Agent Canfield yawned and stepped inside Martin's office, letting the door shut with an audible 'click.' "You sure you don't want any coffee?" she asked Martin, setting her own Starbucks cup down on the filing cabinet and delicately placing a FedEx envelope beside it. "I don't think you've had a full night's sleep in three days."

"No thanks," Martin replied, indicating his half-empty mug. "I got hooked on tea back while I was on the force - to get coffee down now I have to add so much sugar and creamer that I might as well be drinking melted ice cream." He peered at Canfield closely, "How much of that stuff have you had anyway?"

"Four mochas?" she considered. "Enough so that I won't have to sleep for at least another day. Just like college."

"And how long since you got any?" Martin asked, raising an eyebrow. Wincing, he added hastily, "Sleep that is." He shook his head, "Sorry, I'm not running on all cylinders myself."

Canfield laughed, and the angles of her face softened, making her almost pretty. "I had a nap earlier. I'll be OK. It's always like this for us -- we'll have days with nothing, then frantic activity for a week or two."

"Same here," Martin agreed. "It was always worse on the Force though. At least most of the time here I'm not worried that if I get some sleep six felons are going to slip away." He shifted in his chair and stretched slowly, "If this going to be another late one, I need to call home and check on Dorothy though."

"Why don't you just bring her in?" Canfield asked. "Half your office is avoiding us, and she could always hang out and watch TV in the break room. My son practically lives in my office these days, but it gets his homework done on time and I don't have to worry about where he is."

He turned to the phone and hit the speed dial. "Hello, Mom? No I'm fine, it just looks like another late night, and I was wondering if I could get you to drop Dorothy off here at work - that way you'd get some free time to work on your social life." He nodded twice, "Yes, tell her to bring him. I'd feel better about it if she did... Okay, call when you get to the deck, and I'll get you buzzed in." He smiled, "I love you too, Mom. Oh, and Mom? Give my best to Chuck."

Hanging up the phone, he smiled again. "She ought to have Dorothy here in twenty minutes or so." He nodded to Canfield, "Thanks for the idea."

She waved a hand dismissively, and sipped her coffee. "No problem. The joys of single parenting and all that."

"How old's your son?" Martin asked, extracting another teabag from his desk drawer and standing up. "Dorothy's XXX this year." He emptied the sodden teabag from his cup into the trash and dropped the new one in, adding a packet of Equal.

"He just turned nine," Canfield smiled, face softening again. "He's a joy -- he's headstrong, but a wonderful kid. Thank God his father was around, or he might have had to tag along on this trip."

Martin nodded, "I don't know what I'd do if Mom wasn't at Berkeley - spend a fortune on sitters I guess."

"I know what you mean. When I got the job, thankfully Patrick's father moved down to Washingon to be with him. It works out pretty well with my schedule -- occasionally he's at a show, but more often than not he's around."

Martin stepped over to the small coffee maker he'd installed in his office, and checked the water level. Seeing it needed some more, he added it from the container he kept next to the Mr. Coffee as he added, "Sounds like the two of you are still on pretty good terms." Wish *we* were ZZZ - but you made that choice for us, didn't you?

"Well --" Canfield made an iffy gesture with her free hand. "We are and we aren't. We manage for Patrick's sake, but other than suffering Christmas and birthdays together, that's about it. We never wanted Patrick to be in the middle of our differences." She shook her head. "Anyway, I didn't mean to ramble on about my ex. He's the least of our worries right now."

"No problem," Martin reassured her, as he started the Mr. Coffee and returned to his chair. "Sometimes I forget I'm not the only one."

Agent Simms had retreated for the evening -- she'd spent eighteen hours straight on her laptop, acquiring satellite photos and other data about the Mexican installation. She'd also learned that access to those images was being very carefully monitored, even if the data itself wasn't classified, and it had taken her a long time to bypass security. Tirzah had been occupied with cracking Rubicon's system with the other team, and Tran still hadn't shown her face in the office at the same time any PRIMUS agent was likely to appear -- so Simms had been entirely on her own.

"The files were waiting for me at the hotel," Canfield explained to Martin as she sank into the chair across the desk. "I haven't looked through all of them yet, but they should be everything that Sweet Pea has on the 'assassination' of Senator Relm a few years back -- and how that might relate to Director Coombs and the anti-paranormal movement. MacGowan's team is pretty tied up with trying to figure out what's going on inside Rubicon proper, so I thought we might take a closer look at this side. Can't hurt, anyway. I'd like to know what kind of nut I'm working for."

"I'm all for it," Martin agreed, setting aside the photograph he'd been looking at. "I'd sleep a lot easier if we could prove anything there to my satisfaction - one way or another."

Canfield picked up the FedEx envelope and tore it open. "I haven't thought of this case in months," she said. "Maybe even since last year. The basic gist of it -- you may remember parts of it from the press -- was that there was an attack by a 'mutant gang' at a speech given by Senator Relm. In the chaos, he was killed." Canfield shrugs. "Very sad story, right? Made all the papers, thank God the Hudson Hawks and Silver Avenger Hawkins all just happened to be there, right?" she asks, just a touch sarcastically. "What these documents show is some investigation that Sweet Pea's pals in Hudson City found out -- that Relm had terminal cancer and really only had a month or two left anyway. They furthermore found out that the gang who'd attacked them had recently received a rather large sum of money from one of Relm's old pals -- a man named Brooks Anderson, who is also one of the deacons in the KP movement." She leaned forward slightly and admitted sheepishly. "Of course, I really only thought of the last part yesterday, when I started thinking about the people in Washington who might be interested in a genocidal type of movement."

"That's why I had the files sent out," she said. "I wasn't involved in that case -- it was swallowed up as soon as we got the information -- but now that Vasquez's files are somewhat in disarray," she shrugged again. "More information is available. And since Sweet Pea trusts you --" she tossed him half the files. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," Martin replied quietly, fielding the files and stacking them in front of him. He looked at them for a second, then asked, "How many people know you asked for these?"

Canfield regarded the ceiling for a moment. "Let's see -- I think just Dennis, and maybe whatever clerk he had pull the files. Since I requested it, they'll have to keep a record of that that any of the librarians could access."

"How well do you know him?" Martin asked carefully. "And who has access to those records?"

"Dennis? I don't know -- he's been our assistant for a few years," Canfield responded slowly. "As for who would have access...I guess maybe fifty, a hundred people could find out, if they knew to look for it." Her green eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?" she asked. "I mean, I doubt that we've got internal problems that are *that* prevalent."

"We're looking at a potential internal problem that might involve the current Head of Intelligence for PRIMUS," Martin pointed out quietly. "How long has he had to get operatives in place?" He leaned forward, "And more importantly, don't you think he'd have a quiet watch put on anything in the files that might lead back to either him, or his co-conspirators?"

Canfield's green eyes widened at the implication, then relaxed. "No, I realize you're right," she said. "I just -- you know, I've been working for PRIMUS since I got out of college -- and that was a while ago. It's very hard for me to even consider that it's as rotten as I'm discovering..." She sighed. "Sometimes I wish I'd stayed up in New York. We were too busy there with investigations to ever think about internal affairs."

Martin looked at the wall for a second before saying bitterly, "It probably isn't the whole organization. It only takes a few bad ones to screw everything up for the rest."

"It sounds like you know firsthand what I'm feeling about PRIMUS," Canfield says quietly. "It also sounds like it doesn't go away easily."

"Hasn't for me," he replied, still looking at the wall. Damn I miss you Charlie. "Maybe you'll come out of it better than I did."

"I hope so," she sighed. "All Sweet Pea's had us working on is internal affairs for the past two years. It's not easy running up against the real IA people, who were all pretty much handpicked by Vasquez." She shivered slightly.

"I have a question that I've been meaning to ask one of you," she waved her hand to encompass the entire floor of the building. "I'm sure MacGowan would have a fit if he knew I'd asked, but why have you -- how have you -- been investigating what you have? If PRIMUS can hide its dirty secrets from itself, how the hell are you able to find them out better than we can?"

Martin thought a moment before answering. If it were just me, maybe. But I'm not putting everyone else at hazard just to answer that question. "That was the reason," he replied. "These people spent all there time trying to hide from the people they were *afraid* of - people like you and MacGowan, or Avenger Johnson. Us?" He indicated the office with a wave, "Why would they be afraid of us? How could we threaten them? A washed-up ex-cop? A mousy little computer nerd who jumps at her own shadow? A reporter who chases UFO's? We're nobodies to these people, not even worth the time to shoot."

He leaned forward, "Tell me the truth - did you or did you not ask yourself

something like 'How can *they* help *us*?' when Avenger Johnson sent you

here?"

She smiled ruefully. "No, I didn't. I asked myself, 'what the hell has Sweet Pea been smoking?' But your point is well-made, at any rate."

Martin leaned back. "I learned that on the Force - it's why so many hoods go down from informants with axes to grind. No one hides from mice when they're

watching out for lions." He nods towards the reports, "What scares me about these is that they might move us up the food chain...." He shook his head. "No way do I want these guys sending some of their hit squads to visit my mother and daughter while looking for me. I've seen the kind of 'help' these people employ...." His face twisted painfully, "I think I'd rather kill them myself than let someone like 'Spike' get his hands on them.'

"I think Spike bothers me more than any of the rest of it," Canfield admitted. "I know what happened to Rosenberg was terrible -- and there are other things, that I should find more repugnant, I'm sure. But knowing that KP managed to get him out just to be one of their goons -- it disturbs me. A lot. I just wish I understood their motivation."

She's fishing, Martin noted. *I* never mentioned Isaac. "I think he was a 'terror weapon' or something like that," Martin speculated. "He wasn't too popular, even with the crew we caught with him. They seemed less than thrilled when he turned his powers on - one of them was trying to escape the room when Spike killed him because he was in the way." Another distasteful expression crossed his face, "You don't suppose they got him out to get access to his powers for their little manufacturing process do you?"

She swirled the last bit of coffee in the cup for several seconds before answering. "I don't know," she finally admitted. "The resources that it takes to produce assault agents are pretty staggering. That these people might have produced the Rapture or whatever -- that's tantamount to producing Avengers; we're talking a project that costs millions of dollars to duplicate for each individual. And that's only money. Where did the expertise come from?" Canfield shook her head. "I think we're talking about more than one or two bad apples in PRIMUS, Mr. DuQuense."

Martin looked down at the records on his desktop, sighed, and got up again to move to the Mr. Coffee. "I'm not sure where they got the expertise," he began slowly. "I'd have to go with Rubicon for the initial process, but I'm lost on where they'd find the technical expertise they needed to make it work after that. Maybe they hired people in after the Soviet collapse? They *must* have been running programs like this behind the Iron Curtain, even if they weren't as successful. Even if they weren't, then the basic medical expertise and experience to learn the process ought to have been there."

"Maybe," Agent Canfield's voice sounded more troubled. "And maybe they had help from other quarters. Tell me, did the name Julius Merrill crop up in your investigation?"

"Yes," Martin admitted. "Although his current status was... unclear." Pouring hot water into his cup, Martin returned the pot to the warmer and moved back to his seat. 'As for the money...." He sighed sadly, "There's only one place I know of that they could get that kind of untraceable cash."

"Drugs?" she offered.

"Yes," he agreed. "It always seems to come back to that every time someone needs a lot of cash relatively quickly - without accountability." He smiled sourly, "Marvelous world we're leaving our children isn't it?"

"Delightful, even," she added. For a moment, Canfield remained silent and glared at the wall. "He's not dead, you know," she said, her voice troubled. "He was working for VIPER, last I heard."

"That would be truly marvelous," Martin sighed. "They're about the only thing I could think of throwing into the mix that would really make the whole thing worse."

"I'm not sure they haven't been involved all along," she responded, drawing the words out deliberately. "The biggest new drug on the market continues to be red dragon, for all that the Golden Gate Guardians stopped a shipment here last year. It commands a high market price and it's been funneled through VIPER operations all over the west coast. If I wanted to raise a lot of money in a hurry, that's how I would do it. You've probably also heard the scuttlebutt that red dragon is something of a derivative of cyberline, with temporary effects. We deny that catagorically, but it's not far off. And the only person who really had the expertise to develop it would have been our pal Merrill."

"Charming," Martin's face belied the word. "So they're using these right-wing extremists as a front for a takeover of the country?"

"It might not be much of a front," she responded. "I mean, so far as I know, Coombs really is that right-wing. They generate terror from paranormals from every quarter -- drugs, VIPER, Rapture, the deaths -- and PRIMUS can keep pushing for a bigger and bigger budget every year." She leaned closer. "Do you have any idea how many of those Apache helicopters we have?" she whispered. "I'm all for having the right tools for the job, but it's getting excessive. They're trying to double the production of Iron Guard armor by the year 2000, and if rumor is correct, they're also trying to get five new bases approved for next year."

"Of course they are," Martin said abruptly, pushing his chair back and moving to look out his window. "The first step to controlling a populace the size of ours is to install a police force capable of keeping them under control. All the successful dictators of the past and present knew that - or they wouldn't be successful." He was silent for a minute. "I really prayed I'd never have to see our descent into a police state arrive in my lifetime," he whispered. "There are so few places left for us to run."

"Well, it sounds trite, but we'll just have to stop it," Canfield responded. "We've ended up sitting on most of our information for various reasons -- for one thing, the public won't believe it, and because we don't want to paint unnecessary targets on our heads. I think I'm understanding why you people exist now," she mused. "Your boss is Sweet Pea's godfather. We all know they're close. This agency started about the same time Sweet Pea started learning about what was going on at PRIMUS. You're independent, you're the mice. I just hope you can keep it that way."

"Stop it how?" Martin asks without turning around. "If we go public with the evidence once we gather it up, PRIMUS and all th good it does goes down the drain. If we put a bullet in the head of Coombs and his pals, they'll just slip another batch in. So tell me - how do we stop it?"

"We'll find a way," she said. "I'm not saying it's easy -- I'm just saying that we don't have much choice. Unless you want your daughter growing up in a police state?"

"No. No, I don't," he admitted. "But I wouldn't be here for the worst of it. I'd take Dorothy and leave the country before then." He looked down at his hands, then back out the window. "If they let me," he finishes softly.

"Stop it," Canfield said, standing. "We're not to that place yet -- it'll take a long time before anyone can advance this that far. We're just going to have to deal with it now and figure out what the hell is going on."

Martin turned and smiled sadly, "Welcome to my nightmare." He sighed and started back to the desk, "You wanted to know how I kept awake, well there it is - every time I try and go to sleep all I can see are the camps full of children whose only crime is that their parent's genes mixed 'just right'...." Dropping into the chair, he reached for the stack of papers. "Let's see what we can do to let me get some sleep tonight then, all right?"

"It's not that bad yet," she reasserted. "We have time -- we'll stop them."

Agent Canfield grabbed her half the stack, and sat down again. "What the hell?" she asked, looking up at Martin. The expression on her face was decidedly worried. "This isn't right." She flipped page after page over -- and Martin could see the large blacked-out sections. "According to this," she said bitterly, "these documents have been certified 'Director's Eyes Only' as of Monday."

Martin picked up his stack and began working through it. "Same here," he sighed, dropping it back on the desk. "Seig heil."

Canfield's face flushed a dark red; she looked for a moment as though she were going to stand up and tear Martin's office into tiny pieces. She seemed to gather control of herself, and when she spoke, it was with a controlled, calm tone. "You were right -- it's bad," she said instead, paling visibly.

"However bad it is," a male voice said, opening the office door. "It's about to get worse." MacGowan slipped into the room and sat down next to Canfield. "Hello, Andrea," he said casually to his teammate.

"Marc," she acknowledged, not looking at him. "What happened?"

"Well -- we put Rubicon under surveillance and managed to get into their security system, with, um, Ms. McMurty's assistance," he responded. "They've got quite a little operation going on underneath everyone's noses. Human genetic manipulation, cloning -- you name it, they're experimenting on it. There is some good news here, actually," he crossed his legs and smiled over the desk at Martin.

"We found your partner -- Mira's got herself a nice bunk in some sort of freezer unit -- she's alive, so don't jump across the desk yet. The really bad news," he turned to Canfield, who finally turned to look at him, "Is that they also have a few other paranormals in there as well. Including Phantom from the Sentinels."

"MIra's all right?" Martin asked calmly, picking up his tea and sipping at it. Good, one more thing off my back - I haven't lost you yet partner.

"She's a popsicle, but she's still alive," MacGowan answered.

"Anyone else we'd recognize?" Martin asked. "Some of the Guardians fell off the face of the earth after the disaster at the Presidio. Or even right before it," he added. "No one ever came out and said what happened to Protector."

"UNTIL picked him up in Nice," Canfield supplied. "His girlfriend left him there, pretty bereft of direction. She doesn't leave men with much."

MacGowan opened his mouth, then shut it. "Good plan," Canfield whispered. Louder, she asked MacGowan: "Phantom -- was he in civilian clothes or uniform?"

"Civvies," MacGowan answered quietly, and Martin watched them share a look of perfect understanding.

"Crap," she said at last. " I guess that's their insurance against us. It won't be long before we're called back home. Has he been missing long?" she asked MacGowan.

He shook his head. "He's on annual - he's not even supposed to report in until next week."

"We are so screwed," she sighed. "Martin -- would you mind bringing MacGowan here up to speed on the rest of this?"

"Learn to speak German," Martin advised sourly, "because it's looking like we're headed that way fast. What we think we've got going is this: the only place we can figure that the men behind Rapture got their hands on the expertise to replicate the retrovirus process is the same place Andrea here tells me you think Viper got the know-how to create their new designer drug, Red Dragon - Dr. Julius Merrill. We're guessing that Viper is providing the backing for the project financially through Red Dragon sales, either because they work for the guys running the show in Washington - or because they own them."

Martin finished off his tea with a long swallow as MacGowan digested that. "Andrea requested some files on the Senator Relm assassination, thinking that there might be something we could use in that because of Relm's ties to these people." He tossed several of the liberally blacked-out pages in front of MacGowan, "Your new Intelligence Director beat us to it however. Since no one goes to this kind of trouble without wanting to hide something, we were just about to try and figure out another source for the data when you walked in."

"Rubicon," MacGowan answered simply. "We have to expose Rubicon."

"Obviously," Martin agreed. Eyeing the phone, he added, "We need to do it quickly too. I figure we're about five days away from these guys going on a 'mouse hunt.'"

"The question is how we want to do it. We didn't get into any of the secured files -- your Ms. McMurty hadn't, not as of yet -- and I'm pretty sure that they've got those on an isolated intranet. What she can do is get us into the building without setting off alarms, I think."

"It is imperitive that we get Phantom out of there, ASAP," Canfield said. "Without anyone knowing. This one could blow the lid on something that we don't want to get out."

Oh God, not *another* one, Martin groaned silently. Can these people got to the bathroom without creating a conspiracy? "If you're waiting for meto ask so you can tell me that I 'don't need to know' guys," he said with a shake of his head, "don't hold your breath. Because I not only don't *want* to know what this problem is - I don't *care* what it is." He leaned back into his chair. "What really matters is what we need to get enough evidence on Rubicon to blow the lid off their activities - and that we get our people out of there."

"What would you suggest?" Canfield asked. "MacGowan's storming the castle plan, or do you have something else in mind?"

"Look," Martin said leaning forward. "What we have here is really one big problem - not a bunch of separate ones. If we start trying to deal with discrete elements, then we're essentially giving all of the other people involved with this a free ride - and making targets out of ourselves. I want my partner out of there in the worst way - bad enough that I'm willing to consider some really stupid things in fact - but we aren't doing *anyone* any favors if we go after Rubicon and let the rest of these bastards off scott free while we're focused on them, right?"

"We're not talking about exposing an errant Senator or two," MacGowan said, taking the bait. "We don't know *who* we'll be opening ourselves up to if we expose all of this. It may be better just to deal with it in chunks. Christ, in the least it'll be easier to cover our asses. How exactly do you propose to go after the big guys in Washington?"

"Money," Martin replied. "It's the single element tying all of this together. Considering the amounts of it these people are moving around to finance the Rapture, to keep Rubicon's genetic research running, and to line Viper's pockets it has to leave trails we can follow. Now that we know that they're all tied together, it has to be easier to do." He paused, "As for covering our asses... do you really think that we're going to get out of this alive if we *don't* get them all?"

"Point," he shrugged. "Why don't we all reconvene for a meeting tomorrow morning? and discuss our next steps? I sent Hideo and Simms up to fetch the big boss, er, the Golden Avenger," he amended, "to tell him the news about Rubicon. That seems like a good enough time to break it all to him."

"Works for me," Martin agreed, as he eyed the phone again. This time, it obliged him by lighting up and ringing. He held up up a finger, "Excuse me for a moment." Tapping the speaker button, he answered, "DuQuense. Can I help you?"

"Mr. DuQuense, this is Officer Fore in the Parking Deck. I have a visitor who says you're expecting her - can you confirm that for me sir?" In the background, the sound of a car engine idling was momentarily overshadowed by the single bark of a dog.

Martin smiled, "If that's a ten year old girl, a Chow, and a slightly-stressed woman driving a Ford Taurus, then they should be okay - it's my Mother dropping my daughter off."

"That sounds like them sir," the officer replied. "I'll buzz them through, but they'll still need need to sign in with the officer in the Lobby."

"No problem," Martin nodded. "They've done this before. I'll call the Lobby for you and tell them to keep an eye out for them."

"Thank you sir," Fore replied. "Have a good evening."

"You too," Martin responded. Clicking the phone off, he immediately clicked it back on and used the speed dial function to call the Lobby. That accomplished, he turned back to the two agents. "Sorry," he apologized to MacGowan. "I'm giving my Mom the night off to spend time with her boyfriend, so she's dropping Dorothy off with me."

"You're giving her the night off?" MacGowan asked, puzzled.

"From watching his daughter," Canfield explained. "Some people like helping out with children."

Ouch! Martin winced inwardly. I guess that tells me where they went wrong as a couple. "Dorothy and RG should be up here in a minute or so," he explained. "Mom's been staying at the house nights since this mess started and I started living here - Andrea suggested I just have Dorothy come over and give Mom *one* night off in all of this." He shrugged, "It was a really good idea, and I'd never thought of it - God knows she deserves some time to herself, and she'd never ask for it if she thought I was in trouble for someone to help with Dorothy."

"That's nice," Canfield said frankly. "You're really lucky." She looked puzzled. "But who is RG?"

In the distance, the elevators went 'ding' and a resounding bark reverberated through the quiet offices just before the thunder of feet started down the hall. "That," Martin said, getting up and moving around the desk, "was RG."

Seconds later Dorothy burst into the room, a bookbag over one shoulder, closely followed by RG's recently-brushed form. Both of them bowled into Martin where he'd knelt by the door, and there was a brief flurry of playful activity before the two realized someone else was in the room. Straightening up, Martin took Dorothy's hand and introduced her under RG's watchful eye. "Dorothy," he said slowly, one hand signing to cover up for his not being in a good position for her to see his mouth, "these are two of the people I've been working with for the last few days. This is Mr. MacGowan, and Ms. Canfield."

Dorothy smiled. "I'm pleased to meet you," she said in the odd accent of one who can't *really* hear her words, holding out a hand. RG leaned forward a trifle, but merely watched.

"Pleased to meet you, too," Canfield said, taking her hand and shaking it. "Your dog is gorgeous," she said, ennunciating clearly and keeping her face trained towards Dorothy, "Do you have to brush him every day?"

Dorothy nodded, "RG says that Dad never gets all the tangles out. I think it's because he isn't a girl.'

Canfield tossed her head back and laughed. "Now you know why I cut all my hair off," she said, running a hand through the shoulder-length black hair.

With a sidelong look at Canfield, MacGowan bowed gallantly over Dorothy's hand. "Very pleased to meet you as well," he murmured, winking at Dorothy.

"Thank you," Dorothy replied, smiling again. She turned to RG and made a hand gesture, the dog promptly sitting up and offering a paw. "This is RG," she continued. "We go everywhere together." She made a face, "Except school, he doesn't like it there. They won't let him bark or do any other dog-things."

MacGowan smiled. "My boss lets me take my dog to work sometimes -- but that's just because he takes his, too."

"RG has to be very good while he's here," Dorothy explained. "There's lots of 'spensive stuff and he can't knock any of it over." She made a face, "Dad showed me how long it'd take to replace some of them out of my allowance. I don't think people live that long."

"Your dad should explain my Visa bill to you sometime," Agent Canfield added. "That would really shock you."

"I should go now. It was nice meeting you both," Dorothy said with a wave.

"Nice meeting you, too," the agents chorused, almost in unison.

"She's cute," Canfield smiled. "Really cute. I understand the photo gallery on your desk better now."

Martin smiled. "Thanks." He shook his head, "God knows I don't know where she got it all from, but she's been wrapping people around her finger since she was a baby."

"I thought all girls could do that," MacGowan commented darkly. "Aren't they born wit--oof!" he took an elbow in the ribs from Canfield.

"We should probably get back to our hotel," she said, her voice more chipper than normal. "We were talking about a meeting in the morning -- how about nine? Does that work, you think? Maybe there will be some of this -" she gestured to the paperwork "- that will make sense to us then."

"Sounds good," Martin agreed. "You might also try and come up with an idea where we can get a clean copy of this," he indicated the blacked-out report. "If PRIMUS is like every other bureaucracy in the world, there *has* to be a copy thye missed lying around somewhere." He paused, "Avenger Johnson's files maybe?"

"You had Dennis do this, right?" MacGowan asked Canfield, who nodded. He

looked at Martin. "That means it's the Washington copy. The Golden Avenger can't keep records on every case -- he wasn't really involved in this one, except peripherally -- he just doesn't have enough room. It was actually someone in Hudson City who broke it, what was that, in 1995?" Canfield nodded again. "There might be a file in Hudson City still -- we can check on that when we get back to the hotel. I think Agent Canfield's hope is that the Avenger remembers enough of what happened then to give us a better account than we can get through normal channels now. It's not a paper trail, but it might lead to one."

Martin nodded. "I've got a couple of things to look at here and then I'm headed home. If you guys can get that done tonight, then maybe we'll be ahead of the game for the meeting tomorrow."

"That's the plan, anyway," Canfield said, standing and opening the door. "We'll see you bright and early, Martin. Don't have too much fun with all this paperwork." MacGowan gave a short salute, then closed the door behind them.

"Don't worry," Martin replied, eyeing the materials spread out across his desk. "I won't...." Like I really want to keep on looking at this. He eyed the materials again, then shook his head. I need a break - wonder what Dorothy's doing? He smiled suddenly. No time like the present to find out. Saving his files to disc, he shut down the computer and headed down the hall towards the lounge.

It was just past seven when Tirzah stepped off the elevator onto the floor that housed Armitage Investigations Inc. The San Francisco high rise was just starting to buzz with early morning activity, but other than one light on in Tran's office and a faint sound of someone typing, AI Inc. appeared empty.

Before Tirzah had finished entering her security code on the keypad just inside the door, Tran emerged from her office. For once her appearance was remarkably commonplace -- hair her natural white, eyes pale blue, and her clothing simply jeans and a sweatshirt -- very low-maintenence for Tran, whose wardrobe tended towards neon colors, usually matching her hair and nails. But then again, the office manager had been lying low since PRIMUS appeared on the scene, and other than at odd hours, she didn't bother to show up at all. "Tirzah, great, just the person I was looking for. I need some help getting into the Iowa DMV system. You have a minute or five?"

"Sure, no problem," Tirzah replied. "Just let me drop this," she slung her backpack off her shoulder, "grab some caffeine," she made zombie-walk motions, her eyes half-closed, then grinned, "and I'm all yours." She made her way down the corridor to her office, emerging a moment later, mug in hand. "You're looking very... sedate this morning. So, what's in Iowa? Besides corn?" she questions, heading for the coffee room.

"Hopefully you won't ever need to know," Tran said cryptically from her office door. "Keep your fingers crossed."

When Tirzah returned to Tran's office, she found photos of various investigators -- notably herself, Martin, and Mira -- strewn about the office. "This isn't a very good one of Martin," she commented, "Isaac took it at the Christmas party -- I think he was making a face at his daughter at the time. I like the one of you, though -- looks very DMVish, but in a good way."

"Looks better than my Air Force ID, anyway," Tirzah replied, yawning. She took a large swallow of her coffee, then asked, "Why are you collecting pictures of us, any.... Wait a minute. Photos, DMV records.... " She grins wryly. "So, when is Ah-nold coming for us?"

"Hopefully never, but it's always nice to be prepared. Between Martin blowing away mafia goons and this mess in the mid-West, we figured it would be a good idea to cover our asses. David's orders," she clarified. "He's got some bug up his butt, but I'll be damned if he's telling me what it is." She paused. "I get first dibs on Ah-nold."

"But, but...," she mock protested. "Oh, all right." She sorted idly through the photographs, picking up one of herself huddled over her keyboard and grimacing. "This one, you can shred. So, who do you need slipped in the Iowa DMV? Mina or Martin or me? Sounds like a song cue." She grinned and took another sip of coffee. "So, my terminal or yours?" she questioned. "Let's get started before I fall asleep again."

"You're welcome to this one," Tran replied. "I'm *almost* in there -- I got in with a war dialer through another system, but I can't figure out how to create a new file."

Tirzah sat down at the keyboard. "Those don't always... I'm in."

Tran sighed. "Damn, you're annoying."

"I try," she replied.

"I think Martin's the most like the Iowa type," Tran said a few moments later. "Where do you want to be from?"

"Probably not from the North, considering my accent," she chuckled. "You know how it comes and goes." She thought a moment. "North Carolina? I could most likely fake my way through that. Or Kentucky."

"Hey, take your pick," Tran sighed, perching on the desk. "Just let me know the address you want, so I can put it on all the other documents -- bank statements, bills, etc. PO boxes are easier for me, you know. "

"How about...," she thought a moment. "Asheville, North Carolina. Then I can bore everyone to tears with stories about Biltmore. Or maybe Brasstown. God knows I'll never run into the other... half dozen folks from there," Tirzah finished with a chuckle, her fingers flying over the keyboard.. "How much more do you need in this file?"

Tran peered over her shoulder. "You may want to fill in the height field," she suggested. "But it looks great to me. I'm not good enough to get into TRW -- want to do that one?"

"Nah, let 'em wonder. How tall is Martin, anyway? There's only 'my height' and 'taller than me', except for 'much taller than me'."

Tran chuckled. "How I know *that* feeling!"

She taps a few more keys, replying absently, "TRW is actually more difficult than Equifax, but they do have this great gaping hole in their back... door. Just a sec." Another few keystrokes, and she raises an eyebrow. "They closed it, the little.... Hmmm.... This means war." She types furiously a moment, then pauses. "What was that guy's mother's name....?" Muttering almost under her breath, she cajoles the computer for several seconds, then says, "Ha! We're in. How good do we want his credit to be?"

"Martin? Hm...he's a pay-the-mortgage-on-time sort of guy -- I bet he's got good credit, maybe a few late Macy's bills or something, but nothing that won't give him a decent shot at the loan for his dream yacht."

"Will do," She entered the information, then smiled up at Tran. "Okay, one late payment to Sears, one to Macy's in five years. Should I give him a prior address in Iowa, or somewhere else? Maybe a college town?"

"Shoot, I almost forgot!" she smacked a hand to her forehead. "Give him a nice standing in a good college, too."

"Okay,"

A few seconds later, Tran said quietly, "Make this stuff good -- really credible. You may actually need this identity at some point."

"It's not like I haven't done this before, Tran," she replied quietly. "After all, it's how I got to be me."

"I know -- I just want to make sure *you* know what I know, you know?" she said. "We're in over our heads here."

"And trying to keep them," Tirzah commented. "Our heads, that is." She typed a few moments, then said, "University of Tennessee okay? I already know how to get in to their system. What should he major in? Cop stuff, or something innocuous?"

"What about something revoltingly middle America, like Kansas or Iowa? Probably not cop stuff --" she considered, then laughed. "Give him something really funny, like rhetoric. That'll fit in, I think."

"Hmmmm.... He's from Iowa; let's have him go out of state. Kansas... no, Oklahoma.. Let's see...." She murmured to the computer for several minutes, then shook her head. "Well, at least we know they have a good computer science department. Ah, got it. Now then, let's see about fuzzy studies.... The commander of the Yankees at Little Round Top was a professor of rhetoric, y'know." Her eyebrow climbed again and she resumed entering information. "Well, I'll be. They have one. Rhetoric, with an English minor? Sounds good. There he is, mostly B's, some A's, one C. Math," she finished sympathetically, glancing up at Tran.

"Poor guy," Tran added. "That professor was a real jerk. Now, what about your education?" she asked.

"Better to with something computer-ish. Unless it's another useless Lit degree," Tirzah mused. "I'll think on it for a few minutes. Let's get finished with Martin."

"OK," Tran yawned. "Excuse me -- long night. David called me at midnight to get all this stuff done before the meeting."

Tirzah echoed the other woman's yawn. "Don't do that!" she exclaimed, yawning again. "Why do you think I'm here this early? Getting out of bed at 6:30 is not my favorite pastime." She shook her head and opened her eyes wide. "Now. What else does Martin need? Don't suppose you have his personnel file handy? How much longer do I have before David's meeting?"

"Um -- about an hour and a half?" Tran said with a glance at her watch. 

Tirzah glowered at her. "Thanks so much," she replied sarcastically. "Martin called to ask me about something, and was very surprised to find out I wasn't up yet. Said 'oh, I thought you'd be up since we have that meeting....' And just for that," she picked up her mug and shoved it at Tran. "You can go get me another cup of coffee, while I re-create myself. Two sugars, lots of creamer. Hmmmm...," she mused, smiling. "Maybe this time I'll be tall and beautiful...."

"Would you like me to make an appointment with the plastic surgeon, then?" Tran asked, picking up the coffee mug. "I think we have it in the budget for the quarter."

"Honey, it would take more than a plastic surgeon for that; it would take an act of God." As Tran went out the door, Trizah added, "And did anyone realize that we'll need an identity for Dorothy, as well?"

"Dorothy was the easy one," Tran called out. "She's done."

"Yeah, but who gets to explain it to her? And did you remember her immunization records?

When Tran returned a few moments later with the coffee, Tirzah was leaning back in the chair, stretching. She gave the other woman a wide-eyed brainless look and said, in her very best beauty pageant voice, "Hi! My name is Tirzah McEntire; I'm from Brasstown, North Carolina. I have a degree in Computer Programming with a minor in Social Sciences from the University of Western Carolina, and what I want most in life is to help everyone learn to get along." She dropped back into her normal tone, and shuddered. "Bleah. I can only do that so long before my brain short-circuits."

"I know what you mean," Tran said, handing her the coffee. "Even when you can change your appearance at whim, it's annoying to do the blonde act for me than a minute or two."

Tirzah took the coffee eagerly. "Thanks. At least for us it's an act. I knew a girl at Aviano.... Well, her CO said -- on her official evaluation -- that she'd be 'out of her depth in a parking lot puddle'. Don told me that in one of her Military History classes, she was asked about D-Day. She didn't know what the prof meant, so he told her it was 'when the men hit the beaches'. To which she replied," Tirzah drops into the blonde voice again, "'oh, spring break!'"

Tran shook her head. "Makes you believe in eugenics, eh? Sounds like someone I would have popped on general principles a couple of years ago." She paused and shook her head. "Um -- I'm sure that just came out strangely because I'm tired. Think nothing of it."

"It's okay; I've got a few like that of my own." She sings a few bars, "'Oh, I've got a little list...,'" then yawns. "Sorry. So, who should Mira be? And is there anyone else so I can go ahead and build their credit record while I'm still in here?" She waves a hand at her monitor.

"Mira?" Tran shrugged. "Make her a reporter at some weekly paper in Idaho."

"Will do, but it sounds pretty boring." She turned back to the keyboard.

"That's why no one will ever expect it to be her," Tran responded. "Mira is many things, but boring has never been one of them."

"I see your point," Tirzah agreed. "Okay, one boring reporter coming up." She typed for a minute or so, then said, "You didn't answer me. Anyone else?"

"I hope not," Tran said under her breath. "You could see if we can't manage to get Isaac his engineering license, while we're at it. I bought him every CAD program I could, and he's ready to get back to work."

"Have you already created a new him?" Tirzah asked absently, staring intently at the screen. "Oh, shit. Are you married to Idaho?" She hit three keys simultaneously and Tran could hear the hard drive whine. "Sorry about that. Somebody came to work early," she explained.

"No, not a new him -- his license is forty-something years old, though, and he needs a new one. And you can make it Oregon or something -- I don't care, just someplace really boring."

"Sure he is," Tran replied, straightening a stack of files. "It's amazing what Oil of Olay can do to roll back those years."

She looked up from the screen questioningly. "Forty years? He'll either need a new him or the name of a really good plastic surgeon. Ain't no way he's old enough to have a license that far back."

"Sure he is," Tran replied, straightening a stack of files. "It's amazing what Oil of Olay can do to roll back those years."

"Right," she answered sardonically. "Gotta get me some of that!" She chuckled. "Okay, what kind of engineer? I've about got Mira taken care of here."

"Mechanical," Tran responded. "But do us all a favor and make him a card-carrying Democrat or something. Being a communist is what got him in all this trouble to begin with."

Tirzah yawned again. "'scuse me. Lordy, I hate mornings. Okay, let's see...." She worked over the computer for several minutes, cajoling it softly on occasion, and finally looked back up at Tran. "Mira's now a reporter at a small daily outside of Portland, degree from an equally small community college." She glanced down at her watch. "But Isaac's going to have to wait until after the meeting, I'm afraid. I still have to do some clean-up work on the identities, scan in photos and such, and it's pushing eight-thirty. Right now they'll stand up to some pretty good scrutiny, but if anyone really started digging.... Well, I don't know."

"Mira with a community college degree --oh, how funny, the way she talked." Tran laughed, then stopped herself. "I shouldn't laugh, what with her stuck in Rubicon like that. I *am* glad she's not dead, though, the way she went off half-cocked..."

"She always did strike me as a bit... impulsive?" Tirzah replied. "Martin's certainly glad we found her. And I'm not sure who that other guy was, but MacGowan sure went nuts over it." She grinned. "You know, there are times I love my job. There's just something satisfying about cracking a supposedly secure system." She paused, then mused, "I still need to get back and make another run on their files, 'tho...."

"The other guy was one of PRIMUS' new babies," Tran's voice dripped sarcasm. "Literally -- but it would appear that he has a pretty big dirty little secret they don't want to get out."

"What, that Sentinels team thing? Wow! I thought they did *serious* background checks before they'd even let you in their Academy, much less something like that." She shook her head. "I thought about applying when I got out of the Air Force, but decided to finish my degree instead. I wonder what got by them."

"You haven't heard?" Tran lowered her voice. "Mira dug up this dirt a while back. PRIMUS didn't hire the Sentinels, PRIMUS *made* the Sentinels. Apparently only a few people in PRIMUS know the truth -- not even the Sentinels know. That's why they're so careful with guarding who they are."

"Made?" Tirzah questioned, staring at Tran in astonishment. "You mean like... clones? I thought that was just sheep!"

"From what I heard," Tran said, "They got the babies and then raised them artificially quickly. I don't think they actually really made them -- I'm exaggerating. But they did raise them the way they wanted to, all except Phantom."

"So.... Why is he different? And how do you mean 'artificially quickly'?"

"Like in ten years, they aged them twenty and gave them false memories to boot," Tran said. "And Phantom....well, Phantom isn't the good old boy PRIMUS would have wanted him to be. Yeah, that's a good way to put it," she commented. "Which is why he comes out to San Francisco at least once a month. To visit a...very close friend of his."

"He's gay," Tirzah replied. After a moment's thought, she continued, "And their problem is...?"

"They're PRIMUS," Tran responded. "It would be just one more embarrassment in a long line of embarrassments....and if the media caught hold of it, they might start looking more closely at the backgrounds of all of the Sentinels. There's already a public outrage over the fact they have secret identities -- this would probably push that issue over the edge. And when that happens -- well, I can understand why PRIMUS would be scared."

"So they're afraid that if the public finds out Phantom is gay," she said slowly, "someone will start an investigation into exactly who the Sentinals are, and that will reveal their little... project?" She chuckled briefly. "Where are Scully, Mulder and the Lone Gunmen when you need them?" She shook her head and continued, "Well, I can answer one of three, but that's beside the issue."

She settled back in the chair and sipped at her coffee, now grown cold. Making a face, she set the cup back on the desk. "Blick."

"My, my, aren't we demanding?" Tran asked. "You make a few changes in a few remote files, and look at all the demands." She yawned again. "So that's the scoop on Phantom, anyway," she added on her way out the door. "If you need to make the agents squirm, just drop oblique references about him in their general direction."

"Hey, wait," Tirzah called. "What...? No, no, blick, not black. Blick as in 'oh gross, the coffee's cold', not black as in 'go get me some more'. Although, if you want to.... Two sugars, lots of creamer....?" she finished hopefully.

"Spoiled, spoiled," Tran said. "But I needed some myself, anyway." Several minutes passed, and Tirzah could hear the glass doors open, the security system give its warning "beep," followed by the sounds of its being disarmed.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she heard David Armitage's baritone, "my primary concerns are for their security following the --" he stuck his head in the door. "Oh, Tirzah, good morning -- thought you were Tran in disguise again. Have you met my godson yet?"

"Good morning, sir," Tirzah replied, rising to her feet and coming around the desk. "No, sir, I haven't." She extended a hand to the Golden Avenger. "Tirzah McMurtry. I've heard... quite a lot about you." <Perky, that's good, Tirzah. Another minute and maybe you can do brainless, too.>

The Golden Avenger's blue eyes sparkled with amusement, and he took her hand gingerly. "Not if David's watching out for you, no, I wager we can't. And not if Tran has anything to do with it,

either."

When Tirzah took the Golden Avenger's hand a series of images flash quickly before her eyes: two identical young men in Naval uniform -- obviously a much younger Ensign Johnson and his twin brother -- the sight and roar of an F-14 being catapulted off the flight deck of an aircraft carrier -- the same brother, now a commander in dress whites, in his late forties -- a well-decorated admiral -- a German Shephard dog -- a pretty Japanese woman -- Colonel Glenn from PRIMUS -- Kevin Armstrong lying at his feet -- a tall, redhaired woman that looked vaguely familiar to Tirzah -- and then he pulled his hand back.

"Glad you were able to help Tran out with those files, Tirzah," David nodded towards the computer. "Thank you. That's something else I need to discuss with you, Daniel," he continued, shepherding his godson out of the room. "There are some arrangements that have yet to be made..." The Golden Avenger gave Tirzah a quick "nice to meet you" wave, and followed David down the hall.

Tirzah returned his wave, then dropped back into the chair. <Take a deep breath; you're all right.> She shook her head. <Why is *he* here? And what kind of arrangements is he making with David? Lord, I'll be glad when PRIMUS is out of here and I can go back to some normal hacking. And where the devil is Tran with my coffee?> She got to her feet, checked carefully in the hallway to make sure she wouldn't run into "Sweet Pea", <Why does Agent Canfield call him that? An anti-intimidation ploy?>, and headed off toward the coffee room.

She found Tran halfway down the hall, standing still and listening. "Are they all here, or just the big guy?" she whispered when Tirzah was in range.

"Just him, as far as I know," Tirzah whispered in reply. "Got my coffee? Come on; let's go hide in my office. We need to talk." She led the other woman down the hallway, checking occasionally to make sure they wouldn't run into anyone, and shepherded her into her office, closing the door behind them and leaning against it. "Okay, Tran. Give. Why is," her voice deepened melodramatically, "Golden Avenger Johnson," and returned to normal, "here, and what is he talking to David about? And what does it have to do with the fake identities we were cooking up this morning?" She shoved her glasses back up on her nose and waited.

"The Golden Avenger shows up from time to time -- he used to be the Silver Avenger in San Francisco, and he still has a house here. Since his father and David are really good friends, he ends up visiting David about every other time he's here. I assure you, it's more awkward for Marisa than it is for the rest of us there… As for the rest of them…well." Tran paused. "How much do you know about the Rubicon case, anyway?"

"Nothing more, really, than what Martin told me," Tirzah replied. She walked around her desk and dropped into her chair. Picking up her stress ball and rolling it between her hands, she continued, "They're involved in some sort of medical research for PRIMUS; Mira was investigating then when she disappeared. He thinks they're involved in the unexplained deaths of several paranormals in the Bay Area, and they're making far too much money off PRIMUS for the amount of work they're turning out. And some guy named Edwards is involved." A small shrug. "I wasn't in on the preliminary investigation: I just got drafted to break their security system -- which incidentally needs some serious work." She tossed the ball back and forth between her hands a moment. "What's Dr. Emori got to do with Johnson?"

"He was engaged to her sister. Kim was murdered in 1991, and they kept in touch a bit. She...had some things happen to her which led her to seriously mistrust the government in general, and she's avoided him ever since. Kind of sad, really, since they have a lot in common."

"Oh."

Tran looked out the window. "From what we've been able to tell, Rubicon really is PRIMUS in a lot of ways. They're controlled by PRIMUS, and they're also behind the paranormal research that Keeping Promises is conducting. It's all one big, happy, fascist movement. We think that they have similar controls in place in the armed forces and major computer industries as well -- anything that would give them military strength or any type of power, including informational. The real reason," she continued quietly, "That the Golden Avenger is involved so closely with this company is that he's largely responsible for us existing as we do. He discovered the tip of the iceberg back in 1995, and started taking his own steps to see that there was someone or something available to stop these people. He couldn't just come out and hold a press conference -- it was going to require a bit more savvy."

Tirzah stared at her for a long minute. "So... we actually work for the Golden Avenger?" She shook her head to clear it. No wonder the Major was so hyped on me working here. I thought it was just David.... The stress ball took a bit more punishment, then she continued, "So what kind of research is this Keep.... Keeping Promises? Isn't that the 'I love you, you love me, let's all sit around in stadiums and cry' guys? What are they doing researching paranormals? Trying to find out if they make better husbands and fathers?"

"No, we really do work for David, it's just that Johnson's a font of information and guidance for us. Most of our cases have really been coming from him -- David has the cash to bankroll all of them. As for what KP's up to…" Tran's voice dropped off. "It's not them, so much as the people who control them who have the agenda. KP's a part of it, Rubicon's part of it, and so's PRIMUS and the military. It's about developing a power base, gaining acceptance, and being in a position to take control when the opportunity presents itself.

"There are other aspects, too -- their pet paranormals are calling themselves the Rapture and are terrorizing abortion clinics and the like. They've got a goon squad, too, and from what Martin and I discovered, they're pretty much bent on making more. They seem to have gotten the formula down for energy projectors, but they're working on developing…other kinds. They're doing this, Dr. Emori thinks, by kidnapping them if necessary or recruiting them whenever possible. KP has taken the stand that paranormal powers are something of an abomination to be cleansed. They're encouraging their followers to speak up if they have powers…then experimenting on them."

"That's sick."

Tran shrugged. "There are many people with minor talents who are bothered by them. One of the people that we…rescued, really, was a woman with some telepathic ability. And, In addition to the fact that Phantom conceals from everyone that he's gay…it's also concealed from the public that he's a very powerful mentalist. Think Menton powerful. In some ways," Tran added, "this is reassuring, even if it doesn't seem like good news. Because they kidnapped him in his civilian identity, it indicates that their control over PRIMUS is imperfect now that Vasquez is dead, and they weren't aware of what he really was. Of course, it also indicates that they have someone or something who's able to sniff out paranormals."

Tirzah's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

She opened her mouth to continue. "Does that make sense so far? I can't believe you haven't been given a good briefing on this yet -- I must apologize for that."

"Maybe that's what the meeting's for," she replied slowly. "And maybe I should have listened more to the Gunmen; they're always talking about conspiracies." She thought a moment. "So.... Maybe Rubicon doesn't really know they *have* Phantom, if they grabbed him in his secret ID? Or does that mean they know who his secret ID is? And what does Vasquez' death have... to... do...." She trailed off. "That high up in PRIMUS?" she finished in a very small voice.

"Used to be, til he,er, blew his head off," Tran said in a chipper voice. "We don't know how much Rubicon knows about Phantom yet, though -- that's one of the things they need for you to determine, when you get into the secure system." She yawned again. "I need to take off before the PRIMUS hacks show up. Anyway, Isaac's supposed to have breakfast waiting for me. Do you have any other questions I might be able to help you with?"

"Yeah," she replied slowly. "What is it you have against PRIMUS?"

"I don't have anything against PRIMUS," Tran responded. "I just wouldn't want any awkward questions."

"You mean like all the ones I want to ask right now?" Tirzah asked.

"Exactly those questions," Tran said, standing. "Have fun at the meeting, Tirzah. Don't let Agent MacGowan bite."

"Oh, I don't think he bites. And if he does, I won't let him chew." She chuckles. "Go home, Tran, and enjoy your breakfast." She eyed her now empty (again) coffee cup. "Think about me."

"Isaac -- Mr. 1950 -- is making breakfast," Tran countered, "I hope you don't mind, but I won't be thinking about you."

Tirzah stuck merely the tip of her tongue out at the other woman. "Nnnaaayyyhhh."