Partings

Scott woke, bleary-eyed, and looked around without getting off his stomach. There was this ringing in his ear... and he groaned as he realized it was the ringing of the vidphone in his hotel bedroom. He rolled over with another groan and levered himself out of bed, stretching and scratching his lower back as he did so. He hit a button on the vidphone and heard a perky, feminine recording say, "Good morning! This is your requested wake up call! Please feel free to join us in the lobby for our complimentary continental breakfast!" He disconnected the call, shaking his head gingerly. It was pounding, and his mouth felt fuzzy. A little too much of the black stuff, I'd say, he thought. Maybe a shower will help clear away the cobwebs.

By the time he was showered and dressed, there was a discreet knock on the door. "Mr. Scott?"

"Come in!" he called as he tied his necktie and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He leaned over carefully, and combed through the hair over his temples. A... gray hair? Where the hell did that come from?

Parker opened the door and, covering his mouth with a fist, cleared his throat. "Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Scott, but breakfast h'is served."

"Be there in a minute, Parker," Scott replied. When the door closed again, Scott fingered through his dark waves again to find the annoying hair and tried to yank it out with his fingers. I'll need tweezers to get rid of that sucker, he realized with a sigh. He went through the personal effects he had tossed carelessly on the dresser, and stared for a moment at one of his own business cards with a phone number written on the reverse side. He blinked at it, frowning slightly, trying to place who the number belonged to and where it had come from, then his face cleared. Oh, yeah. Now I remember. My new satellite phone number, the one I ordered when we were on layover in L.A. The phone itself will be ready for pick up when we stop back there for Kenny. Just didn't have time to get it on the way over. He stuck the card in his wallet, slipped the wallet into the back pocket of his dress slacks, and went out into the suite's sitting room.

Parker was already there, tending to a room service cart. As Scott appeared, he poured a cup of coffee, and set it down on the small dining table. Scott sat down, and the butler offered the cream, which was waved away, and the sugar, which was taken and a lump added to the cup. "What would ye like fer breakfast, sir?" Parker asked. "We 'ave some nice shirred h'eggs 'ere, wit' h'a rasher o' bacon. 'Tis h'almost h'a proper fry-h'up."

"Dish me up a little of everything, Parker." Scott had bit back his automatic reaction, which would be to tell Parker to sit down and let him serve himself. It was the butler-cum-chauffeur's habit to serve, and the eldest Tracy son decided to let him. He and his brothers were used to a certain amount of pampering at home from Kyrano and Grandma, but their father had brought them up to be as self-sufficient as possible. He sipped his coffee and took a bite of the eggs from the plate Parker placed before him. "You seem very... uh... cheerful today, Parker."

"Oh yus, sir!" Parker replied with a slight smile. "Ay enjoy th' Guinness, Mr. Scott, but me h'own preference h'is fer Ol' Speckled, which Ay may say h'is h'a mayte stronger."

Scott groaned a bit. "I'm glad one of us is feeling good this morning, Parker. You can drive us to the funeral."

"Very good, Mr. Scott," the chauffeur replied.

"I got the DOMO down to the end of the bus that was stretched beyond the ethanol tanker and held it upright when Alan used the recovery vehicle to pull the tanker out," Virgil reported. "Then the EMTs and other local rescue units got to the bus passengers, and once it was clear, we pulled that out, too. After that, it was all in the hands of the locals."

The weary group was sitting around the dining room table, debriefing. They had showered and changed and were eating dinner while recounting the events of the rescue. John was part of the discussion via the link to Thunderbird Five, which Jeff had connected to his laptop and brought down to the meal. While they ate, he ate, though it was a cryofrozen portion set apart by Kyrano from a previous meal. Because the link was functioning, Jeff cautioned them again to use code names.

"This was the kind of rescue I like," Gordon said. "Everything went smoothly and none of us got hurt."

"Yeah, but it was a lot of 'hurry up and wait', if you know what I mean," Virgil commented, spearing a bite of asparagus. "I like to be in the thick of things as soon as possible."

"Did you find that neutralizing agent for the ethanol/alsterene mixture, Rho?" Jeff asked, wiping his mouth.

"Y-Yes, C-Commander," the scientist said. "I f-found it."

"Yeah, but too late to do any good," Alan remarked, shaking his head. "By the time he had put the pieces together, we had already taken care of the two tankers individually."

"N-Not at all, uh, Sigma," Brains replied coolly, sipping his wine. "There was a lot of that, uh, c-compound pumped out before we, uh, got there, and a lot more was generated before we m-managed to seal the tunnel leaks and render the individual chemicals, uh, ineffective. All of that needs to be n-neutralized too, you know."

"Epsilon, where did you get the chemical formula for neutralizing the alsterene?" Jeff asked, trying to turn the subject elsewhere. "Our agents had a hard time getting the manufacturer to cooperate."

"Uh, Agent 87 had connections," John said, coloring a bit. "She found it for me."

"Eighty-seven?" Virgil's forehead wrinkled for just a moment in concentration, then his face cleared. "Oh, Agent Eighty-seven! How is she, Epsilon? Still as beautiful as ever?" he teased, tipping John a broad wink.

Jeff glanced from one son to the other, not missing the grin on Gordon's face either. He shot a questioning look at John, who colored even more. "Is there something I should know about here, Epsilon?"

"I, uh, I'll tell you later, Commander," the space monitored stammered. "In private."

"Yes, you will," Jeff said firmly, making sure his son knew that he wasn't going to let the matter drop. He looked around the table, catching the eye of each and every person. "Anything else about the rescue to discuss? Any maintenance problems?"

Those seated around the table shook their heads. Jeff nodded. "Then I have one announcement to make. A very important one."

The diners sat up straighter and directed their attention to the head of the table. Jeff took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and began. "In the wake of Agent 53's death, I've taken a good hard look at our agents network. It has been very helpful to us; this latest rescue is just one in a long string of rescues in which our outside operatives have come through in a pinch. But... it has come to my attention that some of what we... what I'm asking them to do is too difficult, or too dangerous for them to handle. So, I have sent out a letter, one telling about Agent 53's demise and basically giving an opportunity for anyone who, in the light of that tragedy, would like to step out of the network to do so. I have also given those who would like to limit their participation to intelligence gathering an opportunity to say so. A copy of this letter is in each of your email boxes on the official server."

He sighed heavily. "I plan, in the next few weeks, to sit down with each of you and discuss the operatives who you have personally recommended and who wish to remain, with an eye to determining what they are and are not capable of vis-a-vis our operations. Please clear some time in your schedules for this; it will be a rather intensive process."

The diners glanced at each other, then Virgil asked, "Have you heard back from any of our agents? And how many are going to leave?"

Jeff smiled slightly. "Out of our 207 agents, I have heard back from roughly eighty. So far, only three have asked to stop their association with us and eight have asked to limit their duties. The rest have been gratifyingly positive in their response." His conversation with Jeremiah came to mind, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "In fact, I've gotten an earful from a few who have actually called to give me holy hell for even sending the letter and making the offer."

The others around the table echoed his laugh, then grew quiet again, as Jeff continued, "I expect to hear from more of our agents in the days to come. I gave them a three-week time frame for answering."

"Will we be hearing from those who we've recommended but who have decided to opt out?" Tin-Tin asked.

"I hope so," Jeff replied. "And I hope you will not hold it against them for making this decision. For some of them, it will be a difficult one to make."

"Will you tell us who has decided not to continue?" Tin-Tin pressed. "In case we don't hear from them personally."

Jeff gazed at each member of the family in turn, then nodded. "When we discuss who is staying and what role they will be able to play in our network. I don't want any of you to be uninformed." He looked around the table again. "Any other questions?"

"Does Alpha know?" Alan asked.

"Some of it. I will bring him up to speed on his return. Anything else?"

There was a general shaking of heads, and a small chorus of, "No", and, "I don't think so". Jeff smiled, and said, "Then this debriefing is over." He signaled Kyrano, who refilled his coffee, then picked it up. "Epsilon, I'm transferring the link back up to my desk. I'll see you there in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir," John said with a sigh.

Jeff tapped a couple of keys and the picture winked out. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the lounge," he announced. Then he left, taking his coffee with him.

Virgil signaled to Kyrano, and the retainer came around to where he sat, coffee carafe in hand. "Yes, Mr. Virgil?"

"Where is Lady Penelope? I've noticed she's not been taking meals with the family."

Kyrano paused to pour some fresh coffee into Virgil's cup. "Lady Penelope has asked for a tray to be brought to the guest room for each meal."

The younger man frowned. "Why is she shutting herself off like this? I know she's very upset about Peter's death, but to go into seclusion..."

"She wrestles with a great many things, Mr. Virgil," the retainer said softly. "I have seen her in my garden in the mornings and walking on the beach in the afternoons." He sighed. "She will not find the answers she seeks until she decides what is really most important to her."

Virgil gave Kyrano a keen glance. "What do you mean?"

"She is weighing her life as it is, and must decide what it is going to be," the old man said, taking Virgil's plate. And with that, he headed back to the kitchen, leaving a thoughtful young man behind him.

Jeff sat down at his desk. He transferred the link to the lounge, and activated John's portrait. "Thunderbird Five from base. Do you read me?"

John's face, still pink and now a touch apprehensive, appeared. "I read you five by five, Commander."

The commander didn't waste any time. He leaned back in his chair, stylus in hand, and asked bluntly, "What's this about Agent 87?"

"Well, uh, you see," John hemmed, nervously using his hands to make his point. "We, uh, kinda hit it off during that, uh, operation in the Caribbean and, uh, agreed to pursue a... a friendship."

"Ah, I see," Jeff said sagely, tapping the stylus on his chin. He paused, then asked, "And how far has this... friendship progressed?"

"Uh, not far, not far at all," his son hurried to explain. "I really didn't have time to call before I left so I, uh, emailed her." He paused for a moment, then glanced all around before bringing his eyes front and center again. "On the official server." Another pause, then, "After all, she is an agent..."

Jeff kept his eyes on his son, then reached over for a sip of his coffee. When he had put down the cup, he asked, "Is she pretty?"

The space monitor nodded vigorously. "Yeah. She's pretty. Very pretty. I was planning on using the IR server while I was up here, and then changing over to my personal email address and calling from my own phone when I returned."

"I suppose you talked with her earlier?"

"Yes, sir," John affirmed, his face getting serious. "But it was an official call and we both kept it to official business."

Jeff kept his son's gaze for another long moment, then he chuckled, shaking his head. "All right, all right. You can follow through on your plan. Lord knows you get lonely enough up there. I know I can trust you to limit your voice and picture communications to official IR business." He smiled. "I suppose you'll be wanting to visit the Unity City offices when you're home?"

"If it's not too much trouble," John said, relaxing into a smile.

"Seems Unity City is a pretty popular place all of a sudden," Jeff said wryly. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Da... Commander," the blond replied gratefully. Then he sobered. "By the way, have you heard from her about... about staying?"

Jeff smiled widely. "Yes, I have. I don't think she'd mind if I forwarded her response. It was very short, and quite moving."

"Thanks again, Commander," John repeated, his own face mirroring his father's smile.

"Do you need anything else?"

He shook his blond head. "No, I don't think so. Just tell Sigma to get moving on that project of his. I'm counting the days before I get back to base."

"I'll tell him. Take care up there."

"I will. Thunderbird Five, out."

John's picture winked out and Jeff snorted a laugh. "Looks like I'd better find out more about this Agent 87. I haven't seen John this excited about a girl in a long time."

In the main control room of Thunderbird Five, a grinning John turned from the vidscreen, raised his two fists above his head and sharply brought them straight down with a shouted, "Yes!"

Jorge limped into Alvarez's office, not bothering to knock. His leg had seized up from his many hours at the computer, working on trying to alter the World Government files on the Minister of Security. Paulo, the current bodyguard, lowered his gun at the wizened man, who glared at him. Ramirez looked up from his data pad, and Alvarez, who was dictating to the secretary, paused mid-sentence.

"It's done," said the dour hacker. "De encryption was very complex, but de subfolders are altered." Gesturing toward Ramirez with his head and a hateful glance, he said curtly, "Next time, don't send him or anyone else to check on me. My work gets done faster witout interference."

"Excellent, Jorge, excellent," Alvarez said with a smile. "And I will take your... suggestion under advisement."

Jorge nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

"Arrogant dog," Ramirez hissed. "If we did not need his skills..."

"Calm yourself, Fernando," Alvarez cautioned. "I can make him dance to my tune quite easily should he fail to obey." The minister's eyes began to glow yellow. "As I can do also to you, Fernando, should you prove disloyal."

Ramirez held up a trembling hand and swallowed heavily. "No, por favor! I am your loyal servant!" he said in a shaky voice. "I will not disappoint you."

"I know you won't," the man across the desk said, letting the glow of his eyes fade. "Now, back to the press release. I will return to Unity City in two days."

Jeff was reading some more of the emails he had received during dinner. He glanced up as Virgil came into the lounge, a folder in his hand, and headed for the piano.

"Don't mind me, Dad," the musician said. "I'm not going to play. Just want to tidy up."

"Wouldn't bother me if you did play," the father said. "I can listen and read at the same time."

Virgil smiled, and opened his piano bench. He pulled the music from the stand and flipped through it, putting the pages in order and tamping them down on the closed keyboard. He added a small clip in the center on one of the longer sides of the page and slid the small bundle into another folder that was already sitting in the bench's storage space. Then he took out the freshly printed pages that he had transcribed. It was a piece he had played when Lucinda Myles had paid her unexpected visit, a song that his mother had written for his father and that Jeff had basically banned from his hearing since Lucille had died. He smiled as he added it to the scores in the folder. Then, he took out one more.

It was entitled, "Pink Lady", and was his own composition. He had written it on a keyboard that he had tucked away in the Cliff House, far from listening ears. It was one of the few tributes he had made to Penelope. There were no paintings, other than the one that hung in the lounge, no sculptures (not his best medium, anyway), just a few sketches, hidden from view, and this piece. He hadn't dared to do more; he didn't want his unspoken passion for her discovered. Not when she gazed at his father the way she did, not when he seemed, on some level, to reciprocate her affections. But now... now that he knew thathis fatherwasn't interested inPenelope, now that his father and his brothers knew of his desire for the aristocrat, now he could bring out the small tributes he had made to her. And soon, very soon, he might be able to create more works to express his love. He just had to tell her... somehow.

He slipped the song into the music folder, and put it back into the bench. Straightening, he glanced toward his father, who was looking sad and thoughtful behind the desk. Leaving the original folder on the music stand, he walked across the room. "Hey, Dad. You look a little gloomy. What's the matter?"

"A letter from one of our agents," Jeff said, turning the computer's screen toward his son. Virgil leaned over and read,

"Dear Commander,

"It is with a heavy heart that I write in reply to your letter. I am hereby resigning from the network, effective immediately.

"As you may remember, I was one of the party who helped retrieve the Pink Lady from her imprisonment earlier this month. In doing so, I found myself doing things that both excited and frightened me. Shooting lasers, driving at high speeds, trying to stop a group of men bent on obstructing our purpose, and praying as I did that I would not harm any of them beyond repair. Then there was the tense retreat, with the life of one of my fellow operatives in my hands, and my failure to save that life, though I did my utmost with the tools at my disposal.

"But most serious of all was the destruction of the craft that pursued us. I am sure the operative piloting the aircraft which protected us had good reason to do what he did, but I cannot see that reason. And his action to destroy life, rather than save it, reflects not only on him, but on you, your organization, and myself as part of it.

"I have sworn an oath to 'first, do no harm'. That oath must take precedence over my allegiance to your cause. I will, of course, keep silent about the organization, and I will communicate with the one who sponsored me to tell him of my decision. And should your operatives need medical assistance when in Unity City, if it is within my power to help, I shall. But I can no longer remain an official part of the organization with a clear conscience.

"Please arrange for the removal of the communication equipment from my home, and you may suspend my stipend upon receipt of this letter.

"I wish you well.

Sincerely,
V. Solokov, M.D.
Agent 112"

"That's hard, Dad," Virgil finally said as he finished reading the letter and turned the computer back towards his father. "I can see where he's coming from, but I also know that Scott didn't make that decision lightly."

"No, he didn't," Jeff said with a sigh. "In fact, he asked permission to use deadly force. He was under attack as much as FAB-1 was. I guess the doctor didn't see that." He closed the letter and moved it to a different folder on his computer.

Virgil eased his rump up onto the desk near one of the supports and sat perched on the edge, arms folded. "Dad, I thought we had only 205 agents. Kenny Malone was number 204, and that friend of John's from NASA, what's her name? Oh yeah, Christine. I thought she was 205. Where'd we suddenly get 207?"

Jeff met Virgil's gaze for a moment then glanced down. "Well, son, Penny and Parker don't have numbers, but they are still agents. I have extended the same offer to them." He blew a breath out through his nose, and raised his eyes again. "When I showed her the letter, Penelope asked for the choice."

"What?" Virgil squawked, turning, bracing himself on the desk top, one leg dropping to touch the floor as the other leg slid up and onto the surface. "Why? Why did you give it to her?"

"Virgil, I'm afraid that Penelope has some grave misgivings about being an agent..." Jeff began.

Virgil cut him off. "I know, she's told me about them."

Jeff was surprised by this statement, but decided not to probe any deeper. "Then you understand why she asked for the choice."

"Yes, I guess so. But I don't understand why you gave it to her! Aren't you afraid of losing her? Aren't you afraid she'll walk away?"

"Virgil, I am very much afraid she'll walk away. But how could I not give her the choice, especially when she asked for it? As dear as she is to me, to us as a family, I'm not going to stand in the way of she chooses to live her life."

The musician remained motionless and quiet for a moment. Then he asked softly, "Dad, would you give us that choice? Would you stand in the way if we decided to leave?"

Jeff sat back with a small groan. "I knew this would come up." He stared at Virgil for a long moment, and, as the son watched, it was almost as if he could see his father marshalling his thoughts by the look on his face.

"Son, I gave you the choice, back when we started preparations for International Rescue. And I gave you the choice again, before we started operations. If I need to give you or any of your brothers the choice now, you will have it. As much as I need you to carry out my dream, if you no longer believe in it, then... what is there to say? I love you, and if you really believe your path in life takes you away from here, I can't stand in your way." He smiled slightly. "I'm going to do my damnedest to convince you to stay, though. And the same goes for Brains, and Tin-Tin, and even Kyrano."

Virgil's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he listened to his father. When Jeff finished talking, the younger man just stared for a bit. Then he swallowed and asked, "Who are you and what have you done with my father?"

Jeff laughed, and Virgil shook his head, an incredulous smile on his face. "Seriously, Dad. Your response is so... unexpected. What brought this out?"

The older man waved a hand. "This whole situation, I suppose. We've never lost an operative before. Especially someone so young and with such heavy responsibilities. It's made me look again at... everything." He met Virgil's gaze again, his blue eyes warm, his voice sure. "The one thing I do know; what we are doing is worth it. Peter said it was. It's a pretty humbling thing when a dying man tells you he thinks your cause is worth his very life. Did you hear about that? About what Peter said?"

"Yeah, Dad. Penny told me," Virgil replied. He lowered his gaze for a moment, and when he looked up again, he was smiling, his eyes alight with pride and affection. He held out his hand to his father. "I think I agree with Peter. For what it's worth, Dad, I'm in... for the duration."

Jeff rose, and took his son's hand, then reached awkwardly across the desk to hug him. Virgil reached, too, and thumped his father on the back. They parted, and Virgil said, "Now that we're sure that I'm staying, what do we do about Penelope?"

"I don't know, son, truly I don't. She has to have time to come to her own decision," Jeff replied.

His son nodded. "You're right. But I think I may take a walk on the beach tomorrow afternoon."

Scott stood quietly next to Parker near the graveside in the Catholic portion of the Derry City Cemetery. The funeral Mass had been at St. Eugene's Cathedral, on Creggan Street. Being nominally Methodist, Scott only remembered going to church as a child on Easter and at Christmas, and as a result, was usually uncomfortable in church. Add to that discomfort the slight headache he still had from the night before, and the Mass went by in a haze of chanting, singing, kneeling, standing, prayers and clouds of incense. He did not take the Eucharist, as he felt it was not his place, but slipped outside for some fresh air as the service seemed to be closing. Parker followed, concerned about his current charge's well-being. The air outside was cool and damp and Scott breathed it in deeply.

"H'Are yew h'all rayte, Mr. Scott?" Parker asked.

Scott nodded. "I will be. Just needed the fresh air." He gazed upwards as the wind began to play with the flaps of his open black overcoat. "Looks like we might get some rain, Parker."

"Yus, sir. We mayte h'at that," the chauffeur commented agreeably.

The coffin was carried out by the family members of both Peter and Melissa. Scott recognized the stout form of Sean, and the taller ones of Mike and Keegan. Melissa was next to come out, dressed in black, veiled, surrounded by her family and that of her husband. The youngest boy Quinn, he must be five or six now clung to his mother's hand. They passed by the crowds of mourners who stood on the sides of the wide walkway from the front of the cathedral to where the dark cars, and the hearse, waited.

The drive to the cemetery had been short, only about a half mile, and they wound through the small paved pathways to the Catholic section, where the ground was consecrated by the blessing of the Church. Scott and Parker left their car some distance from the grave site, and walked to join the friends and family who were gathering around it. The wind picked up and the leaden sky darkened, threatening to open up on those who were seeing Peter Riordan to his final resting place. It took time for the coffin to get there as the men in the family carried Peter on their shoulders part of the way toward the cemetery before sliding it into the hearse to complete the journey.

As the priest gave the final prayers over the deceased, Scott found himself watching Melissa's children. Young Kaylie's head was bare, her red locks a stark contrast against the sea of black surrounding her. So too, were little Quinn's bright curls. Kaylie sobbed as if her heart were broken, but P.J., Peter's oldest boy, stood solemn and straight next to his mother. Tears were on his cheeks, but he did not sob. Out of all the children, he and Kaylie probably understand this the most, Scott mused. I wonder what it would have been like had I lost my mother at such a young age? I am so glad I was an adult when that avalanche claimed her. It wasn't easy to cope with her loss, but I didn't have to grow up without her, or Gramps.

The coffin was lowered into the grave with a small crane that straddled the deep hole. When the job was done, and the workers climbed out, the priest made a cross in the air and intoned something that was almost inaudible over the rising wind. Melissa took a few shaky steps forward and dropped a red rose into the hole. Each of the children followed, the younger ones dropping flowers, while P.J. dropped a small clod of dirt. His movement was quick and jerky, as if he didn't want to do it. Then he turned and his grandfather, Aidan, put an arm around the boy, and drew him back.

As others began to add a symbolic bit of dirt, Scott suddenly thought of his new phone number. I need to get it to Melissa somehow. He pulled out his wallet, and the card, then grabbed a fresh business card and scribbled the number down on the back. He added the words, "If you need a friend", beneath the number, put the original card and the wallet away, and began to make his way around the back of the crowd toward the black cars that waited for the family members.

Scott found P.J. standing behind his grandfather, Aidan, who was busy helping some of the older womenfolk into the car. He tapped the boy gently on the shoulder. "Mr. Scott!" P.J. said as he turned, his eyes wide.

"P.J., I'm really sorry and sad about your dad," Scott said quietly, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. P.J. looked down at the ground and Scott bent over to catch his eye. "Listen, when I saw your mom last, I gave her my satellite phone so she could call if she needed me. I have a new number now." He pressed the card into the boy's hand. "Would you please give it to her for me?"

The boy looked at the card blankly, flipping it over in his fingers, then glanced at Scott and nodded. Scott smiled a bit, straightened, and suppressed an urge to ruffle the red hair. Instead he gave the black-clad shoulder a brief squeeze. "Thanks."

Just then, Aidan turned around. He glanced quickly between man and boy, then again put a protective arm around P.J. and drew him close, gently forcing him to turn around. The boy looked back briefly and said, "Bye, Mr. Scott."

Scott said, "Bye. P.J." Aidan O'Connor, whose gaze hadn't left Scott's face for an instant, gave him a brief nod, and shepherded his grandson into the car.

The car pulled away, and Scott watched it go, even as fat raindrops began to spatter on the pavement. When it disappeared, he turned back to the grave, where a last few souls were saying their goodbyes to Peter and dropping bits of dirt on the coffin, crossing themselves as often as not, as they did. Scott took up a clod of dirt, rich, dark, Irish soil, crumbled it, and let it trickle from his palm through his widely-stretched fingers. "Goodbye, Pete," he murmured. He dusted off his hands, then fastened up his overcoat as the rain began to fall in earnest.

It was at least an hour before dawn, maybe earlier, and Jim Franks, in his "Derek Edwards" guise, was finding it hard to stay awake. He had found his empty property, an older house, set well back from the country road it was on and surrounded by shrubs that showed signs of neglect. There were no near neighbors, just acres of yet-to-be-tilled farmland out back. Now he was looking for his mark.

As he sipped his strong, fast-cooling coffee, he remembered what Lucinda had once told him about the woman, that she was a dietician at a retirement center. "Just need to get a feel for when she leaves for work, when she leaves to go home, and the routes she takes, then plan accordingly," he muttered to himself. So he had found a spot from which to watch his victim's house, making careful note of who went out and when. The lights had gone on in the mark's house about 20 minutes before, and he hoped that soon the woman herself would appear.

There was a slight movement in the driveway that caught his attention; someone was coming out to one of the cars. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes, dialed in the infrared lenses, and smiled. Sure enough, someone had just gotten into one of the cars, and was pulling out of the drive. He switched quickly over to a regular zoom lens as the car began to back out. The light inside the vehicle hadn't yet turned off on its own and Franks could clearly see the silvery hair that decorated the back of the driver's head.

"Bingo!" he breathed, grinning. He waited until the car passed, able to see more clearly that, yes, this was the woman he wanted. He counted to five as he started up his sedan and pulled out into the road, following the woman's car at a safe distance.