English–political science major and I wanted to see
where the basis of our legal system came from. Then after I graduated
from law school, before I started at Swann and Cranston, my father
gave me a present of a trip that took in all the places I remembered
best from the other two tours. I think I knew I wouldn't be doing
much leisure traveling once I got into full-time practice, so I made
the most of it. Gee, that was almost 10 years ago."

"Yes. You've been practicing law since 1994. Ever worked with a
foreign firm?"

"A couple of times I had a case where firms in other countries acted
for us. Every so often I'd fly to wherever it was and meet with their
representatives." Nick smiled sardonically. "There was this French
professor at the Sorbonne that Swann and Cranston wanted to use as an
expert witness for a company they were representing. We could have
flown him to New York, but two assistants and I flew to Paris and we
billed the client for the three of us. That's the way it works.
"
"Aren't you and I doing the same thing?"

"Only because Karling can afford it. If Christine Darmstadt was the
ordinary indigent LSP client, we'd probably have to sit back and let
the State Department make noises. No way we could do this for no
money."

"That's for sure." Niebauer took the occasion to join several other
drivers in passing an Audi that at 95 was going too slowly for the
autobahn. "Speaking of that, you know why I'm here, I think."

"I do. If the legal stuff doesn't work, you've been hired by Karling
to do it the hard–and illegal–way. Only thing wrong with that is, we
could both end up spending a lot of time in a German prison."

"That's the story, but my priority is to try to avoid stepping over
the line if I possibly can. One reason I'm here is, I still maintain
a connection with my former colleagues. We're going into an area that
has a lot of significance for the United States and I hope to do more
than get the kids out. I think I'll have a better chance of being
completely successful on both counts if I stay as legal as possible
for as long as possible. You're supposed to be pretty good at
negotiations–convincing people to do what you want–that's why you're
here, isn't it?"

"Yeah. On the other hand, I'm here because I'm doing community
service at LSP. I must say, I didn't expect child advocacy work to
mean a European trip."

Niebauer nodded. "I quit expecting things after I`d been with the
agency for about six months. That's the first rule in this business–
very little is going to be what you expect, so expect anything."

"Well, one thing I think we're safe in expecting is that the hotel
will be decent," Nick said. He was proved right. Their suite was well
appointed and spacious and easily accommodated both of them–each had
a large bedroom and bath, both of which adjoined a commodious sitting
room with a dining area. The hotel was also equipped to handle their
communications gear–laptops, fax machinery and their cell phones,
which they were assured would handle overseas calls.

There's something to be said for going first class, Nick thought as
he stretched out in his bedroom. They would devote this first day
just to getting settled and familiarizing themselves with the city.
Tomorrow they would meet with the firm that represented Grimsby
Hutchinson in Germany.

They first visited the U.S. consulate in Hamburg. Christine Darmstadt
had made the necessary request and a consular official had been able
to visit the children and learn of their welfare and whereabouts.
Armed with this report, Nick and Niebauer headed for the offices of
the German firm that they would work with in negotiating with Paul
Darmstadt, the children's father.

"I'm a little surprised," Nick said to his companion as they walked
around the Inner Alster, the smaller of the two lakes around which
Hamburg is built,. "I've found that lots of times the abducting
parent won't let a consular officer near the kids and sometimes the
abducting parent and the kids just disappear when somebody from the
State Department comes sniffing around. Darmstadt seems to be very
willing to smooth the way for us. This seems to be going a lot easier
than I thought it would."

"You're thinking creatively," Niebauer told him approvingly. "If
you'll excuse me sounding like one of the instructors at The Farm,
what's the next logical question?"

The Farm, Nick knew, is the CIA training facility near Williamsburg,
Virginia, and being quizzed like a student there, even in jest, gave
him a surprising amount of satisfaction. "Next question, professor,
is: why? He snatched the kids about a month and a half ago,
indicating his determination to have them and hurt Christine, even if
he broke American law, so why is he willing to let a consular
official have a look at them?"

"You got it. After pulling this act in the first place, what's going
on with him that makes him seem to want to cooperate in at least
giving us access to the kids? This might prove to be very
interesting." They continued on their way.


Warren Karling signed the last document and pushed it across Burton's
desk. "Well, that's that," he said. "Another highly lucrative deal
for Grimsby, Hutchinson, brought to a swift and successful conclusion
by the finesse and expertise of Fallin & Fallin. Burton, your boy is
an absolute genius."

"He's very good at this," Burton said.

Karling shook his head, smiling. "He sure is. He's very good at what
he does for LSP, too. Christine was very impressed with the way he
took charge of this business with Darmstadt."

"That's what he's supposed to do," Burton said. He gathered the
documents together that finalized the deal on which Fallin & Fallin
had been working for the company Karling headed and put them on one
side of his desk. "But he's not completely in charge of this affair,
is he?"

"Burton, I don't know what you mean," Karling said.

"Oh, I think you do," Burton said. "Yesterday, Alvin Masterson and I
had coffee together–and a very interesting conversation. I wasn't
aware of the penalties for–what did he call them?–desperate measures–
until he told me. Then I did a little research myself. Reabducting a
child from a foreign country can get the person who does it arrested
and prosecuted–even if it's the parent with custody back here. Any
helpers are charged equally. If they make it back to this country,
they can still be arrested and extradited, tried, convicted and
sentenced to prison. The U.S. embassy can't do a damned thing. And I
can't believe you didn't know about this."

"Yes, I know about it," Karling said. "And so does Nick. Give him
credit for having a little sense, Burton. He's an officer of the
court–he knows where the line is and he's not about to cross it."

"I know Nicholas would reject any suggestion that he violate his
oath as an officer of the court, and I know Alvin Masterson wouldn't
ask him to. But this Niebauer, an ex-CIA man, Masterson said, is
obviously along to do the strong-arm stuff if Nicholas can't get the
kids back through legal channels. And that means Nicholas could be
charged as an accessory if Niebauer decides you're paying him to step
over the line. What Niebauer does is his problem, but I don't want it
to become Nicholas' too."

"Look, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. With what I'm
offering Darmstadt, he'll probably be glad to turn over the kids and
go back into the woodwork or wherever he came from. Besides, Niebauer
has orders to stay within the law–theirs and ours."

"I don't give a damn what Niebauer does, Warren, as long as it
doesn't involve my son," Burton said. "All that matters to me is
Nicholas. I want him back here, and I want him back here soon."

"Burton, I'm sure he will be. And nothing will happen to him. I'm
offering Darmstadt a million dollars–that's right, I said a million–
for the kids. All Nick has to do is put the offer on the table and
sit back while Darmstadt jumps at it. I know him–he's always been
after Christine's money. He'll go away, Nick will come back with the
kids and we'll all be happy."

"I certainly hope so. That's all I have to say." Burton stood
up. "We'll file the Leffingwell acquisition with the SEC. You'll be
notified."

"Okay." Karling stood up as well and turned to go. "Nick and Niebauer
will be in touch with Masterson. Grimsby, Hutchinson's communications
channels are open for them, too. I'll let you know as soon as I hear
anything."

"Yes, do that," Burton said. Karling left.

The rest of the day passed with no word from anyone anywhere for any
reason, and although Burton knew that Nick's plane had landed in
Frankfurt at 7:20 that morning and that he and Niebauer would then
travel from Frankfurt to Hamburg and then settle into a hotel before
contacting the local law firm representing Christine Darmstadt, he
still felt very unhappy at being out of touch with his son. Not that
we've been in touch lately, he thought. I've been trying so hard to
connect with him and something always comes up to throw a monkey
wrench into the works. Now it's this.

"Hey, Burton," Jake Straka tapped on Burton's door and stuck his head
around it. "You gonna go home?"

"In a little while, Jake. Thanks for asking," Burton said.

"Doesn't seem like the same place without Nick here," Jake said. "I
hope he gets back soon. If you talk to him, would you tell him I said
hi?"

"Sure, Jake," Burton said, a little absently. "Good night."

"'Night," Jake said and left.

Alone in his office–the managing partner's office, the office he
hoped to hand over to his son– Burton paused for a long moment, then
moved to the bookshelves that lined one wall. He had never told
Nicholas–or anyone else–about the button that activated the mechanism
that moved a section of the shelves aside. Not even Nathan Caldwell
had discovered it during his brief tenure, but then, Burton thought,
the former state senator had been too busy watching his own life fall
apart to look for vestiges of Burton's tenancy. Besides, Burton had
emptied the safe hidden behind the shelves before Caldwell took over.
After Caldwell's suicide and his own resignation from the federal
judiciary, Burton had moved back into the office and put the contents
of the safe back in place. Now he keyed in the combination and opened
the safe. Among its contents was a brown accordion file fastened with
an elastic band. Burton took it out, closed the safe and pressed the
button, moving the shelves back into place. He took the file to his
desk, sat down and opened it. Several manila folders were inside. He
took out the one he had labeled "Divorce–Depositions," leafed through
the papers inside and took out a sheet.

The pleading paper was headed with one word–"Affidavit". Beneath it,
neatly typed at the immediate right of the two thin red lines and the
numbers running down the left side of the page, ran words that tore
at Burton's heart whenever he read them:

"I, John Charles Niebauer, residing at –" Burton skipped the address–
"do hereby depose and swear that I entered into consensual sexual
relations with Anne Lynn Fallin on October 24, November 9, November
20 and December 13, 1978 and on January 9, January 25, January 31 and
February 6, 1979. The assignations took place at her residence, 62
Parker Street, Pittsburgh, and at the Station Square Marriott hotel."
The document went on, noting that Niebauer made the admissions of his
own free will as a respondent in the divorce case of Fallin v.
Fallin, but Burton stopped reading at that point.

Burton ran a finger over the embossed notary public seal. He put the
document back in the folder and the folder back in the file. This is
the man accompanying my son on what might prove to be the most
dangerous trip he ever takes, he thought. I pushed Nicholas into
making that trip. Alvin Masterson was willing to let somebody else do
it, but I pushed it. Because Nicholas thought I wanted him to do it,
he did it. What do I do now? What can I do now?

He put the folder back in the file and the file back in the safe and
moved the shelves back into place. There was nothing he could do, at
least at that moment. He took the elevator to the parking garage, got
in the Cadillac and drove home, feeling every minute of his 72 years.

Nick and Niebauer visited the German firm representing Christine
Darmstadt. Schweichat, Schwartzbreit, on acknowledging that Christine
had retained them, had petitioned the local court for return of the
children and had contacted Darmstadt's lawyer.

"The reputation of the Hague Convention is such that many times when
an abducting parent learns that a Hague application is about to be
filed, he may return the child or children voluntarily and no further
civil action will be taken," Heinrich Schwartzbreit said. "We have
contacted Herr Darmstadt and he seems willing to return the children
so that he attracts no further legal attention."

"Does Herr Darmstadt know about the incentive his former father-in-
law is offering as well?" Nick asked in the flawless German he had
learned at his prep school and polished on his trips to the Continent.

"Yes," Schwartzbreit said. "Truthfully, Herr Fallin, we were
surprised that he was so interested. Then we took a closer look at
his correspondence," He pushed papers across the table to Nick. "You
will note his address on the envelope. This is one of the poorer
quarters of the city."

"We were also told this by the consular officer who observed the
children to ascertain their well-being," Nick said. "Considering the
divorce settlement Herr Darmstadt received, we find it curious that
he is living in comparatively modest circumstances–although, to his
credit, we note that our consular officer found the children
evidently healthy and properly cared for."

"In light of this information, it might be well to look into Herr
Darmstadt's life a little more closely," Schwartzbreit said. "Would
Herr Karling be willing to underwrite the expenses of such an
investigation?"

"He would consider expenditures to this end reasonable," Nick said.
Niebauer nodded. "That was also my thought," he said.

"Very well. I have some investigators of whom I think highly,"
Schwartzbreit said. "I will engage one promptly. In the meantime,
Herr Fallin, would you and Herr Niebauer be available to confer with
Herr Darmstadt? His lawyer has indicated he would be willing to meet
at this office–say, in three days' time?"

"An excellent plan," Nick said. He and Niebauer shook hands and left.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Nick said as he and Niebauer walked along
the larger Outer Alster, the streets surrounding which are lined with
large houses which serve as testament to the prosperity of their
inhabitants. "With the divorce settlement he got, Darmstadt could
afford more than one of these places. But he's living in a district
that probably supplies most of the household help for them. What did
he do with the money? He didn't need to save it for the kids'
education–Karling took care of that just about as soon as they were
born."

"What's more, a number of people we–the agency–got very interested in
a couple of years ago live in his present neighborhood," Niebauer
said. "I think I'll let some of my one-time colleagues over here know
we're curious about friend Darmstadt."

"You still keep in touch with them?"

"Oh, sure. It's a mutually advantageous relationship–we pass
information and business back and forth. Old boy networks are the
same, whatever the line of work you're in." They took the excellent
Hamburg Metro back to their hotel.

One of Niebauer's friends arranged a meeting the following evening in
a rathskeller catering to the tourist trade. The choice was
deliberate, he explained–the large number of foreigners would account
for their presence and the noise would cover their conversation.
Besides, the friend, who was introduced to Nick simply as Schmidt,
added, it was unlikely Darmstadt would venture in. "Some of the
people he's hanging around keep their drinking exclusive," Schmidt
said. "You can't get in some of those places unless you can
demonstrate ancestry in the fatherland going back to about the 12th
century. Some of his other acquaintances don't drink at all. And both
of them like it if someone is willing to put money on his accord with
their views, too. "

Nick turned to Niebauer. "So that's where the divorce settlement
went, you think?"

"Like I said, this is a part of the world we take a great deal of
interest in, and one reason is the high rate of immigration from
places in hot and arid climates," Niebauer said. "If someone with our
friend's xenophobic attitudes is willing to do business with them, we
want to know why."

Nick frowned. "I wonder if–the big K–knows who his former son-in-law
has for playmates."

"He could be in a lot of trouble if he does," Schmidt said. "The
government takes a dim view of aiding and abetting, and the kind of
change he's offering could buy a lot of dangerous toys."

"And moving a million dollars around is going to attract some
official attention, unless he's been doing it in stages," Nick said.

"Then again, he wants his grandchildren back," Niebauer said. "D
knows K has deep pockets, K knows D can be bought. The kids are just
bargaining counters."

Nick straightened. "Well, I'll tell you one thing–no, I'll tell you
two things. Number one, my main objective is getting the kids back
safely–that's what we came over here to do. And number two, one way
or another he wants to hand that million dollars to people who want
to destroy my country. I don't want him to do that. There has to be a
way we can get the kids back and keep the money away from him."

Schmidt turned to Niebauer. "I like this guy's attitude."

Niebauer nodded. "He's got potential."

At their meeting in Schwartzbreit's office the next day,
Schwartzbreit, Niebauer and Nick each read a copy of the
investigator's report. Nick and Niebauer found it confirmed what they
already knew–Paul Darmstadt was consorting with a neo-Nazi group
which in turn had ties to Middle Eastern terrorists.

"We wondered what he did with the divorce settlement," Nick
said. "Now we know."

"Gentlemen," Schwartzbreit said., "I am compelled by the laws of my
country to report this to local authorities as soon as possible."

"I agree," Nick said. "However, we must also consider if this will
jeopardize his handing over the children. How amenable to suggestions
are your local police, Herr Schwartzbreit?"

"What are you thinking?" Niebauer asked.

"We have not yet met with Darmstadt," Nick said. "We need to
determine his intentions with regard to the children. If local
authorities can get enough evidence to demonstrate that his accepting
the money will aid an illegal act–and your country too, Herr
Schwartzbreit, is imperilled by Darmstadt and the people with whom he
keeps company–then perhaps we can set up a situation in which he can
hand over the children, take the money and in so doing incriminate
himself sufficiently to warrant his immediate arrest."

"If we were to offer the police substantive evidence of Darmstadt's
activities, and possibly information as to where they could apprehend
some of his associates to–how do you say it–sweeten the deal–I think
our police would agree," Schwartzbreit said.

"That would be possible," Niebauer said.

"We are to meet with Darmstadt here in this office the day after
tomorrow," Nick said. "Will that be time enough to accomplish what we
intend?"

"I will speak with our police immediately," Schwartzbreit said. Nick
saw Niebauer nod almost imperceptibly and guessed immediately what it
meant–all American agencies concerned would get the word as well.

The meeting with Darmstadt surprised Nick, Niebauer and Schwartzbreit
equally.

"I want what is best for my children," Darmstadt told Nick and
Niebauer when they met in Schwartzbreit's office.

"So do we all," Nick replied. "It would appear that we must consider
what constitutes `best.' We–Herr Niebauer, Herr Schwartzbreit, your
former wife and myself–feel that your children, being as they are of
such relatively young ages, would be better off living with their
mother."

Darmstadt, a thin, nervous man with dark hair and eyes and a small,
rather stringy beard, paused before answering. "I have strong
affection for them. But I have considered the question carefully and
I am beginning to believe that yes, their mother should be the person
to care for them."

Nick and Niebauer eyed each other warily. Was it really going to be
this easy?

Darmstadt continued, "While you, Herr Fallin and Herr Niebauer, are
representing their mother's interest in this matter, I would,
however, like to hand them over to my former wife, rather than
through an intermediary."

"That would be agreeable, and probably very wise," Schwartzbreit
said. Nick and Niebauer assented. After some minor haggling, all
parties agreed that Darmstadt would turn over the children to
Christine at the hotel where Nick and Niebauer were staying.

Nick called Christine Darmstadt from Schwartzbreit's office to let
her know the unexpectedly happy denouement. Christine agreed that she
would be on the first plane over. "Daddy will be so happy," she
exclaimed. "And Nick, I can't thank you enough."

"I'm not sure I deserve thanks," Nick told her. "I'll be happy when I
see you and the kids getting on a plane to go home–not until."

"Oh, Nick–you're too serious." Christine laughed and hung up.

"Well, that part's over with," Nick said to Niebauer, who was
standing next to the desk at which Nick was sitting.

"Yes," Niebauer said. "Karling's transferring the funds, isn't he?"
"He will when we tell him to."

"Which means we have to set up Part B of this operation."

As Niebauer spoke, Schwartzbreit and two other men entered the office.
"Herr Fallin, Herr Niebauer," Schwartzbreit said, "allow me to
introduce Herr Luders and Herr Mundel of the Constitutional
Protection Police–our state security forces."

Handshakes were exchanged and everyone sat down. Nick was not
surprised to see a brief look of recognition pass between Niebauer
and Luders, who was obviously the senior of the two German officers–
Niebauer had mentioned some operations he knew about which had
involved German security forces.

"Herr Fallin, Herr Niebauer," Luders said, "we understand you have
information for us that will be to the advantage of your country and
ours if we can somehow determine a way to employ it."

"We do," Nick said, "Herr Niebauer and I have been commissioned to
recover the Darmstadt children and return them to their mother, who
has custody of them in the United States, from where they were
abducted by their father and brought here. As far as we have been
able to determine, whatever Darmstadt's initial motivation for taking
the children may have been, he now seeks to return them and claim the
money his former father-in-law is offering so that he can finance the
activities of the people with whose ideas and aims he finds himself
in accord. Those ideas and aims appear to be contrary to the best
interests of your country and ours."

"We are willing to do whatever is necessary to try to put an end to
the activities of Darmstadt and as many of his acquaintances as we
can," Niebauer put in. "Our first objective, as Herr Fallin has said,
is the safe return of the children, but we will do all that we can to
help eliminate this threat to the peace and security of both our
countries."

"We are gratified to hear you say so, Herr Niebauer," Luders
replied. "We have, as you know, uncovered several terrorist cells of
varying political ideologies in this city. We believe that with your
assistance we are about to find–and neutralize–another one."

"Yes," Nick said. "All that remains to be determined is how."

"I think, Herr Fallin, your role here will be primarily to gather and
forward as much information as you can," Luders said. "If it is
possible, we would like to keep you and Herr Niebauer out of whatever
actual operation we find ourselves conducting as much as is possible,
although that, of course, could change,"

Niebauer nodded. "Your views are entirely in accord with my own, Herr
Luders. We realize that this is, after all, your home ground and you
are the best judge of what is feasible. We will, of course, be happy
to be of any assistance."

Nick and Schwartzbreit agreed to work at arranging Darmstadt's
turning over the children and the two police and Niebauer began
discussing the best way to achieve their second goal, an arrest of
Darmstadt and his acquaintances on charges that would hold up in
German and possibly American courts. Christine Darmstadt would arrive
in Hamburg in two days and it was obvious that the less time she
spent on German soil the better, both for her and the children's sake
and for the success of the anti-terrorist operation.


Christine flew to Frankfurt and then to Hamburg, where Nick met her
at the airport. She hugged him and they headed toward the
Mercedes. "I can't believe this–I'm going to get my children back,"
Christine exclaimed. "Nick you've got to be one of the most amazing
lawyers ever."

"I don't know about that, Christine," Nick replied. "And I told you
before–this is over when you and your children are on that plane back
to the States, and not until. We've booked you and the kids on the
next flight back to Frankfurt and then back to Pittsburgh."

"Aren't you and John Niebauer coming back with us?"

"We have to take care of some details," Nick said. "Gotta put a few
finishing touches on things." Christine might or might not know what
her father planned to do with a chunk of his personal fortune, Nick
thought, but as long as Grimsby Hutchinson–and Fallin & Fallin–was
not involved, the matter remained between Karling and the Treasury
Department, which was exactly where Nick wanted it to stay. With the
Darmstadt children back in Pittsburgh Nick, Niebauer and the German
security police could continue with their plans to ensure that
Karling's $1 million was kept out of Darmstadt's hands and that was
as much as Nick thought he could deal with at one time. "Keep it
simple, stupid" played across his mind.

After five days in Hamburg Nick was used to German driving and got to
the hotel without incident. He and Christine walked into the hotel
lobby and were greeted by Niebauer. "We're getting there," he told
Christine. "Darmstadt and the children are on their way. They should
be here in about fifteen minutes."

"I can hardly wait," Christine said. For his part, Nick didn't ask
how Niebauer knew Darmstadt and his children were en route to the
hotel. Part of the operation had been arranging surveillance of
Darmstadt's every move by Niebauer's erstwhile colleagues and the
German police. Some of that surveillance would soon involve him, he
knew, and he wasn't sure if he really looked forward to the idea.

Darmstadt and his children came into the hotel lobby. Christine stood
up and opened her arms. Susan stared for a moment and then ran to her
mother. Jonathan hesitated, and then followed. "Mommy, mommy" and
occasionally its German equivalent, "Mutti," were heard.

Nick turned to Darmstadt. "Would you care to go to the airport with
them?" he asked. Darmstadt shook his head.

"No, no–it is better this way."

Nick looked at his watch. "Herr Karling has advised us that he has
transferred the funds, but the bank has now closed here–as you know,
there is a six-hour difference between Hamburg and Pittsburgh."

"I know my former father-in-law is a man of his word and that the
funds are here. As we agreed, I will meet with you and Herr Niebauer
at Herr Schwartzbreit's office tomorrow. In the meantime, I look
forward to you and Herr Niebauer joining me later."

"As do we," Nick said. He joined Niebauer in the front seat of the
Mercedes. Christine and her children were in the back seat. As they
pulled away from the hotel, Jonathan turned to look. "I don't see
Daddy," he said in English.

"Perhaps he doesn't want to watch you leaving–it makes him sad," Nick
suggested.

"Yeah" the little boy said. "Then, he could be meeting some of his
friends. Daddy's friends are always around."

"Your daddy must have a lot of friends," Niebauer said.

"When we first came here we used to go to the park a lot," Jonathan
said. "Then Daddy's friends started to visit and we didn't do that
any more."

"They all sit around and talk a lot," Susan put in.

"Well, that's what grownups do," Nick said.

"Well, when we get back, we'll go to the park," Christine said. "And
Kennewood. And maybe we'll find some new things at home, too."

"Sounds like fun," Nick said. Sounds like what used to happen to me,
he thought. Mom had a lot of friends, too, and somebody was always
offering to take me somewhere or give me something. Now what in the
world made me think of that? He put the thought aside. Other matters
claimed his attention, one of them being some anticipatory concern
about the way the evening with Darmstadt might end.

Nick and Niebauer watched as Christine and her children went down the
jetway to board the flight that would take them to Frankfurt. From
Frankfurt they would take a direct flight to Pittsburgh.

"End of Phase One," Nick said.

"Yeah," Niebauer said. "You know, Nick, you could go with them. Your
working with Schmidt and me and the local cops on this is very
helpful, but if you want to back out now we can still get you on that
plane or another one and no hard feelings and no questions asked."

"I like to finish what I start," Nick said. "And the more I get to
know this Darmstadt character, the more I really want to have a hand
in his future."

"That's good," Niebauer said. "Now comes the tough part. The
commitment started the fire, but you've got to keep from getting so
heated up you can't think. Welcome to the wonderful world of the
field officer."

"Now you mention it, I can think of a lot of times I didn't
accomplish as much as I wanted to because I was pissed off," Nick
said.

"It's important to keep that in mind, especially because of what
we'll be doing tonight. Passion is fine for getting started, but
professionalism gets the job done. We'll both be wearing a wire–
that's what the cops want and I didn't think you'd object."

Nick thought that one over. "No, I don't," he said at last. "There
are some people I'd mind doing this to, but Darmstadt isn't one of
them. Whatever works–and if he nails himself, so much the better."

"Good. Just remember, don't think of anything as irrelevant,"
Niebauer advised. "Let this guy talk and we'll use whatever we get.
You're not cross-examining him, so don't be afraid to ask something
you don't know the answer to."

"You ever been to law school?" Nick asked. "Sounds like you know a
lot about it."

"We use a lot of the same techniques in this business for a lot of
the same reasons," Niebauer said. "And I've known a lawyer or two in
my time besides you."



They met Darmstadt in a small restaurant that was definitely not one
of the spots Hamburg shows to its tourist trade. Nick and Niebauer
found themselves in a booth with their subject. Other men
occasionally wandered over to their table to greet Darmstadt and Nick
wondered if these were some of the friends whose visits to
Darmstadt's apartment had put an end to Jonathan and Susan's outdoor
excursions. "You seem to be popular," he said.

"I came back to Hamburg after–after the divorce," Darmstadt said. "I
had not been here for many years and I was very lonely. Most of the
people who knew me when I was married to Christine were in the United
States and my friends from school and university were either
scattered or were caught up in their own lives. I did what many
divorced, lonely men do–I began visiting some local pubs. I talked
with some of the people there and became friendly with them. They
invited me to some of their private meeting places and there I met
still other men–men with whom I found I shared many ideals. They feel
much the same as I do about many things."

"It is good to have friends," Nick said.

"Yes–they can make up for what a man has lost from his life."

Or what he lets himself lose, Nick thought but didn't say. He had
reviewed the files on the Darmstadt divorce and knew that Darmstadt's
abuse of his wife had been more than emotional and psychological.

"Forgive me if I bring up a painful subject," Niebauer said, "But you
let your children go from your life today–"

"–in a most noble, manly and unselfish gesture, I must add," Nick put
in.

"–and we hope that their departure does not leave you feeling
completely bereft."

"You are kind to ask," Darmstadt said. "It was–is–hard to give up the
little ones, but one must consider their good ahead of one's own
wishes."

"Herr Darmstadt, I wish there were more like you," Nick said. "In my
time doing this work I have encountered few parents–fathers
especially–so willing to put their children's welfare ahead of their
own interests. I could tell you stories–". He shook his head.

"I am not a perfect person, Herr Fallin, but I could wish to be
remembered as one who wanted to do what is best for his children. I
found I could not give them all the time and attention they deserved,
and thus I felt they would be better off with their mother."

"I am sure your children will remember what you did for them,"
Niebauer said.

"That is why I am so very impressed with your willingness to send the
children back–your knowing you may not see them again for some time,"
Nick said. "I have to warn you, Herr Darmstadt, that you may be
prosecuted if you return to the United States, even though your
former wife does not wish to file charges. Local authorities can
decide to proceed without consulting her–or us. I do not know if you
know this, but I felt that in all fairness, you should be made aware
of it."

"You are a good man and I am honored to have made your acquaintance,
Herr Fallin," Darmstadt said. "I am in your debt for your having told
me of this."

"The debt is ours," Nick said. "We are very grateful to you for
having smoothed the way for returning the children. That is, after
all, what brought us here, although I for one do not regret having
had the opportunity to spend some time in Hamburg."

"Nor do I," Niebauer said. "It is a beautiful city and one which
testifies to the ability of its citizens to rise above misfortune. I
must say, Herr Darmstadt, that you also seem to be of this caliber."

"Misfortunes, Herr Niebauer, are for surmounting," Darmstadt, who by
this time had enjoyed a considerable amount of the surprisingly good
Rhine wine which the restaurant provided, said a little too
emphatically. "I believe I have surmounted mine, thanks to the help
of the friends I mentioned. Of course, a generous former father-in-
law is a great help."

"He is, indeed, a generous man," Nick said.

"And his generosity will be repaid," Darmstadt said. "I have plans
for his million dollars–plans that will surprise a great many people."

"I am sure they will, Herr Darmstadt. You are a surprising man," Nick
said.

"Ah, Herr Fallin, there are those who will be very surprised,
indeed," Darmstadt said. "Some people will regret they ever thought
lightly of me."

"I cannot imagine that there are many people who do."

"There are some, right here in this same city, who do not take me
seriously–who think because I married a wealthy woman and then
divorced her and made money by it, who think because I seem to place
money above my children, that I am a man of no principles and no
feeling. They will learn how wrong they are. My friends and I will
teach them." He drew a piece of paper from a pocket and unfolded
it. "Here, Herr Fallin, Herr Niebauer, look at this."

Nick and Niebauer glanced at each other. Nick picked up the
paper. "A shipping manifest," he said.

"Yes," Darmstadt smiled. "And what is it that is being shipped?"

Nick looked at the list. "Ah–zirconium? Yes–zirconium. Four tons of
zirconium."Alarm bells rang in his mind. At that moment he dared not
look at Niebauer, but he hoped the former CIA agent was entertaining
similar thoughts.

"Correct, Herr Fallin. It has been in a warehouse in Queens in New
York for the past year. My former father-in-law's million dollars
will go toward purchasing that zirconium and shipping it here to
Hamburg."

"There are doubtless many manufacturers here and throughout this
country which use zirconium extensively. You should get a good price
for it," Nick said.

"Ah, Herr Fallin, but it will be far more valuable if it makes its
way further east–closer to the place where it was originally
stockpiled, in fact."

"Then it is not American in origin?"

"No. It originally came from one of the former Soviet Socialist
Republics."

"I see," Nick said.

"An importer in New York traded dresses for it. It has remained in
the warehouse until now. It was the plan of the importer and his
associates, a banker and another businessman, to sell the zirconium
to me. I in turn have a buyer for it in a country to the south and
east."

"To the south and east," Nick said.

"Yes. Truthfully, Herr Fallin, I do not care who wishes to buy the
zirconium. I care only that I get a price for it which will enable me
to assist my friends. In that respect, I resemble my former father-in-
law, I think. He wishes only to have his grandchildren about him. I
wish only for the money to realize my plans. We both pursue our
objectives single-mindedly. It is no matter to me that trade with
this particular country has been restricted only to humanitarian
items. If those who want the zirconium are willing to pay me for it,
I have no hesitancy about trading with them."

Bingo! Nick thought. Whatever Darmstadt's status–naturalized American
citizen or whether he had been in the United States on a visa or a
green card–he had just talked himself into a term in federal prison.

Niebauer's instructions and his own training kept him silent and
Darmstadt went on. "As for what I will do with the profits from this
trade–well, let me say only that certain events in the past serve as
inspiration to my friends and myself. We will use the money from the
sale of the zirconium to make our mark in the world."

"I am sure you will," Nick said.

"And now the hour grows late," Niebauer said. "If we are to meet at
the offices of Herr Schwartzbreit tomorrow and provide you with the
just reward for your sacrifice, Herr Darmstadt, I think we should
mark the end of a most pleasant evening and retire."

"Yes, that is a good suggestion," Darmstadt, whose slightly slurred
speech indicated he had imbibed rather freely, said. "I will wish you
both a good evening and look forward to seeing you again soon."

The three shook hands and Nick and Niebauer left. Nick looked back
briefly as he and Niebauer neared the door and saw one of the men
whom Darmstadt had greeted earlier in the evening seating himself at
the same table. He looked at Niebauer and caught a warning glance. He
said nothing.

Once on the street Nick found himself breathing a little easier.
Niebauer, however, did not relax. They turned a corner and found
themselves on a busy street where taxis were frequent and hailed one.

On the short drive back to their hotel, Niebauer said nothing and
Nick found himself growing edgier with every second. They entered
their hotel suite to find Schmidt, Luders, Mundel and two other
consular officers whom Nick had met when they were fitted with the
hidden microphones that had, they hoped, caught the night's
conversation.

Nick and Niebauer peeled down to the microphones. which were
carefully removed from their skin, and then put their shirts back on
again. One of the consular officers–who, Nick had learned, were
really CIA field officers as well–poured drinks and the group
listened to the tapes.

"We got him," one of the field officers said. "Good job, Fallin."

"I told you this kid was good," Niebauer said to his one-time
colleague.

"That wasn't as hard as some of the cross examinations I've had to
conduct," Nick said. "And Darmstadt made it easy. Some of the people
he hangs around with must not drink much–he's not used to it."

"All hail Bacchus, god of alcohol," Schmidt said. "It's amazing how
he can come through for you sometimes."

The other officers nodded agreement. "So what is the significance of
the zirconium?" Mundel asked. Niebauer nodded to Nick.

Nick switched to German so that all his hearers could be sure to
understand him."It is used in jewelry and many industrial processes,"
he said. "What makes it important here is, it is non-radioactive and
so it is used to build nuclear reactors–which in turn produce
plutonium used to make nuclear weapons." His hearers collectively
drew in their breath.

"As to where it is going," Nick continued," I know of only one
country from which United Nations sanctions and American law bar
trade except for humanitarian items. It is reasonable to assume that
the zirconium would be put to no good use there."

Nods around the room followed his statement.

"As for what he plans to do with his profits," Niebauer added," I
think we know enough about his associates to surmise that no good, at
least from our point of view, can come of that, either."

"Yes, and that is a matter of concern," Luders said. "You realize
that once you turn over that money to Darmstadt, your own lives will
radically decrease in value as far as his associates are concerned.
We will mark his and his friends' every move, but it may be well for
you to plan your departure."

"You are right, of course," Niebauer said.

Nick nodded. "So that's why you were so quiet and on edge when we
left the restaurant," he said in English.

"You got it," Niebauer said in the same language. He switched back to
German. "My colleague, Herr Fallin, has gathered, correctly, that I
was on the alert when we left the restaurant tonight because I sensed
that some of Herr Darmstadt's acquaintances were watching, perhaps
even following, us. Therefore, it was necessary for us to proceed
about returning here as normally and unobtrusively as possible."

"You are sure of that?" Nick asked, wondering if that was the reason
he had felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at least once
during the cab ride back to the hotel.

"I cannot be absolutely certain, because I have no idea how extensive
friend Darmstadt's circle of acquaintances may be or how many of them
have been taught the proper techniques for following another person
while remaining unnoticed, but it seems eminently reasonable to
assume that we were being watched as we came back here tonight. We
might not have been observed, but one does not achieve a successful
career in this business by taking unnecessary chances. That is why I
made no plans to go anywhere near the consulate."

"That is well," Luders said. "Herr Niebauer, you are proof that many
times there is no substitute for experience. Now we ask ourselves:
what do we do with the information you and Herr Fallin have secured?"

"We may reasonably assume they are observing Herr Niebauer and
myself," Nick said. "However, to the best of our knowledge, Darmstadt
has no idea that we are observing him–to him we are simply two
Americans who came to Hamburg only to retrieve the children. We have
successfully conducted a surveillance of Darmstadt before. Would it
be possible to conduct another one and to lead him into what we call
a `sting' operation–have someone pose as a buyer from the country in
question? He would then be arrested and to the best of my knowledge,
would be subject to prosecution by both our countries. "

"We would need to be able to be ready to take on the case of his
associates," Mundel said. "We had some idea who and where they were,
but thanks to the information with which you, Herr Fallin, and you,
Herr Niebauer, have supplied us, we feel we will soon be able to
arrest them."

"That is good news, indeed," Niebauer said.

"We have one unknown quantity in this equation," Schmidt said. "How
well does Darmstadt remember what he said and did when under the
influence?"

"That will be Herr Niebauer's and my responsibility–mostly mine,"
Nick said. "When we meet with him tomorrow we must convince him that
he either said nothing of any importance or that we American
dilettantes took no notice of anything he said. I think we can do
that without much trouble."


"And you, Herr Fallin, are proof that a fresh perspective helps to
solve the problem," Luders said.

Niebauer and Schmidt looked at each other and nodded almost
imperceptibly. Nick caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye
and a little tingle ran along his shoulders. He was being measured
for something, he thought.

"We had best adjourn for the night," Luders said. "I must speak with
my people, as must you and your colleagues, Herr Schmidt."

"Yes," Niebauer said. "And Herr Fallin and myself must get ready for
tomorrow. Clear heads are necessary to deal with the likes of a
Darmstadt." Good nights were said and Americans and Germans departed,
the American team carrying the recording equipment and tapes. Copies
of the information would be provided to their German counterparts.

"We called Karling and Masterson to tell them Christine and the kids
were on their way," Nick said. "That takes care of that."

"Yeah," Niebauer replied, stifling a yawn. "We did a good day's–and
night's–work. Luders is right–we need to be ready for
tomorrow. 'Night, Nick."

"Good night, John," Nick said. They retired to their respective
bedrooms.

Nick lay awake for a few minutes. All right, he thought, all I need
to do is play the dumb American and with any luck I can con Darmstadt
into believing he didn't say anything important and that I wasn't
listening anyway. I can do that. It had been a long day and night and
he went to sleep quickly.

Darmstadt was holding a glass he said was filled with zirconium. "I
have a buyer for this vintage, Herr Fallin," he said. "You should try
it."

I mustn't touch it, Nick thought. If I do, the microphone I'm wearing
will sound an alarm and he'll know I'm recording him. His hand moved
without his telling it to and he took the glass by the stem. The
alarm beeped–over and over. How do I stop it? John didn't tell me how
to stop it.

Nick sat up in bed and shook his head. This is really getting to me
if I'm coming up with dreams like this, he thought. The beeping noise
continued and he recognized it as his cell phone. The alarm clock
provided by the hotel said 2 a.m. Nick swore and reached for the
phone, resisting an urge to throw it across the room. He put it to
his ear, surprising himself by getting it right side up."What?" he
said.

"Nicholas?" Burton Fallin said, "Nicholas, are you all right? Alvin
called and said you weren't on the plane this afternoon. I thought–"

"Dad, it's two in the morning here." Nick said. The dream had upset
him and being abruptly awakened made him speak more brusquely than he
would have, had he been completely conscious.

"Sorry–I forgot the time difference. Nicholas, I thought you were
going to come back with Christine and the children. She said
something about you and–and Niebauer taking care of some details–
you're–putting some finishing touches on things?"


"If that's what she says I said, then I said it."


"What do you have to put finishing touches on? What details? Nicholas–"

"I can't say."

"Well, when are you coming home?"

"Dad, it's late, I'm tired and I have something to do tomorrow.
Expect me when you see me."

Nick switched off the phone and put it down, somehow managing not to
slam it on the nightstand. Hey, you wanted me to do this, he thought.
That's all you talked about for a couple of weeks. Now you're
bitching because I don't show up when you snap your fingers. Forget
it. He tossed and turned restlessly for a few minutes before falling
back to sleep.

Burton put his closed cell phone down on his desk. Nicholas was never
at his best when awakened suddenly, his father knew, but Burton was
stung to the quick by his son's response. That really hurt, he
thought. I didn't mean to wake him, I just forgot there's a six-hour
difference–I thought it was four hours. I don't think I deserved to
get talked to like that. Damn it, Nicholas, can't I even ask if
you're okay?

He was still hurt and angry, but Burton's sense of logic stepped in,
as did the concern that had led him to make the call in the first
place. What's going on here? he wondered. Nicholas, you went over
there to get those children back, with the aid of a million dollars
of Warren Karling's money. Why didn't you come back with them? What
details do you have to take care of? What's happening now?


The End of Part 2
 
Custodial Interference
Part 3

Transferring Warren Karling's million dollars to his former son-in-
law was a simple matter that involved Darmstadt's signing some papers
at the Schweichat, Schwartzbreit offices the next morning.

Ultimately, Nick and Niebauer had managed to look as though they
matched Darmstadt's hungover condition.

"I think I made a serious mistake last night," Nick said.

"What might that have been?" Darmstadt asked.

"I forgot that I like Rhine wine, but it does not like me."

Niebauer, who with Nick and Darmstadt was seated at the conference
table in Schwartzbreit's office, smiled wanly. "That is two of us. No
longer can I partake as much as I once did without regretting it the
morning after."

"You two have not so much to regret as I do," Darmstadt said.

"You are thinking of the children?" Nick asked.

"Well–yes," Darmstadt said.

"I ask because as nearly as I can recall, you spoke of them a great
deal last night," Nick said.

"They were much in my thoughts," Darmstadt said.

"You are greatly to be commended for your willingness to give them
up," Niebauer said. Nick nodded, remembering to wince. Pretending a
hangover he didn't have was a challenge, as he had managed to avoid
alcohol for some time.

"You mentioned, I think, that there are those who would fault you for
accepting money for them," Nick said. "It is my opinion that those
who would make such a judgment are in error. You spoke of wishing to
do good with the funds. Not many men could demonstrate such altruism."

As they spoke, Schwartzbreit and an assistant brought in the papers
that Darmstadt needed to sign in order to accept the million dollars
his father-in-law, Warren Karling, offered. Only then would he
relinquish the children unconditionally. Schwartzbreit placed a pen
at Darmstadt's right hand.

"My plans for the money involve actions which will benefit many
people," Darmstadt said.

"Whatever they are, I am sure they will reflect well on you," Nick
said. "I will frankly confess, Herr Darmstadt, that Herr Niebauer's
interest and mine is the return of the children. Having accomplished
that goal, we feel there is nothing more for us to do here and will
return to the United States. I am sure other cases await us."

"Of course, there is this," Darmstadt said as he signed his
name. "What have we here? Custody relinquishment, acknowledgment,
fund transfer agreement, some other things. Forms for this and forms
for that. Details, details."

"God is in the details, they say," Nick said, looking over
Darmstadt's bent head at Niebauer. "So, too, is the devil. It
depends, I suppose, on whom one asks."

Darmstadt finished signing the various forms and stood up. "It would
seem that these details, at least, are taken care of. Would you
gentlemen care to accompany me to the bank as a finishing touch?"

"That would be a most pleasant way to conclude our business here, but
I am afraid we must decline," Niebauer said. "Herr Fallin and I are
due to leave in a few hours."

"Ah, so you must," Darmstadt said. He shook hands all around. "It has
been a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I bid you farewell
until we meet again."

"Till we meet again," Niebauer echoed.

The door closed behind Darmstadt. Schwartzbreit gathered up the
papers that Darmstadt had signed. "I will have the requisite copies
made and prepared for their proper disposition," he said.

"Thank you," Nick replied. "It has been a pleasure to work with you,
Herr Schwartzbreit, and I hope I will be able to do so again."

"Not for the same reason, however," Schwartzbreit said. "All things
considered, I did not find this case truly satisfactory."

"I am entirely of your opinion," Nick said. He waited until the door
had closed behind Schwartzbreit, then turned to his colleague. "John,
I think we have a problem."

"Oh?"

"I haven't had a chance to tell you until now, but I got a cell phone
call from my father at about two this morning," Nick said. "It's been
bothering me ever since. I told you when we were driving back from
taking Christine and the kids to the airport that when I picked her
up I told Christine we weren't going back with her because we had to
take care of some details, put a few finishing touches on things."

"I remember," Niebauer said. "Go on."

"According to my father, she said just that–we`had to take care of
some details, put on some finishing touches,' I think he quoted her.
I was too close to being asleep to give him a rundown, and I wouldn't
have, anyway, so I think I just said something like `yeah, that's
what I said.' He asked me what details–come to think of it, that's
what he said–`What do you have to put finishing touches on? What
details?' By then I was awake enough to be pissed about being awake
and I told him I couldn't say and it was two in the morning and
expect me when he saw me. If that wasn't exactly it, it's pretty
close. Christine didn't talk at all to Darmstadt when she was here,
but she must have quoted me to Karling and Masterson and possibly to
my father–I didn't think he'd be at the airport when they came back,
but now I think of it, he very well might have been. Then my father
quoted her to me in a conversation on a cell phone. Today Darmstadt
used that word `details' twice, then he said the details were `taken
care of' and then he made that remark about finishing touches. It
could be coincidence, but then again, not necessarily."

"Uh-huh," Niebauer said. "And you don't get old in this business by
ignoring coincidences. You're right, Nick–our cell phones may be
compromised–at least, we'll proceed as if they are. Did you tell your
father not to call you on a cell phone?"

"When we called Christine, her father and Alvin, I used land lines. I
haven't used my cell phone since we got here," Nick said. "My
father's call was the first cell communication I got. Come to think
of it, I didn't say anything to him about calling me at all. I didn't
think he'd have any reason to."

"Except for the fact that you didn't get off the plane with Christine
and the kids," Niebauer said. "You can't blame him for being
concerned."

"I honestly didn't think he would be," Nick said. "Things are busy at
the firm and he often tries not to get involved with my LSP work."

"Well, because he was concerned enough to call, we may not know
exactly that people are listening to any cell phone conversation we
make, but we can postulate that they are and govern ourselves
accordingly," Niebauer said. "That's valuable information, so whether
your father knows it or not, he let Darmstadt do us a favor."

As he spoke, Schwartzbreit, Schmidt, Luders and Mundel entered the
room. Niebauer filled them in on the call and its implications.

"You have not discussed your travel plans with anyone?" Luders asked.

"No. However, we have no idea whether or not Darmstadt's friends can
learn our itinerary," Niebauer said.

"I will assign you a security detail," Luders said. "I had been
thinking about it, and now I am certain that this is a prudent course
of action. My people can accompany you to the plane in Frankfurt. We
will have agents who superficially resemble you return the Mercedes
today as you are expected to do."

"That is a satisfactory plan," Niebauer said.

"Did Darmstadt collect the funds?" Nick asked.

"He did," Luders said. "I will admit to you that I did not enjoy
watching him take possession of Herr Karling's million dollars while
some of his friends stood by."

"Which friends were those?" Niebauer asked.

"Those who would return Germany to the state it was in 60 and 70
years ago. I was born just after the war, and my earliest memories
are of scaffolding and rebuilding. Nearly all of what you see in
Hamburg arose from the rubble of ruins left by a war caused by a
political ideology I find repugnant. And Darmstadt's friends would
bring it all back. They would return the fatherland to its former
glory. What they term `glory' is entirely the product of their own
imaginations. There was–and is– nothing glorious about it."

"While I learned most of what I know about that period from what I
have read, I agree with the principle you express," Nick
said. "Darmstadt's friends are especially despicable to me because
they are related in spirit to the ones whose perversion of a religion
and belief system permitted them to fly airplanes into buildings. I
know people who died in the World Trade Center towers. They sought
only to do their work and go home to their families. Their politics
extended to complaining of the complexities of their income tax
returns. They were killed for no reason by madmen. We came here to
return two children to their mother, but I will be very happy to
think we accomplished another worthy end if we can put paid to
Darmstadt's friends and those with whom they have business dealings."

"Speaking of Darmstadt's friends," Niebauer said, "do we know when he
plans to complete the transaction for the zirconium?"

"I would expect within a few days," Luders said. "Darmstadt did not
waste time establishing his connections with his new friends when he
returned to Germany after his divorce and then when he brought back
the children. He is not the only one who can move quickly when the
need arises, however. We expect to be there when the transaction is
completed. We also intend to move on the terrorist group to which he
has been funneling money."

"We are glad to hear it," Schmidt said. "Our governments have been in
communication about this matter and I am authorized to offer any
assistance."

"We thank you," Luders said. "I expect some sort of operation to be
underway in a few days and I understand that German and American
forces will be part of it. Meanwhile, what of our friends here, Herr
Niebauer and Herr Fallin, who delivered this prize to us? As they are
supposed to be departing today they cannot remain at their hotel."

"We have a safe house where they can stay," Schmidt said. "I will
take them there while their doubles leave for Frankfurt."

Niebauer glanced at Nick. "We can extend our stay by a few days," he
said.

Nick nodded in agreement. "I have no objection–and no particular need
to hurry back," he said. He did not see Niebauer and Schmidt exchange
a quick look of approval.


The safe house was an apartment near the consulate, a site
deliberately chosen, Schmidt explained, so that the presence of two
obvious Americans in the neighborhood would arouse little interest or
comment. "And now we wait," Niebauer said as he and Nick settled in.
Niebauer talked to CIA headquarters several times on a radio
operating on an encrypted circuit that Schmidt left with him. Nick
found, not entirely to his surprise, that Niebauer was not really
retired from the agency, but didn't object if people believed he
was. "The gray areas leave room to accomplish a surprising amount,"
he told Nick.

"So you're kind of the equivalent of an undercover cop in this thing–
working for Karling but really for the CIA?" Nick asked.

"The agency looks for whatever openings it can find," Niebauer
replied. "It's all a battle for intelligence, Nick. In Karling's
case, we knew he had a possible link to Hamburg through his ex-son-in-
law as well as through the company he heads. We keep causal tabs on
people who travel to places we're interested in–not surveillance, you
understand, just noticing what's going on. Darmstadt, for example,
traveled back and forth between Hamburg and the States several times
over the past several years because of the custody arrangement with
his ex-wife. We had no particular reason to pay any kind of special
attention. Our colleagues in the Treasury Department noted his
divorce settlement because it was a large one–Karling obviously
bought him off. He came back to Hamburg, put the money in a bank and
lived quietly. Then he started to whittle away at his bank account.
He was careful–no sudden withdrawals, no large transfers to anywhere
special, but it started to dwindle. Our guys started paying more
attention."

"Follow the money," Nick said.

"That's right. We started to pay attention to what he was doing with
it. When it became evident he was supporting a neo-Nazi group we
alerted our friends in the German Constitutional Protection Police.
The German government has a lot of people with attitudes like Luders–
they don't want to see Germany trashed again because of some storm
trooper wannabes. They appreciated our putting them on to him. That's
a fundamental of this business, by the way–a lot of it's exchanging
favors and calling in markers when you have to."

"That explains why Luders and Mundel were so cooperative," Nick
surmised.

"It does. Then, too, they owe us–we know that they had a line on some
of the September 11 hijackers before they came to the U.S. and didn't
follow it up, for whatever reason. So now we have 3,000 dead people
between New York, the Pentagon and that field in Pennsylvania and a
big hole in lower Manhattan. And they waffled about going up against
Iraq with us in 2003. Our friends here are human and they have
working consciences."

"And now Darmstadt, bless his rotten little heart, snatched his kids
and came back here and opened quite a can of worms," Nick said.

"He did. Thanks to him and your talent for figuring things out, it
looks like two governments are about to get quite a present."

"I don't know if I'd call it a talent for figuring things out," Nick
said. "It all just seemed so obvious. And when he mentioned that
zirconium, well, I just put that together with Karling's million
dollars and there it was. Like I said last night, I've had harder
cross-examinations to deal with."

"Well, where I come from, we like that kind of thinking, and we don't
have enough people to do it," Niebauer said. "One reason that God-
awful debacle on September 11 was allowed to happen is that we
accumulate more data than we can collate. The answer is probably
sitting in a pile of field reports that nobody has had the time to
look at yet–and that was almost four years ago. We need people who
can sift through a morass of information and find the pertinent facts
in it."

"Sounds something like what I do with a lot of the cases I handle,"
Nick said.

"Some of the lawyers working for us say just that," Niebauer
said. "Not all of what they do is classified, and they have some
interesting stories to tell. Field work–the James Bond stuff–is
glamorous, but the people back in Langley and some other places who
put the data together are just as heroic. We might get you to meet
some of them."

"I think I'd like that," Nick said.

They had several hours to kill until they heard from Schmidt or their
German colleagues. Nick decided to take a brief nap and retired to
the bedroom designated as his. As he had on the previous night, he
lay awake for some minutes ruminating over some of the things that
had happened in the past several hours. So cell phones aren't good
things to use on these little excursions, he thought. I'll have to
remember that when I get back. We hear about how secure they are and
now I find that's a crock.

Nick's eyes snapped open. What about Dad's call? What should I think
about it? What should I do? He stared at the ceiling, watching the
light slant as the day went on. Eventually he dozed.

He woke when Niebauer tapped on his door. As he sat up, swung his
legs over the side of the bed and put his feet on the floor,
Niebauer came into the room. "It's post time," the CIA agent said.

"What happened?" Nick asked.

"Remember Luders had people driving the Mercedes to Frankfurt?" Nick
nodded. "A VW van was following them. Turned out some more of
Darmstadt's buddies were in it. Luders is nobody's fool–he had a
chase car following them. They were able to bag more of Darmstadt's
Deutschland Uber Alles pals. That always makes them happy."

"My God," Nick said. "How–were Luders' men, the ones taking our
places–were they hurt?"

"No," Niebauer said. "Our side scored again."

Nick followed Niebauer into the living room, where he found Schmidt
seated on the sofa. "Hey, Nick," Schmidt said. "Johnny tell you?"

"Yeah," Nick said, running his hand through his hair to arrange it as
he sat down. "That's something to wake up to."

"Well, that means more of Darmstadt's pals are now on ice, and that's
good," Schmidt said. "Meanwhile, Darmstadt contacted his customers.
We know he's going to be moving that million dollars tomorrow. Luders
and his colleagues should be able to sting him just the way you
suggested."

"Great," Nick said. "John said Luders' guys driving the Mercedes
weren't hurt, either."

"Nope. But that means you two might have to fly out of here to
Frankfurt and change planes."

"When should we plan on doing that?" Nick asked.

"The day after tomorrow, probably. Luders and company are planning to
raid the apartment where the terrorist group that his money is being
funneled to hangs out. They've been watching it for the past couple
of days and they plan on moving at the same time Darmstadt tries to
sell the zirconium. Two birds with the same rock."

"Any way we can help?" Nick asked.

"Luders asked if we want to come along when they hit the terrorists'
place," Niebauer said. "Ordinarily there's no way I'd ever agree, but
it would look well if we did."

"Hmmm," Schmidt said. "We know they have some small stuff in there–
couple of pistols, maybe. They don't want to attract too much
attention, so my guess is the loaded AK-47s are somewhere else."

"Yeah," Niebauer mused. "I don't know–there's always an unknown
factor to deal with."

While Niebauer and Schmidt talked, Nick sat, his thoughts returning
to the cell phone call from his father and what it might mean.
Darmstadt had used the same phrases that Nick had first used to
Christine, that Christine had evidently used, if not to Burton Fallin
directly, then to Warren Karling or Alvin Masterson, who had
obviously repeated those same words to Burton. Burton had used the
same phrases to Nick, who had then heard them repeated by Darmstadt.
Was that coincidence? When we get back, I'll want to talk to Alvin,
and maybe to Karling, Nick thought. One thing's for sure–I'm swearing
off cell phones from here on out. Whatever I end up doing, I'll never
say another thing on one that I don't want overheard.

Before his thoughts could progress to the implications of whether or
not other people were listening in on his cell phone conversations he
realized that Niebauer and Schmidt were looking at him. "Sorry," he
said. "I was thinking about something else. What did you say, John?"

"I said if we could keep you out of the way, would you like to come
along with Schmidt here and me?"

"Come along where?"

"Our German colleagues are going after the terrorist cell Darmstadt's
been giving money to," Niebauer said. "Because we provided a major
break in this case we–all three of us–have been asked to go along.
This is highly irregular, and considering we have an amateur here–you–
I'd say no, but this is a special occasion and preliminary
intelligence on this group indicates they just warehouse things and
don't have much in the way of weaponry. Anyway, all we'd be doing is
going in with the mop-up crew. There won't even be that much to see,
but it's a nice gesture on their part and they'd be pleased if we say
yes."

"They want me along? They must be nuts!"

"That thought crossed our minds, but we really don't think so,"
Schmidt said. "They really think that this is going to be a fast in-
and-out. They have some good reason for that belief–they use
surveillance equipment we developed and it's pretty good. We can tell
when somebody–ah–scratches himself as well as whether he's using
anything to do it. As far as we know–and it's pretty far–we don't
think the targets of all this attention have any serious armament,
because up to now they haven't thought they'd need it."

"If we go in now, won't that mean other groups will arm themselves?"
Nick asked. "We could bag some people now, but won't that make it
harder in the future?"

Niebauer and Schmidt looked at each other. "You've got a real feel
for this, Nick," Niebauer said. "We're going to have to talk more
about it, you and I. In the meantime, what we were getting around to
telling you is, you can be part of this if you want to. We honestly
don't think there's much chance of anything happening, otherwise I
wouldn't even mention it. The point troops will clear booby traps and
any other little surprises, so all we'll be doing is looking at some
empty rooms and some stacks of boxes. They may even have the bad guys
taken away by the time we get there."

When was the last time I played cops and robbers? Nick thought. It's
been a while. It would be interesting to see what it feels like to be
on the other side of a raid, though.

"This is a little risky, but not that risky," Schmidt said, breaking
into Nick's thoughts.

"I'm not really afraid of the risk," Nick said. "I just don't want to
get in the way."

"Don't worry," Niebauer said. "We won't let you get in the way. For
one thing, we like you too much to want anything to happen to you.
For another thing, we want to keep on good terms with our host
government, and that means we need to impress them with our
willingness to cooperate while playing this as safe as possible. For
a third thing, anything happens to you and we'll spend the next ten
years doing paperwork. No, Nick, you won't get in the way."

"I'm the one who decided to come over here in the first place," Nick
said. "Alvin Masterson offered to reassign me and I told him no. I
accomplished that mission, with your help. I figure I owe you."

"We could argue the point, but there isn't time," Niebauer
said. "I'll take that as a yes."


The raid went off as planned the next day. Nick, Niebauer and Schmidt
had been provided with the khaki color pants and Eisenhower jackets
worn by the German security services. After some discussion, it was
decided that Kevlar bulletproof vests would be worn, although Schmidt
had doubts about their effectiveness. "No vest is going to stop a
head shot if somebody decides to fire one," he commented. "Still, the
bad guys should be on ice by the time we get there, so there's not
much reason for worrying."

That proved to be the case. Nick, Niebauer and Schmidt found
themselves walking through a sparsely furnished apartment lined with
boxes of ammunition and other accouterments of urban warfare,
including some rocket-propelled grenade launchers. "Those can bring
down a commercial aircraft," Niebauer said to his two associates. "I
think we're lucky young Mister Fallin here has a talent for winkling
out this sort of thing."

"I keep telling you, anyone could have figured this out," Nick
demurred.

"Maybe anyone could have, but you're the one who did," Schmidt
said. "Give yourself some credit, Nick–believe me, other people are
going to." They ignored a television crew that had suddenly
materialized and continued their tour of the apartment. Having given
the place the once-over the rules (hastily explained to Nick by
Niebauer and Schmidt) required and shaken hands with Luders and
Mundel, they returned to the safe house, where Nick and Niebauer
packed and prepared to head for the Hamburg airport.

"Luders called," Schmidt told them. "He'd like if you stop at his
headquarters on your way to the airport. He needs to talk about
extradition and getting Karling's money back where it belongs, and he
wants to give you a security detail. We're all as sure as it's
possible to be in this business that all Darmstadt's pals and their
customers are out of business, but he doesn't want to take any
chances. I'd go along with him if I were you."

"Sounds good to me," Niebauer said and Nick, the espionage novice,
nodded in agreement.

"Herr Darmstadt is still not certain why he was apprehended," Luders
told Nick, Niebauer and Schmidt. "Herr Fallin, you are to be
complimented."

"All lawyers are frustrated actors," Nick replied. "What one must
guard against, of course, is acting a part too much in accordance
with one's true nature. I hope, in short, that I am not entirely the
fool Darmstadt seems to have taken me for."

"Far from it," Luders said. "We have all been impressed with your
grasp of the situation and willingness to act when you must."

"What of the money?" Nick wondered.

"It has been put back in Karling's bank and awaits disposition,"
Luders said.

"So long as none of his other friends can get at it," Nick said. "It
might be a good thing to have his bankers keep an eye on that
account."

"I will see to it," Luders said. "As to other matters, do you know if
your authorities have plans to request the extradition of Herr
Darmstadt?"

"We have not had an opportunity to contact our people as to his
disposition," Niebauer said.

"I am sure you have ample grounds to hold him," Nick put in. "Right
now, as I told him, he could be prosecuted on custodial interference
charges alone if he returned to Pittsburgh. On the other hand, I am
sure federal charges would supersede the local custody issue." Luders
nodded.

"Based on my knowledge of similar situations, I think we either may
be willing to wait until German courts are finished with him or else
the legal systems of both countries will work out an equitable and
amicable agreement," Niebauer said.

"In that case, we may safely leave him to you, Herr Luders," Schmidt
said.

"Very well," Luders said. "We will escort you to Frankfurt and see
you on the plane. We were able to review the tapes that the
television crew made at the apartment and your faces do not show–only
in one or two fleeting instances your profiles, partially, or your
backs. The risk may be slight, but the pictures have gone out to
various broadcast outlets, including satellite feed, and we would
prefer to err on the side of caution."

"As we have said before, this is your home ground, and your area of
expertise," Schmidt said. "We will not dispute you."

"I would like to see the tapes, however, if we might," Niebauer said.

Luders agreed. They viewed the tapes in a conference room. Nick
looked critically at what added up to at most a three-second shot of
the back of his head and another, taken from a different camera
angle, that showed glimpses of a one-quarter profile of the left side
of his face. The rest of the video tape showed badly focused shots of
all three and some German security forces walking around the
apartment. Even with the tape enhanced it was hard to tell who was
who.

"There is always some element of risk when someone in this line of
work is photographed, especially without his knowledge at the time,"
Niebauer said. "However, in this case, I agree with you, Herr Luders,
that the risk is slight."

"I do not possess sufficient knowledge of these matters to comment,
but speaking as an amateur, I agree." Nick said. "Besides, I cannot
think that anyone who might know us would see these."

"The possibility is, indeed a slight one," Schmidt agreed. "However,
If you do not object, Herr Luders, I think it would be well if we
could provide our colleagues at our agency with a copy of this tape
for reviewing purposes."

"You have done us a great service," Luders replied. "We have numbered
copies ready."

"We will be happy to deliver it," Niebauer said. He turned to
Nick. "This will mean we return to Pittsburgh a day later than we had
planned."

Nick nodded. "I have no objection," he said.

As one of Luders' aides rewound the tape, he, Nick and Niebauer left
the conference room to board the minivan in which they would travel
to the Frankfurt airport and home. Luders handed Niebauer a tape
cassette. "With our thanks," he said.

"It is we who must thank you," Nick said.

"You have friends here, Herr Fallin," Luders said. "We are honored to
work with you–all of you."

Luders' final gesture was a cross between a wave and a salute. "May
God go with you–all of you," he murmured as the van pulled out.

The End of Part 3
 
Part 4


Burton Fallin stared at Alvin Masterson. "What do you mean, they're
not coming back tonight?" he demanded.

Alvin sighed. "That's all I know, Burton. Niebauer called last night–
I forget what time it would have been there–and said don't expect
them until maybe the day after tomorrow. He left it kind of vague."

They were seated in Alvin's office at LSP. Burton had stopped in on
his way to Fallin & Fallin, hoping that a chat with Alvin would ease
the disquietude he had been feeling ever since his cell phone call to
Nicholas had ended so abruptly.

"All Nicholas said to me was `expect me when you see me.'" Burton
said.

"Karling's supposed to be here in a few minutes–said he wanted to
talk about what we could do to keep Darmstadt from pulling this
again," Alvin said. "I told him he'd do better talking to Nick; he
knows more about it than I do, but he said he'd come in anyway. Maybe
he has their itinerary."

As they spoke, Warren Karling got off the elevator and strode across
the reception area and into Alvin's office. " 'Morning, Masterson,"
he said. "I wanted to talk to you about–oh, hello, Burton."

"Good morning, Warren," Burton said. "Alvin and I were just talking
about when we can expect Nicholas and your friend Niebauer." Burton
hoped neither Alvin or Karling noticed the slight hesitation in his
voice when he spoke Niebauer's name.

"Niebauer said they'd be an extra day," Alvin said.

"I heard the same thing," Karling said. "Niebauer told me about the
change in their travel plans, but he didn't say why. It doesn't
really matter to me–after what Nick and Niebauer did for Christine,
they can take all the time they want to finish up whatever they need
to. Mr. Masterson–"

"Alvin," Alvin interjected.

"–Alvin, as I told you when I called yesterday, I'd like to know what
I can do to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Well, Mr. Karling, as Nick told your daughter, there's not much we
can do. Darmstadt may be arrested if he comes back to the States, but
that's a decision the Pittsburgh police and the INS will have to
make," Alvin said.

"Well, I sure tried hard enough to work it so he'll want to stay in
Germany," Karling said.

Burton, who had been listening idly to this conversation, looked up
as a man and a woman entered the office. "Excuse me, but–" he began.
Both of the interlopers ignored him.

"Warren Karling?" the woman said. She flashed a photo identification
card and a badge. "Patricia D'Amico and Michael Montville. We're
with Treasury."

"What can I do for you?" Karling asked. "If it's something about
Grimsby Hutchinson, it would be more efficient if we discussed it at
my office."

"No, sir, this isn't a business matter," D'Amico said. "About a month
ago you moved $1 million of your personal funds out of the country
without filing the necessary documentation with the Treasury
Department."

"It was a personal matter," Karling said. "I didn't realize I had to
do anything. I'm sorry. Is there a problem if I file now?"

"The funds were transferred to Deutsche Bank in Hamburg," Montville
said. Burton and Alvin both looked at Karling.

"Deutsche Bank handles any funds I have in Germany, yes," Karling
said.

"Mr. Karling, as you probably know better than we do, the money was
deposited to a personal account in the name of one Paul Darmstadt."

"My former son-in-law, yes," Karling said. "I don't mean to sound
hostile, but is there some law that says I can't give some of my own
money to my daughter's ex-husband?"

"No, sir. However, there is a law about supplying anything but
humanitarian aid to a country against which American and U.N.
sanctions have been imposed."

"What?! Miss–Miss D'Amico, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Paul Darmstadt was arrested by German security police in Hamburg
yesterday morning. The day before, $1 million was transferred from
that personal account at Deutsche Bank–which we know you opened for
him–into his bank, Creditanstalt. Darmstadt withdrew that $1 million
and purchased four tons of zirconium with it. He was arrested trying
to sell the zirconium to a representative of the Iraqi government, an
illegal act under our and U.N. sanctions."

Karling turned in his chair. "Burton–"

D'Amico looked at Burton over the tops of the wire rimmed glasses she
wore. "Are you Mr. Karling's lawyer?"

"My firm represents his corporation, Grimsby Hutchinson. Fallin &
Fallin is not Warren Karling's personal legal counsel," Burton said.

"Burton Fallin? Fallin & Fallin?"

"Yes."

D'Amico and Montville looked at each other. Montville nodded
slightly. "Very well." The two government agents transferred their
attention back to Karling. "Mr. Karling, we're not here to hang you
out to dry," D'Amico said. "But we think you should be aware Paul
Darmstadt was willing to sell a substance used to make weapons of
mass destruction to a country that's opposed to the best interests of
the United States. I can't say much more, but I can tell you that the
money he in turn would have realized from this transaction would have
supported terrorist activities in Europe and in the United States."

"Miss D'Amico, Mr. Montville, I swear I knew nothing about why
Darmstadt wanted the money," Karling said. "All I know is, for the
right incentive he was willing to give my grandchildren back to their
mother. I offered that incentive and he took it. My grandchildren–who
are American citizens–are back home where they belong, thanks to that
million dollars and, from what my daughter told me, the efforts of
Nick Fallin and John Niebauer. Frankly, that's all that mattered to
me. I don't know anything about Darmstadt's political leanings or his
activities–since he and my daughter divorced we haven't been in touch
for obvious reasons."

"Warren Karling's daughter, Darmstadt's ex-wife, came to LSP to try
to recover her children in a case of international custodial
interference," Alvin said. "Darmstadt, her ex-husband, their father,
had taken them to Germany. She paid us a retainer and Mr. Karling
here is paying the expenses for one of his employees and one of my
staff–Nick Fallin, the other half of Fallin & Fallin– to recover
them."

"You're Masterson, aren't you?" Montville asked. Alvin
nodded. "Okay, just wanted to match a face to the name. And Nick–
Nicholas?–Fallin is working for you? Community service? This custody
case was part of that community service, we gather."

"Yes, Nick Fallin works for me," Alvin said. "That's why he went to
Germany–to recover the Darmstadt children, if he could. I gather he
did, but what's this about terrorists? Has anything happened to Nick
and Niebauer, the guy who works for Karling?"

"All we can tell you is what we just did," D'Amico said.

"We can tell you that the million is back in the Creditanstalt
account," Montville said. "Since Darmstadt has no immediate relatives
in Germany–the children were returned to their mother, who brought
them back here–and therefore no one else has a valid claim to it over
there, you could make a case for getting it back, Mr. Karling."

"The IRS and the Justice Department would be–ah–interested if he does
get it back, though," Burton said. His face expressed none of the
thoughts assailing him, all of which centered around his son.

"I thought you weren't Karling's counsel," D'Amico said.

"I'm simply making an observation. I've been around long enough to be
aware that it's a valid one," Burton came back.

"So it is," Montville said.

"If you were satisfied that Karling's intentions were honorable and
that he had no knowledge of Darmstadt's plans, there would be no
reason for any further official interest in this transaction,
especially since the funds were withdrawn from Creditanstalt and then
put back–unused–almost immediately," Burton said.

"What are you suggesting, Burton?" Karling asked, realizing that he
had just been thrown a life preserver.

"Darmstadt obviously intended to use the funds for purposes inimical
to the best interests of this country and probably his own. He
didn't. Since they can be identified as the property of a United
States citizen and since they were never used to the detriment of the
United States, applying them to some–useful–purpose here might just
take the curse off them." And eliminate the government's interests,
Burton thought.

"That's a possibility which must be considered," Montville
said. "There are a number of organizations which we regard as
suitable."

A light bulb went on in Warren Karling's head. "Would LSP be one of
them?" he asked.

"It would seem to fit the criteria," D'Amico said.

"Well– " Karling mused. "This outfit got my grandkids back for me.
I'd say Masterson's crew ought to reap the benefit of at least some
of that million. Burton, what do you think would be a good number?"

"I don't run this place, Warren," Burton said. "Talk to Alvin here."

"Er–I don't have a figure right off the top of my head," Alvin
said. " I'm putting together a budget for my board, but it's just raw
numbers right now."

"I don't think we need a budget," D'Amico said. "Suggest something."

"Nick told me three years ago that his community service here added
up to $325,000 in billable hours," Alvin said. "Even though he only
spends half a day here he does the work of three people."

"The government likes round numbers, don't they?" Burton said.

"Generally," from Montville.

"I can't place a monetary value on my grandchildren–or on my
daughter," Karling said. "The legal clinic that saved me a lot of
heartache is certainly deserving of at last half that million
dollars, though. Burton, I know you're not representing me
personally, but will you handle this? What do you think, an
endowment?"

"I can do that," Burton said.

"We'll stop at your office and pick up the paperwork for our end,"
Montville said.

"It will be ready this afternoon," Burton said.

"Well, then, I think we're finished here," D'Amico said. "Mike–"

"Yeah, that's it," her colleague said. "We'll see you gentlemen at
Mr. Fallin's office this afternoon."

"Fine," Karling said.

"Can I give you my card?" Burton asked.

"We know where it is–the Frick Building, right?"

"Yes," Burton said.

"Later," Montville said. The Treasury agents left.

Alvin, Burton and Karling looked at each other. "Well, that was
interesting," Burton said.

"Burton, thank you," Karling said.

"All right, Warren, I just saved your ass, and got you one hell of a
tax break besides," Burton said. "And Alvin, your money troubles are
over forever. Now tell me, where's Nicholas?"

"Burton, I don't know any more than you do. Niebauer said they'd be
away at least another day, possibly a day and a half, and they'd let
me know what plane they were on coming back here," Karling said.

"Why the hell are they going to be gone that long?"

"I don't know. If I did I'd tell you," Karling said.

"Look, Warren, you have your grandchildren back. That's wonderful and
I'm happy for you," Burton said. "Alvin, you just got yourself a half-
million-dollar endowment. Now I'd like to know when I can expect my
son–and my partner–to get back so I can start making some plans of my
own. I have a business to run, in case nobody noticed. I need my son
to help run it. Alvin, you need him here. And Warren, you're our
client too, and you're the one who said nobody can do what you need
as well as Nicholas. I should think you'd be concerned for that
reason alone."

Alvin and Karling exchanged glances. "I'm concerned, all right,"
Karling snapped. "And for more reasons than what Nick can do for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Alvin said.

"Yeah," Burton said. "Alvin, Nicholas is working for you. I should
think you'd want to know when he's going to complete this assignment
and get back here so he can handle other cases for you."

Alvin flushed. "Burton, I told Nick that his being here because he
had to be didn't minimize his contribution, and I meant it. He's a
valued part of this organization and I'll be sorry to see him leave.
Right now he's handling a case I assigned him and from what I can
see, we have a satisfied client and two kids who are back home with
their mother, where they belong, thanks to him. If he has to take a
couple of days to tie up loose ends or whatever, it's all right with
me. Now if you two don't mind, I'm going to watch the noon news–I
want to see if the governor made a statement about the Commonwealth
budget."

"You don't have to be concerned about a budget now, Alvin," Karling
said. "Why bother?"

"It'll be a while before the money comes through and I have to worry
about what to do in the meantime," Alvin said. He turned on the set
that sat on top of a file cabinet in his office.

"…and the state budget as released by the governor's office today
announced across-the-board cuts. Especially hard hit will be social
programs and education," the noon news anchor said. "Turning to
international news, some 20 members of a terrorist cell were arrested
in the German city of Hamburg yesterday when police raided an
apartment close to an American base."

As Burton, Alvin and Karling watched, the exterior of a postwar
European apartment block was shown. The camera focused on a doorway
and then a flight of stairs. For the next few seconds the camera
wandered here and there inside an apartment. The rooms seemed to be
filled with boxes and crates and men and a few women, most wearing
khaki Eisenhower jackets and pants, were opening them and going
through the contents. A voiceover droned on about the number and kind
of arms discovered and how many lives had probably been saved by the
raid.

Burton, who had been giving half his attention to the images on the
television, suddenly sat up straight and leaned forward to get closer
to the screen. "That's Nicholas!" he exclaimed.

Karling and Alvin also aimed their attention at the
television. "Don't be silly, Burton," Alvin said. "What would Nick be
doing, running around with a bunch of German security police, or
whatever they are, in a raid on a terrorists' nest? You're seeing
things."

"You're not a father, Alvin. I know my son when I see him, and that
was Nicholas," Burton snapped. The picture changed as the news
program went on to another subject.

"Alvin, you weren't by any chance recording that, were you?" Karling
asked.

"No. I don't even have a cassette in the VCR right now,"Alvin
said. "Burton, I know what Nick looks like. That wasn't him."

"What station was that, anyway?" Karling asked.

"KDKA," Alvin said. Karling reached for the telephone on Alvin's desk.

"Damn it, don't you think I know my own son when I see him?" Burton
said.

"Come on, Burton. Whatever you saw was on screen for all of about
three or four seconds," Alvin said. "I know you want Nick home–so do
I–but I think you saw something you wanted to see."

"Bull."

"Okay," Karling cut into the conversation. "We're lucky–Grimsby
Hutchinson owns a piece of the local CBS affiliate. I just talked to
the news director. They're tracking down where that segment came from
and checking to see if there was any more of it–maybe there's another
shot from a different camera angle that'll show more. They'll re-
record that segment onto a regular cassette. I'll bring it to your
office this afternoon, Burton."

"All right," Burton said. "Alvin, I'm sure that's Nicholas on that
tape, and I'm sure you'll agree when you see it. Since we're creating
a half-million-dollar endowment for LSP, you're going to have to sign
papers anyway, so we can all look at it this afternoon."

"Okay," Alvin said. Karling shook hands with both men and left.
Burton and Alvin watched the elevator doors close behind him.

"Well," Alvin said. "Nick was right."

"About what?" Burton said.

"About how this case could put us in the black forever."

"He said that?"

"Yeah–the first time Christine Darmstadt came in here. He was worried
that we wouldn't be able to deliver, given the custody laws and all."

"Well, he did–that's one reason why Warren Karling was so ready to
hand you half a million dollars to prop up this place. Besides,
Warren'll never miss it."

"I'm not going to argue," Alvin said. "But Burton, come on, now–that
couldn't have been Nick on that tape or satellite feed or whatever it
is."

"Stranger things have been known to happen," Burton said. "Alvin, all
I can tell you is, I'm damn certain that was Nicholas. I just–look, I
know my son–how he walks, the way he holds his head, the way he moves
his hands. I'm sure that was him."

"But–"

"I know, I know–there's no logical reason for Nicholas to even be in
that apartment at all. But I know what I saw and what I didn't see."

"Did you recognize anyone else?"

"No."

"That would seem to be a strong argument against it being Nick in
that film clip."

"Well, possibly."

"Yeah. Look, Burton, if there's more to that clip Karling will bring
it along this afternoon and you can go over it to your heart's
content. In the meantime, don't get your hopes up would be my advice–
and don't worry about it. Nick will be back the day after tomorrow,
I'm sure."

"God, I hope so," Burton said. "Aside from the fact that there's a
lot of work waiting for him, I–I miss him." That's an understatement,
he thought. I don't feel complete without him.

"I kinda miss him too, but I know it's not the same," Alvin
said. "And I'm probably going to lose him–his service time is almost
over. He sure made his mark on this place. And now he put a five-
hundred-thousand-dollar cushion under LSP. Jesus."

"Give yourself some credit," Burton said. "You upped the ante."

"That was some performance, wasn't it? I wonder how long the Bobbsey
twins or whatever the hell they were rehearsed that, anyway."

"Maybe we'll find out later today," Burton said. He left and Alvin
sat at his desk and thought about what half a million dollars would
do to further the work of the legal clinic he had founded the year of
the Bicentennial. And all because Nick Fallin got busted for a coke
habit. Damn.


D'Amico and Montville were the first to arrive at Fallin & Fallin
that afternoon. Gretchen ushered them into the conference room. "Mr.
Fallin and Mr. Karling will be in shortly and Mr. Masterson is on his
way," she said. The two government agents accepted her offer of
coffee and after she served them and left, cast appraising looks at
their surroundings. The conversation that ensued might have given
some clue as to which agency really employed them, had anyone heard
it.

"So this is where he works when he's not at that other place,"
D'Amico said.

"His office is down the hall and around the corner," Montville
said."You'd think with his father running the outfit he'd be a little
closer to the center of power."

"On the other hand, having met father, I guess I'm not surprised son
is at the back of beyond," D'Amico said. "He probably wants it that
way. Masterson was the one who asked about Nick and Johnny Niebauer.
All Old Man Fallin cared about was making a deal. We only met the guy
a couple of hours ago, but that tells me something."

"Well, Karling's his client–or at least his company is," Montville
said. "Saving Karling's ass had to make him some points, and he
didn't do himself any harm engineering that five hundred grand
endowment for LSP either."

"Yeah, but come on, Mike. If I was a day or two late coming back from
a business trip and two strangers told my father that I'd been doing
business with a guy with a terrorist connection like this Darmstadt,
he'd damn well want to know what was going on. So would your father–
I've met him."

"Well, we may have to thank the old boy for–Red Alert." Burton Fallin
and Warren Karling were visible through the frosted glass doors just
before they entered the conference room.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but it'll have to be a little longer.
Masterson is on his way over here," Burton said as he and Karling
seated themselves.

"No problem," D'Amico said.

Alvin came in about five minutes later, interrupting a conversation
on general subjects that had revealed nothing about any of the
participants to the others. "Sorry I'm late," he told the room. "Last-
minute crisis."

"Starting next week you'll be able to have someone take care of that
sort of thing for you," Karling told him.

"Gonna be an interesting feeling," Alvin said. He began signing the
various documents.

"Your outfit does good work, Alvin," Karling said. "I'm glad I can do
something to help–you people helped me."

"Thank Nick," Alvin said. "He's the one who really did it all."

"Yes. Do we have any idea when he'll be getting back? His desk is ass-
deep to a camel in work," Burton said. And I need my son back here
with me, where he belongs, he thought. Talk about custodial
interference–somebody's interfering with my relationship with my son,
and I don't like it one bit. He didn't see the look D'Amico and
Montville exchanged.

"He'll probably want to wrap up some things at LSP, too, if I know
him," Alvin said.

"Both of you, give him a break," Karling said. "If I thought he'd
hold still for it I'd throw him a party–he certainly deserves it."

"We can talk about that when he gets back," Alvin said. He and
Karling finished scribbling their names on the last of the many
pieces of paper and handed them to Burton.

"That's it," Burton said. "Each of us gets a copy and so do you, Miss
D'Amico."

"Very well," D'Amico said. She put the papers in her briefcase and
stood up. Montville rose as well. "It was nice working with you."
They made for the door as Burton, Karling and Alvin said their own
good-byes.

As the conference room doors slid closed behind them, Burton turned
to Karling."Warren, have you got that tape?" he demanded.

"Yes, Burton, hot off the KDKA feed," Warren said. "The news director
got on the phone to New York as soon as I talked to him. It's the
busiest part of their day–they have the five o'clock newscast to get
ready–but he checked with New York and then with Washington–that's
where it turned out this came from. They had a camera crew in
Hamburg. Don't get your hopes up–there isn't more than about 10, 15
seconds in all here. The station has experts looking at these things.
They all said they didn't think they could identify one of their own
family members from a clip this short and this bad. That crew wasn't
trying for a Pulitzer–they just wanted to get something on a slow
news day and the local cops weren't really happy about them being
there, either, so they got kind of jostled around." As he spoke he
put the cassette in the VCR that sat on a shelf under a 27-inch
television in one corner of the conference room.

"Yes, yes," Burton said impatiently. "I know all that."

"Okay, as long as you keep it in mind," Karling said. "Here goes." He
hit the Play button on the remote control and then handed the device
to Burton.

Karling's estimate about the length of the film clip was accurate.
There was at most 15 seconds of film. As the three had seen on the
noon newscast, the camera crew had started shooting the exterior of
the apartment building, then followed police inside, up a flight of
stairs and into an apartment. The camera panned around, pausing
briefly on boxes of armaments. The angle of view changed and a few of
the police were visible.

For perhaps two seconds the camera caught the back of several
person's heads. Burton paused the tape and looked intently at the
images on the screen. "There–the one on the left," he said.
Karling and Alvin looked. "Well, it could be–" Karling temporized.
Alvin looked again at the screen image. "I don't know," he
said. "I've seen the back of Nick's head more than once, but I never
looked that intently. It could be, yes, but then again, it couldn't."

Burton pressed Play again. The camera followed more people looking at
more crates. Someone took an automatic rifle out of a crate and held
it up. "Is that an AK-47?" Karling asked.

Alvin looked at the gun. "Don't think so. It's an Uzi, maybe." The
camera moved again and caught a group of the police forces obviously
talking to each other. A man turned his head briefly, making a sliver
of face visible in the daylight coming through a window.

Burton paused the tape again. "I think that's Nicholas," he said.
Alvin and Karling looked again. "Hit Play again," Alvin said. Burton
did so. "Now rewind it a little. Slo-mo." They looked some more. "I
just don't know," Alvin said.

"Burton, I don't want to rain on your parade, but I don't think so,"
Karling said. "The guys at the tv station were right–you can't tell
anything from these. They enhanced them for us as much as they were
able to, so what you see is all you've got, and it isn't very much.
And Alvin here's right–there's just no reason for Nick to be
investigating a terrorist nest with the German police."

"Well–"

"Look. Take the tape home, put it in your own machine and play it all
night long if you want to. But I have to tell you, I don't think
you're going to get any more out of it than you just did. I tried my
best–I know I owe you one–but that's it. There just isn't any more."

"Well, thanks for the tape, Warren. Alvin, I'm glad I could do this
for you."

"And you're right–you saved my ass, too," Karling said. "Alvin, keep
in touch."

"Glad to. Burton, as soon as I hear anything I'll let you know."
"So will I," Karling said. He and Alvin left.

Burton took the video cassette out of the VCR and went back into his
office. He put the cassette in his briefcase and sat down at his desk
and turned to the other matters that claimed his attention. Try as he
might to concentrate, however, his thoughts kept returning to the
tape and what he thought he had seen. I'm sure that's Nicholas, he
thought. But Alvin's right–what would he be doing, running around
with a German police unit? Oh, hell. Where is he and when is he
coming home? I want my son.


The object of Burton's concern at that moment was 35,000 feet over
the Atlantic Ocean. Nick and Niebauer were finishing a dinner that
was several orders of magnitude better than that served in coach. "I
think we can call this one a win, thanks in large part to you,"
Niebauer said.

"That video tape still bothers me," Nick said.

"That's good, that you're thinking that way. But my advice is, don't
worry about it. The only way anybody can get anything off that tape
is if they have the image enhancing equipment we do, and believe me,
they don't. There aren't too many people outside the agency who even
know it exists."

"Ah–excuse me, but haven't you just added one more to that number?"

"Well, that could change. Nick, I think you've had a pretty good idea
where this was heading for the past couple of days."

"You and Schmidt were throwing out hints."

"Yes, we were. We really think you have potential–the kind of
potential we're always looking for but don't find all that often."

Nick turned in his seat to face the man sitting beside him. "I've
read a couple of techno-thrillers now and then. I know I haven't told
you anything about myself you didn't already know. Why do you want a
recovering coke user who's coming off three years of probation and
community service and who almost got himself indicted for felony
murder?"

"Because that recovering coke user et cetera is also a brilliant
lawyer who thinks in some unique and creative ways. We need that kind
of thinking. And we also think a different environment can help you
use those abilities and talents more and better than you presently
do."

"I tried the different environment bit at Swann and Cranston," Nick
said. "It's called the geographic cure. It doesn't work."

"It didn't work at the time because you were doing the same thing in
the same way. Working for the agency would be a different situation.
A lot of people with law degrees work for us. And think about it–
corporate law and your advocacy work are a unique combination that
matches up with a lot of what the agency does. The intel we gather
and that people like you help interpret means a lot of other people
are going to go about their daily lives without having to dodge
bullets or high explosives. We're the guardians of the whole country.
If you have qualms about leaving LSP, think about that."

Niebauer's cell phone–an encrypted, secure model, he had explained to
Nick–chirped. He picked it up, opened it and said his name. He
listened, briefly acknowledged what he had heard and ended the call.

"Well," he said to his seatmate, "you just nudged an elbow,
figuratively speaking, and your friends at LSP are set for life."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that million Karling earmarked for Darmstadt? Some of our
people borrowed credentials from Treasury and paid a little call on
him. You were right, of course–moving that kind of money around
without the right kind of authorization gets noticed. He decided to
take us up on the idea that this could go away if he did something–
useful–with the dough. LSP now has a half-million-dollar endowment."

"Wow. I'll bet Alvin Masterson is a happy camper right now." Nick
grinned.

"Yeah. So's Karling. For him, half a million dollars is chump change
and he just gave himself a tax break and a half."

"So everybody's happy." Nick frowned a little. "John, when we first
talked about this I was reasonably certain that nothing could bounce
back to Fallin & Fallin–the firm isn't Karling's personal attorney,
so I can't think of any reason why we should be concerned with this."

"You're right about that. Though from what I heard, your father was
the one who got Karling off the hook with the half-million bucks."

"How'd he do that?"

"Just made the suggestion. Karling jumped at it and so did our guys.
You were the one who made the suggestion to put it back where it was
supposed to be, though."

"I can't believe somebody else wouldn't have come up with the same
idea," Nick said. "All the same, I've been living with this probation
and community service thing for the past three years. I haven't
checked my calendar, but I think I'm close to the end of both of
them. Maybe it's time for a change. I just can't think why the agency
would want someone with my–ah–baggage."

"It's baggage only if you let it be," Niebauer said. "Look, Nick, I
won't deny they'll be watching you. Then again, they watch everybody.
It's the nature of this business. And no, you wouldn't be doing any
field operations, but I told you, we have some lawyers working for us
as case officers and you could be a very distinguished member of that
crew. Every member of every government agency undergoes random
testing–it's been part of the policy since the eighties, at least. I
think you can live with that. And Admiral Stevenson, the Deputy
Director, Intelligence, really wants to meet you. So do some other
people. A lot of people think you've got what it takes, Nick–and they
haven't even met you yet. Now all you have to do is believe in
yourself the way they believe in you."

"That's always been the hard part," Nick said.

"Well, you'll be in a good place to work on it if you decide to do
this," Niebauer said. Several minutes passed in silence. Then
Niebauer cleared his throat. "Nick," he said, "I have to tell you
something. It could blow this whole deal, but I think you deserve to
know–I'm one of the reasons your parents broke up."

Nick blessed his training in keeping a noncommital expression. "Oh?"
was all he said.

"I met–your mother–through a mutual friend. We went places, we–saw
each other–for about three months in all. I don't ever remember you
being around, but you might have been at one time or another."

"John, from the minute Warren Karling introduced us I had a funny
feeling I'd seen you somewhere," Nick said. "Maybe we crossed paths
once or twice. I really don't remember. When Christine was talking to
the kids about all the stuff they'd do when they got back home I
thought of all the times people were giving me model planes or taking
us–my mother and me–to the zoo or Kennewood or something. You might
have been one of them. I just don't recall."

"I wasn't the first person your mother–knew–and I wasn't the last,"
Niebauer said. "Just before I left Pittsburgh to join the agency I
was deposed as a co-respondent when your parents divorced, but I
never got called to testify. I guess your father changed the grounds
to irreconcilable differences or something. because I think four or
five other guys were deposed too, but nothing ever came out in court,
as far as I know."

"You and four or five others–that sounds about right," Nick said. And
that's the first lie I've told this man, he thought. I didn't know
about any of this until this moment. His face gave no indication that
his world had just been rocked to its very core.

"I told you this because I thought you deserved honesty," Niebauer
said. "I mean it when I say the agency considers you a very promising
prospect, but if you decide you don't want to be on the same team as
me, that's okay. This plane goes on to Pittsburgh after it stops at
Baltimore Washington International. You can stay on it if you want."

Nick started to say something. Niebauer held up a hand. "Think about
it. We have about two and a half or three hours until we get in."

Niebauer concentrated on a magazine and Nick stared out the window at
the ocean so far below. John sure knew the right place to spring this
on me, he thought. I can't very well walk out of an airplane. And no
booze, no drugs and no one to confide in except myself.

My mother slept around. That's why my father divorced her. God, how
he must despise me. He sure didn't think enough of me to tell me any
of this. No wonder he sent me to boarding school. Why did he send me
to college and law school and everything else? For the same reason he
bailed my ass out twice–too embarrassing not to. Well, that explains
why I don't do anything really significant at the firm–why he takes
everything away from me. I ask somebody for a two percent cut of
their company and he makes me look stupid with a demand for four
percent. Somebody wants a hip, new partner for his wine bar and dear
old Dad comes up with a yo-yo with a liquor license–and plays me like
a damn violin. All he keeps me around for is to toy with. He'd
probably like it a lot better if I wasn't around at all. Let's keep
up appearances. Never mind what's going on underneath. All that
matters is the facade. Cute.

Nick's thought ran on in the same channel for some time. The flight
attendants went through the cabin with Customs and Immigration forms
which Nick and Niebauer disposed of in short order–the videotape had
been sent on to Washington in the diplomatic bag from the U.S.
consulate in Hamburg and neither had bought anything during their
stay. They handed in the forms and fastened their seat belts and
brought their seats to the upright position as the plane was readied
for landing. "The time in Washington, D.C. is 11:58 p.m. and the
temperature is 68 degrees," a flight attendant announced over the
plane's public address system. "Welcome to Washington, D.C."

Passengers began leaving the plane. Niebauer took his carry-on bag
out of the overhead compartment. He looked questioningly at Nick.

Nick took his briefcase from under the seat in front of him and stood
up.

"So, let's go see the Admiral," Nick said.


The End of Part 4
 
Part 5

Admiral James Morton Stevenson, clad in civilian clothes as befitted
the Deputy Director, Intelligence of the Central Intelligence Agency,
sat back in his chair and regarded the young man seated on the other
side of his desk. "How did they treat you at the Marriott last
night?" he asked.

"Very well, sir," Nicholas Fallin replied.

"Good. We've had an arrangement with them for a while now and we
haven't had any complaints, but I like to make sure we're getting
what the contract says we're supposed to." He paused. "So what did
John Niebauer tell you about me?"

"Not to bullshit you because your office carpet is red with the blood
of people who tried," Nick responded. Even in civilian clothes,
Stevenson was an officer and a leader of men. Nick realized it, but
he also had realized from the moment Niebauer had escorted him into
this office that there was a side to the Deputy Director,
Intelligence that welcomed anyone who would speak freely.

Stevenson laughed. "Your candor is refreshing, Mr. Fallin. And your
ability to stay unruffled when I switch gears that fast is something
I keep looking for but don't find all that often."

Nick shifted slightly in his seat. "Sir, I knew this interview would
involve a lot of checking out the skill and talent I'm supposed to
have. What you just saw is a lawyer trained to stay focused,
that's all."

"I wouldn't dismiss it so lightly, young man. You'd be surprised how
many people get flustered at that."

"They've obviously never had to question a reluctant witness–
especially a child–or sort through a 10,000-word pile of
obfuscation misnamed a `brief' to pull out one or two relevant facts. I can do 
it
because it's just the way I make a living, that's all."

"I can see some strong parallels between corporate law and
intelligence analysis, which is part of this agency's mandate,"
Stevenson said. He poured two cups of coffee from the coffee maker
behind his desk into two handle-less Navy mugs. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Cream, please."

He handed the mug to Nick, who thanked him. They sipped their
respective beverages for perhaps half a minute.

"I'm not going to waste time discussing your drug situation,"
Stevenson said. "As you figured out, I already know just about
everything there is to know about you–as soon as we learned Niebauer
would be working with you we dug up everything on you we could find.
It's quite a lot, by the way."

Nick felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks. "Given what I
know is there, I'm surprised you even let me in the door."

"Everyone I've ever had this kind of an interview with downplays the
positive things about themselves," Stevenson said. "You're no
exception. Let's just leave it at this: You're not afraid to say what
you think. You're confident about your own abilities, if not
necessarily about yourself. And just from talking to you in the last
few minutes I can see that if a situation arose in which you had to
tell me I was wrong, that's exactly what you'd do. You'd be as
diplomatic about it as you needed to be, but if you had to tell me I
was full of it, you would. That alone would make you stand out–I've
got too many people around here whose only bureaucratic aptitude is
for kissing ass. Your ability to work the system and get the results
you want makes you someone I'd be looking for, but there's more to it
than that. People who call you `a hell of a lawyer' are right. And
you have another talent this agency needs–the patience and the
ability to sift through a pile of information and spot one pertinent
fact. Like John told you, the answers to a lot of things are sitting
in a pile of reports no one's had the chance to look at yet. For too
long, too many people were fixated on intelligence gathering and not
enough on analysis. I need good analysts. And you have talent–raw
talent–that can be shaped and molded and made into a valuable asset
to this agency–and the country. What do you think?"

Nick took a breath and considered his response. "I'm a good lawyer.
I've heard a lot over the past few days about how I think outside the
box and why that's a valuable skill. I believe my abilities would be
of value to this organization–and I think with my history I'd be an
enormous risk."

"As I said, your drug situation is something we think you can handle.
We have NA meetings here–a lot of people you'd never suspect of
having the same problem attend. And we know you've changed your mind
about being in those sessions. There are a lot of people here who've
been down the same path. It's a safe bet you got involved with drugs
for the same reason anyone uses any mind-altering substance–to take
away the pain, feel good. Given enough other things to keep you
occupied and build your self-esteem, you won't need drugs and you
won't want them."

Nick looked startled, then remembered who he was talking to. "You're
right, sir." He paused. "I suppose it's just logical that the agency
has groups."

Stevenson grinned. "And that's because–" he suggested.

"Security, plain and simple. My experience with meetings is, people
don't reveal some things about themselves, but sometimes they do, and
if this exercise in Hamburg taught me anything, it's that there are
always little pieces of information floating around. All you need is
one person to put them together–even partly–and you're blown wide
open."

"Well done, lad," Stevenson said. "I said you have a talent for this
sort of thing." A light blinked on his intercom and he picked up his
telephone handset and listened. "Yes, Nancy, we'd be pleased for her
to join us." He put the phone down. "Nick, I want you to meet the
Deputy Director, Operations."

Nick stood up as a tall, slender middle- aged woman entered the room 
and came over to Stevenson's desk.


"Pam, this is Nicholas Fallin," Stevenson said.

"Johnny Niebauer's new kid?" The woman turned to Nick. "Pam Smith."

"Ms. Smith," Nick said. They shook hands. Nick inwardly marveled–even
in a brief handclasp it was obvious that there was a coiled inner
strength to this woman that could let go with megaton force if she
wanted it to.

"So, Jimmy, what's the story? Is young Mr. Fallin here going to throw
in his lot with us once his probation's over?"

"Give us both a break, Smith. I haven't asked him yet," Stevenson
said.

"Well, get moving, bathtub sailor–if you don't, I will."

"As you've already gathered, there are no soft edges to this woman,"
Stevenson said to Nick.

"Yes, sir. Ms. Smith–"

"Just `Smith."

"Well–er, Smith, I've been hearing a lot about joining the agency,
but my probation isn't over for another two months yet, and I'm not
really sure about how much community service time I have to put in."

Nick realized as he spoke that he wasn't telling either of his
hearers anything they didn't already know. Were they aware of his
other problem, the one that had put him firmly on the bad side of the
Allegheny County district attorney, the fear that lived with him
always, however he felt about its object? His mouth reacted before
his mind did.

"Smith, Admiral, you've probably already figured this out, but I have
to tell you, I have some apprehension about my probation and
community service time ending, and it has nothing to do with being
bored by no longer working 90-hour weeks."

"Your dealer?" Smith asked.

Nick looked at her in surprise. Did Pamela Smith read minds?

"The trouble with law enforcement agencies is they tend to focus on
the problem at hand without considering ramifications," Smith
said. "I hadn't read past the first paragraph of the report on your
conversations with the DA before I figured it out."

"Well, you see the problem, then," Nick said.

"We can handle that sort of thing," Stevenson said. "Smith here has
some people–I recruited one of them–who are especially good
at it."

Smith had picked up a telephone on Stevenson's desk. "Please ask Mr.
McMahon to come to the DDI's office," she said to whoever was on the
other end. She put the instrument down and returned to Nick. "You're
going to meet the man Jim recruited. He has quite a history–maybe
he'll tell you some of it. He's absolutely the best one to deal with
this because of how he feels about–that sort of person."

As she spoke a tall man with dark hair and a determined look about
him came into the room. "Smith, Admiral," he said.

"Please join us, Kevin," Stevenson said. "Kevin McMahon, this is Nick
Fallin."

"A pleasure," the man said. He and Nick shook hands.

"Kevin, Nick here's had a rough time because of a drug dealer,"
Stevenson said.

"Really?" McMahon said. A pair of blue-gray eyes under straight black
brows regarded Nick thoughtfully. "Let me guess–you got busted for
using and they told you it would go easier with you if you ratted him
out?"

"Yes," Nick said.

"But you didn't, so they really put the screws on." Nick
nodded.

"And they couldn't figure out why and you weren't about
to tell them."

"That's right."

McMahon shook his head. "You'd think after a few hundred of these
things come up they could guess."

"I think they were concentrating on having caught a fairly big fish,"
Nick said.

"Yeah. So they let an even bigger one get away." McMahon
snorted.

"It's not only that Colin–the dealer–started to lean on me, since
when I'm no longer on probation I won't be undergoing testing and I
can associate with whomever I choose and he wants to be one of my
associates–Colin believes in insurance," Nick said. "He told me if he
ever thought I was going to rat him out there would be one more
orphan for the county's statistics."

"One more orphan?" McMahon asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes–and I wouldn't like how I got that way, either."

"Well," Smith broke into the conversation with the bluntness that
Nick was rapidly learning was a major component of her
personality, "I don't see it as a major problem."

"No," Stevenson agreed. "Tell me, Nick, does this Colin–what's his
last name?"

"Bennett," Nick said.

"Yes, Colin Bennett–does he have colleagues?"

"Other dealers? Yes, there were a couple of others, but Bennett
always had the best stuff."

"Hmm. That's worth looking into–who his supplier is,"
McMahon said.

Nick nodded.

"All right, Nick, tell us why," Smith said.

"If one dealer consistently offers better quality than others, he
must have a more direct channel to a supplier who in turn is higher
up in the chain," Nick said. "That supplier must have an organization
that gets the good stuff to him more efficiently than the hit-or-miss
way drugs get to the average street dealer. So rather than take out
the dealer, you follow that chain as far as you can and try to gather
as much information as you can before you start bringing charges."

All three of his listeners nodded. Nick felt that same little tingle
run over his shoulders as he had in Hamburg when his surmise about
what Paul Darmstadt and Darmstadt's friends planned to do with the
proceeds from a million dollars' worth of zirconium drew pleased nods
from every intelligence officer in the room. Whether or not he was
truly cut out for the spy business he wasn't sure, but certainly he
and Stevenson, Smith and McMahon were on the same wavelength.

"Well done," Stevenson said.

"Yes," Smith said. "And it gives us one more reason to pay some
special attention to this Bennett character."

"Besides, I don't like it when drug dealers threaten people," McMahon
said. Nick was startled at the brief change that came over the man as
he spoke. McMahon's eyes, which had taken on the frostiness of a
winter sea, if only for an instant, were looking at something only
their owner saw and Nick was suddenly deeply thankful that McMahon's
gaze wasn't aimed at him.

"Nobody on the DA's staff or the cops caught on about Bennett?"
McMahon said.

"Not to my knowledge."

"I see," Stevenson said. "And you couldn't react because you were
effectively neutralized–Bennett knew if you did anything you'd be the
one to end up in prison because of a probation violation, possession
of firearms or associating with known felons for a start."

"Yes, sir."

"But now that you're getting out from under he thinks that you'll
start talking. And he doesn't want that to happen."

"In a business based on threats you get nowhere unless you show
you're willing to carry them out," Nick said.

"People can't function effectively if they're watching their backs
all the time," Smith said. "Jim, Kevin, I think we should give our
young friend here a hand."

Stevenson turned to Nick. "Nick, do you feel seriously threatened by
this Bennett and some of his associates?"

"Seriously threatened? I don't worry about it every waking moment,
but I catch myself thinking about it a lot more often than I'd like
to, these days," Nick said. "I don't know whether Colin Bennett does
his own dirty work or whether he has it done for him, but whichever
it is, it gets done. And yes, it's dirty–very dirty, sometimes. That
I've been trying to turn my life around he obviously perceives as a
threat. So do some of his colleagues."

"And he and his–associates–are threatening you," Stevenson said.

Nick took a breath. "Yes, sir, they are. And Bennett has another
reason for wanting to exact some kind of revenge."

Smith nodded. "That business with the cop. He should be thankful that
he's not permanently paralyzed and that he's not still in prison."

Nick was briefly startled, then remembered who he was talking
to. "Yes. The bullet bruised his spinal cord, but therapy was started
as soon as he got to the hospital–the city didn't want to risk a
negligence suit–and they got him walking again. Then he was sentenced
for dealing, but as soon as he hit the street he was back at it. And
back issuing hints about what could happen to people he didn't like."

"Luck is wasted on some people," Stevenson said.

"Perhaps this Bennett needs to learn to appreciate his," McMahon
commented.

Did I just sign a man's death warrant? Nick wondered. He took a
breath. "Admiral, Smith, Mr. McMahon–"

"Kevin," McMahon interrupted.

"–Kevin, Colin Bennett did not get me involved with drugs. The issues
that got me involved with drugs were in my life before he came into
it and they will be in my life when he is no longer in it. I've found
better ways to deal with them and I suppose to some extent I should
be grateful to him–he was a factor in my finding those better ways. I
know he wouldn't hesitate to kill me or anyone else. But I–well, I
don't want to sink to his level."

Stevenson and Smith looked at Nick with a mixture of pride and
admiration and then at each other. "I see why you want this one,
Jimmy," Smith said.

"Well said, lad," Stevenson said. "Yes, before you can be effective
anywhere you have to like who you see in the mirror every morning."

"You have to work at that–it doesn't come automatically–and it
requires constant vigilance to maintain," Nick said.

"It's easier in some situations," Smith said. "I believe this agency
constitutes one of them."

"Yes, I can see that it would be," Nick said. "I think I'd appreciate
being in a place where liking what I see in the mirror might come a
little more easily than it has."

"We can work on that," Stevenson said. "Nick, where we go from here
is, we'll have some people in Pittsburgh asking questions about you.
We don't expect anything to turn up that we don't already know about,
but it's part of the procedure. Just go about your daily routine.
You'll be getting some callers yourself. There may be some other–
indications–of our interest; you'll know them when you see them.
Meanwhile, Kevin, why don't you take Nick down to the Sci-Tech
section and let him see how we can enhance that tape from the Hamburg
raid? He was concerned about it. Show him some of our other toys
while you're at it–and let him brief you on this Bennett
character."

"Happy to, Admiral," McMahon said. He and Nick rose.

Stevenson put out his hand. "Nick, I'm really glad you're interested in
coming on board with us," he said. They shook hands.

Smith also shook Nick's hand. " I'm just going to resent the hell out
of the worthy Admiral here because he got to you before I did," she
said. "I'll have to see if I can't arrange for you to work with my
directorate some time."

"It was a pleasure to meet you both," Nick said.

As the door closed behind Nick and his newest friend, the woman
called Smith looked long and seriously at her opposite
number. "That's a young man of promise," she said.

"Yes, and I think he'll work out very well," Stevenson
said.

"What about the drug thing?"

"He's been clean for most of the last three years and he really
doesn't want to backslide," Stevenson said. "He no longer sees his
drug use as his problem–he knows there are a lot more people affected
than just him alone. If we take care of this Bennett person for him
he'll owe us–and we'll put another drug dealer and his organization
out of business. That's always a plus. Besides, I think this one
wants to find the right path–all he needs is someone to show it to
him."

"And that's you."

"Could be. You know, Pam–" Stevenson was one of the few people who
could call the Deputy Director, Operations by her first name– "many
times a young man who has father issues–and we know he does–looks to
his job to provide a substitute. He was close to finding that
substitute at that firm in New York–what was it, Swann & Cranston–and
then he came back to his father's firm and none of those issues got
resolved. We give him that substitute and we'll have ourselves a real
comer–his record shows he's got the smarts and the drive."

Smith nodded. "Father issues are why that FBI guy, Hanssen, got
turned, aren't they? Bad relationship with the father, didn't find
the support he was looking for at the Bureau, went looking for love
in all the wrong places."

"Yes." Stevenson turned and looked out his office window. "We can
definitely do better. Besides, this Fallin is a nice boy. I like the
cut of his jib. I especially like that he doesn't want to be in a
position where he feels he's as bad as this dealer. He sees
eliminating the guy as the last resort, not the first. That's fine
with me." He turned back to Smith. "And I got the distinct impression
he won't be afraid to tell me where to get off if need be."

Smith laughed. "I got that impression too, Jimmy. He was raised to be
polite to women, but I can see he'll go toe-to-toe with me if he
feels strongly enough about it. It's gonna be fun when we get him in
here for good. As for the drugs, the trick to his staying clean–and
he was mostly a recreational user until it started to get out of
control from what I saw in the file–is, he has to find something to
replace what the drugs did for him–take away the hurt and the
loneliness. I think we can do that. Yes, I know you analyst types
spend a lot of your time sequestered in your offices thinking, but
there's a group ready and waiting to include him after hours. He's
walking down the hall with Kevin and John Niebauer right now, and
before he's through here today he's going to meet more."

Stevenson laughed. "You've got it all planned out,
haven't you?"

Smith grinned back at him. "Uh-huh. Like you haven't written the
script for who he's going to meet and what they'll talk to him about.
I know you want this kid bad and I know you're going to make sure he
meets the people who'll reinforce how great it is to work for this
outfit and what it will do for him. I've known you too long, Jim–
you're not fooling me in the least."


As Nick and McMahon left Stevenson's office Niebauer walked out of
another room and joined them. "Hi, Kevin," he greeted Nick's new
acquaintance.

"Hey, John," McMahon said. "The Admiral was happy to see Nick here–
even had Smith in to talk to him."

"Wow," Niebauer said. "Nick, I told you some people were definitely
interested in you, and if one of them is Pam Smith you're really on
the inside track."

"She and the Admiral both impressed me–a lot," Nick said. "I got the
distinct impression, though, that Ms.–er–Smith is someone you don't
want to mess with."

"She's something else, all right," McMahon said, grinning. "She and
her husband were assigned to the embassy in Moscow when Russia was
still the Soviet Union, back in the eighties. His cover was the
embassy press staff and she was this brash, overblown American wife
and mother–on the surface. She kicked some serious ass over there–got
somebody high up–I mean really high up–to defect. And no, you don't
want to get her mad at you."

"What did you think of the Admiral?" Niebauer asked.

"He told me he could tell I wouldn't hesitate to tell him if I
thought he was headed in the wrong direction, and that's true," Nick
said. "But there's more to it than that–I just had this feeling that
he thinks I'm someone pretty special and I-I—well, I'd never want to
let him down. Something about him just–struck a chord. I don't know–I
can see it would be a real privilege to work for him."

"He's been in this business forever," Niebauer said. "He's a mustang–
that's what they call a guy who came up from the ranks. His father
was a potato farmer in Maine. He joined the Navy just at the end of
World War II, impressed his officers enough they thought he deserved
a commission so he went to Annapolis. He was in the Defense
Intelligence Agency before he came to CIA."

"He saved my ass," McMahon said. "I was a Navy SEAL toward the end of
the Vietnam War–did a lot of things that never made the papers. I got
out just after the war ended. Not long after I got home I met this
girl. I liked her a lot, but she had a drug habit. She supported it
by running the stuff. A deal went bad and the guys she worked for
thought it was her fault."

They had been walking down a corridor and McMahon paused, looking at
an exceptionally ugly abstract painting that hung on a wall painted
an unattractive mustard yellow-brown for a few minutes. "The rumor
is, the interior decorator for this place was a KGB plant. Either
that or they went with the lowest bidder. You get what you pay for."
He went on. "I went after them. Problem is, you try to deal with that
sort of thing on a free-agent basis, people don't seem to understand.
Stevenson decided someone with my particular abilities would be good
to have around for emergencies so he arranged for me to `die' in an
accident to get me away from the local cops. McMahon's not the name I
was born with."

"The Admiral likes to take people under his wing, doesn't he?" Nick
said.

"Some people, yes," Niebauer said. "There are a lot of people like
Kevin here–and me–that he's kind of adopted. The reason for that is
buried in Arlington."

"I understand," Nick said. And I understand I could be one of
Stevenson's surrogate children, he thought.

"Anyway, that's the story as far as I'm concerned," McMahon
said. "Nick, I appreciate you giving us Bennett."

"All I can give you is a name and an address," Nick said. "He
delivers to some law offices from time to time, too."

"That's all we need," McMahon said.

Nick still felt uneasy. "Kevin, I meant that–I don't want to end up
as bad as he is, even if it's indirectly."

McMahon chuckled. "Don't worry, Nick. We don't kill people unless we
absolutely have to–it's bad for business. There are other
possibilities. Under the terms of the Homeland Security Act, we can
arrange an official U.S. Army interview with someone if we think it's
called for. This interview may last up to 48 hours. I think we'll pay
a little call on Mr. Bennett. We won't lay a glove on him, but we can
still put the fear of God in him."


They took an elevator down from seventh floor executive row to the
Science and Technology section. Their first stop was an office
occupied by a young man, a computer and an outsize monitor.

"Dave, you want to do your thing?" Niebauer asked.

"In reasonably controlled indoor lighting, the best facial
recognition systems can correctly verify that a person in a
photograph or video is the same person whose photograph is stored in
a database 90 percent of the time," the young man named Dave
said. "That's a direct quote from a report that came out about a year
and a half ago, in 2003. Only one subject out of a hundred is falsely
linked to an image in the data base in the top systems that are out
there. If I'd known you were going to be in Germany I'd have asked
you to visit an outfit there called Cognitec–they've been kicking the
crap out of their competition with their version of this. You would
have liked a tour and I would have liked to ask you about it. Well,
let's see what we've got here."

The young man tapped a few keys and the tape of the Hamburg raid
began running. "Did you get any of me?" Niebauer asked.

The young man moved the computer mouse."Let's see." He tapped the
keys again and the same picture of Niebauer's face that adorned his
ID badge appeared. A pattern formed by five points of light connected
by lines–it looked like a lopsided star– appeared on his face.

The raid pictures filled the monitor and the lopsided star moved over
each face. A blinking band of type said "no match" again and again.
Then Niebauer's image on screen turned briefly and the lopsided star
rested on his face. "Let's rotate that a little bit," Dave said. All
four watchers held their breath. A computer generated full-face image
of the CIA agent filled the screen and the lopsided star rested on
his face. "Match" flashed on the screen.

"Oh, shit," someone said.

"Couldn't be helped," Dave said. "And I wouldn't worry about it too
much–so far a as I know, we're the only ones with a system this
advanced."

"Luck of the draw," Niebauer said. "There are some things you can't
plan for."

"So you wing it," McMahon said. "You did all right, Johnny."

"Will that be a problem?" Nick asked.

"Not for what we're going to be doing here in the States," Niebauer
said. "All the same, I probably won't do too much in Europe for
awhile. Better safe than sorry."

"Okay, now, let's see about you, Fallin," Dave, the technician,
said. Nick's driver's license took up half the screen. The
technician tapped a few more keys and the lopsided star pattern was
superimposed on the sliver of his face in the video image.

"I'm worried about that profile of you," Dave said. He tapped keys
and they looked as Nick's picture received similar treatment to
Niebauer's image. "Still no definite match–wait a minute." He rotated
Nick's on-screen face still more. Then, after a few more attempts–
"Very smart–you didn't let them get enough of you for a
real look."

"It sure wasn't because I was trying to do it that way," Nick
said. "Would a police mug shot give a better result?"

"We can access it, but I like to work with what I usually get most of
the time," Dave said. "The bad guys don't go out of their way to
make it easy."

"Anyway, you see it doesn't take much to home in on someone–if you
have technology to do it," McMahon said. "All right, Nick, let's zero
in on your target. Tell us about this Bennett guy."

"That's the name I know him by," Nick said. He went on to describe
Colin as minutely as he could. As he spoke, Dave was tapping keys briskly.


"All right, let's see what the Pennsylvania Department of
Motor Vehicles has on our friend," he said. "Ah–there he
is." Colin's driver's license filled the screen. "His real name, hm? Guess
so."

"He might have other IDs with different names," Nick said. "I don't
know."

"We'll find them–that's one of the things facial recognition
technology helps to do," Dave said. "Is that his address?"

"Yes," Nick said. "That's where he has his
parties."

"Okay," McMahon said. " Dave, we're going to show Nick here around
some of the other parts of this directorate. We can look at whatever
you get together later."

"Fine," Dave said absently as he peered at his computer. "Nice to
meet you, Fallin." He was too engrossed in what he was seeing to
shake hands or notice as Nick, Niebauer and McMahon left his room.


"I'd like to say hello to Cassie," Niebauer said to
McMahon.

"Sure," McMahon said. They headed down another corridor to find
themselves outside glass paneled doors that gave onto what was
obviously some sort of laboratory. Their security badges unlocked the
doors and they entered. A woman who wore wire-rimmed glasses looked
up from a microscope and smiled.

"Johnny!" she said to Niebauer. "Good to see you. Heard you got
back." She turned to include McMahon and Nick in her
greeting. "Kevin, you haven't been down here for far too long. And so
this is the Nick Fallin I've been hearing so much about."

"Nick, this is Dr. Edgerton–Dr. Cassidy Edgerton," Niebauer
said. "She's a powerhouse poker player and an outstanding forensic
scientist. She does most of the analysis of a lot of evidence."

"Nick, it's nice to meet you, especially before John and Kevin here
have had a chance to corrupt you beyond any chance of redemption,"
Edgerton said. They shook hands.

"What do you do, exactly–if you can say, that is?" Nick
asked.

"I head another version of the FBI forensics lab," Edgerton
replied. "I get samples of everything inhere and my people and I
analyze them and figure out what they are. We do it all–quantitative
analysis, soil samples, dust, hair, fibers, ballistics, DNA, mass
spectroscopy–you name it."

"What kind of specimens do you take your forensic samples from?" Nick
asked.

"Anything and everything. Eyeglasses, crockery, clothes, drinking
straws, shoes, kids' toys–I could go on and on. I've had stuff in
here from the hunt for Osama bin Laden and Jimmy Hoffa to a holdup
at a corner grocery store. I've had to look at wheelchair tires and
floppy disks that came out of a garbage can. You name it, I can get
data from it."

"You do DNA, you said?" Off and on since he had learned about
Niebauer's trysts with Anne Fallin, Nick had been wondering what to
do with his new knowledge. Now he thought he had an answer, or at
least part of one.

"All the time. Anything that's come in contact with a person–or any
organism that has DNA as part of its genetic makeup, and that means
just about everything on the planet."

"Cigarette butts?"

"Can I get a DNA specimen from a cigarette butt, is that what you're
asking? Sure." She looked at Nick. "You're not the smoker."

"No."

"So you're the control–I'll compare what I get to you." Nick nodded.

McMahon and Niebauer were halfway down the room talking to someone,
obviously another lab worker, since, like Edgerton, the other person,
a man, wore a lab coat. Edgerton grasped Nick's arm. "Come here" she
said and steered him into a lab bay where some computer terminals, a
centrifuge and several racks of test tubes sat on lab benches. She
took a sealed package from a cabinet and opened it. She took out two
sticks with cotton swabs on the ends. At her direction Nick seated
himself on a stool."Open wide," she said. "We'll take it from the
inside of your cheek." Nick complied and she swabbed gently. She
deposited the swabs in a test tube, which she sealed. She took a bar
code label from the package and affixed it to the tube.

The next step was the computer terminal which sat on the lab bench.
Edgerton tapped a few keys and looked at the screen."Okay, we have
you in our data base–Johnny set up a file on you a couple of weeks
ago when he learned you'd be going to Germany with him. Tell me about
the subject–the one you're going to get me the samples from."

"I'm going to get the samples?" Nick asked.

"Think of it as your first solo field assignment." Edgerton looked at
her new acquaintance and spoke to the doubt she saw in Nick's
eyes. "My friend, you're not the first person who's walked in here
with these kinds of issues, and you won't be the last. What you have
to do right now is decide if you want to go through with this."

Nick took a deep breath. "I want to. The subject is a 72-year-old
white male named Burton Fallin. Date of birth September 13, 1933,
Social Security Number–I'm not sure I remember. Pennsylvania driver's
license. Ah–do you need anything else?"

"Don't happen to know the blood type, do you?"

"Not off the top of my head, no."

"Well, don't worry about it. This is enough to get started." Edgerton
took another sealed package out of a drawer. "Okay, now, collecting
the samples." She looked at Nick. "All you have to do is get a couple
of butts. Two or three is fine–don't dump in a whole ashtray full.
Put them in this little bag here, seal it and put it in this mailer.
It's addressed and post paid."

"You guys think of everything," Nick said admiringly.

"That's what your taxes pay for. If you're on good terms with your
local FBI office you can drop it off and they'll courier it in here.
Otherwise, just toss it in the nearest mailbox–it'll get here in a
day to two. I'll call you to let you know it got here and when I get
preliminary results."

"Okay."

Edgerton pulled a paper cup out of a dispenser, ran some water in it
and handed it to Nick. "It's like anything else, Nick. The results
are what they are–I'm not going to fake anything. No one but you will
know what they are unless and until you decide to talk about them–and
to whom."

"That's what's scaring me, Dr. Edgerton." Nick sipped
the water.

"Cassie."

"Cassie. I don't know how I should be feeling about this, and I'm not
sure I want to have to make any decisions about it, either."

"Who says you have to feel any way about it at all? Anyway, you'll
have a couple of days to work through it."

"Yeah."

"Look at it this way–you're the one in control of this."

Nick crumpled the cup and looked for a wastebasket. Edgerton tapped
the step-on pedal of a waste container with her toe, the container
lid went up and Nick tossed in the cup. He glanced at her.


"That's a different feeling for me. I haven't felt in control of anything
for a long time."

"Well, you're making a start."

"Yeah, I am."

Niebauer and McMahon came over to the lab bay where Nick and Edgerton
were standing. "Hey, you two, how about some lunch?" Niebauer
asked.

"Sounds good to me," Edgerton said and Nick agreed. She called a lab
attendant over, who she asked to finish setting up the samples she
had just collected and as the attendant got started, hung up her lab
coat and joined the men as they left the lab.

Nick and Niebauer collected their checked luggage off the carousel at
Pittsburgh International Airport shortly after 10 p.m. Earlier in the
day, the two men had read a field report which confirmed Nick's
opinion about some things, and then wrapped up their stop in D.C. by
having dinner with more agency people, including some members of the
legal department. Now, at the end of the trip that had started a
week before, they shared a cab to their respective homes.

"So, I'll see you at LSP tomorrow, then," Niebauer said.

"Fine. Alvin gets in about 8:30–we can get reporting to him out of
the way first thing,," Nick said. "Take care, John."

"You, too, Nick." Niebauer waved as he started into his apartment
building and Nick returned the salutation.

The cab reached 1980 Ellsworth shortly after Niebauer was dropped
off. Nick collected his suitcase and briefcase from the cab trunk
and, having politely declined an offer of assistance with the
luggage, went up the walk and into the house. His mail had been
forwarded to Fallin & Fallin, where it could wait for him to get to
it, and he decided to ignore the answering machine for the same
reason–anyone who had waited this long for him to call back could
wait a little longer. He'd have to take a cab to LSP and then to
Fallin & Fallin, he remembered–his car was still in the Frick
Building parking garage. Oh, well, he thought. That's a minor
inconvenience, all things considered.

Nick had left several bottles of Perrier in the refrigerator. He
opened one, decided not to bother with the nicety of a glass, and
went into the living room and sat on one end of the couch. I did a
lot of redecorating about a year and a half ago, he thought. Wonder
what I'd get for the place if I put it on the market now? Looks like
I'm going to be making a lot of decisions like that, and fairly soon,
too. He reached for a coaster and as he did so, the plastic bag in
his jacket pocket rustled slightly, reminding him that yet another
decision remained to be made. That, too, could wait, at least until
tomorrow.

The End of Part 5
 
Part 6

"Hey, guys," Alvin said with a smile. "Welcome back and
congratulations. You did good." There were handshakes all around.
The head of LSP had walked into his office the morning after Nick
and Niebauer had landed at Pittsburgh International Airport to find
the pair waiting for him.

"Our pleasure," Nick said.

"Karling wants to meet with you two sometime soon," Alvin told
them. "He wants to make sure this can't happen again."

"It won't, unless Darmstadt has a defense lawyer who's a combination
of Alan Dershowitz and Johnnie Cochran, with a large piece of
Houdini thrown in," Nick said.

"And when the German courts get through with him, our side has a
little party planned," Niebauer added. "Darmstadt isn't going to
pose any problem for anyone for a long time."

"What was all that about, anyway?"

"Darmstadt dug himself a hole and then dove into it head first. We
just watched," Nick responded.

"Well, whatever it was, Karling gave LSP a little present because of
what you did," Alvin said.


"He did? What kind?" Nick asked. He and Niebauer, after conferring
with several people concerned, had decided the safest course was to
feign ignorance so as not to give their connections or their
activities of the last few days away.

"Would you believe half a million dollars worth of endowment?"

"All right!!" Nick and Niebauer exchanged high fives. Nick turned
back to Alvin. "Just because we maneuvered Darmstadt into doing
something he wanted to do anyway? As soon as he heard about the
monetary incentive he couldn't give the kids back fast enough."

"Well, why he gave them back is immaterial as far as Karling is
concerned. What matters is that he did. And he seems to think it's
all your doing. So does his daughter. The most exciting thing that
happened around here while you were gone was when you called
Christine Darmstadt to tell her to come get the kids. She bounced in
here and wanted to kiss everybody she saw. She thinks you can walk
on water."

"She should thank her father for throwing a million large at Paul
Darmstadt," Nick said. "That's what did it."

"Was the money thing the `details' you had to stay to take care of?
We–your father and Karling and I–were surprised that you two weren't
on the plane with Christine and the kids."

"Yeah–we had to tie things up with the German lawyers and the
banks." Nick glanced around Alvin's office and smoothed his tie.

"Well, it really bummed out your father."

"He called to find out what was up–at two in the morning, for God's
sake," Nick said.

"What'd he do, forget the time difference?"

"That's what he said, as far as I remember," Nick said. He and
Niebauer exchanged a look that Alvin, who was busying himself at his
beloved espresso machine, didn't see.

"Well, whatever happened, he dropped in at LSP the next day. Karling
came in and we were talking about when you'd get back when these two
Treasury agents, I think they said they were, walked in."

"Treasury agents? What did they want?"

"They wanted Karling. They said something about Darmstadt doing
business with the Iraqis and terrorists. They said he'd been
arrested and that's why the money was back in Karling's account. Your
father maneuvered them into telling Karling to use the money the
right way and the next thing I knew Karling was putting a half–
million–dollar cushion under LSP."

"That's interesting," Nick said. Niebauer nodded slightly. You
fielded that one well, his gesture said.

"What was more interesting was the noon news on KDKA," Alvin
said. "We just got finished talking about Darmstadt's getting mixed
up with terrorists and I wanted to watch the news to see about the
state budget. All of a sudden, they were showing a clip from a raid
on a terrorist hideout in Hamburg. Your father was sure he saw you
in it." He laughed a little nervously.

"I thought my father was cutting back on the scotch at lunch," Nick
chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"None of us had gone to lunch yet," Alvin said. "Anyway, Karling got
a tape of the segment and we ran it again at your dad's offices. We
were there to finalize that endowment you got for us."

"I keep telling you, I didn't have all that much to do with it,"
Nick said.

"That's not what I heard. Anyway, we played the tape and Karling and
I were sure it wasn't you, but your father was on the fence."

"Not surprising," Niebauer said.

Nick shook his head. "I was too busy talking to bankers and consular
officials to go on any raids with the local cops. Maybe I've got a
doppelganger."

"That makes the most sense. Anyway, Karling gave your dad the tape,
your dad gave all of us the paperwork for the endowment and I don't
know what anyone else did, but I went back to this office and had
some very happy thoughts about what half a million bucks was going to
do for LSP."

"Yeah," Nick said. He grinned. "That's not a bad souvenir of this
little excursion, is it?"

"No other place deserves it more," Niebauer said. He stood up. "I've
got to see some people and set up an appointment with Karling. I'll
see you guys."

"Let me know what happens," Nick said. "You can get me here or at
the other place."

"Sure," Niebauer said, and left.

When the door closed behind Niebauer, Alvin turned to Nick. "Nick,"
he said, "I've got to tell you–you've been on the clock since you
got on that plane to Frankfurt. You've exceeded your 1,500 hours.
Even that hard–ass from Probation, Tibbits, agreed."

"Don't count the past three days–that was unrelated," Nick said.

"I could argue that," Alvin said. "Even without it, though, you've
fulfilled your service commitment, and I told him so."

"Even though I have a steeper leaning curve than some other people?"
Nick grinned, remembering the time he had been accused of cheating
on his community service hours and Alvin had said as much to Paul
Tibbits, the head of the Probation Department, by way of excuse.

From Alvin's smile Nick saw that Masterson remembered, too."Well,"
he told the head of LSP, "unless you've got somebody else scheduled
for that broom closet, I want to give you a few more weeks, at least.
I'd like to leave you with a clean desk, as much as I can. Pro bono--
with what I've learned here, I should be paying you tuition."

Alvin knew he looked disbelieving. "You sure?" he asked.

"I wouldn't say it if I weren't."

"Well–there's nobody else slated to move in just yet…" Alvin said,
letting the sentence drift, incomplete.

"Okay, then, I'll keep to the same schedule–give you my mornings and
whatever else comes up. And I don't think I'll be stretched too thin,
either. Hell, Alvin, I've been living with this for so long, a
little more time won't make any difference."

"It's your choice," Alvin said. He leafed through the pile of
folders on his desk and came up with a file. "Since you feel that
way about it, how about looking into this one for me? Child
Protective Services alleges parental neglect because the kid hasn't
been to school in a month, mother says the kid is sick but the kid
is fine when he gets to school– only seems sick when the mother's
around, Court wants to appoint an ad litem. The mother is just
simpleminded enough to be up your alley."

"That's where I hang out, is it?" Nick smiled teasingly. "Sounds
good." He cocked one eyebrow, took the file and went out.

Alvin stared at the door Nick had closed behind him, shaking his
head bemusedly. Now, that's something I never expected to hear in
this lifetime, he thought. First he can't wait to get out of this
place. Now he wants to stay–for free. What the hell is happening here?

************

From his desk Burton Fallin could see directly into the main
passageway of his office suite. He really hadn't planned it that way
when he first rented the two floors of the Frick Building that
housed Fallin and Associates, as it was then, but the aperture was
situated so that almost everyone in the firm passed by for one reason
or another and he could keep tabs on comings and goings. This
combination of factors led to his happening to be looking up from the
deposition he was reviewing when, to his surprise and delight,
Nicholas walked past. He's back! Burton thought. The happiness he
felt grew and spread and he knew he was smiling.

The smile faded, to be replaced by a puzzled frown when the tap on
the door he expected did not come and Nicholas did not poke his head
in. He must have gone straight to his own office, Burton thought. But–
-why hadn't he at least looked in or waved? For that matter, why
didn't he let me know he was on his way back? He put down the
deposition, stared out into the corridor for a moment, and then got
up and left his office.

"It's nice to have Nick back," Gretchen chirped as he went by.


"Yes," Burton said. Several other people said similar things as he
passed them, acknowledging each one as he did. Obviously Nicholas
had greeted everyone he saw when he came in. Why not me? Burton
wondered. I'm only his father.

Nicholas' door was open and Jake and Claire were standing in his
office. "So didja get to meet anyone while you were over there?" Jake
asked.

"Couple lawyers from this German firm we were working with and some
people from the consulate is all. Meet somebody? Jake, I was so busy
running around, at night I was too tired to lift a finger," Nick
said. Claire discerned a hidden meaning in that statement and laughed
and after a few seconds Jake caught on and laughed as well. Nick
gave them both a benevolent look. "Look, I keep telling you two, this
wasn't a vacation. I was working my ass off over there."

"Yeah, sure," Claire said.

Nick threw up his hands. "All right, you don't have to believe me."
All three laughed heartily.

Burton tapped on the open door, walked in and the conversation died
instantly. Nick, Jake and Claire exchanged glances and then Jake and
Claire excused themselves out the door, Jake closing it behind him.
Nick started to go through the stack of files on his desk.

"It's good to have you back, son," Burton said, carefully keeping
his voice neutral since Nicholas seemed unwilling to accept any
gesture that was more demonstrative.

If that's all the enthusiasm you can muster, don't bother, Nick
thought. "Uh–huh," he said.

"When did you get in?"

"Last night."

"Wish you'd let me know. I'd have picked you up at the airport."

"John and I took a cab," Nick said mildly.

"John?"

"John Niebauer, Karling's CIA guy."

"Oh. Did you–how was working with him?"

"We got the job done," Nick said.

"Well, I'm glad you're back. How about lunch?"

Nick put down the file and gestured toward his desk. "I'm kind of
busy."

"I can get something sent in and we can go over some of this stuff,"
Burton offered.

"I've got it under control." Nick turned back to his desk and picked
up another file.

Burton stood for a moment, watching as his son began to read,
obviously shutting out his surroundings, and then walked out, closing
the door behind him. As he did, Nick made a note in the file, closed
it and picked up another one. Yeah, you're glad I'm back, he thought.
Now you can put my nose back to the damn grindstone. That field
report from the team that grilled Karling said it all. You
straightened out Karling's problems for him, you finessed him into
endowing LSP, you got the government off him, but me? "Do we have any
idea when he'll be getting back? His desk is ass–deep to a camel in
work." That's all you care. You've been running my butt into the
ground for the past three years–-hell, for the past eight. The only
time I got a rest was when I was in jail. Get off my back.

Nick devoted the next few days to resuming his old routine, but
subtle hints from his new friends intruded from time to
time. "Gentlemen, ladies," Burton Fallin announced at a partners'
meeting a few days after Nick's return. "I am happy to report that
some agencies of the federal government have decided to farm out some
of their legal work and that we are among the firms selected. We'll
vet some of their contracts and obtain settlements in some matters
arising from the recent war with Iraq. The fees involved are
substantial and we can expect a more than equitable arrangement over
billable hours." He tapped the file he was holding on the conference
room table. "I don't know about all of you, but I'm pleased," he
said. There were murmurs of approbation.

"Did they put out some feelers, or what?" someone asked.

"No, not really," Burton replied. "We were contacted by some people
from the Department of Justice, said they were doing a survey and
liked us."

"Well, I'm not gonna complain about it," someone said. "Me either,"
another partner chimed in.

"Way to go, Burton!" came from Jake.

Nick was silent. All of a sudden the feds are tripping over
themselves to offer us work, he thought. Am I the only person in this
room who really knows what this is about? He became aware that people
were looking at him. "That's great," he said. The meeting adjourned
and people began to leave. Nick brought up the rear of the line of
people filing out the door and Burton put out a hand to stop him.

"Nicholas," Burton said," I didn't want to say anything in front of
the others, but the Justice Department people specifically asked
that you work on some of the cases they're giving us."

Nick resisted an urge to pull away. "Oh?" was all he said.

"Yes. They said now that your probation is almost over and you're
through with your community service, they're sure you'll have the
time and they think you have the particular abilities they need."
Burton paused. "That's what they said–your community service is over?"

Nick nodded. "Uh–huh," he said.

"When did that happen? You didn't tell me."

As if you give a rat's ass, Nick thought. "Alvin told me when we got
back. The Germany business finished it."

"But you're still going in to LSP."

"I'm wrapping up some things. I can't just walk away."

"No, you wouldn't do that. I–-would you like to celebrate? Dinner or
something?"

"I'm still on probation for another month or so. There's nothing to
celebrate."

"All the same, I–-"

The conference room telephone buzzed and Nick, who was closer to it,
picked it up. He listened, said "Sure, Gretchen," and handed the
receiver to his father.

Burton listened briefly, then said, "All right, Gretchen. Tell him
I'll be with him in a minute." He put the phone down. "Jack McFadden
at Ramsay Automotive. I've got to take this. You want to stop in
later?"

"Sure," Nick said, without really meaning it. Burton went out,
closing the conference room door behind him.

Nick wondered for a moment why his father's presence seemed so
palpable, even after he had left the room and then realized that
Burton had brought the ashtray from his desk into the partners'
meeting. Yeah, Dad–that's real leadership, he thought. You're the
only one in the firm who smokes in the office, and you have to bring
that in here and inflict it on everyone else. He reached to pick up
the ashtray to take it back to his father's office and stopped. "All
you have to do is get a couple of butts. Two or three is fine,"
Cassidy Edgerton's voice said in his mind.

Nick had put the plastic bag and mailer in his pocket every day
before he left for work since his return to Pittsburgh. Now he put
his hand in his suit coat pocket and pulled them out. He looked at
them–the little bag and the mailer with the Langley, Virginia post
office box and the "postage paid" indication. This is too simple,
Nick said to himself. I thought I was going to have to sneak in there
after he left and before the cleaning staff came in some night. Why
is it suddenly this easy? Oh, hell–don't I deserve a break now and
then?

Burton Fallin's phone line remained lit–his father was still
involved in that phone call. Nick stared at the ashtray. Do I really
want to do this? What happens if I do? Do I really want to know? He
took a deep breath. All right, Nick, shit or get off the pot, he told
himself.

He took the bag and the mailer out of his pocket. He opened the bag
and selected two butts from the ashtray, careful to take two that
had been extinguished for some time–he didn't want to touch the
filter end, but neither did he want to burn his fingers. There are
limits to what I'll do in the service of a good cause, even if it's
for myself, he thought. He dropped the butts in the bag and sealed
it, compressing some of the air out so it would more easily fit in
the mailer. He put the bag in the mailer and sealed it, then put the
mailer back in his pocket. He picked up the ashtray and, holding it
at arm's length, crossed the hall to his father's office. He gave a
desultory tap at the door and went in.

Burton was still on the phone and looked up as Nick entered. He put
a hand over the receiver. "Sorry–I forgot I left that in there," he
said.

"Uh–huh," Nick said. He put the ashtray on Burton's desk, turned and
walked out. No, I don't want this going out with the Fallin & Fallin
mail, he decided. He ignored the outgoing mail basket on the reception
desk, left the office and walked out of the Frick Building to a
mailbox on the corner of Grant Street and Forbes Avenue. He
hesitated for a long moment. All right, I have to do this now. If I
sit around and think about it I'll lose my nerve and want to take it
back. He dropped the little package in the mailbox. For better or
worse, it was on its way. He turned and went back in the Frick
Building and up to the office.

*****************

"The specimen arrived intact," Cassidy Edgerton's voice said on his
home answering machine. Well, we're that far along, Nick thought. It
was two days later and he had finally found time to go through some
of his personal mail while listening to some of his messages. Most of
it was junk and he turned over one envelope and opened it without
looking to see where it had come from. A glossy brochure fell out
and he picked it up, then dropped it as if it had burned his fingers.
He stared at the brochure, suddenly breathing hard. Now I know why I
was feeling so edgy even before I went to Germany, he thought. As if
reminiscing about the American School in Switzerland and that trip to
Europe when I was a kid wasn't enough to start the memory juices
flowing, subconsciously I knew this was coming up.

Running the brochure through his personal paper shredder did nothing
to dissipate the anger he felt. If I join the agency and move to
Washington–-hell, if I join the Peace Corps and move to Ulan Bator-–
I'll still be getting these damned things. He switched off the
answering machine. Whatever else was on the tape could wait. This is
one time when I wish I had something–anything, he thought. Well, I'm
a month away from probation being over. If I want to I can probably
still make a connection and score something.

He let his hand fall on his telephone dial pad. He picked up the
receiver. Without conscious effort he dialed. "Hello, Angie?" he
said when the phone was answered on the second ring. "I–I really
need something right now." He listened for a minute, said "Okay,"
picked up his car keys, set the house alarm and went out.

After three years the place was still the same–folding chairs, the
coffee urn making its familiar noises and the dusty, musty smell
that only old hymn books stored in church basements over decades can
give off. Nick gave nods of recognition to several people and crossed
the room to a woman with dark brown hair going gray who was sitting
slightly apart from the rest of the group.

"Hey, kiddo," his sponsor said, "What gives?"

"Angie, I have a lead basketball in my stomach. It's getting bigger
and bigger and it's growing prickly quills like a porcupine and it
shouldn't be there, but I don't know how to get rid of it. And I'm
scared it's going to send me back to a place I don't want to go."

"Well, you called me instead of a dealer and you're telling me how
you feel."

"Yeah. That's one thing I did right."

"So, what's this basketball made of and how did it get there?"

Nick took a breath. "I was going though all the junk mail that came
while I was away and I found this brochure. It's–it's from the prep
school I went to."

"And?"

"And the class of 1985 is having its 20th reunion next summer. I can
spend a weekend in my old dorm room if I want to."

"I don't know that I can help you much with that, Nick. Like I told
you when you asked me to be your sponsor, I know about drugs. If you
can't handle the thought that you're 20 years out of school or your
roommate short–sheeted your bed, it's outside my territory."

"It's not that, Angie, although it sort of is your territory–prep
school was where I first used a controlled substance."

"Experimenting?"

"No. About the third night I was there my roommate got tired of
hearing me cry myself to sleep. He had a Valium stash. That was the
first time I scored anything from anyone."

"Your roomie supplied a lot of people?"

"A lot of kids were throwaways, like me. It seemed like everybody
used something."

"Throwaways?"

"Just about everybody was there because their parents didn't want
them. You could count the kids who really wanted to be there on one
hand."

"Didn't you tell me your mother had just died when you went to
school?"

"Yeah. I think my father shipped me off to school about a week after
the funeral."

"Did you tell him how you felt about it?"

"I–-I tried. He just told me it was best for both of us."

"So father knew best and what you thought didn't matter."

"It sure felt that way."

"How did you do at school, anyway?"

"I was never off the honor roll. Getting good grades was easy
because of the pills–I was getting enough sleep to be awake and
alert in class. College was more of the same, except we all climbed
on the speed wagon around finals time. Law school–I graduated first
in my class, got there on a chemical rocket ship. Some kind soul in
New York introduced me to cocaine–that was the icing on the cake."

"But it all started because your dad sent you to school and you
didn't want to go?"

"My parents got divorced when I was ten. When my mom got sick my
father moved back in to take care of her. That made it feel a little
like they weren't divorced. Even for a while it was a little bit
like it was–-before."

"And then your mom died."

"And the next thing I knew the housekeeper was sewing name tapes in
my clothes."

"Did you tell your father how you felt?"

"I tried–-at least I think I did. He just said this was best for me
and we'd talk about it when I came home for vacation. But we never
did. Every time I tried he told me my grades were great and the
headmaster said I was making friends and settling in, so I must like
it there. And every so often he'd say something about he'd have given
his eyeteeth for this when he was my age and how he just wanted me
to have it better than he did."

"So he knew what was best for you, you didn't."

"Well, he wanted me to have a good education. And he did make some
sacrifices–-that place didn't come cheap."

"Yeah. But you didn't get to come home. What you wanted didn't
matter."

"No. Even that summer at the American School–-that wasn't really my
idea. I was good at languages and the headmaster suggested to my
father that a summer in Europe was positive reinforcement or
something and I guess my father thought anything would do to get me
out of the house, no matter what it cost. Just looking at that damn
reunion brochure brought it all back again."

"You were in a place you didn't want to be and you're angry with the
person who put you there."

"Well–-"

Angie leaned forward and put a hand on Nick's knee. "You are angry.
And it sounds like you're trying to work through your anger without
first expressing it."

"How can I be angry with him when he wanted what was best for me?"
Nick felt an obscure need to defend his parent.

"I'm sure he meant well. Does that mean he was entitled to disregard
your feelings? He wanted what he wanted. He wouldn't listen to you.
He used his authority to intimidate you and make you do what he
wanted and quite consciously and intentionally make you feel guilty.
You didn't want what he wanted for you. So you convinced yourself
that you did want what he wanted and if you didn't want it there was
something wrong with you."

"All that's coming through, is it?" Nick sat up straighter. "You're
right, Angie. He made me feel powerless and insignificant. And
guilty. He beat me up. He's never laid a hand on me in my life, but
he beat me up."

"That's exactly what he did."

Nick took a deep breath. "I have a right to be angry. Someone did
something that hurt me, whether he meant to or not and I have a right
to be angry about it. I have a cause, a reason."

"You sure do. And you can be proud of yourself for another reason–
you hung in there and didn't use, and now you're working it out."

"Yeah, I am." Nick smiled and then became aware that Phil, the group
leader, was looking at them. They both settled back as much as the
cold metal folding chairs permitted and waited for the meeting to
start. Nick found himself paying strict and serious attention to
everything that was going on in a way that he never had in nearly
three years of forced attendance at meetings.

Later, he said as much to Angie. "Three years, and I'm finally
catching on that something's happening here that I need to pay
attention to," he grumbled.

"Don't worry, kiddo," Angie said. "I knew a girl who snorted for
seven years and never realized that the reason she was high all the
time was she couldn't stop using. Taking alternative action just
never occurred to her. But you figured it out. Just call someone and
let them know when you feel like doing a line."

"Yeah." Nick grinned at her and went to help Phil and Alvin put
chairs away since the meeting had begun to break up. All the same,
he thought, I don't think I want to revisit those feelings about
school and–everything–too much. Besides, what good will going over it
all again do? Dad didn't understand then. Why should he understand
now?

Over the next few days Nick found himself thinking on more than one
occasion,"I hope that Cassie Edgerton tells me the DNA doesn't match,
at least I think I do. It'll make walking away that much easier."
However, he didn't appear to be close to getting his wish, according
to the next message from Langley that he played back on his
answering machine. "Preliminary results indicate a strong match" was
Cassidy Edgerton's next missive. Well, Nick thought, the results are
only preliminary. I don't have to decide anything about anything
right now.

***************

Warren Karling, as anticipated, was effusive in his praise of Nick,
Niebauer and LSP when they met in the LSP conference room a few days
after Nick's conversation with Angie. "You two pulled off a real
miracle" he declared.

"Mr. Karling, you did most of it," Nick said. "That million dollars
was all the inducement Darmstadt needed."

"I knew he was a greedy sonofabitch," Karling said. "All the same, I
didn't get anywhere trying to deal with him directly. You two pulled
it off."

"We could argue that one," Niebauer said. "What matters is, we got
the kids back and everyone's happy."

"Well, not necessarily Darmstadt, but that's outside the scope of
this discussion," Nick said. "Mr. Karling, Alvin said you wanted to
make sure Darmstadt wouldn't try this again. I have to say I don't
think there's much to worry about in that regard."

"No, there isn't," Niebauer said. "Like we told Alvin, if by some
chance the German courts turn him loose, we have plans for him. If
they don't, we'll still have a warrant out for him if he comes back
to the States after he does time in Germany. Either way, he's looking
at spending a lot of the rest of his life in stir."

"It couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Karling said. "Anyway, I
appreciate what you two–and Legal Services–did for Christine and the
kids."

"We heard about the endowment," Nick said. "That was a very generous
way to demonstrate your appreciation, Mr. Karling."

"Wasn't much, when you think about it," Karling said. "Just a small
gesture."

"Well, it means a lot to Alvin Masterson," Nick said. "This clinic
is his life."

"He's a good man," Karling said. "So are you two. I wish I could do
more–-"

"Mr. Karling, all you were required to do was reimburse my expenses,
which you did," Nick said.

"All you were required to do was get the kids back," Karling
said. "I don't think I'm wrong in postulating that some of those
other details you had to take care of, those loose ends you had to
tie up, had something to do with the Treasury Department deciding to
go easy."

"Why do you say that, Mr. Karling?" Whoops, Nick thought. We're
skating on some thin ice here.

"One of them–-the guy–-said since that million bucks got put back in
my Deutsche Bank account intact they weren't here to hang me out to
dry. You were working with Deutsche Bank, weren't you?"

"Schwartzbreit handled most of that end," Nick said. "They've been
working with your Hamburg joint ventures and they know the banking
regulations better than we do."

"You're probably being modest," Karling said. "I detected the fine
hand of Nicholas Fallin, master negotiator, in the way that whole
business got settled as fast as it did."

"I'd agree with you, but since I was there, I can tell you Nick's
account is accurate," Niebauer said.

"Yes–we didn't even have to do that much negotiating," Nick said.

"The Treasury guys said something about Darmstadt buying zirconium
with the money," Karling said. "What was that about?"

"If that's what he was going to do with it, he didn't tell us," Nick
said. "We offered him the money, he said he wanted to turn the kids
over to Christine, we called her, she came, and the day after she
went home we saw the transfer through. We needed to talk to some
bankers about the money and some consular officials about the
children and that's what we spent the next couple of days doing.
Thinking about it, I wouldn't mind working with Schweichat,
Schwartzbreit again–maybe I can work out an affiliate agreement
between them and Fallin & Fallin."

"That sounds like a good idea," Niebauer said. He and Nick exchanged
a quick glance that Karling didn't see and Nick knew that he had
successfully parried Karling's queries about how they had spent their
extra two days in Hamburg and also thrown him off the scent of any
plans Nick might be making for his own future.

"A linkup with Schweichat, Schwartzbreit would be a good move,"
Karling said. "You couldn't go wrong with them. They've always done a
great job for Grimsby Hutchinson. I'm sure you'd mesh really well."

"Speaking of Grimsby Hutchinson, I see the Leffingwell deal closed
while I was away," Nick said.

"Yes, the day after you left, as a matter of fact," Karling
replied. "Nick, I was really impressed with the way you handled
that."

"It was an interesting challenge," Nick replied. "Come to think of
it, so was getting the kids back. I've had a foot in each of two
worlds for some time now–-it might be fun to make it a career."

"I can't think of anyone who could do it better," Karling said. He
stood up, and out of courtesy for the older man, Nick and Niebauer
did the same. "Well, I'll be on my way." He shook hands with the two
and left the conference room.

Nick and Niebauer watched as Karling went through the LSP bullpen
and into the elevator and then sat back down in the conference
room. "Another test passed," Niebauer said.

"What, the smokescreen?"

"Yeah. That can be tricky and you handled it well."

"There's a lot of similarity between that kind of a balancing act
and some of the deals I've had to negotiate," Nick said. "You have to
keep a wall between what you know your opponents know, what they
don't know and what you hope they never will know. It's kind of fun
sometimes."

"That proves what I've been thinking for a while now," Niebauer
said. "You're just crazy enough to fit right in with this crowd."

"Thanks," Nick said, smiling.

"Speaking of fitting in," Niebauer said, "you've been going to
meetings for some time now, haven't you?"

"Three a week for the past three years, almost," Nick said.

"You've never spoken at one, have you?" Niebauer said. He gave Nick
a very direct look. "This coming Thursday night would be a good time
to do it."

Nick returned Niebauer's look. "I take it some other people share
your opinion?" Niebauer nodded. "Okay."

Niebauer got up to leave. "I'll be talking to you, and so will some
other people, probably." They both left the conference room. Niebauer
headed for the elevator. "Catch you around, Nick."

"Be seeing you, John," Nick said. They exchanged wave–salutes and as
Niebauer entered the elevator Nick went into Alvin's
office. "Alvin," he said, "would you happen to have Phil's number? I
thought I did, but I must have misplaced it."

Alvin, who was deep in a file, didn't look up. "Check the Rolodex
under P," he said.

Nick looked through the Alvin's Rolodex, found the number and wrote
it on a scrap of paper. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure." Alvin was still deeply absorbed in his file as Nick closed
the door.

In his office, Nick dialed the number and listened to three rings.
Come on, Phil, answer the damn phone, he thought. That DNA sample
business didn't make me half as nervous as this does. "Hi, Phil?" he
said in response to the "Hello?" he finally heard. "It's Nick. I–-I
think it's time I did more at a meeting than warm a chair. Would you–
-I–-well, I'd like to be the speaker at Thursday night's meeting, if
you think I could contribute something."

"Thursday night? No, I didn't have anyone scheduled," Phil
replied. "Sure, Nick. Looking forward to it." He hung up.

Nick put the phone down and realized that Alvin was standing in
front of his desk with a file in his hand. "I knocked, but I guess
you were on the phone and didn't hear me," Alvin said.

"No problem," Nick replied. "What can I do for you, Alvin?"

"Wanted to ask you about a psychiatric referral for the Reilly kid,"
Alvin said.

"Reilly--he was the one who tried to set the principal's office on
fire, wasn't he?" Nick asked. "Yeah, Laurie Solt's trying to find
someone. Problem is, no one wants to do therapy with kids these days.
Reimbursements are a joke and a lot of the people I've been talking
to are discouraged because the state only allows a limited number of
visits. Some therapists–-psychiatrists, psychologists, CSWs, whoever-–
tell me they have to terminate just when they're starting to get
through to a kid."

"Maybe we should sue," Alvin said.

"Problem is, who would we sue? When the budget allows it the state
hires everybody they can get–it's not their fault there aren't
enough kiddie shrinks. Can't sue the schools–places like Pitt can't
force people to be psych majors. And you can't blame somebody who
wants to hang up a shingle if they decide Social Services referrals
don't reimburse enough to be worth the time and effort. Somebody like
Christine Darmstadt can get all the therapy they want for their kids,
but for most of our clients, forget it."

"That's the way it is. Anyway, Nick, you got the Darmstadt kids
back. That's one for the `win' column. And based on my years in this
business, my advice is, enjoy the victories while you can–-there are
damn few of them."

Nick put his elbow on the desk and his chin on his hand and thought
about some of the cases he had handled for LSP during his community
service with the legal clinic. "That's for sure."

Alvin cleared his throat. "Ah–-sorry, but I couldn't help hearing
you talk to Phil. You're gonna speak at a meeting?"

"Uh–huh." Nick looked up at Alvin. "I've got to call Angie. Alvin, I
hope you're not still disappointed that I asked Angie to be my
sponsor. I just–we weren't either of us getting what we should have
out of you sponsoring me. It wasn't you, it was just–-"

"Bad chemistry?"

"Something like that." To Alvin's surprise Nick essayed a mild
chuckle at his joke. "I don't know what it is about Angie–-she'd hand
me a bullet to bite on while she sawed off my leg if she had to, but
she just–-"

"She has something you don't have that you need and both of you know
it," Alvin said. "The first sponsor that I really clicked with–-and
he was number three or four, I`ve forgotten–-was like that."

"Well, I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you did,
because I do. You've both got a lot of the same qualities–you're
blunt and direct and you both have an inner core of strength that I
trust absolutely."

"Even though I fell ff the wagon a couple of times?" Alvin asked.

"Especially because you fell off the wagon a couple of times. If you
can pick yourself up and dust yourself off, so can I. And I'm not
talking just about using or drinking. That's another way you and
Angie are a like–Angie tells me what I need to survive, not just what
I want to hear."

"Well–-" Alvin shrugged. "When's the big night?"

"Thursday."

"This Thursday? Just like that?"

"Just like that, and because it's time I did." Nick grinned at
Alvin. "Let's see if the learning curve flattened out any."

"Break a leg," Alvin said. He left Nick's office, closing the door
behind him.

Nick picked up the phone and dialed Angie's number. And that's
something else to think about, he reflected. Is there another Angie
out there for me? What will I lose if I tell her goodby? What will I
take away with me?

The End of Part 6

 
Part 7, Section I

"I'd like to see Nicholas Fallin," the tall man with black hair and
piercing blue eyes told the receptionist at the Fallin & Fallin front
desk.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.

"No, but I think he'll want to see me," the man said.

Burton Fallin came around the corner from his office just in time to
hear this exchange. He knew Nicholas was meeting with Fred De Sica,
his probation officer, and knew, too, that Marcie, the receptionist,
had been directed not to disturb Nicholas during those meetings. He
got to the reception desk just as the man had given Marcie his name
and Marcie had picked up the phone. "He'll be right out, sir," she
said as Burton came up to the desk.

"Ah–I'm Burton Fallin," Burton said to the man. "I believe my son
Nicholas is in conference. Can I be of any assistance?"

Nicholas' visitor turned and Burton found himself regarded by a pair
of very cold blue eyes. Whoever this person was, he knew something
about the Fallin & Fallin managing partner that he didn't like one
bit. His tone, though, was polite. "I don't think so," the man said.

Nicholas came up to the reception desk at that moment. "Kevin!" he
exclaimed at the sight of his visitor. "Glad you're here. Come on and
meet Fred. And this is–?" He turned to the shorter, younger man who
had accompanied the visitor.

"This is Manny Martinez, my son-in-law," Nick's visitor said.

"Son-in-law? That means you have a daughter, Kevin?" Nick asked as
the three began moving away from the reception area. "Please tell me
she has a sister."

"She does, but she might be a little young for you, my friend."
Martinez said.

"Damn," Nick exclaimed as they went down the hall.

"What can I tell you, Nick? Timing is everything," came from the
taller man, followed by laughter.

Burton watched briefly and then went back to his office, his
shoulders slumped. Nicholas had arrived at Fallin & Fallin earlier
than he had that morning and the encounter at the reception desk was
the first time that day father and son had seen each other–and as far
as Nicholas was concerned, Burton reflected, his father might not
have been in the room at all. It had been like that ever since
Nicholas came back from Germany, Burton thought. Nicholas spoke to
him only when he had to, never came into his office unless Burton
directly asked him to and then left as quickly as he could. What had
happened on that trip to Germany? Burton wondered. Why won't you talk
about it? And who was this "Kevin" who could break into a meeting
with Fred De Sica–whom Nicholas wanted to introduce to De Sica?

Burton shook his head and picked up the file he had planned to work
on. He looked at the picture on his desk. Shannon Gressler smiled
back at him. Burton reflected that his foster daughter was so
different from Nicholas–so much more open, so ready to share her life
with him. Shannon would tell him anything, Burton thought,
conveniently forgetting that it was he who had shut Nicholas out of
his life when his son was only a little younger than Shannon was now.
Shannon is fun to have around, Burton thought. I missed Nicholas for
that week or so while he was in Germany, but when I went home, there
she was. And having her do her homework in Nicholas' office while his
son was away had been a good idea–it seemed to bring the two of them
closer in his thoughts. Maybe after Nicholas had settled in a little
bit he'd even want to get together some night. Burton relaxed a
little. Whoever those people were with Nicholas, he'd find out about
them soon enough. Nicholas hadn't been back a week before he was
already bringing in new clients–look at that Justice Department
business. Between Nicholas and Shannon, Burton thought, he had the
best of both
worlds.

***************************

In Nick's office, McMahon and Martinez were introduced to Fred De
Sica. "I'm glad your friends are here for this, Nick," De Sica
said. "As I was telling you, your next appointment will be your last."

"It will?" Nick said. "I have to admit, Fred, I knew it was coming,
but I didn't really think about it."

"It's like being in training," McMahon said. "You know there's an end
to it, but you're so busy going through it you don't really realize
it until all of a sudden, there you are."

"That's what basic training was like for me" Martinez said. "I was so
busy learning how to be a soldier that I didn't notice the course was
over until we were standing at parade rest at the end of the
graduation ceremony."

"I remember basic," De Sica said. "You're right, Manny–it went by in
a blur. The most intense 12 weeks of my life and all I remember is
being terrified at the beginning and exhausted at the end."

"There are things I'll never forget," Nick said. "And in case I have
a memory lapse I'll have more than enough nightmares to remind me."

"Nightmares are part of the package, Nick," McMahon said. "The trick
is to use them–to learn what they teach you without letting them
overwhelm you." Nick nodded, awareness dawning in his eyes.

"Well, like I said, Nick, the next appointment is your last one. I'd
like it if we could meet in my office," De Sica said.

"Sure, Fred. I'd be happy to," Nick said.

"And I'm happy to tell you your last test was the latest in a long
line of clean ones."

"That's good, because at the level you'll be coming in, random drug
testing is the rule for everybody," McMahon said.

"John–John Niebauer mentioned that when we were on the plane coming
back from Germany," Nick said. "I guess it's good that I'm used to
it."

"Yes, it's one less thing to worry about," McMahon said.

"That was quite a talk you gave at the meeting the other night," De
Sica said. To Nick's questioning look, he responded, "No, I wasn't
there, but the word gets around."

"Right now if you asked me what I said I don't think I could
remember," Nick said. "I went through law school orals and defended a
thesis for my MBA, argued cases in front of judges so hostile I
needed asbestos underwear for protection from the glares and I was
never as nervous as I was at that meeting."

"Well, from what I got, you were pretty impressive," McMahon
said. "Manny and I were busy that night, but we heard about it just
the same."

Nick shook his head, smiling a little "As far as I remember, all I
said was that after 35 years I finally figured out that you can't
control what happens to you, but you can control how you decide to
cope with it. And anaesthetizing yourself isn't coping with it."

"There was a lot more to it than that, but let it go for the time
being," De Sica advised. "I predict. though, that when you do recall
what you said–and you will–you'll be proud of yourself."

"Angie–my sponsor–said something like that," Nick said.

"She's right," McMahon said. "Anyway, while you were taking center
stage at your meeting, Colin Bennett spent some time in conference
with several people connected with the United States government."

"That Army interview you talked about, was it?" Nick asked. McMahon
nodded.

"Oh, ho," De Sica said. "So that's why he's been talking to Herb
Connolly for the past couple of hours."

"What happens to him depends on how valuable the DA decides his
information is," Martinez said.

"And the DA has several guidelines for determining the value of his
information," McMahon added.

Some of those guidelines were federal in origin, Nick realized. He
started to say something and thought better of it. Colin had
obviously been presented with a strong incentive for talking to the
assistant district attorney who had prosecuted Nick when he was
indicted for drug possession. That incentive carried no visible
evidence, otherwise Kevin McMahon and Manny Martinez would have been
talking to the Pittsburgh police themselves, rather than chatting
comfortably with Nick and his probation officer. These people knew
how to take care of themselves. And they were ready and willing to
take care of him as well.

"Should I expect to hear anything from anyone about this?" he
asked. "If I never talk to Colin Bennett again, it will be too soon."

"I don't think Colin will be in any position to bother you–about
anything," McMahon said. "What the DA decides is up to him. I don't
think he'll need your corroborating testimony."

"He may need corroborating testimony for something else, though," De
Sica said.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked. De Sica had suddenly taken on a very
serious look, almost like the one Kevin McMahon had assumed when the
subject of drug dealers intimidating ordinary citizens had come up
the first time Nick had met the CIA operative in the DDI's office at
headquarters in Langley.

"Just watch your back, my friend, especially around Little Miss
Muffet," De Sica said.

"Little Miss–oh, yes," Nick said.

"I'm serious," De Sica said. "You were away for what, five days? A
week?"

Nick nodded.

"And you've been in and out since you got back?" Nick nodded again.
Kevin McMahon and his son-in-law exchanged glances and then looked at
De Sica.

"You think–?" Nick left the sentence unfinished.

"It's a pretty safe bet–if I were her, I'd be looking for
opportunities to nail you, especially now," McMahon said. The
preliminary investigation conducted on all agency prospects had
turned up quite a bit about Nicholas Fallin's foster sister and
Nick's feelings about her. Nick was smart, giving her a wide berth,
McMahon thought. He's got the right instincts. He'll fit right in
back at Langley. "Nick, is there anything in this office that looks
the least little bit like someone disturbed it?"

"I don't really know, Kevin," Nick said. "I wasn't really thinking
about it, but I see now I should have been."

"Lock the door," McMahon directed." We really don't want anyone
walking in on this." Nick complied.

"You've got equipment?" De Sica asked.

"Not a full kit, but enough to start," McMahon said. He had been
carrying a brief case and now he opened it and took out a small
Polaroid camera, a leather case that looked as if it held a set of
tape cassettes and three pairs of latex evidence handling gloves.
He, his son-in-law and De Sica put them on."I'm glad we brought some
other things along," he said.

"Other things? What for?" Nick asked.

"You'll see," McMahon said. He turned to De Sica., who with Martinez
had donned the gloves. "What do you think, Fred, start with the
desk?"

"Logical place," De Sica said. "Okay, Nick, just stand over there by
the credenza and watch. You're going to learn a lot–and not
necessarily about how to conduct a search, either."

Nick did as he was told and watched as his three friends opened each
drawer of his desk and photographed the contents. McMahon put the
Polaroid pictures of the drawers aside. "We'll need them later," he
explained. Then, taking each drawer at a time, he, De Sica and
Martinez went over each drawer and its contents–thoroughly. Every
item was taken out and carefully examined in several ways.

Martinez was examining the lower right-hand drawer, the contents of
which were spread out on the desk, when he grunted and reached for
the magnifying glass McMahon had been using. He picked up a pair of
long tweezers. "Nick, hand me a clean sheet of paper, would you?" he
said. Nick did. Martinez creased the paper lengthwise, reached in the
drawer and took something out with the tweezers. He deposited
whatever he had found in the fold of the paper.

"Whatcha got, son?" McMahon asked.

Martinez turned to Nick. "Was a secretary or someone working at this
desk recently, Nick?" he asked.

"Not that I can remember," Nick said.

"Then this shouldn't be here, should it?" Martinez said. He opened
the paper carefully and Nick, McMahon and De Sica looked at its
contents–a single long, curly blond hair. "There are more," Martinez
said, "but that's the first one I've found."

"Uh-huh," McMahon said. "Keep going." He and De Sica began
scrutinizing the carpet next to the desk which would be under the
drawer handle when the drawer was pulled out. After a few
minutes, "Yep," De Sica said.

"Another piece of that nice clean copy paper, please, Nick," McMahon
said. He and De Sica carefully tweezed and swept something onto the
paper, which they had also folded in half. They stood up.

McMahon handed Nick a jeweler's loup. Nick put it in his eye. "What
do you see?" McMahon asked.

"Something–something–looks like glitter," Nick said. "And something
else–looks like little flecks of pink paint."

"Very good," De Sica said. "Now, Nick, tell us, who has long, curly
blond hair and wears pink glitter nail polish, because that's what
that is–she bumped her nails on the drawer handle–probably didn't
even notice, but some of the nail polish fell off and landed on the
carpet. It's not enough for your cleaners to notice, and anyway,
vacuum cleaners don't pick up everything."

Nick took a deep breath. "Has to be the crown princess," he
said. "She was probably in the office every day after school all that
week. She probably told my father she wanted someplace quiet to study
and he let her in here. And I l didn't leave my desk locked–I knew
Jake would need to get at some files we were working on. I took
everything personal home. That was bright, wasn't it?"

"As a matter of fact, it was," De Sica said. "Now we know what she's
been up to. Thing is, she doesn't know we know."

"Speaking of up to, we weren't thorough enough with the desk
top,"McMahon said. He, De Sica and Martinez went back over the
blotter, the underside of the pen stand, the calendar and everything
else on the flat polished surface. After a few minutes, McMahon
grunted. "Uh-huh," he said.

"Yep," De Sica, who was examining the bottom of Nick's desk clock,
said. They both reached for more paper and deposited more specimens.
Nick looked at them. Some of the blonde curly strands were visible,
but so were others– many short, curly ones. Some of those were darker
blonde, but several others were of different colors.

"Well, well, well," Martinez said.

Nick suddenly felt sick to his stomach and sat down. "My God," he
said. "So she's been using my desk–"

"–and probably some other things," De Sica said. "Nick, we're going
to have to check that chair–"

"Yeah," Nick said, "–for–for–"

"–evidence of extracurricular activities," McMahon said. "Somehow, I
don't think she's doing it for the exercise, either."

"Neither do I," De Sica said. "I think she wants to go shopping, and
she can't buy what she wants on her allowance."

"Well, if you want to earn some extra cash, it sure beats
babysitting," Martinez said, shaking his head.

"I wonder how she's managing to get out of the house unsupervised
long enough to–ah–operate," Nick said.

"Do you know her schedule?" De Sica asked.

"No, not really," Nick said. "Every time my father starts to say
something about her I–well, I just don't listen." He took a deep
breath.

"Nobody could blame you for that, Nick," McMahon said. "I'm betting
she's got a lot of free time when she's supposed to be somewhere, but
nobody notices if she is or she isn't. She could just tell the ballet
teacher or whoever she's dropping out for awhile because she's got
too much schoolwork or something, but as far as your father and
whatever they call whoever's taking care of her–fourteen is too old
for a nanny per se–as far as they know she's still taking lessons.
Hell, every kid pulls something like that at one time or another."

"I didn't," Nick said. He thought for a minute or two. "No, you're
right, Kevin. At my prep school, as long as you were where you were
supposed to be when you were supposed to be there you could do just
about anything you wanted–sleep in class, sit on the sidelines during
soccer practice and look at Penthouse with some other guys–you name
it. The only difference between her and me is she needs
transportation, and I'll bet she knows–in more than one sense–a lot
of boys who drive."

"How will we know when she's made the buy?" Martinez asked.

DeSica had been conversing on his cell phone while the others were
talking. "I just got through to the DA," he said. "Friend Bennett was
just about to leave his office. We were able to give him a little–ah–
commission."

"She knows there's a connection between him and me," Nick
said. "She's no rocket scientist, but she's not stupid, either."

"Bennett doesn't have to do anything himself, just put feelers out,"
De Sica said. "He's got a lot of–let's call them working partners.
They tell him things and some of what they say will get to us. And
just between all of us, Bennett has a very powerful incentive for
playing our game. Prison's no fun any time, but in his condition–the
aftereffects of the shooting–he wouldn't like it at all,. No, it's
very much in Mister Bennett's best interest to go along with us, and
he knows it. I think he'll give us some very useful information. And
if she does decide to make the buy from him, so much the better.
She'll probably think she can blackmail him–selling to minors isn't
looked on too favorably–but she doesn't know he's on our team. No, I
think that part of it should work out pretty well."

"Funny, I never figured her for a heavy user–thought the most she
ever did was marijuana," Nick said. "But if she's tricking to get
some serious money, she must have a habit."

DeSica gave him a direct look. "Not necessarily," he said.

The three others watched dawning knowledge and conflicting emotions
chase each other across Nick's face. "So that's it," he said.

"Yep," De Sica said. "She knows if she frames you now, nobody is
going to believe you." Nick wiped his hand across his forehead.

"She's not as smart as she thinks she is, though. She thinks she's
setting you up, but we're setting her up," McMahon said, responding
to the momentary panic that had flashed across Nick's face. He smiled
a thin smile. "We'd better get on with the rest of this." Referring
to the Polaroids, Nick and his friends put everything back in the
drawers exactly as it had been. They scattered tobacco flakes from a
cigarette suppled by McMahon in file folders–if the flakes were
missing the next time Nick looked in the folders, he would know
someone had looked at them, too. They scattered threads and pieces of
lint in other drawers. His credenzas and the bookcase received the
same treatment.

The crowning touch was a set of small metal tubes, each with a lens
at one end. McMahon and Martinez positioned them in various places
around Nick's office so that all parts of the room were under the
lenses. The high-resolution cameras would send images back to CIA
headquarters, where they would be recorded. "Okay, Nick, open the
circuit," McMahon said.

Nick stood up and faced one of the cameras which, with its microphone
had been concealed on the top bookshelf overlooking his desk. "Good
morning," he said. "My name is Nicholas Fallin. I am standing in my
office in the law firm of Fallin and Fallin, 437 Frick Building,
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The date is May 14, 2004 and the time is
11:26 a.m., local time. The surveillance devices in this office have
been installed with my full knowledge and consent by an officer of
the city of Pittsburgh Probation Department and agents of the federal
government as part of an ongoing joint investigation." He turned to
McMahon, who had been speaking into a cell phone. "How'd I do?"

"Dave says you're coming in loud and clear and he can see you just
fine," McMahon said. "Walk around and let's make sure everything's in
the right place." Nick did.

"You're five by five," a dismbodied voice came from one of the
microphone speakers.

Nick realized he had heard the voice before and after a second or
two remembered. Manning the cameras and microphones was the young man
who had acquainted him with visual recognition technology at CIA
headquarters. "Hi, Dave," he said.

"How you doing, Nick?" Dave replied.

"How did we do placing the things?" Martinez asked.

"Nick," Dave's voice said, "sit at your desk." Nick complied. "Make
like you're reaching into that drawer." Again, Nick did as he was
directed. "Perfect," Dave said. "The cameras automatically zoom in on
anybody reaching for that drawer–on any kind of motion, in fact."
"Hmm. That means–ah–other activities, doesn't it?" De Sica asked.
"We'll get those, too," Dave said. "There's no part of this office
that I can't see."

"I guess I'll get used to it," Nick said. He turned to
McMahon. "Kevin, how did you happen to have all that stuff, like the
cameras? And how do we account for doing all this?"

"We didn't know exactly what we'd need to use on Bennett, so we tried
to anticipate as much as we could," the CIA operative
replied. "Bennett folded early, so we had some stuff left over. Good
thing, too. As for your second question, you're the lawyer. The
equipment was installed with your knowledge and consent–you said so.
The Homeland Security Act is–ah–all-inclusive on some things, so we
can argue that this is in the interest of the national security. That
gives us all the authorization we need. Besides, do you see anybody
being charged with anything?"

"The way we're going about this, no, not really," Nick said. "Anyway,
I never heard of federal charges being brought against a juvenile."

"There's a first time for everything. I'm betting, though, that he
feds won't push it and city, county, state, will probably be looking
for a way to go along with the feds," De Sica said. "They'll
probably tell Roy Cantwell–isn't that his name?" Nick nodded. "–to
take her and leave."

"Don't let the sun go down on you in my county," Nick murmured.

"Exactly."

"Well, now all we have to do is wait and let her do her thing."
Martinez said.

"We probably won't have to wait too long, either," McMahon
said. "We're going to stay in Pittsburgh and work with the locals–I
just talked to HQ and they said it's okay and they'd free up some
expense money for us. That'll give us some time to nose around at the
school–Thurmond Academy, isn't it?" Nick nodded.

"Make sure you change your schedule and put in as much afternoon time
at LSP as you can," De Sica said. "And make sure she knows it."

"That won't be hard," Nick said. "All I have to do is be obvious
about it. How long do you want to take to set this up?"

It was De Sica's turn to open his cell phone. After he made the call
he turned to the others. "You won't believe this," he said. "Bennett
is already coming through for us. She's been talking to a dealer
Bennett knows. She wants to make a major buy and she's getting close
to the money she needs to do it. Give her a week, maybe two. Nick,
the DA will want to talk to you about how we're going to stage
busting you."

"Just don't make the cuffs too tight," Nick said. "Guys, I really
appreciate this."

"You may not before this thing is over," McMahon said. "What she's
looking for, of course is a serious rift between you and your father
and she thinks if she can frame you for drugs, that's what'll happen."

"She doesn't have to go to all this trouble," Nick said. "There was a
rift before she came along. She just helped make it wider is all."

"Yeah, well if this goes like I think it will, you're in for a rough
couple of days, maybe even a week," McMahon said.

Nick reflected briefly on the way his father had taken Shannon to his
heart during the past year and a half. Watching Shannon find a place
in Burton's life that he, Nick, had never come close to occupying, at
least so it seemed, had been a major reason he had given a favorable
hearing to Admiral Stevenson's offer. There was no compulsion for him
to stay in Pittsburgh. And in Burton Fallin' eyes, Shannon Gressler
could do no wrong. No, this wouldn't be pleasant. "He'll probably
disown me," he said.

"We'll be here for you," De Sica said. McMahon and Martinez
nodded. "But yeah, it won't be much fun. If it gets rough–you know
the number. Call any time. And I'll try to be there when they bust
you, or Darger will."

"Same here," McMahon said. "You're joining an outfit that takes its
responsibilities toward the people who work for it serioiusly. We
won't run out on you. Oh, by the way–" he took an envelope out of his
jacket pocket and handed it to Nick. "Cassidy Edgerton said to give
you this."

"Thanks again," Nick said. He put the envelope in his own suit
pocket. "Though that really doesn't begin to cover it."

DeSica saw the look on Nick's face. "I'm serious about calling us.
You don't have to go through this alone, and you don't need any more
character-building experiences, so use the damn phone."

McMahon looked up from where he and Martinez had been putting the
rest of their equipment in McMahon's briefcase. "Second that. There's
a support system in place and we want you to use it. We're going to
help you–whether you think you need us to or not."

McMahon, Martinez, De Sica and Nick headed toward the front
entrance.

"All you have to do is act normally," Martinez said.

"Manny, that's the hardest part," Nick said. They neared the doors
and as Burton watched, De Sica, McMahon, Martinez and Nick all shook
hands and said their farewells.

"Take care of this guy," Burton overheard De Sica say to the tall man
with black hair and blue eyes. "We'll miss him around here."

"We'll do that," the one called McMahon said. "We think a lot of him,
too."

Nicholas' three visitors shook hands with their host and left the
office.

Back in his office Nick closed the door, sat at his desk and took out
the envelope that Cassidy Edgerton had delivered to him by way of
McMahon. He looked at it for a long time. I'm back in the same place
I was when I collected the DNA samples, he thought. Do I really want
to know what's in this?

His intercom buzzed. "Nick," Gretchen said, "Mr. Fallin asked me to
remind you that the people from Ranford will be here in ten minutes."

"On my way," Nick replied. He put the phone back in its cradle and
picked up his letter opener. All right, he thought, I need to know
where I stand, especially if Little Bo-Peep pulls off this stunt next
week or whenever. I already know how he stands. I don't need to be
reminded about a conference with an important client, but if I did,
why can't he be bothered to tell me himself? What's he doing, gabbing
on the phone to Thurmond about dear, darling Shannon and how the
school has to cut her some slack because of her traumatic childhood?
He opened the envelope.

The first page was a letter on Edgerton's official letterhead. Nick
read the letter, put it aside and went on to the three pages that
accompanied it–the results of the comparison of his and Burton
Fallin's DNA and the tests that had produced them. He read them
carefully several times. As far as I'm concerned, they're accurate,
he thought. They are what they are. He looked at his watch. One
minute until the representatives from Ranford Products were due in
the conference room to argue that Pearson Limited was infringing on
Ranford's copyright on disposable razors, stealing their design and
in general making a nuisance of themselves. Nick debated with himself
and then put Edgerton's report back in the envelope and put the
envelope in his briefcase. He locked the briefcase, picked up the
Ranford files from the place on his credenza where they had been
reposing and went down the hall and into the conference room.

********************

To call what happened on the following Friday afternoon an arrest
would not have been accurate. Nick walked into his office to find it
full of police with Burton and Shannon looking on. Darger and several
officers were clustered at the right side of his desk, looking down
at the right-hand bottom drawer.

Clay Simms came in a few minutes after Nick did, almost as soon as
Nick's "What's going on here?" was out of his mouth. One of the
detectives turned to face Nick. "We got a call there were drugs
here," the detective–Nick's acquaintance, Darger–said.

"You got a warrant?" Simms asked.

"They don't need one. I give them permission to search," Burton said.
His voice would have frosted an erupting volcano. "I called them."

Nick whirled and looked at him. "Shannon was sitting at this desk,
doing her homework–"

"May I ask why she was sitting at my desk?" Nick asked.

"I told her she could," Burton said.

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do," Burton said. "The lease is still in my
name. This–" he waved a hand in a gesture meant to include the two
floors in the Frick Building that the firm occupied "–is my office
and if Shannon wants to do her homework in this room or any other,
she will."

Darger decided it was time to step in. "Miss–ah–Shannon, what
happened, exactly?"

Shannon tried very hard to assume an innocent look. "I was sitting at
the desk and I dropped my pencil," she said. "I bent over to pick it
up and I saw that the drawer wasn't quite closed. I went to push it
closed, but something was blocking it. I–I–well, I knew I shouldn't,
but I thought I'd just try to get it closed. I didn't think Nick
would like to have a drawer that didn't close." She lowered her eyes
and Nick wondered what art book held a picture of the Della Robbia
relief of cherubic innocence she was trying to emulate. "I opened the
drawer and I saw–that." She pointed Nick, Darger and Simms looked.
Nestled between a box holding 500 of Nick's business cards and a
small shoeshine kit that he used for occasional touch-ups was a small
square object tightly wrapped in Saran and scotch-taped closed.
Shannon went on. "I–well, my mother–used–used drugs." She topped and
swallowed. Burton patted her shoulder. "It's okay, honey," he said.

"I was pretty sure I knew what it was," Shannon said. "I called
Burton. He came in, he looked, and he called the cops–I mean the
police."

"You did right," Darger said. "Nick, do you recognize this?"

"No," Nick said. His face showed equal parts of defensiveness and
concern–and no small revulsion at being confronted with something he
though he had managed to put behind him forever.

"Any idea how it got here?"

"None whatever."

"Nick, don't say anything more," Simms said.

"I'm sure we can clear all this up," Darger said. "Nick, we'd like
you to come down to the station with us."

"Is my client under arrest?" Simms asked.

"No, but we'd appreciate his cooperation," Darger said.

"Of course," Nick said.

"I'm going along," Simms declared.

"By all means," Darger said.

"Let him find his own defense lawyer," Burton snapped.

Simms turned and looked at Burton. "Nicholas Fallin is my client. So
are you, if you need a criminal defense lawyer. So is any member of
this firm."

"Any member of this firm," Burton said. "We'll see about that. Come
on, Shannon." He put his hand on Shannon's shoulder and turned her
around. They walked out of Nick's office.

Darger had been using into his cell phone while Burton was
speaking. "We're okay," he said to Nick. "Your friend Dave got quite
a haul. It's waiting for us."

"Let's get going," Nick said. "You want to cuff me?"

"No," Darger said. "For one thing, you're not under arrest. For
another thing, when some people see you walk out of here without `em
they may get more overconfident than they already are."

Simms looked from one to the other. "Wait a minute," he said. "What's
going on here?"

"Your client is assisting in a joint city-federal investigation,"
Darger said. "I don't want to say more, at least not here." He turned
to Nick. "Forensics will go over the place–there's a lot more
corroborating evidence waiting to be picked up."

"Speaking of corroborating evidence–" an officer said. He held up
Shannon's backpack.

"Well, well, well," Darger said. "Don't let her see you taking it
out. Okay, let's go."

Nick, Simms, Darger and two plainclothes officers walked out the
front doors. From his office Burton, with Shannon beside him, watched
them go.

"I can't believe it," Burton said. "His probation is almost over."

"Mandy was like that," Shannon said. "They all blow it for
themselves."

Burton smiled wanly at his ward. "Well," he said, "whatever happens,
I have you."

***************

Nick and Darger filled in Simms on their way to the police station,
where they watched and listened to what the CIA hidden cameras and
their microphones had recorded. The images had been captured by
computers in Langley and the Pittsburgh police, with federal
assistance provided by Nick's new friends, downloaded the information
and burned it onto DVDs that could be played on any television with a
DVD player. Nick, Darger and Simms watched. More than once more than
one of the party shook their heads in disbelief at what they were
seeing.

The forensics team called in from Nick's office with more information
while they watched. Simms, widely acknowledged as the best criminal
defense lawyer in Pittsburgh, several times shook his head in
amazement. "Damn," he finally said. "All I can say is, Nick, you're
one lucky sonovabitch."

"He is that," Darger said. "I think what she's trying to pull
wouldn't hold up in court, but without this it would be a lot harder
to shake her."

At that moment, McMahon and Martinez entered the interview room where
Nick, Darger, Simms and the two officers were sitting. "We got sworn
statements from eight boys at the school–with the consent of their
parents, of course. The one kid, Chase Wessler, was a real find. He
has quite a lot of information–and he's generous with it."

"Someone's in for a rude awakening," Simms said.

Nick had been listening with a troubled expression on his face. "You
know, I'm not sure I want my father to hear this," he said. "I know
he's been really taken up with this kid, but this is going to really
zing him. I–I don't know if I want that, even if I'm planning on
changing careers. We don't have to club him with it."

Darger and Simms looked at each other, a look that McMahon and
Martinez caught. "Tell you what," Darger said. "We'll hold off on
planning any kind of a party. When you go back to your office, you
see how the land lays and then let us know."

*************

Burton charged out of his office as Nick and Simms walked
past. "What's he doing here?" the managing partner demanded of Simms.

"Why shouldn't he be here?" Simms returned.

"Why isn't he in jail?"

"Why would he be in jail? He hasn't been charged with anything."

"What?!" Burton turned to Nick, acknowledging his son's presence for
the first time. "I don't know how you got out of this one, but
believe me, I'm not going to lift a finger this time. Three years,
you're almost off probation and you go and use that stuff."

"Who used anything?" Nick asked quietly.

"Listen, mister. The cops found a–what was it, Shannon?–" he turned
to Shannon, who was standing just inside the open door. 
 
"A roach," she said.

"Yeah, that's it–a roach on one of the bookshelves. Shannon says you
tried to share a–a–joint with her. You want to destroy yourself with
that crap, go right ahead, but I'll be damned if I'll let you drag
this innocent child down to your level. You're through here. I'm
through with you. Under the terms of the partnership agreement I have
to give you thirty days–and you damn well better perform every last
one of your duties for those thirty days–but after that, you're out
of here. And I'm calling Alvin Masterson. Guardian ad litem my ass.
You're not fit to walk in that clinic of his. I intend to see that
you won't even get a job sweeping a floor. "

"Just when am I supposed to have forced this joint on Shannon?" Nick
asked. The louder and angrier Burton got, the quieter and calmer he
became, which only seemed to infuriate Burton more.

"Just last week."

"That's interesting–I haven't seen her since I got back from Germany."

"Bull. Shannon wouldn't lie."

"Whatever," Nick said, realizing here was no point in continuing.

"Whatever is right," Burton said. "Look, since you're so partial to
cocaine, and since somebody decided to turn you loose, why don't you
just do everyone a favor and go find yourself another pile of that
stuff and overdose on it? Or is that too considerate for you?" Burton
turned. "Come on, Shannon." Shannon started out of the office. Burton
followed her. He turned briefly. "Stay the hell away from her–from
us. You are not welcome in our home. "

Nick's "Dad–" seemed to have been wrenched out of him without his
consciously willing himself to speak.

"Don't call me `Dad'. I have no son." Burton and Shannon walked out.

Simms put his hand on Nick's shoulder as Gretchen busied herself with
what was on her desk and tried very hard to pretend she had seen and
heard nothing. "Come on, Nick," he said gently.

Nick started to shake off Simms' hand and stopped. "Yeah," he said.

They went down the hall and into Nick's office. Nick sat at his desk.

"Ouch," Simms said. "I wouldn't slam an outhouse door that hard."

Nick took a deep breath. "Well, one thing hasn't changed. I haven't
been `welcome' in his home since I was twelve."

"What?"

"That's right–you don't know. He and my mother divorced when I was
ten." Nick almost started to relate what Niebauer had told him about
his mother and her lovers, but stopped. He would let that one lie
fallow until he was ready to use it, and besides Clay Simms didn't
need to hear about it in order to proceed. "She died two years later.
She was barely into the ground when he shipped me off to boarding
school. I haven't been `home' for the past 23 years."

"Well–"

"I'm sorry you–and everybody else– had to hear that, though."

"You know, you can probably sue him for defamation."

"That would be a first, wouldn't it?" Nick smiled a thin smile. "No,
Clay, it's not worth the aggravation. I have changed my mind about
one thing, though." He picked up his cell phone and dialed. "Hello,
Darger?" he said. "Nick Fallin. We were talking about a Plan B?
Forget it–proceed with Plan A."

"You sure?" Darger asked.

Let him see how it feels, Nick thought. I've taken enough shit I for
one lifetime."Yes, I'm sure," Nick said. "Go ahead and club him."

"Is anyone with you?"

"Yeah, Simms."

"Let me talk to him." Nick handed the phone to Simms. "Darger wants
to talk to you."

Simms took the device. His conversation consisted of a series of "uh
hubs" and "sures," ending with "You got it." He closed the phone and
handed it back to Nick. "McMahon and Martinez will be here in a
couple of minutes. We're all going out to dinner together."

"Says who?"

"Says us. And you're going to have house guests, at least until
Monday."

"I don't want–" Nick started to say.

"Irrelevant and immaterial. Whether you want or not, you've got."

Nick sighed. "Oh, shit. I guess I do." He paused. "What happens
Monday?"

"Monday the preliminary DNA tests on the roach are completed, so are
IDs on some of the other–film stars, and the home movies have been
edited–they shot real-time, Darger said McMahon told him, but
obviously they don't need to show every minute you were sitting here
with your feet on your desk."

"I never put my feet on a desk in my life."

"Be that as it may, Monday is show time. Certain people are going to
get an eyeful."

McMahon and Martinez walked in Nick's office at that moment. "All
ready?" McMahon asked.

"Yep," Simms said. "Let's go enjoy Friday night."

"Enjoy," Nick said. "I don't know–"

"Listen," McMahon said, "You're supposed to enjoy yourself tonight
and you're damn well gonna enjoy yourself."

"Do as he says, Nick," Martinez said. "You have a good time if this
guy wants you to have a good time–or else!"

"Okay," Nick said. He was surprised to find himself grinning a little.

"Yeah," McMahon said. "Nick, I told you, we take care of our people.
A few more papers to sign, tell Fred De Sica goodby and you're on
board. As far as we're concerned, as of this moment, you're our
people and we're going to take care of you."

The four men left Fallin & Fallin talking and joking among
themselves. Gretchen watched them go and returned to proofreading her
resume. After Burton Fallin's performance she wasn't sure she wanted
to work for him any more.


The End of Part 7, Section I
 
Part 7, Section II

Burton Fallin regarded Darger, the tall man with black hair and blue
eyes whom Burton had heard Nicholas address as "Kevin" and a woman
whose dark hair showed a few strands of gray, wearing a sensible
suit and who looked as if her feet hurt, all of whom were seated at
the Fallin & Fallin conference table, warily. "All right, Darger,
what's this about?" he asked. "You told me when you phoned that all
you wanted to do was return Shannon's backpack. I don't see why you
wanted her to be here–I could bring it to the school for her, but you
said it was important, so here she is."


"Yes," Shannon, who was seated at Burton's right hand at the head of
the conference table near the double doors that led to Gretchen's
desk and Burton's office said. "I want to get back to class."

"This won't take long," Darger said. "We're just trying to get a few
details straight."

"The sooner the better," Burton said.

"I'll cut to the chase, then," Darger said. "This package that you,
Shannon, said you found–"

"Yes," Shannon said.

"There were no fingerprints on the outside of it at all."

"So it was wiped," Burton said. "Or else–he–used gloves."

Darger noted Burton's reluctance to speak his son's name. He briefly
caught McMahon's eye and a look passed between them that Burton
didn't see. Someone's riding for a fall, the look said.

"We unwrapped it, and found prints on the next layer in," Darger said.

"And?" Burton said.

"None of them belong to Nicholas Fallin. In fact, there is no
forensic evidence–prints, DNA, anything–to connect Nicholas Fallin to
the cocaine or the marijuana cigarette remnant, the roach, found in
his office."

"So he used gloves to handle the cocaine," Burton said. "And Shannon
told us he tried to get her to share the–the–joint–with her."

"He did," Shannon said.

"Yes. Shannon, according to your statement, he lit it in front of
you, took a few hits and handed it to you."

"That's exactly what happened," Shannon said. "He used a roach clip.
I was so upset I didn't tell you that before."

"Well, now," Darger said, "granted, fingerprints aren't likely to
show on a joint whether or not he used a roach clip, but if he held
it in his lips, his epithelial cells would have been left on it."

"So?" Burton said.

"So we tested the roach and like I said, there is no DNA belonging to
Nicholas Fallin on it. If he had, in fact, smoked it, there would
have to be some."

"Test it again," Burton said.

"We did–extensively," the woman, whom Darger had introduced as Dr.
Edgerton, said. "I'm a forensic biologist. I run a laboratory for the
federal government. We have the most sophisticated, advanced testing
equipment and techniques available. I've taken DNA samples from dust
specks–having something as large as a roach to work on was a treat.
We just about reduced it to its molecular components. And I will
swear that it bears no trace whatever of DNA matching that of
Nicholas Fallin. The same is true for the package of cocaine–which,
by the way, is of very good quality, quite high grade. There is no
forensic evidence to connect Nicholas Fallin with either object."

"Forensics don't make a case," Burton said.

"Not entirely, no," Darger said. "All the same, there's an
incongruity here that needs to be cleared up before we can proceed."

"Well, I don't know how you go about doing that," Burton retorted.

"I think we can come up with some answers," the tall man with black
hair and blue eyes said. He stood up and moved toward the television
with VCR and DVD player that stood in the conference room–the same
televison that Burton, Alvin and Warren Karling had used to watch a
tape that Burton had thought showed Nicholas with German
constitutional security police in a raid on a Hamburg apartment. He
had taken that tape home to watch it on his own VCR, Burton
remembered, but had left it out and Shannon had taped something else
over it–without meaning to, he reminded himself. The kid didn't
realize how important it had been to him at the time and if he wanted
to keep it he should have put it away. All things considered, he
thought, it was just as well. He watched as the man took a DVD disk
out of a leather portfolio he had been carrying and inserted it in
the DVD tray. The man Burton now knew as Kevin McMahon went back to
his chair and pointed the remote at the television. The set snapped
on.

Letters appeared on the screen. "This disk and the information it
contains is the property of the United States government. Viewing by
unauthorized persons is punishable by fine and/or imprisonment." Two
or three seconds of black followed. Then Nicholas Fallin's image
appeared on the screen, facing a camera obviously positioned in his
office. "Good morning," the on-screen image said. "My name is
Nicholas Fallin. I am standing in my office in the law firm of Fallin
and Fallin, 437 Frick Building, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The date is
May 14, 2004 and the time is 11:26 a.m., local time…" McMahon stopped
the disk. "That's to establish local time and date," he said. "From
now on, the date and time will show on screen–look in the lower left
corner." He restarted the DVD.

The date/time stamp showed Monday May 7 at 3:45 p.m. A camera trained
on the door of Nick's office showed it opening. Burton saw himself
letting Shannon into Nick's office. "All right, honey," his image
said. "You just do your homework and we'll go home in a couple of
hours." Shannon on screen replied "Okay" as she seated herself at
Nick's desk. Burton walked out and closed the door.

Shannon waited for a few minutes, long enough obviously for Burton to
go back to his office. She got up from Nick's chair, went to the door
and cautiously opened it. The camera watched her back as she
carefully opened the door. She set the lock so she couldn't lock
herself out and went out, closing the door behind her.

According to the real-time digital timer in the left corner of the
screen several moments elapsed. Shannon came back into the office
accompanied by a boy in the male version of the Thurmond Academy
uniform. A rhomboid in green settled on the boy's face. "Match"
blinked several times in the upper right corner of the
screen. "Subject identified as Clarke Hilfer Biographical data in
File AXZ221" displayed. McMahon stopped the disk again. "We've
identified everyone you'll see," he said. He started the display
again.

"How did that boy get up here?" Burton asked.

"We checked. There's a fire stairway just around the corner," Darger
said. "It's not alarmed. She just propped the door open a little. We
have forensic evidence of that, too–her fingerprints and a lot of
others are all over the door, both sides."

McMahon restarted the DVD.

Shannon and the boy identified as Clarke Hilfer came into the office.
Shannon closed and locked the door and turned the blinds so no one
could see inside. She turned to the boy. "Come on," she said. The boy
reached into his pocket and brought out a roll of bills. "How come I
have to pay in advance?" the boy asked.

"You're not the only one," Shannon answered. "Anyway, you know the
rules–no pay, no play. You're not complaining about the service, are
you?"

"No," the boy replied. After he had handed Shannon the money–one of
the cameras had zoomed in to show two $50 bills–he sat in Nick's desk
chair and Shannon proceeded to perform one explicit act after another.

Burton gagged. "You all right?" McMahon asked.

"Physically, yeah, I am," Burton said.

Edgerton got up, went to his chair and took his wrist in her
hand. "Ever have heart trouble?" she asked as she felt his pulse.

"Not that kind, no," Burton said. He continued watching the
television screen. What he saw seemed to have temporarily rendered
him speechless in shock.

McMahon paused the DVD and the images remained frozen on the
television screen. "This is one incident," he said "We have seven
more–ah–episodes recorded. All of them took place in the last week–
sometimes she had two boys in here."

"Are they all like this?" Burton asked.

"Pretty much," Darger said.

Edgerton gave a quick glance at Shannon. The girl's face showed
absolutely nothing and Edgerton decided that Shannon's looks were one
of her best weapons–she could display complete indifference to what
was going on while behind her expressionless face her mind must have
been working at warp speed.

"We can skip the next six scenes if you want to," McMahon
said. "They're all pretty much the same–she comes in, she lets in a
boy, he pays, they do whatever, boy leaves, she leaves."

"The last one is most important," Darger said. "Let's go to that."
McMahon advanced the DVD until the local time/date stamp in the
corner said May 13, 2004, 3:45 p.m. As in the first scene recorded,
Shannon came in, set the lock, left and came back with a boy in
Thurmond uniform. He handed her money and she and the boy, identified
on screen as Chase Wessler, committed more acts Burton was again
shocked and repulsed by.

Afterward, Shannon reached for her backpack and rummaged around in
it. She took out a plastic sandwich bag and put the prophylactic they
had used in it. "What're you gonna do with that?" Wessler asked.

"You take it with you and toss it," Shannon said. "Or, you can keep
it for a souvenir–this is the last time."

"Aw, c'mon," Wessler said.

As they talked, Shannon had been putting things back on Nick's desk
in more or less their proper places. "Nope," she said. "That's it–no
more afternoon delight–not for a while, anyway."

"What happened? Get tired of it?"

"I'll never get tired of it. I just got what I need is all."

"What did you need?"

Shannon had been rummaging further in her backpack and stopped to
look at the boy. "Between keeping everybody at dumb-ass Thurmond
happy and my allowance and hocking a couple of things, enough to buy
a shitload of cocaine."

"Gonna have a party?"

"Not quite." Shannon pulled what appeared to be a bank form of some
sort and a note with Burton's signature on it out of the backpack.
She walked to Nick's window, put the note against the window and the
form on top of the note and, using the window as a vertical light
table, forged Burton's signature. "Now I can tap into my college
fund." She turned back to the boy. "Whose office is this?"

"I don't know."

"Mister Nicholas Snotty-Ass Fallin, Esquire." Wessler looked
blank. "Burton's son. He's on probation for drugs. "

"So?"

"He gets caught with coke, grass, anything–and he's back in jail." As
she talked, Shannon had put the forms back in her backpack and had
taken out another plastic bag. She opened it and took out a marijuana
cigarette and a matchbook. She lit the joint, dropped the match on
the glass top of Nick's desk and took several long tokes, then handed
it to the boy. They shared it during their conversation.

"Is he using?" Wessler asked.

"I don't think so. Who cares? All I have to do is get a stash, put it
in here and tell Burton I found it. He'll believe me. And he'll be
furious with Nick for leaving it around where I could find it–Nick's
supposed to `set a good example.' Burton will believe it's Nick's and
so will the cops." Shannon sat cross-legged on Nick's desk. "Burton's
a total idiot–I can get him to do anything. If he thinks Nick is
using, he'll be so mad he'll turn in Nick himself. But I've got to
get enough to really matter, so I need a lot of money because we're
talking about a lot of coke. With–oh, about eight ounces of coke, and
since Nick's already got a record, he'll be in prison forever. Burton
will adopt me and I'll get everything."

The boy shrugged. "Do you want him to?"

"Are you kidding? I don't give a shit about Burton, but if he wants
to throw money at me, fine. I'll play darling daughter. No skin off
my ass."

"Hey, if that's your thing."

Shannon displayed complete indifference. "Nick had his chance. Now
it's my turn. Look, you've got to get out of here." She took one last
toke of the joint and let it go out. "Okay, now where would Nick put
a roach he might want to use later?" She looked around. "Yeah." The
cameras recorded her putting the roach behind some law books that she
moved out so as to arouse the curiosity of anyone searching the
office. She dropped the spent match in the wastebasket.

Meanwhile, Wessler went to the door, opened it and cautiously peeked
to make sure no one was coming. "Bye, Shannon," he whispered. She
waved at him absently and sat at the desk as he left, closing the
door behind him. When Burton came in moments later she was deeply
absorbed in a book.

Burton watched himself walk into the office and put a hand on
Shannon's shoulder. She smiled up at him. "Ready, honey?" his on-
screen image asked. "Oh, just about," Shannon replied "I got so
interested in this I didn't notice what time it was."

McMahon stopped the DVD. "Okay, now we're up to last Friday," he
said. He started the DVD again.

The date/time indication said May 14, 4 p.m. Shannon entered the
office. She closed the door, set her backpack down on the desk, then
took a look out the door. She once again set the lock and walked out.

A few minutes later she came back in with a tall, thin young man, who
seemed to be trying very hard to look ahead of himself and back over
his shoulder at the same time. "Relax," Shannon said. "The jerk who
uses this office isn't here–yet. Nobody knows you're here. Now where
is it?"

"Let's see the money," the young man replied.

Shannon took a roll of bills out of her backpack and handed them to
the young man, whom the visual recognition system identified as Roger
Pryzbycka. He counted them. "There's three grand here," he
announced.

"That's what we agreed on," Shannon said.

"Yeah, well, forget you ever saw me. I don't deal to kids." The young
man slipped the roll of bills in his pocket. He handed Shannon a
small object. She took it and put it on Nick's desk.

"That's evidence of a buy–but not by Nick Fallin," Darger
said. "The `dealer' is an undercover cop."

They continued watching. Shannon put on the gloves and took a roll of
plastic wrap out of the backpack. She pulled out a sheet, tore it off
and laid it out on Nick's desk. She wrapped the package and sealed
it, using the tape from Nick's dispenser. Still wearing the gloves,
she pulled out the lower right hand drawer of Nick's desk, put the
package in and closed the drawer. She took put the plastic wrap in
her backpack, took off the gloves and put them in as well. She took a
book and a looseleaf binder out, put the backpack on the floor
against the wall, sat at Nick's desk and arranged things on the desk
to look as it she had been studying. After a few minutes, she opened
the drawer, left it pulled out and picked up the telephone.

"We can stop it here–we know what happened next," Darger
said. "Shannon, would you care to comment–where is Shannon?"

Edgerton moved in her chair a little. "She slipped out about five
minutes ago. Most of us were so busy watching the TV we didn't
notice."

Burton was galvanized into action. He stood up and opened one of the
conference room doors. "Gretchen, did Shannon come out here a little
while ago?" he asked.

Gretchen didn't look up from what she was doing. "About five minutes
ago, she said she was going to the ladies' room," she said. "I saw
her take out her cell phone as she went." And I hope she keeps going,
her attitude conveyed. Like most of the ancillary help at Fallin &
Fallin–and not a few of the partners–Gretchen resented the way
Shannon had been forced on her. Then, too, Shannon had manifested a
mistress-of-all-she-surveyed air whenever Burton wasn't around, which
had done nothing to endear her to the staff.

"The ladies' room is right next to that emergency stairway with no
alarm on the door, isn't it?" Edgerton said to Burton.

"Yes," Burton said quietly. As much as he didn't want to believe what
he had seen, he knew he had to–there was too much on the video that
could not have been faked. And even as he became aware that McMahon
was making a cell phone call, a sinking feeling inside him was
beginning to grow and spread. Oh, God, he thought. Nicholas.

"Roy Cantwell is down in the parking garage," McMahon said. "Manny
spotted him–that old boiler of his is hard to miss."

"Manny?" Burton asked.

"My son-in-law," McMahon explained. "He works with me sometimes–like
now." He, Darger, Edgerton and Burton had been heading toward the
doors and the elevator lobby as they spoke.

"Let's shake a leg," Darger said. They got into an elevator and took
it down to the parking garage. Manny Martinez was waiting when they
got out, a finger to his lips in a gesture that meant "Don't talk."
In silence they followed Manny around one of the columns supporting
the structure to a spot between an SUV and a minivan where they had
an unobstructed view of Roy Cantwell's beat-up vintage El Dorado.

"Come on, goddamn it," Shannon snapped at her father.

"Come on where?" Cantwell asked.

"Burton's, where else? I've gotta grab my stuff."

"What happened?"

"He had his goddamn office bugged, that's what happened."

"Who, Burton?"

"Hell no. Burton doesn't have that much brains. Nick did, the
bastard. Everything I did in there for the past week–it's all on tape–
a `joint investigation,' the rat said."

"Joint who?"

"The city and the feds. Come on, Roy."

"Hey, whoa, wait a minute there, little honey." Cantwell stopped in
the act of getting in the car and looked over its roof at his
daughter. "I'm not gonna start screwing with the feds, kiddo."

"You don't have to screw with anybody. Let's get out of here. I just
want to get the important stuff, like my I-Pod–and a bank book or
two." She got in the car. Cantwell followed suit and started the
engine.

McMahon turned to Darger. "Okay, you, me and Manny tail them. Cass,
you ride with the head honcho here."

"Right," Edgerton said. She looked hard at Burton. "Are you up to
driving, or do you want me to?"

"I can do it," Burton said. He unlocked the Cadillac, which was
parked nearby in the spot accorded him as part of the office lease,
with his remote control, and got behind the wheel. As he started up
the ramp, he turned to the woman seated beside him. "Where're we
going, anyway?"

"Can't you guess? Your place."

"What for?" He thought for minute. "Oh. Yes, I guess I should be
there." He sighed. "I thought I knew her."

Edgerton turned so that despite her shoulder belt she was looking
directly at him. "And did you?"

"I suppose not."

"Did she ever give you any indication that she reciprocated your
feelings for her?"

"No, not really. I thought, give her time, she's had it rough, no
stability. She'll settle in, come around."

"She's been with you for what, more than a year?"

"Yes."

"And for more than a year you've been waiting for her to come around?"

"Well, if you put it that way–" Burton paused. "Yes, I suppose I was."

"And while you were waiting for her to come around–you know, we have
a good deal of evidence besides what you just saw–head and pubic
hairs we collected, body fluids that the cleaning crew missed,
fingerprints. All of it points to she was planning this for some
time. She left evidence she was looking for somewhere to plant that
stuff when we–our people–checked out Nick's office almost two weeks
ago. We found it and decided to set up the cameras."

The Cadillac was stopped at a light and Burton took the opportunity
to take one hand off the wheel and run it over his head. "Nicholas
told me. More than a year ago he told me: `She's a street kid. She's
very cute and she acts real sweet, but she's screwed up.' He knew–
knows–those kids." Burton shook his head. The light had changed and
he accelerated enough to keep up with the traffic.

"He did additional community service because of me," Burton went
on. "He almost got his probation revoked because of me. He
paused. "Nicholas," Burton said. "Nicholas. He saw that tape, DVD,
whatever, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He knew she was trying to frame him. He knew she was trying to set
him up." Burton took a ragged breath. "And she–she knew what I'd do.
She knew how I'd react. She knew what I–" The cold, sinking feeling
grew to a full realization that hit him like a fist in the
stomach. "Oh God, what I said to my son."

"Don't worry about it. He'll get over it" would have been the
standard rejoinder at that point. Edgerton didn't make it. She
settled back in her seat, looked straight ahead and said nothing.
Yes, what you said to your son, she thought. Well, don't look to me
for comfort, Fallin. You played right into our hands, just as we
thought you would. If he ever had any doubts about joining our crew,
you just resolved them for him. We ought to pay you a finder's fee.

Burton turned his head briefly before returning his attention to the
road. "Miss–Doctor–Edgerton, how did you come to know my son?'

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Well, do you know if he–" Burton paused, swallowed and tried
again. "After what I–I just need to know–is he all right?"

"I have no idea what your criterion for `all right' is," Edgerton
said.

"I–I need to know if he's okay. I–this weekend–I know he–needed
someone."

He had someone–several someones –but I just decided you don't need to
know that, Edgerton thought.

"And–my God, I just remembered–today was his last appointment with
his probation officer," Burton said. "I looked forward to that for
so long–" He stopped. "Shannon–she took that away from me, didn't
she? I wanted to celebrate that with my boy and–"

"If you say so," Edgerton said.

Burton took a very deep breath. "No, I don't say so. I'm the one who
reacted the way I did. I could have done it differently. I could have
asked. I could have heard his side. I didn't. All she had to do was
smile at me. She was right about one thing–I'm an idiot." Edgerton
listened in silence.

The Cadillac turned into Burton's street. Cantwell's El Dorado was
parked in front of the house. A police cruiser and the SUV McMahon,
Martinez and Darger had used were parked in front and behind it. The
front door was standing open.

"We got here a minute or two after they did," Darger, who was
standing on the front walk, said as Burton and Edgerton
approached. "We won't let them take anything out of that house you
don't allow. I think you better look over whatever she's taking
pretty carefully."

"And we've had our people checking your bank and credit card
activity," McMahon, who had joined the group as Darger was speaking,
said. "They'll have a report ready for us in a couple of minutes."

"Thank you," Burton said.

McMahon aimed a level stare at Burton. "No thanks necessary We're
charged with protecting several peoples' interests, including yours,
and that's just what we're going to do." Burton became aware that
McMahon was giving him the same hard blue-eyed look he had when they
had first met at the Fallin & Fallin reception desk. This man did not
like Burton Fallin. Well, that's okay, Burton thought. Right now I
sure don't like myself much, either. With the two cops from the
patrol car, Burton, Edgerton, McMahon, Martinez and Darger walked
into the house.

Sounds of drawers and closets opening and closing came from Shannon's
room. As the group headed to the stairs, Burton glanced into his
study. Cantwell was going through the desk. One of the cops stepped
in and stood at his elbow. "If you don't see what you're looking for,
ask for it," the cop said. Cantwell looked up.

"Shouldn't you be helping Shannon pack?" Burton asked in a voice Nick
would have recognized as dangerously quiet. Cantwell said nothing.

The cop reached to take several bankbooks and credit cards from
Cantwell, who surrendered them without a struggle. He handed them to
Burton. As Burton took them, Martinez walked in.

"Okay, this is Shannon's college fund," Burton said. "I won't contest
anything she does with it." He looked through the rest of the
items. "This is a $13,000 certificate of deposit in Shannon's name.
This is another one for $5,000." He looked through the rest. "The
rest is mine."

"All you need is a witness to take Nick's name off them," Cantwell
said. He was grasping at straws and knew it, but took a chance.

Burton's eyes flashed fire. "In case you hadn't heard, her little
scheme to frame Nicholas just got blown out of the water. She gets
what I gave her and that's it. You, too, Cantwell."

"If I may interrupt," Martinez said, "Fallin, we've just blocked all
your bank and credit card accounts. You're the only one who gets into
them. She tried to make a $2,500 withdrawal through Cantwell here
from an account at Duquesne Bank, but the bank got suspicious and
called federal regulators and they called us." He smiled a thin smile
at Cantwell. "Guess she didn't have time for anything else."

Darger appeared at the door. "I just got through talking to the DA
and the United States Attorney," he said. "Cantwell, your daughter
bought cocaine from a decoy cop. She bought that cocaine with money
obtained either through illegal bank transactions or through
prostitution. She planted it in the office of a person who is
contracted to work for the United States government; that makes what
she did a federal crime. You never signed away your parental rights,
so since she's a minor, you're responsible for her actions, not
Fallin, here. That means besides her spending the next few years in a
secure facility, you can be penalized for what she did."

"Can't we work something out?" Cantwell asked.

"Well. Your last known place of residence was Reading?"

"Yeah."

"That's outside Allegheny County. Do yourself a favor and stay there
forever. If you come back here as far as the DA is concerned, as long
as you manage not to attract any kind of official attention, we'll
keep this one under the radar. If you or she cross any official
sights, we'll take another look at your recent activities. The same
goes for the feds. Stay out of their way and you get a pass.
Otherwise, both of you are looking at a stay as the government's
guests."

"Uh huh." Cantwell turned to Burton. "What about you, Fallin? Don't
you have something to say about this?"

"Just get that snake out of my house," Burton said.

"Hey, whatever," Cantwell said. "Just remember, old buddy, you were
the one who wanted her here." He waved a hand at his
surroundings. "Nobody put a gun to your head."

Shannon, Edgerton and a policewoman were coming down the stairs. "She
says you gave her the luggage, the electronic devices–the CD and MP-3
players, the I-Pod, the PDA," the policewoman said.

"Yes," Burton said. "I'll cancel the cell phone account, though."

"We checked with your insurance company," Edgerton said. "We have an
inventory of all personal items of value. As far as we can see, she
doesn't have anything she isn't supposed to, but all the same, better
check this out." She handed him a sheet of paper.

Burton and the male cop went into his study. Burton moved the picture
that concealed his electronically operated home safe and entered the
code that opened it. He checked its contents against the
inventory. "Everything's here," he said.

"What about silver, hollowware, your jewelry, all that?" the
policewoman asked. Burton, Edgerton and the policewoman went through
the house, checking various items. Noting seemed to be missing,
Burton saw.

"We'll keep the file open for a while," the policewoman said when
she, Edgerton and Burton had returned to where Cantwell, Shannon,
Darger, the male officer, McMahon and Martinez waited. "If anything
turns up missing, just let us know."

"Check out upstairs," Edgerton said. Burton, she and McMahon, did.
They came back down to the group in the hall. "You're satisfied
everything that should be there is there?" Edgerton asked.

"Yes, thank you," Burton said.

The policewoman opened her notebook. "Who's her social worker?"

"Mrs. Solt–Laurie Solt," Burton said.

"Okay, here's what happens," the policewoman said. "We'll take her
back to the Allegheny Children's Shelter and notify the social
worker. Cantwell, you can pick her up later this afternoon after we
finish processing the paperwork."

"And we won't sit on the paperwork, either," Darger said. "Cantwell,
you have 24 hours to get the two of you out of town. This time
tomorrow you better have a good reason for still being here. You
might as well take her things with you."

"Anything you say," Cantwell said. McMahon and Martinez helped him
gather Shannon's belongings and put them in the trunk of his car. He
turned to Shannon. "I'll see you later, honey." He went down the
front walk, got in the El Dorado and maneuvered it away from the curb.

The policewoman put a hand on Shannon's shoulder. "All right,
Shannon, the sooner we get you back there, the sooner you can go with
your father."

"Wait," Burton said. The policewoman paused. Burton looked at
Shannon. "I treated you like you were my own," he told her, a little
forlornly.

Shannon shrugged. "I never asked you to." She turned and walked out
the front door. The policewoman escorted her down the walk and into
the police cruiser. The male officer got behind the wheel. Burton
stood on the front walk and watched as the car drove away.

Darger handed Burton a card. "This is a locksmith we recommend.
Better get them both done–the house and your office."

"Yes," Burton said. Edgerton, McMahon, Martinez and Darger got into
McMahon's SUV and left.

************

Burton stared at the card in his hand for a moment, then went back in
the house, closing the front door behind him. He went into his study
and called the locksmith. The man assured him someone would be at the
house in 45 minutes at the most. "I need two sets of keys," Burton
said. No problem, he was told. Burton thanked him, hung up and then
put in the first of what would be many, many calls to his son's cell
phone.

Gretchen responded to Burton's call to his office. No, Nick was not
in the office, she told him, but according to the schedule he and all
the partners left with her, he'd be chairing the partners' meeting
Tuesday morning. Burton thanked her, told her he expected to be out
for the rest of the day, and rang off.

The locksmith arrived and Burton spent the next hour watching as all
the many locks for his home and garage were changed. Yes, the
locksmith did offices as well, yes, someone could be there Tuesday
afternoon. Burton thanked him, paid him and looked at the two sets of
keys the man had left with him. He put one set on his key ring and
looked at the other. He called a jewelry store not far from the Frick
Building and put in an order. He would pick up his purchase before
going into the office the following morning.

"Look, Burton," Alvin Masterson said in answer to Burton's next
call, "You got me a half-million-dollar endowment and I appreciate
it. but like I told you Saturday, I can run my own shop without any
help from you, so if you're calling to give me another earful of why
I should throw Nick out of here, forget it. In case you didn't
notice, law school tuition went up 223 percent just at public
colleges in the past 15 years. That means some of these kids get out
with $80,000 in loans to pay off. No matter how idealistic they are,
there's no way they can take a job at $26,000 a year with me and
still eat, let alone pay rent. Three or four of them leave for a spot
with a firm like yours every year just so they can pay their bills,
and losing just one of them means I have to reassign about 50 cases.
Nick being here gratis is a godsend, and you're not going to pressure
me into tossing him. Besides, I thought you were supposed to uphold
the Constitution as well as the canons of the bar. Whatever happened
to the presumption of innocence?"

"Alvin–Alvin–" Burton managed to get a word in edgewise. "– I know, I
know. You're absolutely right. I–I just need to know if Nicholas is
there–I need to talk to him."

"I thought you didn't want to know he existed."

Burton's brain caught up with what Alvin had said. "How do you know I
said anything like that?"

"We got a look at some home movies. Insurance, in case we have to
take care of your star boarder sometime, and with our luck we will.
The epilogue said an awful lot about the characters."

"Alvin, please. If you–then you know why I have to talk to my son."

"Oh? What I heard, you didn't have one."

I'm about to be very publicly humiliated for a very long time, Burton
thought. Well, I can't say I didn't ask for it. He felt himself
breathing heavily. "Alvin, please–"

"Okay, if I see him, I'll give him the message. It's up to him to
answer it."

"I appreciate that. Tell him I said `please'."

"Uh-huh." Alvin hung up. Through his open door he could see into the
conference room. Nick was talking with a young girl and her mother.
He leaned forward, making his point. The mother's face crumpled in
grief. Nick handed her the box of tissues that always sat on the LSP
conference table. She took several and began to cry into them. Nick
watched for a few seconds, then patted the girl's hand. He leaned
toward her and said something. The child smiled wanly and the mother
took the tissues away from her face. Nick and the girl both moved
closer to her and said something. Then the mother smiled a little,
too. Hope seemed to have blossomed in the room.

Alvin reached for a phone pad and wrote Burton's message on it, tore
off the sheet and got up. He went into Nick's broom closet office and
put the message on the desk. As he turned to leave the office he
glanced in Nick's waste basket. Several crumpled pieces of paper the
same color as the message Alvin had just left reposed in it. Alvin
shook his head and walked out.

Between phone calls and running several errands connected with the
changed locks and Shannon's departure, Burton tried other places to
find Nick, including Fred De Sica, who told him brusquely that since
Nick had completed his probation, there was no reason for him to be
under any kind of official supervision. De Sica had no idea where
Nick was or what he was doing and as long as he didn't engage in the
kind of activity that would result in his being brought to De Sica's
official attention again there was no reason for De Sica to be
informed of his whereabouts. He added that he, De Sica had something
like 64 other cases to keep track of and was just as happy to realize
he was through with one, and rang off. In between calls to his banks
and financial advisors, all of whom told him he'd need to get Nick's
signature on his various accounts, Burton filled Nick's voice mail
with messages and then switched to leaving one call after another on
his son's home answering machine.

At the end of a very long day, Burton did make contact with Nick,
whose answering machine recorded messages digitally, instead of on a
tape. Even so, there was a limit to how many it held and Nick had
quickly wearied of hearing the same thing over and over again. He
stopped the playback, turned off the recording function and went to
bed. He was drifting toward the edge of sleep when once again the
extension on his night table rang. He resisted an urge to pull the
cord out and after five rings, took the handset from its
cradle. "Nicholas?" Burton said, "Nicholas? I have to talk to you. I–
I know about–" All he heard in reply was the dial tone after the
receiver was slowly replaced.

******************

Burton tossed and turned for most of the night and finally fell into
a restless, unsatisfying doze near dawn. He woke to realize it was
well after eight o'clock, and the partners' meeting started at nine.
He cursed briefly, completed his morning ablutions, dressed and
headed out of the house.

The jeweler had what he had ordered–a sterling silver key ring with a
silver disc dangling from it and a small ball on one end that twisted
off so the keys could be put on. On one side of the disc Burton had
the intertwined F&F logo inscribed. On the other he had ordered
inscribed a very special message to a very special person. To his
relief, he saw that "Nicholas" was spelled correctly–he had once been
late sending Nicholas a birthday gift at school because some moron
had misspelled his son's name on a pen three different ways three
different times. It sure was hard to get good help these days, Burton
thought. He paid for the key ring–the engraving and the rush order
had put a big hole in $400, but Burton didn't care. In the car he
took out the extra set of house keys the locksmith had supplied and
put them on the key ring. The thing came in a little velvet bag and
he put the filled ring in it and put it back in the box. That way it
wouldn't jingle in his pocket.

"Morning, Gretchen. Have they started?" Burton asked his secretary as
he approached the closed conference room doors.

"Yes, Mr. Fallin, almost 45 minutes ago," Gretchen replied. She
picked up a sheaf of papers and went past him toward the copier.
Burton watched her go. Gretchen–and a lot of the staff and the
partners–had displayed marked coolness toward him ever since his
outburst at Nicholas last Friday. Burton sighed and squared his
shoulders. He knew he had damaged his standing with his staff. He'd
have to earn his way back into their estimation as well as that of
his son and that would take time. Well, he had no one to blame for
that but himself. He wasn't looking forward to the partners' meeting
either, but he had wronged someone and this was the only way he could
put things right. He opened one of the doors and walked into the
conference room.

"–and Microgen International is going to settlement next week,"
Nicholas, who with the rest of the partners was seated at the
conference table, said. "The Lassiter suit, that's a Justice
Department case. Jake, where are we with– "

"Morning, everyone. Sorry I'm late," Burton said. Several faces
turned toward him. Nicholas wore an expressionless mask."Ah–if I can
interrupt–"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by thirty degrees, Burton
noticed. He soldiered on. "There–ah–have been some–changes–that have
happened very suddenly in this office." He paused, swallowed. "I'm
having the locks to this office changed. New keys will be issued to
everyone who now has them by the office manager. Ah–I would recommend
everyone have their office locks changed as well; the firm will
assume the expense." He paused again.

"Ah–I will also mention this to the office manager, who can inform
the staff–after tomorrow the emergency exit near the ladies' room
will have an alarm that will be activated whenever the door is
opened." Burton took a breath. Here came the hard part. "The reason
for these changes is–" he paused.

"The reason–the reason for changing the locks is, Shannon –Shannon
Gressler. Shannon Gressler no longer has any connection to this firm
in any way. If she is seen anywhere in the vicinity of this office,
call building security." Several partners exchanged glances. Nick
remained expressionless.

"Ah–also, several people may have heard–" Burton swallowed. "There
have been–" He took a breath and tried again. "Last week, ah–things
may have been said that might lead to the inference that–ah–that
there might be changes in the–ah–management structure of this firm."
He took a breath. "This is not true. There will be no changes in the
partnership or the management structure." He glanced briefly at his
son. Still, Nicholas' face showed no reaction. "In connection with
this matter, I want to apologize to the senior executive partner for
the remarks I made. They were made because of an assumption which had
no basis in fact and which led to an erroneous conclusion on my part.
I had no reason to make them. I also apologize to the firm for making
those remarks publicly, which I had no right to do." He sat down.

"The Lassiter suit," Nicholas said. "Jake–" He did not look at Burton.

"We have a conference scheduled," Jake said. "The terms Justice is
offering are very reasonable. It should be concluded by next week.
Can I talk to you about it after the meeting? "

"Sure," Nick said. "Unless anyone has anything else–" No one said
anything. He glanced around the table, once again avoiding eye
contact with Burton. "–this meeting is adjourned."

People stood up and started to leave the conference room. Jake
maneuvered himself to stand next to Nick. Clay Simms moved to his
other side. "I need to talk to you, too, Nick," he said.

"Okay, guys, come on back with me," Nick said. The three left the
conference room, Nick ignoring Burton's outstretched hand. If he
heard his father say his name, he gave no sign.

For the rest of the day it seemed to Burton that almost every time he
looked up from whatever he was working on, Nicholas was walking past
his office. But whether coming in or leaving. Nicholas never cast a
glance in his direction. The office manager reported that she had put
the new front door keys directly into the hands of everyone who had
had keys previously, but had not been able to meet with Nick, who had
been out of the office for most of the day. Burton thanked her and
told her he'd see that Nicholas got his key.

Time passed, as it inevitably does, and shortly after nine o'clock,
people began leaving for the night. When Burton next glanced at his
watch it said 9:30. He walked out of his office, past Gretchen's
vacant desk, and looked down the corridor. A bar of light spilled
into the darkened hall–Nicholas was still in his office, and his door
was open. Burton patted his pocket –the key ring he had purchased
that morning was there, and so was the office key.

Nicholas was reading a file and making some notes on a yellow legal
pad. He did not look up from what he was doing or otherwise give any
sign that he was aware Burton had tapped at his open door and then
come into his office.

"Ah–Nicholas," Burton said. "Maggie didn't get a chance to give you
your office key. Can't have a law firm where the senior executive
partner doesn't have a key to the front door." He chuckled
nervously. "Here it is." He held it out. Nick did not look up from
what he was doing. Burton put the key on Nick's blotter a few inches
away from his son's left hand.

"You know, son, talking about keys, I–ah–I had the locks changed at
home, too." Burton patted his pocket and pulled out the key ring with
the duplicate set of house keys. "I think you should have a set–just
in case." He held the key ring in his left palm, praying that his son
would take it, longing to feel his son's fingers brushing against his
hand. Nick ignored him.

Burton continued to offer the key ring to Nick for a minute. "All
right, I'll just put them over here for when you're not busy, okay? I
really want you to have them, though." He put the keys on the blotter
next to the office key. As he did, he put his right hand on Nick's
shoulder.

Nick let his shoulder drop, leaving Burton's hand in midair. Burton
compressed his lips and straightened. He reached behind him, hooked
Nick's visitor's chair with his foot and pulled it toward him. He sat
down at the left end of Nick's desk, put his elbows on it and took a
deep breath. "Nicholas, I meant everything I said this morning. I was
angry and upset when I–when I said what I did last–last Friday. I
guess I thought–well, I–" He tried again. "I know you've been trying
so hard to beat this thing. And I know I haven't been much help, not
for a while now. And then I saw that–that stuff and I–well we both
know what I thought. I thought what she wanted me to think." He
sighed. "That's really something, isn't it? I got conned by a 14-year-
old kid. That's no excuse for what I said, though." He took a deep
breath. "What I'm saying is, I–I can't even begin to tell you how
much I–it was completely unforgivable. Please, Nicholas, please
believe me." He let his voice go lower, softer. "Please forgive me. I–
I love you, son."

How many times did you tell her that? This is the first time I can
remember hearing it from you–and damned if I believe it, Nick
thought. Skip it, Pop. I can't be bought that cheap. His desk phone
rang and he picked it up. "Cassie!" he said into it. "How're you
doing?" He sat up reviving to the phone call as a fern revives to
water.

Burton sat for a few more minutes, listening as Nick's end of the
conversation grew more animated. Finally, he reached for a scratchpad
and took a pen out of the stand on his son's desk. He wrote just one
word on it–"Please?"–put the pen back in the holder and slipped a
corner of the sheet of paper under the keys. He stood up and left the
room.

While he talked, Nick picked up the scratch pad sheet, crumpled it
and tossed it, unread, in his wastebasket. "Oh, nothing," he said to
Cassidy Edgerton. "Where did you want me to meet you and Kevin and
Manny? Give me about 15 minutes."


The End of Part 7, Section II