One and a half-hours later, Robin Williams, stood at the window of one of the interrogation rooms overlooking the drive. She saw a dark Landrover coming up the drive and stopping near the main entrance. Bending forward, her forehead leaning against the window glass, Robin watched a man, who she immediately identified as the head of CI5, entering the building.

"Miss Williams."

Robin turned round to see who was addressing her.

"Hey Sam," she said smiling as she saw Sam Curtis standing in the open door. "What are you doing here?"

A second man appeared behind Sam, answering her question without hesitation. "Mr. Curtis will lead the interrogation and you will be in the role of the victim, Miss Williams. We expect you both to take this seriously."

Frowning she nodded and sat down on the chair in the middle of the room, "Okay, whatever you want..."

Unexpectedly smirking viciously, Sam demanded to know: "Really?"

Once the interrogation officer had left the room, closing the door behind his back, Sam turned his back to the curly red on the chair. He walked over to the window and stared out of it for a couple of minutes; he had detected the cameras in the corners of the room as soon as he had entered it and he assumed the room to be bugged as well. While he had his back to her, he felt her studying him. When he finally turned round again, his face was expressionless. Burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he started pacing the room in front of her, deciding that he'd take his time, wait and see what would happen. He felt he knew the woman on the chair a little bit. She was impatient, emotional and easy to unnerve - just like Chris was. Curtis stopped pacing and leaning with his back against a wall he stared at her still not saying a single word.

Robin held his gaze equally silently until, after ten more minutes, she broke the silence. "Why are you staring at me? What do you want from me?"

To Sam it was more than obvious that she was annoyed and slowly getting frustrated. Knowing that his plan was working, he remained mute.

"What do you want from me?" she once again said. This time she almost sounded angry, protesting, "You have no right to keep me in here!"

A wry half-smile flashing over his face, he answered her. "I have every right."

********

"Good evening." Greeting the two instructors, who were sitting at a desk facing the monitors in front of them, Malone entered the video room.

Two heads span round in surprise. "Anything wrong, sir?" one of them asked.

"Not at all, Mr O'Brien. Proceed." Malone went closer and bending forward he watched the monitors. He saw Curtis and a pretty woman with red hair on one of the screens. The woman was sitting on a chair and obviously she was the victim and he the interrogator. On another screen he saw Keel with a younger man in another room doing exactly the same, only the roles were reversed.

Addressing one of the men, O'Brien, a bold, small man, Malone demanded to know, "Anything unusual so far?"

"Curtis is doing a good job today."

"Today?" Raising his eyebrows, Malone continued, "What do you mean today?"

"I meant, sir, that he seems to be a bit more composed today. We did everything you asked us to. Curtis tried hard to hide it, but we got him off balance. The emotional stress was too much."

"Hrmm," frowned Malone, "I want a a summary of the psychological reports and your observations on my desk in thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir," O'Brien replied instantly.

Already turning on his heels to leave, Malone added curiously, "What about Keel?"

"No problems with him, sir. He's doing a fairly good job and he is astonishingly calm considering his reputation for being far too emotional," O'Brien commented. "Do you want a report on Keel as well?"

"Naturally, Mr. O'Brien," Malone said leaving the room and the door open.

Waiting in an office for O'Brien and the reports Malone felt his nervousness and the well-hidden concern creeping back to surface. When O'Brien knocked on the door, he straightened before inviting him in. Taking the reports from O'Brien, he sat down behind his desk. Opening the first file, he noticed that O'Brien was still standing opposite him. "Anything else, Mr O'Brien?"

O'Brien shook his head in denial.

"Dismissed," Malone stated calmly, already skimming through the reports. An instant later he heard the door being shut.

It took Malone more than an hour to read and fully comprehend the reports. In the end he wasn't even sure that he wanted to know all he'd read and seen. As a beep of his mobile reminded him that it was time to leave for his appointment, he closed the last profile and got up. Somehow he felt relieved as he closed the main entrance door behind him and entered the car. He hadn't been prepared for what the reports were forcing him to accept; assuming he believed the CI5 psychologists and trainers.. He had seen Curtis on the monitor. The Englishman looked like he always did; calm, cool and controlled. However all the summaries and reports suggested that he was anything but controlled, albeit he apparently was trying to cover it up.

*******

A rough wind was blowing from the sea, as fifteen minutes later Malone got out of his car at the yachting harbour. It was ten to eight and he was early for his appointment with her, but he didn't care. He needed the time to regain control over his thought. Driving down to the beachfront he'd made up his mind. He wasn't willing to accept that one of his best operatives was finished.

Keel clamping down and thinking before acting, wasn't such a bad thing after all. Yet Curtis, insecure, always on the edge, had never been part of his plans. Pondering on what else he could do to minimise the insecurity Curtis evidently felt deep inside him, Malone stood by the sea staring sightlessly over the greyish waves.

"Harry."

Malone turned on his heels, searching for the woman who had addressed him. She was standing a couple of paces behind him and he crossed the distance between them. Coming closer he gradually was able to see more of her features. The woman was dressed in tight jeans and an oversized Shetland roll neck pullover and she carried a huge leather city bag. She looked much younger than the last time he'd seen her. The hundreds of tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose had formed into one big freckle. The rest of her skin was deeply sun-tanned. Strangely he realised he was glad to see that she was okay. However, the longer he looked in her bright eyes, he could see that there was something lurking in them that he couldn't clearly define.

"Why did you want to talk to me?" he said neutrally.

Taking his arm, she replied instantly, "Come on, let's go for a walk and a drink."

They walked down the promenade in silence, her body rubbing against his as she held onto his arm the whole way. In front of a pub by the seaside, she stopped and let go of his arm. Looking up, meeting his eyes, she broke the silence. "I need a drink."

They went in and ten minutes later both of them were sitting down together over a pint. She was smiling yet her smile didn't convince him. Malone watched her closely trying to read what was in her eyes because he knew her face was only a mask.

Opening her bag, rummaging through it, she came up with a folder. She tossed it over to him, picking up her pint with the other hand and over the top of it she said, "Have a look and you'll understand. This is all the material I gathered, including all the information he gave to me."

Malone opened the folder and skimmed through the papers and photos in it.

"They want you to ..."

"... Yes they want me to. They - or to put it better El Kadir - wants a perfect hit, a scandal provoking prefect hit," she agreed, keeping her voice deliberately low.

"When?" Malone still couldn't believe what he saw in front of him, written down in black and white.

"My choice. Probably the second day of the peace talks, but I haven't made up my mind," she laughed ironically.

"What are your plans? I assume you've already planned your next moves?" Malone took out one of the photos that showed El Kadir. There was a woman in this one who caught his attention. He was sure he had seen the woman before. She was quite tall and had wild, curly hair. The curly red head he'd seen on the TV screen with Curtis he realised.

"When and where was this taken?" he queried.

Titling her head, she glanced at the photo in his hands. "It was taken six weeks prior to our first contact, Harry. What's so interesting about it?"

"The woman. I think I know her," Malone retorted before he fell silent. Taking off his glasses and rubbing his nose, he told her, "If I'm not mistaken she's the same woman who is attending the induction course with 3.7 and 4.5."

Her guard fell for a brief moment. Just long enough for Malone to recognise the look in her eyes he hadn't been able to interpret before. Closing the folder, he grabbed one of her hands. "You care a lot for him?"

She swallowed. This wasn't the kind of conversation she wanted to have. She had come to discuss their next move, not to open up the book of horror, which had replaced her heart. Feeling her eyes filling with unbidden tears, she tore her hand away. Inhaling sharply she stated coolly, pronouncing each word clearly, "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"I need to know," Malone protested. "Tell me. Will it affect you?"

"Do you really need a repetition of your own rules, sir?" she asked in reply, pulling her guard up again.

Sighing Malone let the topic drop. "What do you want CI5 to do next? Wait in line?"

"Not exactly, but close to it." Once more she rummaged through her bag, pulling out an envelope. "Instructions are in here. Read them and if you have any more questions, I will be at the graveyard tomorrow. 3 p.m.." With that she left the pub.

*****

The woman ran the whole way back to the car park, where she had left her BMW, knowing she was running away from Harry Malone, from everything he stood for and last but not least from herself. When she reached the car, she was soaked with sweat and panting heavily. With trembling fingers she unlocked the car and got in. Breathing hard and short, she tried to get her feelings under control. But she failed. Throwing her head against the headrest again and again the long suppressed and long forgotten tears broke free. Screaming uncontrollably, she sat behind the steering wheel. After what seemed to be an eternity, she calmed down. Slamming her hands frustrated against the wheel she shouted, "Fuck you Harry Malone! Bloody bastard! No, it's me! I'm a such an idiot, such a fucking emotional idiot!"

*****

Chris was sitting in the refectory of the CI5 manor at Bournemouth, clutching his second cup of steaming black coffee. Neither the icy cold shower he'd had nor the caffeine could compensate for his longing for eight hours of peaceful sleep and at least two days without physical workouts and the cat and mouse games, which had turned into a daily routine. Five days done, just two more to go a tiny voice in his head kept repeating as he drank some more coffee.

"Good morning."

Looking up, he saw Robin sitting down on the bench opposite him.

"Morning," he grunted a greeting.

"Oh oh - someone didn't sleep well last night, eh?" she replied mockingly, smirking at him.

"Slept alright," Keel snapped, taking in some more of his coffee, trying to ignore her. He wasn't up to a conversation, not even with the fascinating and wild curly red head.

Grimacing she retrieved her own cup. "It's been a hard week and it seems as if some people can't handle stress."

"You mean me?" he retorted almost angrily.

"No I always talk to empty chairs - of course I mean you. If you can't take the stress you should reconsider your decision to join the CI5," she shot back, before taking a sip at her coffee.

Shooting her an icy look, Keel felt his temper overwhelming him. "I'm used to work under pressure and I've been a ..."

"Mr Keel," a familiar voice cut him off. Stirring he turned around. He couldn't hide his surprise, as he saw Backup standing next to their table, addressing him. "Would you please follow me?"

Covering the joy he felt at seeing her, he reluctantly rose to his feet. "Yeah, sure." Following Tina out of the refectory, he took her by the arm, swung her round and hugged her.

"Hey, Chris!" Backup blushed embarrassed, before she teasingly stated, "What was in that coffee of yours?"

"Ha ha! I'm just damn glad to see someone normal. What are you doing here?"

"Malone called me last night. He ordered me to come here and pick you and Sam up. Don't ask me why!"

"Never ever," Keel smirked. "Why?"

Shaking her head Backup asked, "By the way, where is Sam?"

"Don't know, haven't seen him this morning," Chris answered still grinning. Slowly his grin faded, realising that he hadn't seen his partner since late afternoon of the previous day. Taking Backup's hand, chivvying her to move he started to walk down the corridor. He was steadily increasing his speed and Backup was experiencing real difficulties to catch up with him.

They were halfway up the stairs, when she snapped. "Jesus, Chris, slow down these aren't the Olympic games and you're not competing in the 100 m sprint!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Keel's head span round and he snarled, "I know but Sam ... He ... "

"What's wrong with me?"

"Hi Sam!" Tina broke free and flew up the remaining stairs, directly into Sam's arms. "I'm so glad to see you! You look fabulous."

"What's wrong?" Sam queried suspiciously.

Exhaling audibly, Chris grimaced. "It's either the coffee or there's some vicious virus in the air - yeah that's it!"

"Right," Sam laughed, "the place is filled with the contagious relief virus." Hugging Tina once more, he saw Keel chuckling.

"Seems I came just in time to bring you back to HQ," Tina broke in, struggling to suppress her laughter as she looked back and forth between the two of them.

*****

Malone was standing in the middle of the operations room, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched his operatives. Spencer was sitting at his desk, scrolling down a list of names, apparently searching something or someone in it.

"Got her,, he triumphantly said pointing at a name on his monitor. "Robin Williams."

Malone approached him and came to a halt next to the Londoner. "Show me her file."

"Yes, sir," answered Spencer and entered a set of commands.

Bending forward, Malone read the facts on the screen. Her curriculum vitae looked normal, nothing special. It was much like the others he had read during his life.

"Check her references again, Mr Spencer," he said.

"Are you looking for something special?" Spencer queried half curiously. "Do you think the woman in the photo is Robin Williams?"

"Do as I requested," Malone retorted harshly, blocking any further questions.

The sound of a door being opened accompanied by cheerful laughter made Malone turn round. He saw Miss Backus, Mr. Keel and Mr. Curtis coming in. Inhaling deeply, he barked: "You're late."

"Sorry sir, "stuttered Backup.

"My fault, sir. I ..." started Keel, stepping closer. As he saw a projection of an Arab and a woman who had fundamental similarities to Robin Williams on one of the big screens, he stopped. "Sir, is there anything wrong?"

Frowning Malone headed for his office. "Curtis and Keel - my office now."

Tina, Sam and Chris exchanged irritated and quizzical glances, knowing that whatever Malone had lined up for them it wouldn't be pleasant. Shrugging his shoulders and thereby gesturing to his colleagues that he'd rather get it over quickly, Curtis was the first to follow Malone in. Sighing Keel followed in his trail.

"Close the door, Mr Keel," Malone said harshly, as he sat down on the edge of his desk. "You may want to know why I ordered Ms Backus to pick you up at Bournemouth. One simple reason: the Middle East peace talks."

Reaching behind his back, Malone grasped a folder and continued. "CI5 has been asked to take care of the security of those highly important political leaders." He handed Curtis a copy of a list. "Yourself and Mr Keel will operate as bodyguards, assisted by Michaels and Stuart. Ms Backus and Mr Spencer will check the hotels, conference rooms etc."

"Sir, I can understand that the political situation in the Middle East requires such a high security standard, but why are we taking care of it and not the Met or SIS?" Curtis asked politely, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead.

"Because we have the specialists and contacts, Mr Curtis. Whitehall thinks CI5 is best suited for this job. Furthermore, we obtained indubitable information from outside sources that a man called El Kadir is planning an attack."

"El Ka.. Who?" Keel raised his eyebrows.

"Muhamed El Kadir," explained Malone patiently, "He's one of the wealthiest men in the Arabic hemisphere and apparently, according to certain well informed groups, he's also the leader of a criminal organisation calling itself the New Arab Front."

Curtis felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something made him feel uneasy. Silently, he watched his commander, whose face was as unreadable as he knew his was. When no more information was forthcoming he asked, "Which informed sources suggested this, sir?"

"This is confidential, Mr Curtis. But I can assure you the source is immensely trustworthy."

"Of course," agreed Curtis obediently, knowing that it was completely useless to try and press Malone for details he wasn't willing to provide. Slowly he turned to Keel, gesturing at him to keep his mouth shut for once, but his partner ignored him.

"El Kadir is the man on Spencer's screen, right?" Keel asked sounding slightly frustrated.

"Exactly Mr. Keel." Malone nodded.

"And the woman?" Keel buried his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, staring at Malone daringly. "You think she and the new recruit are the same woman, right? Is that why you sent us to the CI5 dungeon in Bournemouth?"

Curtis had to suppress a smile. CI5 dungeon - at least that sounded better than kindergarten, he decided.

"You are partly right, Mr. Keel. There are physical similarities between her and Ms Williams but right now we don't have any clear evidence other than the picture. We're still working on it." Malone took off his glasses and cleaning them with his handkerchief, he added, "Take the rest of the day off to study this files." Malone handed out two sets of files. "I want to see you again tomorrow morning at 7:30, fit, well dressed and prepared. Dismissed."

Curtis nodded and turned to leave the office. From the corner of his eye he saw that Chris was still standing in front of Malone, his hands in his pockets. Stopping and waiting for the American, he eyed him more closely and he immediately knew how to read the expression on Keel's face: the narrowed eyes, the rigid jaw line. Keel was annoyed and presumably about to question Malone. Grabbing his partner by the arm, he whispered warningly, "Not now, buddy."

Frowning Keel followed his partner. They were halfway out the door when they heard, Malone barking:

"Mr. Keel, well dressed doesn't mean jeans."

**********

One hour after they had left HQ Keel was sitting on his sofa, his share of the paperwork spread on the coffee table in front of him, muttering and grumbling in intervals. He hated paperwork but much more he hated bodyguard jobs. He wondered how Sam managed to be that calm; knowing perfectly well that the Englishman wasn't keen on babysitting either. He hadn't uttered a word of protest at the HQ and ever since they'd arrived at his flat Curtis had been busy studying the facts.

Putting his cup down he turned round to see what his partner was doing. Curtis was standing by the window in Keel's living room, a coffee mug in one hand and a file in the other. Chris observed him silently for a while, watching as Sam every now and then stared blankly out of the window. Outside the sun was shining brightly, covering the graveyard in a friendly and warm golden colour. To Chris it seemed as if Sam was distracted and somehow preoccupied with other things than the file.

"Sam," he said after a while, "what do you think about Malone's theory?"

When Sam didn't answer him, he got up and went over to the window. Coming to a halt next to his partner, he repeated gently, "Sam?"

Sam jumped, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing important," smiled Keel.

"Oh."

Shaking his head, still smiling, Chris hesitantly asked, "Where were you?"

Turning round, Sam looked at Chris. There was an expression in his partner's green grey eyes that Chris knew all too well. It was an expression he'd rarely seen his partner wearing but it was one he'd got used to seeing in the mirror before he'd met Cat and before they spent the night at the B&B guesthouse. It was guilt and grief.

"Somewhere else," Sam admitted quietly.

Holding Sam's gaze, Chris chose his words carefully before speaking again, his voice low. "You're still moping about Cat. You miss her and you feel guilty. Right?"

Turning away, Sam stared back out of the window.

Sighing Chris tried again, a bit more persistent than before. "Am I right, Sam?"

Swallowing hard, Sam finally nodded.

"There's something we can do about it. It may help you." Without a further word, Chris took the file and mug away from him and went over to his coffee table. Depositing everything on the table he felt Sam's quizzical look on his neck. Turning round again, he said, "Don't ask me now, Sam. For once just trust me and follow me, okay?"

Hesitantly Sam nodded, a half smile on his face. "Just this once."

******

It was nearly three in the afternoon, when Chris parked outside the graveyard, Sam sitting in the seat beside him.

"What are we ..." started Sam, glancing at Chris.

"I think you should go to her grave and talk to her," Chris explained quietly cutting him off. Opening the door, getting out, he added, "That's what I did the day before you left the hospital and believe it or not, it really helped a lot."

"That's ridiculous, Chris," Sam protested Sam as he followed him out of the car.

"Try it," Chris said patiently. "You've got nothing to loose, have ya?"

"Okay."

Sam wasn't convinced that talking to a tombstone would help to sort his feelings out, help him to forget but he was willing to agree to his partner's plan even if it was just for Chris. Slowly he walked along the path that crossed the graveyard, Keel following him some distance behind.

*****

Pulling up the collar of her beige leather jacket against the bitter cold wind, the woman who was standing at the bottom of Shaugnessy's grave heard footsteps coming closer. Straightening, she turned round expecting to see Harry Malone approaching her. Yet it wasn't Malone, who was walking down the path towards her. She recognised the two men instantly although she wasn't able to see their faces. Curtis and Keel were heading towards her position. She wasn't prepared for a meeting and she knew she had to leave before they were too close, but something kept her from moving. It was as if her brain was no longer controlling her body, as if her feet were heavy as lead. Clenching her hands into fists, she felt her nails piercing the flesh of her palms sharply. The pain enabled her to break free from her paralysis and rushing over to the tree next to Shaugnessy's grave she hid behind it, praying that they hadn't seen her.

"Did you..." she heard a familiar voice saying with a London accent. Sam Curtis. She felt a knot appearing in her throat.

"No, not me Sam. Honestly. I didn't bring the flowers. But when I was here the last time there were fresh flowers on her grave as well and suddenly Malone materialised out of nowhere. If you ask me, he's arranged the flowers," a second voice replied quietly. There was a soft transatlantic twang to it and she knew it was Keel.

*****

"Chris, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Listen, Sam, I'll go over there and wait for you." Smiling reassuringly Chris pointed at a bench in far distance.

Nodding Sam waited until Chris had nearly reached the bench before kneeling down next to the tombstone. He felt his throat tighten more and more. This wasn't a good idea, he thought. But he knew Chris was right, he'd nothing to loose.

"I don't know what to say Cat," he half whispered. "I wish we'd had time, wish you'd made it easier for me this time. If only I'd recognised you straight away... I would ... I would have..." Sam felt his eyes filling with tears and his voice cracking he trailed off. "I don't know what I would have done. Now I know you had a good reason to fake your death and disappear, I know the reason was me. You've always loved me and I never stopped loving you. I had many affairs but all of them meant nothing. Tina once told me I was unable to commit. But I'm not." Sam paused for a moment, fighting down his tears. "You sent me through hell, Cat. They tortured me ... broke my will ... somehow. All because of you. No! That's not fair. I know you suffered, know you didn't intend to put me at risk. You always wanted to protect me, right? God, I wish I could get a chance to say thank you, to hug, kiss and feel you. I need you, Cat. Need you more than ever before... I'm so lost."

As he spoke the last words the tears he had tried so desperately to hold back overpowered him and he let them fall. This was the third time in his life, Curtis thought, he'd allowed his emotions to control him, reducing him to a miserable heap. He could clearly remember the events, which had caused so much grief. When he was fifteen it was the sudden death of his mother, which had knocked him off his feet. He'd always been closer to her than to his father; she'd been an understanding, kind and empathetic woman who'd always wanted a better life for him. He'd never forgotten the proud look in her gleaming green eyes, when she looked at him. A part of his heart had been ripped away when she'd died. He recalled standing at her grave and promising her he would escape the dreariness of their working-class surroundings, to make his way and find himself a better life. He had kept his word; he always kept his word, even if he had to pay greatly for it. Then at the age of twenty-three he'd met Catherine. He'd admired her before he'd even really known her; she'd showed him things he'd never seen before. Admiration had quickly turned into liking, liking to friendship and then into a desire he hadn't allowed himself. When she'd left him behind without warning he'd realised how much she had given him and how much he had felt for her. He had seen many of his colleagues and friends come and go - some forever - and he had been careful not to let them affect him. He had suffered silently, grieved for a while before pushing it all away, building up yet another layer of granite round his soul. More than two years ago he had cried over Cat, his only true love - for no reason, he knew now. Kneeling on the grass next to her tombstone, powerless against the tears sliding down his face he suddenly felt a feathery touch on his shoulder. Flinching he looked up.

"The night we spent at the B&B, the night before we found you, she told me 'Let those tears roll, tears free one's soul'," Chris told him gently, an understanding smile on his face.

Sam gasped. "She was right."

"Yeah," agreed Chris, stretching out a hand to help his partner up. "Come on, buddy. If she was here right now, she would look at you and her beautiful eyes would be filled with warmth and pride." Helping Sam to get up, he added, "She would want you to carry on your life and try to be happy again. I saw her in the TGT warehouse as she hovered over you. I saw the hurt and love in her eyes, when she kissed you goodbye, Sam. And I swear she'd be glad that you opened up and faced your fears today."

Sam sniffed and tried a smile, but the tears were stronger. No matter how hard he tried to bite them back, they defeated him. He gave in and wished he could express his emotions; wished he possessed the ability to show his feelings more openly that Chris Keel had - and Cat sometimes had too.

*****

Chris tentatively wrapped an arm around his partner's shoulder and he felt Sam leaning in. His heart going out to his partner, he instinctively hugged Sam closer, patting his back encouragingly. It seemed to take an eternity until Sam recovered some of his normal calm and Chris feared he'd retreat from his heartfelt embrace instantly, but he didn't. Sam hugged him back before pulling away. Looking at this partner he was his eyes were reddened and the salty trails of his tears were still visible on his cheekbones. However it seemed as if some of the deep hurt, guilt and despair in the Englishman's green eyes were gone, as he said, "Thank's for being there, you know...for holding onto our friendship, Chris."

Keel knew it was an honest and wholehearted sentiment that expressed what he knew he had been experiencing and he felt a pang of pride that Sam trusted him enough to show his weakness openly. Smiling in acknowledgement, he responded. "My pleasure - come on, I'll take you home."

Clearing his throat, Curtis dragged up a fragile smile, "Chris - ehm - would you ..."

"Sure." Smiling reassuringly Keel cut him off, instinctively knowing what he was going to ask. No one could have prevented him from staying at Curtis' side. He had promised it to himself and to her; he would always watch out for his partner. Looking back over his shoulder, as he followed Sam to the exit of the graveyard, he whispered almost inaudibly, "See you in hell Cat..." Turning back he smiled brightly, and putting a hand on Sam's back he asked casually, "You got any beer stocked in your fridge?"

*****

Hiding behind the tree she had heard every single word Sam had said and she'd had to fight her emotions as well. Her throat was tight and dry, her stomach doing flip-flops and her heartbeat was racing.

He had loved her. Sam Curtis had always loved her as much as she had loved him, as she still loved him. She wished she could hold him close, hug and kiss him and tell him everything was just a bad dream. She knew he needed reassuring, had heard him say how lonely and lost he was but she knew he wasn't broken as he thought he was. She knew him, knew him better than herself. No one could break Sam's will. He was wounded and overwhelmed by all the emotions he had tried to suppress, it was as simple as that. He was like a shaken bottle of champagne; his bubbling emotions were corked up inside him and he didn't know how to let them free. He'd never been one to cope with unbidden and uncontrollable emotions, she thought. Exodus had forced him to face his fears and emotions and she had been a major part of it.

Suddenly she felt even guiltier than before. It was all her fault. Realising that made her feel terribly sad because it also meant that there was no way back; no way to face him ever again. She'd held onto the irrational hope that she might be able to return. Her greatest wish - the only one she had left - was of returning to Sam Curtis' arms. Smelling his scent, feeling his touch against her skin, being caressed and cared for and most of all, seeing life and love returning to his astonishing eyes. No other man - and she had had her share of them - had ever reached her heart like he did.

Walking away from the tree, she put on a pair of dark sunglasses. Inhaling deeply, she headed for the exit of the graveyard. Reaching her silver BMW she saw Harry Malone getting out of a black Lexus. She wasn't in the mood to face Harry Malone she decided and slid into the driver seat. Slamming the door shut, she waited until she saw Harry passing through the gate of the cemetery. Than she sped away.

******

During the journey back from the graveyard Keel watched Sam carefully. He felt his heart going out to Sam again and he wondered whether he'd been right to take Sam to her grave. After they stopped off at his apartment so he could pick up some things Sam seemed to calm down and as they got back on the road, on the way to the Englishman's place Sam remained calm and quiet. But it was not only sympathy and worry he felt Chris realised, as he stood in the doorway of Sam's kitchen watching his partner busily himself making some coffee. He felt guilty because he had lied to Sam and even now he wasn't telling his partner everything. He simply couldn't bring himself to confess to Sam how he really felt about Cat and her death. Would he ever be able to tell Sam how much he had been attracted to Cat, how she had affected him? No, he decided not if he didn't want to risk their friendship. She was dead; what good would a confession do?

"Stop staring at me Chris," Sam said quietly, his attention still on the coffee machine.

Shaking from his reverie, Chris mumbled, "Sorry. It's just..."

"... Because you are worrying yourself crazy about your nervous wreck of a partner, right?" Pivoting on his heels, Sam looked at him, a tentative smile curling his lips. "I know you've been doing this for a long, long time, Chris. I've noticed that look in your eyes, whenever you look at me."

Disbelieving yet smirking, Chris said, "Am I really that easy to read?"

"Not easy to read, mate. But we've worked together a long time - even I can sometimes figure out what you're thinking." Laughing sadly, he shook his head. "Seems I know you better than I know me."

Annoyed at the show of self-pity Chris snapped. "Jeez, Sam stop it okay." Angry, he stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

Back in the kitchen, Sam slowed turned and stared at the closed door. "Sorry, didn't mean to upset you," he murmured, turning back to switch on the coffee maker. "Didn't mean to hurt you." Throwing his head back, breathing deeply and closing his eyes, Sam addressed the few remains of will power that he had left. It was time to put some things straight with his partner; he had to otherwise they wouldn't be able to go on working together.

****

Angrily Chris sank to the sofa. How could Sam dare to say something like that? No one knew him that well; he wasn't the open book, the easy-going joker everyone believed him to be. Cat seemingly had seen right though him, he admitted and he hadn't liked it. It had irritated him, but when she'd woken him after his nightmare, irritation had suddenly turned into an irrational feeling of comfort. He couldn't describe it any better. He had felt safe in her arms. Closing his eyes, images of the night with Cat resurfaced unbitten before his mind's eye. She had been so understanding, and for the first time in a long time his nightmares had stopped after that night. Cat had everything a man could ask for. She had been beautiful, intelligent, and gentle; if he was honest he could have fallen in love with her easily.

*****

When Sam entered his living room a couple of minutes later Chris was stretched out on his sofa, staring at the ceiling.

"Something interesting up there?" he tried, aiming for light-hearted. When Chris didn't react, he knew it wasn't the right time to tease him. What they really needed - and what Sam knew Chris deserved - was honesty. Slowly he walked over to the desk in the corner of the room by the window and opened the bottom drawer. Taking out a huge cigar box, holding it in front of his body, his fingers shaking, he crossed the distance to the sofa. Sitting down in an armchair he put the box down in his lap. "I'm sorry Chris. I've been unfair," he admitted in a quiet voice.

Chris rolled onto his side and pushing his body up on one elbow, rested his head in his hand. Studying his partner he threw him a quizzical look apparently considering something. Eventually he gave a small shake of his head and met Sam's eyes.

"No, my fault."

Shaking his head, Sam smiled mildly, "I want you to know that I meant what I said; I am grateful you know, for our friendship.""

"You're getting repetitive in your old age Curtis," Chris shot back grinning broadly.

"Maybe," Sam replied nervously, still not convinced his partner understood. "I just wanted you to know that I ..."

Feeling that he knew what Sam was about to say, Chris cut his partner's sentence off. " ... Me too, Sam. 'Kay?" They both had had too many emotions to handle for one day, Chris decided, studying his partner's face. However Sam wouldn't have been Sam if he'd let it drop so easily and he prepared himself for whatever was coming next as Sam carefully opened the cigar box he was holding with nervous fingers.

"Do you remember I told you about the gift she gave to me, years ago?" Sam asked.

Sitting up, Chris nodded.

"I've never opened it. It's still in here." Sam took a small gift box out of the cigar box. It was neatly wrapped and looked like his partner had treated it with great caution for all the years he'd had it. "It's time to open it, Chris and I want you to be a part of it. She was very important for me. I cared a lot for her. Right now you are my partner and closest friend. This friendship is really important to me and I ... I care a great deal for you."

Chris felt Sam's eyes searching his face for approval. But he was too overwhelmed by Sam's confession. He had never thought he'd hear Sam say something like it. His instinct had told him many times before that Sam was a real friend and that he cared for him. Even if his instinct hadn't told him, he could have judged it from Sam's actions. He had never left his side, not in the booby trapped car, not when he'd stepped on the landmine and most of all Sam had carried him miles through the African savannah. But Sam had never voiced the sentiment before - nor had he. With a small nod he gave his approval and silently, he watched as Sam carefully unwrapped the box. Underneath the pale blue paper was a solid red box - like the type jewellers normally used. Breathing heavily, like he'd just run a 100 metre short track in record-breaking time, Sam hesitantly opened the box. The top of the reddish box in one hand, the rest of it in his other hand, he suddenly froze.

"What's in it?" Chris asked keeping his voice low. Sam didn't reply. It was as if Chris' question hadn't reached him at all. "Sam?" he repeated. Sam looked up and for a short moment his gaze met Chris'. Disbelief, pain and shock mingled in Sam's expression and Chris thought he could see his partner's eyes getting moist again. Getting up, going over to the armchair Sam was sitting in, he crouched in front of him. Tentatively he touched Sam's hand. Sam flinched. Cautiously Chris took the box from his partner and looked in it. He was surprised to find that there was nothing more than a watch in the small box. On second sight, he recognised the brand. It was a Breitling.

"Wow!" The comment was out before he could stop himself.

"I remember the afternoon like it was yesterday," Sam said all of a sudden, his voice barely above a whisper. "Catherine and I had finished a mission. We were enjoying a day off and were strolling down the Kö - a posh shopping area in Düsseldorf."

Silently Chris listened to Sam, who seemed oblivious to his presence. "She stopped at Cartier to have a look at all the wonderful jewellery in the window. Like all women she loved window shopping," Sam continued, a fragile smile lighting up his face, "They had Breitling watches in the window and I told her that someday I would have made enough money to buy one. I can still hear her crystal laughter as she patted my shoulder and told me to stop dreaming. Six weeks later, she gave this parcel to me and left me alone."

Swallowing, Chris took the watch out of its container and turned it round in his hands, giving it a closer inspection. There was an engraving on the back of the watch's body.

Laying a hand on Sam's knee, he tried to get his partner's attention. When Sam finally seemed to register his presence, he read out the inscription aloud. "Memory of a dream - Never trust your eyes - I love you. C." Chris was stunned to hear his own voice trembling as well as he read the words.

'Never trust your eyes'. He remembered the words clearly. They were the same words, she had written across the picture in Sam's flat, the words she had whispered as a warning several times. If Sam had opened the parcel earlier, he would have known who'd deposited the photos, would have remembered her as she had been and maybe things wouldn't have got so messy. What made Chris really feel sick was the realisation that they - Sam and Cat - could have had a second chance if he'd opened the parcel years ago. Glancing at his partner, Chris realised that Sam must have had the same thought. He could tell from the reappearing guilt that was lurking in his eyes and the tiny wrinkle across his forehead.

Getting up again and giving Sam space, Chris pondered whether to give him her letters, which he had received from Malone. He knew he should have given them to Sam the night he had finally heard the truth but something kept him from doing it. It just hadn't felt right that night a week before. But now, he decided, was equally a bad time to give them to Sam. He'd wait.

******

Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, she checked the temperature of the water with her hand. A bathtub of hot water, the sweet aroma of vanilla and roses from a bath essence, that was just what she needed; the scenes from the early afternoon were still haunting her.

Undressing rapidly, throwing everything thoughtlessly to a heap on the floor, her lean and well-trained body slid into the bathtub. Sighing, she closed her eyes. She simply couldn't forget Sam's words, couldn't get the image out of her mind of the Englishman kneeling down on the grass next to the tombstone, desperate and crying intensely. It hurt; hurt so much that it nearly tore her apart. All those feelings - she knew she couldn't afford them. It was the wrong time and wrong place to let her emotions rule her. She had to calm down.

Knowing that everything was depending on her and on the little intrigue she was planning to set up for El Kadir, she let herself sink deeper into the water. Covering her body with the well smelling foam she tried to wash away the multiple emotions.

If she hadn't asked Harry for a code blue, everything could have been different. She would have stayed by Sam's side and maybe they would have found a way to... No, Cat she warned herself, don't go there; never ever go there again. Harry Malone should have killed you, she decided grimly. For the first time in a long while since the Exodus case, she regretted still being alive. She felt her eyes filling with tears again. Closing them rapidly and holding her breath, she dived under the water.

*****

She was doing it again Harry Malone thought as he sat down behind his desk at the CI5 HQ. She was initiating intrigues again and he wasn't in the mood for them.

He'd waited for the woman beside Patricia Rosen's or Catherine Robinson's grave. It had felt strange meeting her there; it had taken him an enormous effort to swallow the feeling of guilt. He'd admitted what he had tried to deny. Yes, he was feeling guilty: guilty for having offered her the code blue she had requested more than six months ago, for not having looked after her while she was at the convalescence home. He had let her down back then and now he hurt her with his questions.

He had seen the hurt and panic in her eyes the evening before at the pub, when her perfectly constructed mask of coolness and he untouchable attitude had cracked for a second. He knew this young woman was stronger than anyone thought yet something deep inside him was telling him that he should just for once forget his First Rule and offer her a shoulder to lean on. Would she accept it from him, he wondered? Deciding that she was far too stubborn, he dismissed the idea. Feeling a wrinkle appear between his eyebrows, he picked up the receiver and dialled the number she had given to him with the results of her research and called her.

********

The shrill ringing of the phone in the adjacent bedroom of her suite forced her mind back to present and reality. Like an automaton she left the bathtub. Wrapping a huge towel round her body she rushed to the bedroom to answer the call. As she pushed the bathroom door open, which she had left ajar, her sixth sense alarmed her. The little hairs on her neck rose in suspicion and tension crept through her muscles as the entered the bedroom. Something told her she wasn't alone. She was right.

"Good afternoon, Ms Mackenzie," the familiar voice of Muhamed El Kadir said over the sound of the ringing phone. Turning, she saw him sitting in one of the armchairs near the window.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw David Farraq and another men she had seen at the camp standing in front of the door, blocking the exit. Guarding her expression, she started rearranging the towel, fixing it tighter to her body. "Who let you in?" she asked icily.

"There's nothing money can't buy," he answered, laughing out loud.

"Oh really?" she shot back, cursing herself for her incoherence. Ignoring El Kadir and his goons she walked to the centre of the room. "And what is it that you came for?"

The ringing of the phone stopped.

"To see if my money works for me."

Locking her eyes with El Kadir's, seeing his smug grin, she retorted tonelessly, "It does, Mr El Kadir and now I would appreciate you leaving my room and not contacting me again before my job is done."

El Kadir watched the woman turning on her heels. He admired her beauty. Her deeply tanned, well shaped legs, the soft yet muscular outline of her shoulders in contrast to the clinically white towel round her body. Her wet hair clinched to her neck and shoulder blades, droplets of water and foam were on her arms and décolleté and they shimmered like crystal on her silky skin. He felt his desire rising again, because what he saw was totally irresistible. This elegant, gracious body had been his for one night and El Kadir was determined to claim the woman as his again and for always. She had driven him to unknown highs in the night she had given herself to him. He'd had lots of women before her but none of them had ever really driven him beyond control. Now he knew why the French called the orgasm le petit mort - the little death. She'd made him die several times in that Egyptian night of passion. It had taken him hours to calm down again.

She had almost reached the door, when he clicked his fingers. David Farraq and the other man grabbed the woman's arms and whirled her around. The towel round her body loosened and slid to the ground around her feet. He let his eyes wander over her form. There she was, naked and vulnerable in front of him, yet as he reached her face he knew she was anything but vulnerable.

Getting up, going over to her he inquired, "What happened to Mustafa?"

"Who?" The woman answered coolly, without breaking eye contact.

"Mustafa. The man I ordered to protect you?"

"Oh," she chuckled, "You mean the stupid son of a bitch who followed me like a shadow?"

"Never call him that again," replied El Kadir through clenched teeth.

She watched the slimy Arab in front of her through narrowed eyes, registering clearly the appearance of a frown on his face. She apparently had hit a nerve, yet she had no idea which one. She decided to find out by provocation. "Didn't think you have a thing for boys as well," she laughed icily. "Is that also one of the things money can buy?"

She felt the grip around her upper arms becoming fiercer. Farraq's fingers pressed on the scar on her left arm. She felt the pain rising but she didn't flinch. She didn't move at all. Her whole body was frozen.

"He's my son." El Kadir's voice was toneless.

"Correction," she retorted, "He was your son, Mr. El Kadir. You should have taught him to be more cautious, taught him never to trust his eyes. But don't worry he will have learned his lesson if he ever wakes up again."

She saw El Kadir clenching a fist and knew what would happen next. She felt his punch driving the breath out of her lungs. However she remained still. The next blow hit her face. Her mouth filled with warm blood, as her lip was split. Starring at El Kadir in reply, she suddenly spat in his face. "Don't ruin your investment, Mr El Kadir." She laughed very loud and sarcastically, before she took another blow.

*******

Chris glanced at his watch. He had spent the last thirty minutes sitting and hoping for a reaction, for a sign of life from his partner. Sam was still sitting in his armchair, staring at the cigar box and the gift paper in his lap blankly. His cheeks were wet from the silent tears, which he'd shed during the first ten minutes of his paralysis. Chris knew that there was nothing he could do for his friend other than for once in his life to be patient. So, biting back a sigh, he had laid his watch on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa again. Every now and then he'd sneaked a look at his partner who obviously was oblivious to his presence. . He knew Sam was deeply shocked and he could imagine very well how his partner felt. Nevertheless he felt helpless. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. If Cat were alive, he'd simply call her and ask her for advice. But she was dead. Why was he thinking about her again, Chris wondered. Why did her image always come back to him? It didn't take long before he fell into a dreamless sleep, Cat's face before his mind's eye and her tender voice in his ears, offering him the peace and comfort he needed.

*****

Sam felt Chris's scrutiny although he was too busy sorting out his own feelings to respond. He was shocked to the bone. He always had thought of the little parcel as something highly precious, but it was much more than that. It was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received. He had heard the words Chris had read to him and they had broken his heart. Realising that if he had swallowed his pride years ago, he would have recognised Cat when she'd whispered her warning to him at Shaugnessy's house, was much harder than he had imagined. Instinct had told him that he knew the woman, but he hadn't trusted it. He wished he had.

Karl Dietrich once told him that he had been a raw diamond when he entered MI6. He needed shaping and a diamond could only be shaped with a diamond. Cat had been that diamond. Karl trained his reactions, his body, but she inspired his brain. She nurtured his intellect, fed him with everything that had made him what he was today. She was the one who'd polished his manners, had made him read books that even at University he hadn't touched: Nitzsche, Dante and Jean Paul Satre. Cat had taught him to use his brain and imagination first. Think before acting - he heard her voice echo through his mind. She was dead and he couldn't change that, but she would always be with him. She was a part of him; the part that made him whole and no one was able to take that away from him. She wasn't his Achilles heel as he had always thought. She was his strength.

Suddenly Sam felt a fragile smile appear on his lips, which quickly turned into a bright and content one. Blinking he focused again and wiped away the remains of his tears. Looking around he saw that his partner was still there, sitting on the sofa and sleeping soundly. Still smiling he loosened the watch he was wearing and got up and walked to the coffee table. Bending down, he took the Breitling watch from the table and put it on. Then he went over to his sleeping partner and lifted Chris' feet, putting them on the tabletop. In the moment Chris' feet touched the top of the table the American was suddenly wide-awake.

Smiling brightly, Sam said, "Sorry didn't mean to wake you." He saw the irritation in the American's bright blue eyes. "Don't stare at me like I've grown two heads," he added, laughing.

Chris eyed him suspiciously at first, expecting the smile and laughter to be another mask of Sam's. But as he looked his partner in the eye, he realised that the good mood was honest and heart felt. Wondering what he'd missed, he was about to ask Sam, what had happened, when Sam beat him to it.

"I've learned my lesson, Chris. It took me a bit longer than normal but now I can and will cope. I can't change the past but I can learn from the mistakes I made." Crossing the room, walking over to the cupboard Sam took out two tumblers and half filled them with single malt then gave one to Chris. "There's one thing left we have to do before we can go back to business, Chris."

"And that'll be?" Chris queried still irritated.

"D'you remember the running gag about you attending my remembrance service ..."

".. or you mine," Chris threw in.

"Right," Sam smiled. "Cat and I once had a conversation about the same topic. Not exactly the same as but similar. She said if she died before me, she wanted me to say some last words and drink to her. She always wanted her funeral to be a giant party. I couldn't bring myself to fulfil her wish after her funeral - the first one."

"Sounds like her," Chris agreed. "Let's do it then."

Sam raised his glass."This one is for you, Cat - wherever you are right now. A bientôt, mein Herz."

Chris waited till Sam had finished, not sure whether he was expected to say something as well. But as Sam looked at him, he knew the Englishman wanted him to add something as well. Chris raised his glass too.

"See you in hell, Cat," he said, shrugging his shoulders at Sam's questioning look. "I haven't known her long, but somehow it felt as if she was a part of the team," he explained. "Working with her was nearly as impossible as working with you."

Sam laughed and than both men drowned the whisky in one swig.

*******

Throwing the receiver back on the phone and swearing loudly, Malone got up from his chair. He had tried to call her more than fifty times within the last three hours. But all of his attempts had been unsuccessful. Why didn't she answer her phone? Wasn't she there, wherever there was? Had something happened? Sometime during the three hours he had started to become fidgety. He had to know why she hadn't answered his calls or tried to contact him again.

Pacing his office, he cursed himself for his emotional attitude. He reminded himself of the First Rule: Never get emotionally involved. He was involved, much more than he had intended, he had to admit. But his own emotions weren't all that worried him. He had spent the afternoon thinking about her plan. Everything sounded plausible, but only on paper. In reality it was more like a mathematical task with too many unknown factors, far too many how's and why's.

How should he convince the Prime Minister and the Arab leader to play along? What if something unexpected happened? What about this Williams woman? Would Curtis cope? Would she function perfectly? Shouldn't he tell Curtis and Keel that the assassination would be faked? Shouldn't he tell them how to react and how to proceed after she'd taken her shot?

Looking out of the window, he suddenly realised that the evening darkness had fallen over London. Taking off his glasses, he concluded that he wouldn't find a solution unless he talked to her. He'd try calling her again, even though it was annoying him. Returning to his desk, he was about to pick up the receiver once more when the phone rang.

"Malone."

"Sorry for keeping you waiting the whole day. But I had to talk business first."

Hearing the familiar female voice Malone didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. Her tone was unnaturally calm, but to him it seemed as if there was something behind her calm and rational words. It sounded like pain. He felt a wrinkle of worry appear on his forehead as he asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing of importance, Harry," she answered briefly. "Any success with the political leaders?"

"Not yet," he replied truthfully. "I tried to contact the Prime Minister's office but haven't got an answer so far."

"Time's running out, Harry. I've changed my plans." He was right Malone concluded, there was something else to her voice and it wasn't pain. She was tetchy. He recognised the hint of of underlying aggression in her voice which indicated that something was running out of her or their control; had learned to pick it up in all his years in the profession. He sounded like this himself sometimes. However, so far he'd only met one person apart from her - or him - who was able to hide it nearly as well: Sam Curtis.

"Harry?" She cut through his line of thought. "Harry, you with me?"

"Sorry," he murmured, "I've been distracted. Could you repeat the last part?"

Sighing she did as asked. "There'll be a state banquet held at the Four Seasons Hotel in two days. I'm going to shoot him there." She paused. "I need a correct timetable for that day. Need you to provide me with any information you have, however small.. I want you to assign Robin Williams." Once again the line went dead for a second before she harshly repeated, "You've got two days to prepare, Harry. Two days."

"Why should I assign a possible danger?"

"Because I want her there and visible and not at my neck. I can't afford anymore difficulties." Letting out a long, deep breath, she continued, "See it like this, Harry," she explained, persuasively, "... if she's a danger, wouldn't it be best to have her in the field? That's the only way we can find out what she's planning and I reckon it'll be easy for one of your CI5 Dreamboys to make a hit on her." She laughed sarcastically. "Heard Keel's had a thing for redheads lately."

"Do you have any more other information on her than we have?"

"Never underestimate your enemy, Harry," was all he got in reply, before the line went dead.

Shaking his head in desperation, Harry Malone put the receiver down. No matter how much he respected her and how high he held her in his estimation, this young woman could really be a pain, he thought. He'd given anything to understand the way she thought. However this was her game and if whether he liked it or not, he had to play according to her rules.

******

This day was coming right out of a Steven King horror movie, she sighed, as she slumped back on the bed. She was exhausted. How much longer would she be able to cope and function? She was playing a risky game.

Sending Mustafa on what most likely was a life long journey to dreamland - she had to smile on her own sarcasm - hadn't been wise. She hadn't known that he was EL Kadir's son at the time. Yet it was unchangeable - and El Kadir still trusted her. The bruises that marred her face were the silent evidence of his anger but the kisses he had placed on her lips afterwards had been full of passion; a passion that made her feel sick. However against her better judgement, she had let him play with her body in front of David and his colleague, blocking her mind and offering her body to the man who minutes before had beaten her. She'd been nothing more than a puppet on a string: reacting, not acting. No she corrected; he was the puppet and she his master. He demonstrated his manhood, prosecuted her for her obstinacy with first brutal, then gentle sex, but only because she'd let him do so. She could have fought him off easily and she knew she could even have taken his goons out too, yet she didn't do anything. Carrot and stick, she sighed. She hated this game she was playing, although she'd done it a hundred times before.

Getting up, breathing hard and fast to wash away the last remains of anger and indignation that she was feeling, she went to the bathroom. Standing in front of the huge mirror, she tentatively touched the bruised parts of her cheek and the cut to her lower lip. She felt awful and she hurt. Sighing she opened her beauty case and took out a tube of camouflage makeup. Reminding the face in the mirror that El Kadir had only hurt her body but not her soul or pride, she started working on covering the bruise. Once she was satisfied that it was invisible, she combed her hair, put mascara on and finally gave herself another complete check up in the mirror. Her outside looked as good as new; inside she was trembling to pieces.

Nodding to her image, she pivoted and left the bathroom. Packing the most important and most necessary of her stuff together carefully yet rapidly, she mentally went through her plan again.

Step one: disappearing. Step two: meeting the Moroccan dealer to pick up the rifle she'd ordered four days ago. Step three: tracking and observing Robin Williams. Step four: working out the exact time and place for a perfect hit. Step five: bringing El Kadir down - dead or alive. She didn't care which it was anymore. Step six: clear all bank accounts and find a nice, peaceful place to live and enjoy old age.

Retrieving a small bag, her laptop and mobile, car keys and a pair of stylish dark sunglasses, she left the hotel room. She'd call the reception to check out as soon as her job was done, she thought. Smiling to herself, she decided to call them and tell them to send the invoice to CI5 accounts. Her smile turned into open laughter, as she entered the emergency staircase and sprinted downstairs.

*****

Three hours after she'd sneaked out of the hotel, she was lolling against a wall in a dark side street north of Camden Town. Her head cocked back she sucked on her cigarette and blew the blue smoke to the fresh night air. She was early for her appointment with the slimy Moroccan; she'd checked and cleared the area to her satisfaction and was now waiting. She was playing it cool again.

Good old rational Catherine, she contemplated. Playing it cool, being untouchable, cold as ice, had become her life. No, she corrected, it was - had always been - her life. Sometimes she wondered whether there was such a thing as genetic predestination on the choice of profession. She had always been a spy, even when she was a child and not aware of it. She wished she could blame Carl Rosen or Michael Shaugnessy for it, but she couldn't bring herself to it.

They had done their best to offer her other career possibilities she was sure neither of them had ever had the advantage of but she had refused them. She always wanted to be like them. She wanted to be Bond and not the pretty, cultured bimbo who'd willingly spreading her legs for the legend of a man.

She remembered the day very clearly when she had accidentally found out that Carl Rosen wasn't a diplomat and consequently she wasn't a diplomat's daughter. She was fourteen. She had confronted him with her knowledge and had asked him about her mother. Two days later she'd decided that she wanted to follow in both their footsteps. He'd protested but finally, after Michael had told him that he should let her get her way and that she'd see everything in another light when she grew older, she'd started training. Surprising both men, she'd stuck to her previous decision.

For a reasonable time she had naively loved the adventure - nothing more nothing less. Than, one day only six weeks after she had joined MI6, she had experienced death's entire cruelty for the first time. Strains of blood had been on her hands and clothing and the load of guilt on her soul. Throughout the years, she had learned to adjust to the requests of her profession and to working solo. She had given up on the useless effort of feeling sorrow for the ones she'd killed, stopped counting the heads of those poor souls whose light of live she'd blown out. All the years had taught her how to brace herself for whatever crossed her way. She'd resigned to her faith of killing or being killed, not allowing her soul to get touched by whatsoever occurred. Miraculously, she contemplated, that the she despite the horror somehow had found a way to keep and find her equilibrium in her soul.

Checking on the time again, she noticed that the Moroccan was late. She hated tardiness, although she wasn't always on time herself. Pushing herself away from the wall, she started pacing. She wasn't getting nervous; it was just her impatience, which made her pace. If she was honest her nerves were wearing off too. Impatience every now and then overruled her calmness and control. She'd faced too many emotional and physical defeats within the last days, weeks and months. She wasn't as stable as usual. But this was not the right time and place for honesty. Addressing her remaining will power, she straightened and stopped pacing. Where the hell was the Moroccan?

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, her mind wandered back as she once again rested against the wall. When she had been in her mid-twenties, she'd joined the German branch of MI6 and she had done an exquisite job flying solo. Than Karl Dietrich had decided to team her up for an undercover assignment. She could still see him standing in front of her, a rolled up German tabloid in his hands and hear his words echo in her ears: 'two new faces - a rookie for a rookie'. At the time she had been tempted to stuff the tabloid somewhere where it clearly didn't belong.

She thought that she'd seen everything, not knowing that her future would teach her that life could get even worse. She wasn't an innocent angel anymore, she recalled thinking. She had been twenty-one, when Rosen finally officially recruited her. She had started training as a teenager and as young adult Rosen had let her have her share of jobs before she officially joined in, whenever he felt she could be useful and there was only a minor risk. She remembered not being pleased to be teamed at first. However coming to her senses, she had agreed to meet her partner at that posh bistro. When she had observed him through the huge window of the bistro they had their first appointment at, he was attracting her immensely. She had taken her time to get to know the man. Finally she'd found that this rookie was smart, and talented and had had that dry humour she liked. Before she had known she had liked Sam Curtis. Karl Dietrich, their controller, had planned to split them after their first mission. He'd wanted to be Sam Curtis' mentor. He had told her that he thought she was far too young to take care of them both. But by than she'd liked and needed the Englishman too much to let him go, so she'd begged Carl Rosen to use his influence. Consequently, Rosen gave an order and Dietrich obeyed. For the first time in her career - and the last - she'd been happy to have a father in a powerful position.

Carl Rosen and Michael Shaugnessy, neither of them would've agreed with what she was doing right now. However, she had survived poorer places and tougher cases - and she was determined to live through this one as well, even if she was feeling alone and lost right now. She had no family, no mentors and no friends - no one to lean on or come home to - not even Sam Curtis. Suddenly a realisation struck her: Sam Curtis was - had been - her match. Wherever she went - and would go - he was always at her side, or better deep within her. They were two halves of a whole. Smiling in the dark, she recalled the hours after their missions, time they'd spent dining out, chatting the whole night, curled up next to one another on the sofa reading or watching TV; simply doing trivial and 'normal' things. They had created a 'normality' that their daily life had lacked. She had given up on the attempt to find a way to feel 'normal' and live 'normal' a long time ago. To put it bluntly, she had stopped the day she'd left Sam the first time.

She'd been afraid of her love for him then. She had run away from a feeling she had never experienced so strongly before. It had taken her seemingly endless, extremely lonely years filled with kamikaze missions in the Middle East until she'd been willing to commit. She'd pushed herself to the limits and beyond and miraculously she'd survived. When Malone had approached her - although it was all set up - and teamed her with Sam Curtis, she had felt her heart skipping a beat. She had wanted him so badly, had wanted to feel this 'normality' again. Sighing inaudibly she threw yet another gleaming cigarette away, realising that her thoughts weren't doing her any good. It was too late for regrets or changes.

The sound of footsteps on the wet asphalt finally broke her out of her reverie. Her head spinning round, she saw a man approaching her. The man carried a huge sports bag in one hand. Knowing right away that this was the arms dealer she was waiting for she stood in the middle of the road and crisply commanded: "That's close enough Hazrar. Stop right there. Lower the bag to the ground and backtrack! Six paces!"

The man obeyed mutely and the bag was soundly lowered to the ground. As he backtracked, she slowly stepped forward. Keeping her eyes on him she bent down, picked the bag up and walking backwards, unzipped it.

"W'ere is my mon'y," she heard the Moroccan demand with a strong North African accent.

"First I'm going to check my order," she answered calmly.

"Eh, trust me."

"Sure." Opening the bag, she added almost conversationally: "By the way, thank you for delivering my order personally - Maurice. I take it that's not the rule anymore."

"Is everyt'ing in t'ere: laser ocular, night ocular, a personally modified PSG 1 - no serial number, no registration," the man laughed. "Check it out, if ya..." He wasn't falling for her niceties, and it annoyed her.

"Shut up," she barked, taking the rifle out, turning it round in her hands and inspecting it closely. Packing it back in the bag, zipping it up again, she nodded, satisfied.

"No' ya pay me."

Reaching in one of her pockets with her left hand, she took an envelope out and threw it in the direction of the man. He caught it. While she watched him opening the envelope and counting the notes in it, her right hand wandered under her leather coat, coming to a rest on the cold grip of her gun, tucked in her waistband.

"T'at's not enoug'," Maurice protested.

"Oh really?" she replied, a surprised look on her face. As the man opened his mouth to protest again, she slid the steel coated Walther out, raising it instantly and firing a single shot." Please accept my dearest apologies," she added dryly as hit the ground.

Although it was dark and she couldn't see his face, she'd have sworn the Moroccan's chin had dropped in horror as he went down. Lowering her gun and picking up the bag with her free hand, she went closer to the man on the floor. Kicking his side to check him out, he moaned in response. Without batting an eyelid, she once again aimed and the sound of a second shot echoed through the air. Standing over the man, seemingly transfixed by the bleeding hole in his head, she sighed. Why had she done that? What had made her fire again, she wondered? Shuddering inwardly, she rushed away, leaving a dead body and ten thousand pounds behind.

*****

Tina Backus was already booting her computer when Chris entered the operations room the next morning. Watching 'her boys' closely had become a habit of hers Chris was looking a bit tired, she thought, but it didn't worry her. It was only a few minutes past seven and most likely he hadn't had his decent share of black coffee yet. It was far too early for the American to function perfectly and look as gorgeous as she was sure he would in a couple of hours. As he took off his short coat, she noticed him wearing a dark grey suit. Raising an eyebrow, she started smiling.

"Morning, Chris," she greeted him.

Turning round, heading for the coffee machine, Chris grunted: "Morning. God how can you be so bright this time of morning?"

"Some of us sleep at night," she retorted, chuckling. "By the way, nice suit."

As Chris grumpily waved the compliment away, she followed him with her eyes. Shaking her head and smiling brightly, she sat down behind her desk. Glancing at her watch, suppressing a yawn, she wondered where Sam was. Normally he was in before Chris. Was there something wrong with the Englishman? Worried, she reminded herself that Sam had looked much better the day before, he'd even smiled and joked. Whatever the reason was, she was sure it wasn't important. Sam was fine. Lost in her theories about Sam, she didn't notice him coming in.

His "Good morning" made her jump. Cocking her head to one side, she realised he was standing next to her. He smiled brightly.

"Morning Sam. As the first shock wore off she returned his greeting.

Bending down, he blew a kiss to her cheek. "You look wonderful and you smell delicious, Tina," he whispered gently in her ear, before heading for his desk and adding out loud, "The colour of that dress suits your eyes!"

Tina watched him nonplussed. Had he just paid her a compliment? Had Sam Curtis really said she looked good and that she smelled good? How long had she waited to hear those words from him? Blinking to clear her mind, she got up and headed for the coffee machine.

Chris was still standing next to it, clutching to a cup of coffee, seemingly trying to wake up his brain cells one by one.

"You've left some for me?" she asked innocently.

"Sure," he mumbled.

Pouring herself a coffee, she said, "Sam seems to be in an extremely good mood today."

"Hm," agreed Chris. Glancing at her, he explained shortly, "He's over it - finally."

"But that's great, Chris."

"Yeah", murmured Chris, obviously not sharing her enthusiasm as he sipped at his coffee.

"You don't look and sound like you're happy about it," she stated keeping her voice neutral, not wanting to appear too curious or demanding.

Flashing his dimples, Chris stated charmingly, "I'm happy, Backup. I'm simply not really awake. This is far too early for me."

Backup watched Chris as he poured a second cup of coffee, added milk to it then walked over to Sam's desk. Although Chris denied it, she had the impression that something was still nagging at him. He said he was happy for Sam, but she knew her boys well enough to read between the lines. Sighing, deciding to wait for a better moment to have another try to make Chris open up to her, she took her cup and went back to her desk.

While she loaded a city map onto her PC, she peered over the top of her monitor again. Chris was sitting on the edge of Sam's desk, his cup still in one hand. Next to him Sam sat on his chair, leaning back, sipping at his coffee. She saw Chris pointing at Sam's watch, before Sam nodded. They were talking but she couldn't understand what they were saying. What were they doing? What were they talking about? Frowning, she turned her attention back to the map, running the first calculations on the routes they'd take when they escorted the Arab politician to his hotel and the meetings.

******

Keel noticed that Tina was watching them. Someday he would tell her not to be so nosy, he thought. If he was honest, he appreciated her friendship and he knew perfectly well that that was the only reason she was curious; she wanted to be sure that he and Curtis were okay. Smiling to himself he realised that he felt the same way about her. To him Backup was like a little sister - an independent and dangerous little sister. It didn't mean he couldn't rib her about it though.

"Never heard that curiosity kills the cat, beautiful?" he teased her as he walked around to his desk.

Seeing Tina sticking her tongue out in reply he chuckled. Taking a seat behind his own desk, he swung round so that he was facing his partner. "Okay Sam, where do we start or better where did we stop yesterday?"

Sam frowned as he swung his own chair around. "Dunno."

"Wow!" smirked Chris, putting his cup down on the table, "This really is a day to mark with a huge cross in the calendar."

"Why?" Sam answered innocently.

"Because 'Mr-I-know-the-answer-before-the-question' has no plan!"

Retrieving his cup from the table, half smiling, Curtis threw his partner a reproachful glare. "Are you trying to indicate that I'm a wisenheimer?"

Suppressing a giggle, Chris pretended to be aghast. "Me?" he queried, mortified. "I never said you're a clever shit!" Chris laughed out at the surprised faces looking at him. "Spare time adventure... dictionary. American to British English and vice versa."

"Oh, then I guess I really should fix a date with my ear specialist!" Curtis grinned broadly, as he opened the top drawer and took a map out.

"Is she blonde and leggy?" Keel shot back, seriously enjoying their conversation. It was a good feeling to know that their friendship had survived and that his partner seemed to have regained his stability although he would have given anything to understand what had caused the rapid change in his partner the evening before.

His smile intensifying, Curtis stated, "She is small, overweight and ..."

"Never thought you'd such bad taste," smirked Keel.

"...bold and a he," Curtis finished, sounding annoyed.

"Are you that desperate?" grimaced Keel.

Suddenly he saw Curtis' smile fading and his face remained expressionless. For a second Chris thought he'd pushed it too hard, teased his partner a bit too much. But just as his own giggle died on his lips, Sam burst out laughing.

"Oh certainly not."

"Thank God," gasped Keel.

"I always knew you had to have the last word." Curtis opened the map, unfolded it and laid it on the table.

"That's not true!" shot Chris back, watching Curtis curiously. The man in the chair next to him was the Sam Curtis he knew. This was the partner he'd trusted with his life.

"Hey," Keel and Curtis heard Backup protesting angrily. "Some of us are trying to work!"

Laying his forefinger over his lips, a smile appearing on his lips, Sam whispered loudly, "Shhh!"

******

Looking at the digital display of the clock in the cockpit of the BMW, she realised why she felt so awful. It was a quarter past eight. Quickly she roughly calculated how long she'd been awake. Nearly twenty-four hours, she yawned. She really needed to catch up on her sleep. But what was more important was to see where the red head was going to, as soon as she left the recruitment centre at Bournemouth. She was sure Harry had instructed her to go to CI5's London HQ.

Opening the driver's door and getting out, she realised how sore and how stiff her muscles were. She was really getting too old for this part of her job, she decided, as she lit a cigarette. Girl you smoke too much, she told herself as she threw the match away and leant against the car, observing the Victorian manor house. Staring at the gate her mind started to wander again and she started thinking about her life. She was thirty-four years of age and what had she done with her life? If she were to write a CV today it would be very short but interesting to read. What qualifications did she have? Making a mental list, she counted: ability to speak and write seven languages fluently, more than a basic knowledge in counterfeiting, lock picking, avoiding being killed and killing silently. What kind of normal job would someone offer someone with her qualifications? Carl Rosen had made her go to University before she was allowed to join the service officially but what good would it do her now? Wow, she thought, she could also add half a MBA to her list of references. What a waste of time!

Lighting another cigarette, she shook her head at herself. She had wasted her life for a country, which wasn't really hers, even if her passport said so. She'd been born in America by an American mother, raised in England, Germany, France, Italy and Swiss by a man, who wasn't her genetic father. She had worked and lived in each of these countries and some more. And none of them were really her home.

Five minutes later the gate opened and a small Vauxhall left the inner yard. As it passed her, she recognised the red head, Robin Williams, in the driver's seat. Swearing and throwing the cigarette thoughtlessly away, she jumped in her car and followed the Vauxhall.

*****

Curtis and Keel had their heads together over the map of London when Malone entered the Ops room. If Tina hadn't greeted their commanding officer politely, neither of the two men would have noticed him approaching their desks.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

Returning the greeting automatically and looking up from the map, Curtis saw Malone standing next to him. He noticed right away from the thin lips and the frown on his forehead that their boss was having one of 'those' days again.

"Good morning," added Chris calmly.

"Hrm." Clearing his throat, Malone headed straight for the subject. "You'll accompany me to a small breakfast meeting with the Minister in ten minutes, gentlemen."

"Why us?" queried Curtis.

"Because I want you to," shot Malone back, heading for his office and leaving them no chance to argue.

Glancing at each other, Keel and Curtis shrugged their shoulders simultaneously.

Keel grimaced as he watched the door shut behind Malone. "Seems like he's in his pussy cat mood today."

"Hmm," frowned Curtis.

To Chris it seemed as if his partner was slightly pissed off. Glancing at Sam, he asked, "What do you think? What is he up to?"

"I don't know," answered Curtis, folding the map up again, shoving it back to the drawer.

"Something worrying you?"

"It's just a feeling, Chris," Sam responded ominously, "I can't put a finger on it, but I have the impression that there is something mysterious about this whole body guard job."

"Same over here, buddy," Chris, sighed as he got up and grabbed his coat. "You remember the curly redhead ?"

"Robin? Yes of course." Sam raised an eyebrow, "Why'd you mention her now?"

"Dunno?" smiled Chris. "Maybe I liked her in a way, maybe because I can't figure out why she was on one surveillance photo with this Muha ...El Kad ... whatever his name is. Strange coincidence."

"Muhamed El Kadir," Sam helped. "You're right. That's strange."

"Don't you wonder where he got that photo and all his information from? I mean well-informed contacts - jeez! I thought the Cold War was over."

Getting up as well, Sam laughed. "Maybe he thinks he's M - Come on Moneypenny, let's move."

Yeah, right, James! Chris replied silently. Smirking he followed Sam to Malone's door, both of them waiting outside till Malone came out, carrying a briefcase in one hand.

********

The Vauxhall come to a full stop in front of one of the typical upper class town houses in Kensington. Slowly driving past it, she watched in her rear view mirror as Robin Williams got out of her car and crossed the street, heading for the doorsteps of the house. She waited until the redhead had reached the top of the steps before she pulled over and got out of her car. Pulling the collar of her coat up, tucking her hands deep into hr pockets, she strolled down the pavement towards the house. She reached it as Robin Williams disappeared behind the door. Making a mental note of the name of the road she searched for the house number. Finding the golden brown number attached on the white wall next to the door, she slowly walked back to her car. Retrieving her Palm and mobile from the passenger's seat, taking everything with her, she installed herself on a bench in the park opposite the house. Some minutes later, the system was ready and connected to her mobile device.

"Let's have a look who's home this is," she murmured, tapping in the address. "Come on - talk to me!"

******

Looking at his watch Sam noticed that it was nearly half past eleven. He'd been sitting outside the conference room at Whitehall for more than three hours now and slowly but steadily he was getting annoyed. He'd never been impatient. But he hated to be passive, hated not knowing exactly why he had to sit and wait. His mind was racing over the possible topic of this mysterious meeting that was taking place behind the closed doors opposite him. He knew if and when Malone insisted on going somewhere with him and Keel as bodyguards and not simply Tina, who Malone normally introduced with a nonchalant 'have you met my assistant', it must be something of extreme importance. Nobody would doubt the seriousness of the situation, when the almighty head of CI5 arrived at Whitehall with him and Keel at his side.

Smiling he recalled a conversation which he'd overheard between two FBI agents the last time he and Chris had been 'shadowing' their commander. He'd heard them whispering, calling them 'Mr Icy- Efficiency & Mr Cheeky-Fearless'. Somehow, he didn't even know why or what for, he had Chris enjoyed a good, almost legendary, reputation. Leaning back, resting his head against the wall he reflected what had built this reputation. They were a very effective team. He and Keel held a record for solving even the most difficult cases. They seemingly survived everything. What the world didn't know though was that he wasn't the heartless, anally repressed, icy and overly efficient bastard they believed him to be and Chris was all but a fearless joker. He knew they both had guardian angels; very busy ones. And as for him, he knew who was watching over him: Cat. Sighing he bent forward again and began counting the minutes once more.