It was nearing one o'clock in the morning.  Control stood motionless by the front door, his hands on his hips.  He waited, mentally counting the minutes since McCall had called to report that he was with them, and that he was bringing Corrie home.  'Them' meant Corrie and Kostmayer, who had disappeared without a trace or explanation forty hours before.  So he waited.  And, since waiting was not a process he endured patiently, his methodical mind compensated by again reviewing the details of his last phone conversation with Corrie.

He had been at EHQ in Paris getting briefed on the latest in the ever-changing European and Near East power struggles, when a secretary had broken in on the meeting.  Looking directly at him, the woman had said simply, "Sir, you have a call."  He had followed her into the general office area and had been pointed to an unused alcove to take the call.  It was Corrie and something was clearly wrong.  The connection was hideous to start with, and Corrie was trying to shout over the crackling static.  Obviously, she was not calling from the New York office or any other secure Company line. 

"… you…….about………..Walt…. Freedman ……alive?" she had shouted without preamble. 

"Corrie, I can barely hear you.  What about Freedman?  He's dead, isn't he?" he had tried not to shout back.

"N………Did you …………..….  Where ………………….cover-…?   This is …….." she had replied.

"Corrie, you're not making any sense.  Where are you?  I'll call you back on a clear line," he had told her.

"No time…………. I'll ……..to…….when I …."  And the line went silent.

Not waiting for a secretary to put through the call for him, he dialed the New York office and spoke directly with Michael, his assistant and secretary.  According to the office log, Corrie had left for a tech conference in Washington on a red-eye flight.  Control then hung up and called the contact number in Washington that Michael had given him.  The office there informed him that the conference had already begun but that Corrie had not signed in.  When he asked them why they did not seem concerned by this, they explained that traffic and communications there were snarled due to a tropical storm stalled just off the coast.  They had assumed …

Control immediately called Michael back and briefed him on Corrie's phone call and the response of the office in Washington.  "Michael, I'm issuing a level four alert.  Advise security that Corrie did not arrive at her destination under suspicious circumstances, and that I want them to start looking for her, now," he barked.  "I'm catching the first flight back."

Control had stormed back into the New York office in miraculous time, demanding an update.  Surprised by his sudden entrance, and without thinking, Michael had looked at his superior and asked, "Did the Concorde get to land or did you just parachute out over the building?"

"Michael, you have spent much too much time around Corrine.  I'm in no mood for sarcastic humor – not yours, not hers," a stone-faced Control had replied.  "Is there any word?"

A contrite Michael had shaken his head and said, "Sorry, sir, we know no more now than when you called, except for the fact that Mickey Kostmayer appears to have gone missing as well."

On one level of his consciousness, Control had felt relief knowing that Kostmayer was probably with Corrie, wherever she was, and he would be covering her back.  On another level, however, he was definitely concerned that Corrie was with Kostmayer in whatever he had gotten himself involved.   And this double-edged sword had been hanging over his thoughts all these long hours.  For most of that time, he had prowled the corridors of the office, waiting.  But he had come home a few hours ago, knowing instinctively that Corrie would return there first, and he wanted to be home when she arrived.  A short time ago, he received the call from Robert, saying that Kostmayer had contacted him, and that he would bring Corrie home.  So he waited.

Finally, hearing the sounds he had been anticipating, he pulled the heavy oak door open to see McCall and Kostmayer walking up to the stoop.  Kostmayer was carrying Corrie's limp body in his arms. Keeping his emotions under tight reign, Control moved aside to let them into the hall, after which he closed the door securely.

Facing Kostmayer, Control glared into the younger man's eyes and growled, "There had better be a damned good explanation for this!"  He then reached over and claimed his unconscious wife from his agent's arms, and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom.  McCall nodded to Kostmayer and they followed behind.

Upstairs, Control laid Corrie tenderly down on their bed and stood watching her for a few long seconds, the fingertips of one hand just barely touching her wrist.  Satisfied that she was only drunk, that her pulse and respirations were strong and even, and that there appeared to be no immediate danger, he turned to face the two men standing just inside the bedroom door. 

"I am waiting for that explanation, Kostmayer," Control said in a menacingly low voice.

With McCall standing behind him, effectively blocking any escape from the room, Kostmayer looked down at the hardwood floor and mumbled, "I can't tell you anything."

In two strides Control crossed the room and stood face to face with the man his male instincts wanted to strangle with his bare hands.  "You can't … or you won't?" he spat into Kostmayer's face.

McCall moved from his rear guard position and stepped between the two men saying softly, "Easy, old friend.  Remember, innocent until proven guilty."

Control glared at McCall and growled, "I don't need any advice from you, old son.  I want answers! Why did my wife call me in Paris screaming God-knows-what about Walter Freedman?  He's long dead!  Where have Corrie and Kostmayer been all this time, and just what have they been involved in?  Where did you find them?  And most importantly, why is Corrie wasted?" 

Kostmayer simply shook his head   "I can't."

With his anger barely kept in check, Control glared at Kostmayer and hissed, "Need I remind you that I have the power to …"

"It doesn't matter," Mickey interrupted, his eyes now locked defiantly with Control's.  "What you do to me isn't important.  What is important is that I gave my word to Corrie that I will not tell you where we have been or what we have been doing.  That is her story to tell, not mine.  She even made it an order, just in case you pulled this power shit on me.  And Corrie is wasted because that's what she wanted to be. She made me promise that as soon as she had passed out, not before, I would phone McCall and have him drive her home.  She didn't want me getting in your crosshairs.  But I came with her because I promised to always watch her back, and in my book, that includes from you, too!" 

Control lunged at the younger man, only to be blocked physically by McCall.  "Gentlemen, please!  This is not the time for a Mexican standoff.  Corrie needs ministering to," he nodded towards the bed where Corrie was beginning to stir, "and Kostmayer is near dead on his feet from exhaustion and his own excessive intake of alcohol, as evidenced by his total lack of thinking before speaking.  I solemnly promise you, Control, that I will bring him back here, as soon as he is awake and sober, to get to the heart of this matter, if that is what you so wish," he ended diplomatically.

Logic told Control that this was the best course to follow at that time of night, and he reluctantly nodded his agreement.  McCall handed him Corrie's hobo bag, which he had been holding all through the standoff, and then he took Kostmayer by the arm and led him from the room and the house.

Control stood still for a moment and calmed himself before going over to the bed and dropping the hobo bag on the floor.  On the bed, Corrie was attempting to sit up but not quite managing it.  

"Whoa, woman," he said kindly, catching her and guiding her back down to the pillow.  "What is it that you're trying to do, because you're not getting anywhere fast."

Corrie moaned deeply and whispered, "Pee…" while trying futilely to sit up again.

"All right, all right, that we can help you with," he said softly.  "Let me get my arm under your shoulders like this, there, that's it.  Now, when you're ready, I'll just help you to sit up … Just like that.  That's my girl, good, now just let me slide your legs over so your feet can find the floor and then we'll try actually standing up." 

However, before he could try that next step, Corrie groaned miserably and threw herself forward onto the floor. She grabbed the wastebasket next to the bed and began to vomit violently into it.  Control could do nothing but stand there impotently as spasm after spasm rocked her body.   

Finally, when the worst of it appeared to be over, he bent down and scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom, whispering soothingly, "My poor lady, easy, just breathe easy.  It's all right, you'll be fine soon.  Don't cry.  You'll be all right.  I'll take care of you, I promise."

He stood her on the floor, holding her up with one arm as the other undid her jeans and pulled them down.  Then he sat her gently on the toilet.  "There you go, my queen, your throne is ready for you," he said softly.   As Corrie relieved herself, he backed over to the linen closet to grab a handful of washcloths, keeping a wary eye if she started to fall forward again.  He soaked the cloths thoroughly under the cold water tap, and asked her, "Just how long has it been since you visited a ladies' room?" as Corrie continued to urinate without pause.

"Doan 'member," Corrie mumbled, hanging her head.  Finally finishing, Control helped her to her feet and used one of the washcloths to wipe her face.  At first, Corrie seemed to relax a bit under his tender ministrations, but after a minute, she pulled away from him and groaned, "Gonna be sick…"

She dropped to her knees again and attempted to reach the toilet bowl before the eruption occurred.  Only partially successful, she held on to the cold porcelain for dear life as wave after wave wracked her body again.  Control knelt down next to her to steady her between spasms, feeling desperately helpless to give any aid.  Time seemed to go in slow motion as Corrie purged herself of the toxins she had ingested.  One of his concerns was that she was dehydrating quickly from the vomiting and would need more care than he could render himself.  Even as he knelt besides her giving what little comfort he could, his mind was organizing the list of steps he would take next.  "Once we get you back to bed, sweetheart, I'm going to call the CMO in for you.  While I can handle someone else's blood and guts, when it comes to you, well … Just hang in with me for a little bit, please, honey," he whispered to the back of her head.

Finally, when she seemed to have nothing left in her to purge, and her dry-heave reflex slowed, Control snatched several of the washcloths from the sink.  He put one in Corrie's hands and she buried her face in the cool damp cloth and sobbed helplessly.  With another, Control rubbed the back of her neck, easing the tightness caused by the muscle spasms that had wracked her body.  It wasn't long, however, before Corrie began to tremble violently.  Control stood, bringing Corrie up with him in his arms, and carried her quickly back to bed. 

He threw one of the multiple crocheted blankets lying on the foot of the bed over her to conserve what little warmth she had remaining in her body, and reached for the phone.

"Ops," an efficient voice answered at the number he dialed.

"Control," he said without preamble.  "I need Jacobs."

There was an immediate "Yes, sir," a barely audible click, and less than four seconds later, Dr. Aaron Jacobs answered, "What's the problem?"

Control explained Corrie's condition in a minimum of words to the head of the Company's medical team.  Dr. Jacobs answered immediately, "Fifteen minutes," and the phone went dead.

Control then set about cleaning Corrie up and getting her more comfortable.  He found one of her heavy flannel nightgowns and a few more fresh washcloths. "Ok, sweetheart," he warned, even though she had passed out again, "this will be a little uncomfortable for a few seconds.  Bear with me," he whispered as he set about the task of cleaning her up and changing her.  He had practiced this maneuver just last summer on smaller models when the grandkids had visited, so the process went quickly.  With that done, he pulled Corrie to a sitting position and then hefted her up and over his shoulder fireman style.  Holding her tightly with one hand, he yanked the blanket and sheet down and repositioned the pillow. 

"All right, dear," he said softly as he laid her back down, "back to bed you go."  He covered her protectively with several layers of blankets and then sat down beside her.  Gently brushing her hair out of her eyes, he caressed her very pale cheek.  Even though she could not hear him, he continued to talk quietly to her.

"Corrine, Corrine, what dark evil have you gotten yourself involved in?  What could be so bad, so ugly, that you couldn't talk about it even to me?"   He shook his head and continued, "I've read the files … while waiting for word from you." He had to stop and take a deep breath to steady his voice before continuing.  "I don't understand, honey.  What possible involvement could you have had with Freedman?  There is absolutely nothing in the files linking you with the man.  Your paths have never officially crossed.  What is it you know that I don't?" 

He continued to gently stroke her cheek as he methodically ticked through the information he had consumed during his long wait for her to come home.  "You've been stationed primarily in Europe and the Near East.  Freedman was stationed totally in Central America.  As a point in fact, he was being pulled back in because he had been out there so long, Operations felt he was going native and becoming a loose cannon." 

Control stopped and smiled at that.  "Well, that's something you may have vaguely in common with the man," he chuckled to himself.  "And as far as the records show, you were sitting quite entranced in one of your geek training sessions in Langely when Kostmayer's team went in to get him.  As far as the records show…." 

Control paused for a few seconds before going on. "Officially, Kostmayer's team consisted of him and the M & M brothers, Moshe & Misha Morris.  Now, dear, I know for a fact that you know all three of these players quite well," Control mused.  "I wonder … just how much of the truth is in Kostmayer's official action report and how much was edited out.  It wouldn't be the first time someone sanitized a report.  I know, I know," he smiled at her as if she was about to interrupt him, "I've done a cleaning job or two on a few reports myself."

The look on his face then grew deadly serious as he told her, "Freedman died two weeks after being brought in, supposedly from injuries sustained resisting the pick up team and from some exotic jungle virus he had caught.  Though the medical report was a bit ambiguous, in my opinion …"

The door chimes interrupted this monolog, and Control briefly closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts back to himself.  He gently kissed Corrie on the forehead and then hurried downstairs to let the doctor in.  If Control was surprised to see Michael standing on his doorstep, along with Dr. Jacobs and his assistant, Nurse Linda Randall, he did not let on.  He pointed upstairs and told the medical duo, "First door on the right."  He waited for them to reach the landing before turning and facing his waiting secretary. 

"There's news?" he asked softly.

Michael nodded and handed Control the packet of papers he had been carrying. Control motioned for him to come into the living room where there would be better light, and waved him to the couch.

"Sir, this report just came up from Washington not more than twenty minutes ago," Michael began once they were seated.  "Ops alerted me that you had called for Dr. Jacobs, so I took the liberty of bringing this right over without calling.  Two gunshot victims were found in an upscale Washington apartment a little over two hours ago.  The DC police have identified one of them as Elias Hoffman …"

Michael nodded.  "Yes, sir, he retired right after that," he added.  "The police believe he shot the other victim."

"Do they have any idea who that person was?" asked Control.

"Not as yet, sir.  No I.D. on the body and … well, it appears he ate the gun; it was a pretty big caliber and there's not much left of his face. There is also some sort of problem with the fingerprints."

"I see," Control continued reading, "it says there is heavy scaring on both hands."  To himself he thought, 'I wonder who's hiding what from whom?'

"Forensics is hoping for a DNA hit, sir.  As of right now, the police are operating on the theory that this is a murder/suicide as all of the evidence is pointing in that direction."

"Yes, yes, I'm quite sure all of the evidence would be very conclusive," Control mused.  "Michael, my instincts tell me this is the operation we're looking for.  I want you to stay on this.  I want as much information as you can find on Elias Hoffman, his career, retirement, who were his friends in the Company and out.  Everything," he repeated forcefully.  "Check medical records.  Find out if there is anything there to compare Walter Freedman to our dead victim.  Find out where Freedman is buried, if there's next of kin, anything on the man.  And the fewer the people who know what's going on, the better …"

"I'll get right to that," Michael answered

"There's something else I need for you to find out, if it's even possible," Control stopped him.

"If it exists, I'll find it, Sir," Michael assured him.  "What needle am I looking for in the haystack this time?"

"The week that Kostmayer's team was sent in to El Salvador to bring Freedman out, Corrie was attending a training conference thing in Washington," he began.  "I need to know if she was actually in that class or if she was playing hooky with Kostmayer.  If anyone knows of a way to bypass electronic sign-in protocol, it would be Corrie, but there has to be some other way of actually verifying she was there."

Michael thought a second and answered, "Besides the electronic sign-in, instructors generally keep a log of how each day's class went - what kind of questions were asked, if it went well, if there were any problems, that sort of information."

"And with Corrie there, it's always possible …" Control added.

"Very true, sir.  I have a friend at headquarters that is a real file ferret.  Dutch specializes in this sort of thing.  If the logs exist, she will find them and will probably be able to tell us just what seat Corrie sat in and how many times she drove the instructor apeshit each day telling him he was teaching the class wrong."

"Yes, but remember, the less said, the better," Control added.

"No problem, sir.  Dutch is a very old friend, been with the Company since the early days and knows how to keep things to herself."

"Good.  Anything else I should know?"

"No, just that Frank Murchison was the Company source that contacted me after seeing the initial police inquiry..."

At the mention of Corrie's brother, Control looked up again from skimming the papers.  Before he could ask the question on his lips, Michael answered. "And no, sir, he has no idea what Corrie and Kostmayer were up to in Washington either.  He's as concerned by their mysterious actions as you are, plus the fact that she never contacted him while she was there  He asked me to assure you he will report what he finds directly to you."

Control nodded his head.  "Frank is a good man; he understands that there is more going on here than meets the official eye.  Corrie has confided in him in the past, especially when she felt she couldn't talk to me."

Michael glanced at his supervisor with a questioning look. 

"Corrie is very conscious of the line between being my wife and being an agent with the Company, even though she doesn't always show it.  We've been married how long now and she still won't tell me everything going on in that head of hers."  He thought about the secrets they both had to keep from the other, then said,   "Michael, you'd better get back to the office and let Frank know I appreciate his efforts.  See if he can get the DC police to keep a lid on this until we know for sure whether Corrie and Kostmayer are involved."

"I'll pass that on to him, sir, but from what little he has said to me, I get the feeling you both are on the same page and the same line," Michael answered.  "I'll let you know when there is anything new."

After letting Michael out, Control hurried back upstairs.  The doctor had finished his examination and was giving Nurse Randall instructions for preparing an I.V. and medications to administer to Corrie.

Before Control could even ask, Dr. Jacobs waved a hand vaguely towards the bed and said, "Relax.  She's going to be fine.  A little dehydrated … a touch of alcohol poisoning … but she's as strong as a horse, just like the rest of her mad family.  There's nothing to worry about."

"Thank you, doctor, but the patient you are waving at so flippantly is my wife, and I will worry about her," Control said with an edge to his voice.  "You weren't present as she vomited her guts out …"

"Control, I have practiced medicine long enough to have seen my share of drunks vomit.  I assure you, I am well aware that Corrie does not habitually abuse alcohol, and like most of that bizarre family, she can hold her liquor.  None of them throws up willingly.  I said she will be fine, and I mean she will be fine.  There is no reason for you to discuss or challenge my diagnosis.  I am going to have Miss Randall set up an I.V. and administer an appropriate amount of anti-nausea medication and monitor her vital signs.  Miss Randall will remain here with Corrie for the next twelve to eighteen hours, being my eyes and ears, and will report in hourly.  You need not be present," finished the doctor, who obviously was a veteran of many past encounters with the man.

"I will indeed be present, doctor," hissed Control.  "Who do you think …?"

Before he could go any further, Nurse Randall grabbed his upper arm and jabbed a hypodermic needle into it.  As she pushed the plunger down, Control looked first at the nurse, then at the doctor, and cursed, "Damn you, Jacobs!  What the hell do you think …?"

The good doctor smiled broadly.  "I didn't have to think, because I already knew that you were going to be a giant pain in the ass, getting in the way of this poor woman whose main duty will be attending your good wife.  So, I have eliminated any problem.  Now, you have only a few seconds to decide.  Do you want to lie down in bed next to your wife, or on the floor where you are about to drop.  As a point to consider, I have no intention of picking you up off the floor, so if you would like the bed, you had better start moving in that direction now.  Nurse, please take his other arm," laughed the doctor wickedly as he led Control around the bed.

Control sat down heavily and rolled onto his side with his head barely reaching the pillow.  His last words before blackness enveloped him were, "Damn you …"

Chuckling softly, Dr. Jacobs nodded to the nurse to go about completing his instructions for Corrie's care.  "This should give you eight uninterrupted hours to care for your patient, Randall," the doctor said as he pulled Control's legs up and onto the bed and threw a gaudy, fuzzy afghan over him. 

"Thank you doctor, I was wondering how I would handle the big boss after you left.  It's always such a fun challenge when dealing with him.  And with the patient being Corrie, well, I wasn't anticipating any quiet time tonight.  But won't he be twice as angry now?"

Looking down at his second patient, the doctor shook his head.   "He doesn't have a leg to stand on.  The Director has just issued new guidelines for medical personnel to follow.  If the doctor in charge feels that there is a question as to the health or mental stability of an agent, the doctor has the authority to take whatever action he feels necessary.  Knowing him, he hasn't slept in an eon and has probably been living on nothing but coffee since Corrie went missing. Though I don't blame him a bit for it, I'm charged with watching out for his well being as well as hers.  You can wake him up in eight hours, give him a couple of these vitamins with my regards, tell him for me to eat something and let him go terrorize the bad guys to his heart's content," laughed the doctor as he handed her a pill bottle.

"Noted, doctor," replied the still smiling nurse.

* * * * *

Precisely eight hours later, a nearby knocking sound bid Control back to the light of day. 

He sat up instantly and looked around.  Nurse Randall was standing by the nightstand, ready to repeat her knocking summons if needed.  Corrie was resting peacefully next to him on the bed, and had a little more color in her face than earlier.  Relief flooded through him.

"Her vitals have been stable all night," the nurse said without being asked.  "She awoke about an hour ago and I assisted her to the bathroom.  She had a powerful headache, which was to be expected, and her stomach was … well, I will quote her exact words, 'feels like I've swallowed live snakes.'  I've given her the medications the doctor indicated and she fell back to sleep with no trouble.  She did ask me, however, to tell you she was sorry, when I woke you up."

Control nodded and said, "Thank you," very softly.  "I appreciate everything you have done for her while I was … out of action."

"Yes, sir," smiled Randall.  "Dr. Jacobs left me instructions as to when to wake you, to give you these vitamins," she said efficiently handing him the tablets, "and to tell you that he orders you to eat something.  Your secretary, Michael, is waiting for you downstairs in the kitchen with coffee and bagels.  There were two phone calls from Mr. McCall, and he would appreciate it if you would call him after you've had your coffee.  Oh, and an FYI: Dr. Jacobs was also summoned to Mr. McCall's to perform similar services for Mr. Kostmayer as he did for Ms. Corrie.  I thought you'd like to know that."

Control rubbed his face with his free hand and murmured to himself, "I bet Jacobs didn't slip McCall a knock out shot like he did me."

"No, sir, there was no need.  Mr. McCall was quite calm and didn't even bother picking Mr. Kostmayer up from the bathroom floor, I understand.  Dr. Jacobs had to call in two orderlies to do that, and they both remained to provide nursing care.  Mr. Kostmayer's reputation with female nurses is well known," Randall added, sitting down and picking up her knitting.

"Yes, I am well of Mr. Kostmayer's reputation, also," grunted Control as he walked around the bed.  He stood and watched Corrie as she slept for a few seconds and then bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.  Nurse Randall smiled and assured him that she would let him know as soon as Corrie woke up again.  Control nodded and walked out of the room in search of coffee and Michael.

* * * * *

"Good morning, sir," Michael greeted him as he entered the kitchen.  "You look much better now that you've had some sleep."

"Tell me, Michael," Control asked, "Were you aware of Dr. Jacobs' plans for getting me out of the way last night when you came to see me?"

Michael looked at his boss with a stunned expression on his face, "Sir, I could never be that deceitful with you.  If I had known, I would have surely warned you …"

"When everything is back to normal around here, whatever normal is, I think you should put in some overtime practicing your facial expressions when telling lies.  This one is definitely not working," grumbled Control.

"Yes, sir," answered his secretary, apologetically.  "Corrie always tells me I can't lie with a straight face.  I'll have to work on that.  Um, I brought coffee from the deli and freshly toasted bagels for your breakfast."

"For that, I will forgive you this time … but only this time," Control said as he slid into the breakfast nook.  "I am hungry.  I don't remember when or what I last ate."

"Well, sir, unless you have a secret stash of food somewhere in your office that I don't know about, your last meal had to have been in Paris, during the conference.  All you've ingested since coming back, that I've seen, has been an ocean of coffee and nothing else," Michael replied.  "Corrie would pummel me if she knew you hadn't eaten in all that time."

"Well, she'd pummel me, too, so let's just decide between us not to tell her when she awakes.  Deal?" asked Control.

"Deal, sir," replied Michael.

"Good, now that we have our own secrets from Corrie, what, if anything, has come to light since I was dispatched to oblivion by the good doctor?" he asked.

Michael pulled a notepad from his pocket and said, "I managed to get those medical records to the police forensics lab and there is a positive match on our other victim.  It was Walter Freedman."

"A man who supposedly died two years ago in a Company medical facility," put in Control.

"Yes, sir, the mystery is getting darker.  I spoke to Frank Murchison and told him that Corrie was home.  He was relieved to hear that, and he assured me that there would be no problem keeping a lid on the investigation.  It seems …"

"No, don't tell me," interrupted Control, with a mouthful of bagel.  "Someone on the Washington Police Department is a relative of theirs and will more than gladly work with him and do whatever is necessary.  Right?" he asked as he held the bagel like a pointer and jabbed the air.

Michael chuckled.  "Yes sir, the Murchison family web strikes again," he said, shaking his head.  "Anyway, Frank said that the police are more than willing to let the Company take the whole investigation so that they can get on with their own crime."

"They're being very smart," Control said.  "They know just how damn complicated this is getting."

"Yes, sir," he agreed.  "Frank also said that there is very little known about Elias Hoffman other than he lived a very quiet life."

"Oh, that in itself is very telling.  Even in the shadow world we exist in, someone should know something about the man.  Tell Frank to continue making discreet inquiries…" Control said, as his mind was already making a list of names of the people he intended to contact also.  Coming back to the present, he said, "Anything else, before I let you go home and get some rest too?"

"Not to worry about me, sir.  After speaking to Frank Murchison and Dutch last night, I curled up on the couch in your office under that afghan from Corrie's grandmother that you can't stand, the one you keep hidden in the closet.  I caught some quality sleep with the phone right next to me.  I'm good to go for a while now," Michael confessed. 

"Excellent," replied his boss.  "Sometimes I think that couch sees more business than a Holiday Inn."

"And…?" Control was afraid to ask.

"Tom, his name is Tom Miller, said that he's known Corrie a long time and she should have taught the class and not attended it.  She has always taken great joy in 'challenging' his teaching style.  He said that after Monday morning's session, he'd had enough.  He had given the class material in bulk to her and suggested she find a quiet corner in hell to read it and not come back to class until the last day, for the formality of taking the quiz." Michael smiled.

"Well, well, well, that confirms she had the opportunity to go with the team.  Knowing my beloved wife, she would not have sat quietly in a Washington hotel for three days idly reading a training manual," Control mused.  "Thank your friend … Dutch … for her efforts.  She did well.  Now, is there anything else I need to take action on immediately, or has the world graciously stopped dead in orbit for the duration of this little problem?"

"In your dreams, sir," Michael replied with a laugh.

* * * * *

Later, after Control let Michael out, he went upstairs to see how his invalid was doing.  Nurse Randall had almost finished the sleeve she was knitting, and Corrie was still sleeping peacefully. 

Holding his hands up in an 'I'm not armed' posture, Control asked the nurse, "Can I ask a question without getting a needle jammed into me?"

"Ask away, sir.  I'm armed with blanks," laughed the nurse as she held up the knitting needles.

"Thank heaven," smiled Control.  "I just want to know if it is normal for her to be sleeping this long and this soundly."

Nurse Randall looked at Control and then at her patient.  "Yes, especially if you've been given the meds that she's been given.  Your wife, like yourself, is well known for trying to jump back up on her feet before her feet are ready for it.  Dr. Jacobs has ordered a light sedative along with the anti-nausea and pain medications, just enough to ensure she gives her systems a chance to recover fully from the binge she went on before she hits the streets running again.  The doctor has found that this approach works quite well, especially with our more, shall we say, energetic field types within the Company," she said.

"Ah, I see.  Is Kostmayer on the same regimen?" 

"Yes, sir, especially Mr. Kostmayer.  For his own good and the good of any nursing staff within a hundred miles," Randall laughed.  "Did Mr. McCall say how his patient is doing?"

"I haven't called him back, as yet.  I was thinking of a shower first and then McCall.  These are the same clothes I had on when I was still in Paris.  I don't want to be caught in them when Corrie wakes up, or there'll be hell to pay," Control confessed.

"A sound decision, sir, especially since your pants have not only been slept in, they've also been thrown up on," Randall said as she pointed to the crusty material splattered on his pants' legs.

Control nodded to the nurse and to the bed, "Well, if you ladies would please excuse me, I believe I will find a clean set of clothes and take myself away to a hot shower.  As you were," he smiled as he set about his task.

* * * * *

As was his habit, while standing under the pulsating stream of hot water, Control mentally organized the file cabinet in his mind, sorting and prioritizing the new data that Michael had given him into the appropriate dossiers for review.  He considered the growing amount of data in the open file on 'Corrie's Secret Mission' and thought to the steam surrounding him, 'My instincts appear to be right and Kostmayer sanitized his action report.  My good wife was not sitting in that classroom in Langley as her record shows.  She most likely cut out of the class to opt for a short trip with Kostmayer and the M & M brothers.  That sort of thing is pretty common on missions like that.  It would have looked like a piece of cake, in and out.  But something happened, something went very wrong.  The report said that Freedman did not come back willingly, and that physical force was needed to subdue him and get him to the pickup point.  Why was Freedman so reluctant to come in?  What was he up to?  Misha and Moshe could have easily restrained Freedman when he refused to come in.  Hell, those two could easily restrain a squad of Freedmans if they had to.'  Control sighed deeply.  'No, my wife, it wasn't them.  It was you.  Why else would Kostmayer willingly perjure himself on his report by omitting your presence as a pick up member of the team?'

He finished his shower, and as he lathered his face to shave, he continued his mental discussion with the bathroom mirror.  'Kostmayer once said that he had seen you, my beloved, 'lose it' on a mission, and that it wasn't a pretty thing to see.  Was this the assignment he was referring to?  I've read your file more than a dozen times since our first fateful meeting.'  Control's mind flashed back to that meeting at the Berlin airport so long ago, and the events that followed - his illness, her tender nursing care, her lack of fear of, or respect for, his position, their first kiss, and their first night together.  Corrie, his life, his love, his wife, was truly an enigma wrapped in a puzzle box.  'Though you'll never win any medals for Miss Congeniality, and your record of disciplinary action is legend, you have never 'lost it' enough to frighten anyone, least of all Kostmayer.  I know this, my love, if you were with Kostmayer, if you were the one who caused the injuries to Freedman, it was over something more than just his reluctance to come in.  It would not have been pretty to see either.  Kostmayer and the M & M boys were seasoned field agents who would not spook easily.  What evil could be behind this?' he asked himself.

* * * * *

"McCall, it's me.  Pick up," Control told the voice message recording he'd heard so many times before.

"Control, you're back among us," laughed McCall as he stopped the machine in mid-sentence.

"I gather, old son, that you heard all about the little ambush the good doctor pulled off?" Control mused.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Jacobs was quite proud of himself and his strategy to render you unable to interfere with him or his staff.  He may just submit the story to the Readers Digest for their 'Laughter is the Best Medicine' column.  I'm just sorry I didn't get to witness the coup," McCall chuckled.

"Well, I'm not.  The sleep was needed, about that I don't disagree, but I do not take kindly to the idea that the doctor felt the need to eliminate me from the picture.  Especially considering how sick Corrie was," he added.

"Yes, Jacobs told me.  Kostmayer was basically in the same condition.  After purging himself, he passed out on the bathroom floor," McCall said seriously.

"I heard.  Kostmayer's legend among the nursing staff continues to grow in leaps and bounds.  How is he doing?" Control asked.

"Better.  He at least doesn't look the color of death anymore," McCall told him.

"Corrie has some color back in her face too," Control answered.  "The doctor is keeping her asleep for a while longer, for her own good."

"Same here," McCall replied.  "They're less trouble to handle if they're unconscious."

"Yes, but tell me," Control said, switching subjects, "did Kostmayer happen to say anything to you before he passed out?"

"I'm afraid not.  The only time he opened his mouth was to down the bottle of Scotch he grabbed as he entered my apartment.  I have no clues to offer in explanation for their secret adventure," McCall told him.  "Do you know any more than we did before?"

"A little, but the new pieces to the puzzle are just as enigmatic," Control confessed.  "We've received word that Walter Freedman was found shot and killed in a Washington apartment last night, and his attacker was Elias Hoffman, who apparently committed suicide afterward."

"Freedman?  I thought he was already dead," McCall said.

"Yes, so did I, so did I," replied Control.  "And, it appears that Corrie was part of Kostmayer's team retrieving Freedman two years ago."

"Ah, another puzzle piece falls into place.  All we have to do is figure out what happened."

"It sounds so simple.  What would cause my sweet, even-tempered wife to 'lose it' and beat the crap out of Walter Freedman?  What was he up to down there?  And just what did Elias Hoffman and Walter Freedman have going?  For every answer to the puzzle, we have more questions," Control finished.

"So it appears.  I don't remember much about Hoffman, other than he was very quiet and a bit bookish.  A rather odd sort to be in Operations," McCall said.

"That's about all we know about him, too," Control said softly.  "Can you get away for a bit this afternoon and come by so we can talk?"

"Yes, of course.  My patient has a pair of burley Nightingales to keep an eye on him while I'm out.  I'll be over shortly," McCall said before hanging up.

* * * * *

The front door opened before McCall even knocked. 

"Hey, McCall," said Sterno as he and Jimmy exited and hurried away. 

"Gentlemen!"   Turning to Control, Robert asked, "Was it something I said?"

"No.  They're on their way to Washington to help Frank Murchison with the investigation.  If there is anything in that apartment left to find, they'll find it.  Also, Jimmy will be monitoring the phone and any calls made to it, while Sterno does some discreet canvas work.  Frank agreed that out of town help would eliminate any possibility of word getting out about the murders," Control advised as he beckoned McCall to follow him into the living room.

"Yes, that would be prudent," McCall agreed, sitting down.  There was a fresh pot of hot tea on the coffee table before him.  "Tea?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Tea," Control repeated in the affirmative.  "But don't worry, old son.  It's safe.  Nurse Randall made it, not me.  Help yourself," Control said as he waved towards the pot. "I've got coffee."

"In that case, I believe I will.  Thank you, Nurse Randall, wherever you are," McCall laughed.  "Is there any news on your patient?"

"Yes, the good doctor stopped by a little while ago.  He's decided to keep Corrie asleep until tomorrow morning to let her stomach calm down.  I don't know what she drank to get that wasted, but it sure did a number on her insides.  She couldn't even keep water down the last time she woke up.  Jacobs felt that an extra twelve hours on the I.V. would be better than experimenting with crackers and flat soda," Control explained.  "The change in nursing shifts is due in a little while, and after that, I thought maybe you and I could go out and get something to eat."

"Of course, no problem.  Doctor's orders?"  McCall asked.

"More like doctor's threats," Control laughed.  "We've declared a truce, for now.  I promised him that I would go get some fresh air, a good meal, and that I wouldn't stay up late tonight pacing over the issues if he promised he would call off his hit woman with the needle."

"Did he believe it?" Robert asked.

"No, Jacobs is too smart for that.  The incoming nurse has orders to knock me out at midnight if I'm not already tucked in bed somewhere in the house by then," Control said seriously.  "I'd sneak over to your place to keep working on this but knowing Jacobs, he's given the same instructions to the team in place there."

"No doubt, old friend.  And I would not put it past the man if he's armed Michael and given him the same instructions.  He is determined to provide you with good health care, whether you want it or not," McCall laughed.  "So, have you any more news and how can I be of help?"

"There isn't much in the way of news.  Frank called a little while ago and said that every inquiry on Hoffman ends in a dead end.  Whatever the man was into, he was very cautious about covering his back.  So far, Frank hasn't even found a bill paid late or a library book overdue," Control said.  "Which means that…"

"The two men were into something very nasty," Robert finished.

"That's my take.  But what could it have been to send Corrie totally off the deep end?  Yes, she has a temper.  Yes, she is self-righteous about some things.  But it would take something extraordinary for her to kill two men in cold blood," Control said softly.

"Why do you think it was in cold blood?" Robert asked.  "Corrie is a highly trained, very proficient denizen of our shadow world, but we both know that she does have a conscience.  That's the only reason why dear Bernard and Rodney are still taking in breath."

"Yes, that's true, she could have easily snapped the two of them in half without a second thought, but she didn't," Control said thinking back to the night that the two brothers had shot him and badly concussed Kostmayer.  "And that is what has me trying so hard to figure out what Freedman could have possibly done to warrant Corrie beating him to a pulp in that jungle so long ago?  Why did she feel compelled to take immediate action this week and not wait a few hours for me to get home to deal with Freedman and Hoffman?  What evil drove her to act as judge, jury, and executioner over those two men?"

"Surely you don't believe that?  Aren't you the man who once told me that evil had nothing to do with being a good Company man, a good agent?  You said the job calls for cunning, craft, and ability.  Do you remember what you also said to me that night, when you tried to convince me I didn't have evil lurking in my heart?"

Control shook his head and said, "No.  Besides I probably said it just to get you to let up on yourself."

"Well, it didn't help that night, but I've had some time to think about it and I understand now what you were trying to say to me.  You told me, and this is a direct quote, 'If the objective is sane, it is not evil.'  Do you remember those words?"

"Yes, Robert, I do," Control admitted softly.  "I've tried to let those words, that thought, guide me as I continue to do this job without feeling like I have sold my soul to the devil himself." 

"It is a good philosophy for you to follow, or any one else in the Company for that matter, through the darkness we must exist in to save the world from even darker evil," McCall said.  "And you know, deep within your husband's heart, that the woman you married is not evil.  Yes, she can do the job with the best of them; she can be cold, heartless if needed, and deadly.  To survive in the darkness requires this strength.  But that one, small matter of her conscience will always keep her in check and only permit her to cross that thin gray line when the objective is sane."

Control sighed, "You're right, Robert.  There are checks and balances there that regulate that sometimes-exasperating Company whirling dervish that everyone else sees.  And though I've read her file enough times, and I know she has this dark side, she has killed before ..."

"This is the first time you've really come face to face with it."

"Yes."

"Yes.  I know this sounds totally illogical and even … stupid, Robert.  One of the things that first attracted me to her was her telling me to go to hell," laughed Control, remembering.  "She stood up to me, face to face, and told me she was not impressed by my power and authority.  If I wanted her respect, I had to earn it.  And yet, I've seen her stay up nights to nurse sick puppies, or hurt birds, and even broken gargoyles back to health.  But kill … in cold blood…"

"It is my belief, old friend, that we have only one course of action to take here."

"Oh?"

"We will follow the good doctor's orders to the letter.  We will first go out and get a good meal into your stomach for the first time in days.  Then, we shall enjoy a few drinks and reminisce about a time when life was simpler," McCall advised.

"Are you sure there was such a time?" Control asked softly.

"No, but by then we'll have put a few drinks into us," McCall laughed.  "And I promise to return you to hearth and home at a decent hour so that you can avoid any nursing intervention.  A few hours of sleep, and you can get the answers to all of your questions direct from Corrie herself in the morning.  I doubt highly that Frank & Company will have much to report before then.  What do you say?" McCall asked.

"You're right, Robert … this time.  But don't let it go to your head," Control cautioned.  "And above all else, don't let me get home late.  I have no desire to be punctured by another of Jacobs' demon Nightingales."

* * * * *

Nurse Janet Ryan was a seasoned veteran in the medical profession's battle with Control.  With just her presence beside the bed in the guestroom, Control awoke and sat up without any need for her to say anything, knock on wood, or touch him.

"Good morning, sir," she said briskly.  She handed him a cup of coffee that smelled as if it could wake up everyone in the five boroughs single-handedly.  "My patient is awake.  She has been able to drink some weak tea with no apparent distress, so Dr. Jacobs has ordered the IV removed.  He advised that he would be here in approximately two hours to re-examine the patient pending her release.  She has had a shower and is sitting up on the couch in her room.  I am going downstairs to make some toast.  If you wish, I will bring some up for you."

"Hmmm, no, thank you.  I'll just go across the hall and talk with the patient while we wait for Dr. Jacobs," he said, wondering what any toast made by the woman would look like, considering the strength of the coffee.

Entering their bedroom, Control found Corrie sitting on the couch bundled in a cocoon of fuzzy afghan blankets, bravely sipping on the weak tea given her by Nurse Ryan.

"I'd be very careful with that," he said softly.  "Her coffee is strong enough to walk in here on its own.  Her version of weak tea might eat its way through those blankets if you spill it."

"Coffee, huh?  I was wondering what that smell was."  Corrie put the teacup down on the end table next to her and said quietly, "I'm glad to hear you got a good night's sleep.  I'm sorry.  I know I hurt you with all this.  It's the last thing I ever wanted to do.  I … I…"

Control walked over to the couch.  With one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other on the arm, he bent down and kissed Corrie ever so tenderly on the lips.  "You didn't … you couldn't, and I will say this only once," he whispered firmly to her.  "Never, EVER forget that I love you as much as you love me, if not more.  Deep inside, I understood that you had cause and purpose behind your actions, so I wasn't hurt when you didn't confide in me.  I was, however, worried about the woman I love with my whole life, throwing herself into some unknown danger."

He sat down on the couch and put his arms around Corrie, pulling her onto his lap.  "But since you know all about that, worrying about someone you love, as you so often tell me, I won't go into any gory details.  When you are ready, and only when you are totally ready, I am here for you to talk too," he said softly into the top of her head.

"My prince," Corrie sighed.

"As always."

They sat together quietly for some time, each renewing themselves in the other's nearness.  Even the bustling of the ever-efficient Nurse Ryan changing the bed linens did not disturb them, or the smell from the plate of cremated toast she had dropped on the coffee table.  The world outside their arms existed on a different plane.

When he found them alone again in the room, Control said quietly, "You knew I would figure some of the story out before now?"

"Yes, I thought you would.  Knowing you the way I do, you've been putting pieces of the puzzle together since I hung up the phone on you.  How's the rest of the world surviving the process?" she asked.

"The world is … safe.  McCall wouldn't let me get close enough to Kostmayer … "

"Oh?" Corrie interrupted.

"Easy!  Easy, he's safe.  He's undergoing the same regimen that Doc Jacobs has used on you, and he should be waking up in an hour or so.  McCall is acting as host and caretaker, and will call us when Kostmayer is awake and up to company," he replied.

"I was afraid …"

"That your beloved husband would wring your comrade-in-arms' neck with his bare hands for going with you on this secret mission, and returning with you unconscious in his arms, drunker than he has ever seen you?"

"Um, yes."

Control chuckled briefly and said, "Well, thanks to an old friend who brazenly stood between the combatants, no physical contact was made and we all separated peacefully, if not amicably." 

"I'm glad.  I do love you."

"Feeling's mutual."

"I hate there being secrets between us, but this was something I couldn't tell you about before.  I'm not sure if I can now, even," Corrie sighed. "It's hard to explain."

"If you need more time, I understand," he said.  "I already know most of the details.  You were with Kostmayer and the M & M Boys in El Salvador to bring Freedman out two years ago."

Corrie nodded.

"The simple extrication went hairy and Freedman sustained … injuries.  That combined with some sort of virus, supposedly led to his death two weeks later.  Or so said the official Company report."  

Corrie nodded again and murmured, "Or so it said."

"Yes," he replied softly.   "And I know for a fact that when you arrived in Washington this week you saw someone or something that made you challenge that official report.  You called me to see what I knew but that didn't work out, so you called Kostmayer.  He knew the scenario; he would cover your back with no question.  For that, I am grateful." 

"There are some blanks in my time line at this point, but, last night, two bodies were found shot to death in an exclusive DC apartment.  One body has been identified as Elias Hoffman, former Operations manager for Central America and the man who called for Freedman to be brought in.  The other victim, who it appears was shot by Hoffman, was the very same Walter Freedman, evidently back from the dead.  He died without explaining why he isn't buried in the grave in Arlington Cemetery that bears his name on its headstone," Control continued.

"The Washington police, after observing the evidence found at the crime scene, and with advice from Company spokesman Frank Murchison … yes dear, brother Frank got tangled in this web too," he said as Corrie looked up at him suddenly.  "As I was saying, the police have decided to close this case as far as they are concerned and mark it a murder/suicide for reasons unknown.  They have handed the whole file over to the Company, by way of Frank, to fill in the blanks and file as they please.  Frank, along with Jimmy and Sterno, is very quietly investigating matters in and around Washington as we speak."

"They're not going to find much," Corrie whispered. 

"I figured that, but you do know how thorough I am?" he asked.

"Yes, I know," Corrie replied simply.

The silence in the room stretched out for some minutes.  Control was content to hold Corrie tightly against him as she fought with the demons parading through her thoughts.  He could feel the agitation and tension in her body as she worked her way up to filling in the blank parts.  He would not force it.  He knew their future life together as husband and wife depended on her being able to tell her story without feeling he was judging her actions either as a husband or as Control.

"This whole nightmare started because I was depressed," Corrie began.

"You, depressed?  When?" asked her surprised husband.

"We hadn't been able to see each other for over a month.  I … I…missed you something fierce and I don't mean just the sex," she said, slapping his arm as he chuckled in her hair.  "I only signed up for that stupid seminar to get some legal time stateside so I could sneak up and see you.  The damn class was put together from reports I had written on repairing that damn surveillance computer that they finally had the good sense to junk," Corrie sighed.  "Anyway, it didn't work."

"No?"

"No, you were off on one of your top secret, 'I'm-not-doing-anything-dangerous' little romps in the countryside."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, my beloved idiot.  My Godmother was in San Francisco.  Brother Frank was off on vacation someplace undisclosed.  I was bored and … depressed … because I missed you," Corrie whispered.

"I remember those feelings," Control said softly.  "It was getting a little uncomfortable for me, too, being away from you as much as we were."

"Good word," agreed Corrie.  "Anyway, the idea of sitting in that classroom was more than I could take …"

"Or the teacher …"

"Yeah, Tom threatened to stuff me in the computer console and turn on the juice after just the first morning," Corrie snickered.  "So, I called Mickey to find out what he was up to.  He invited me to be the driver on his little excursion down to El Salvador, and promised to have me back in class by Friday for the final quiz … which I helped write, by the way."

"Hmmm, a woman of many talents."

Ignoring the comment, Corrie continued, "So, I put on some fatigues, Mickey briefed me in flight, and we jumped into the jungle looking for the man supposedly going native.  When we arrived at his first known location, it looked like we had just missed him.  The funny thing was how clean everything was.  Not a pin out of place, or any evidence that someone lived there for that matter."

"Odd," Control said.

"Odd … too odd," Corrie replied.  "The next location was a mirror image.  Down right freaky, in fact.  So, we broke all jungle speed records to get to his main hut in the trees, and caught him just as he was exiting out the back door.  Misha and Moshe were polite and didn't take his 'no' for an answer, and invited him to sit cozily between them in the back seat.  Freedman had been carrying a plastic bag of stuff, and I jammed it under the front seat for the trip back to the pickup point."

"Well, except for the fact that he was trying to elude you, and that Mr. Freedman was a neat freak, sounds pretty standard."

"Yeah, so we thought.  At the pickup point, Mickey waited inside this small shack with Freedman, while the M & M boys kept watch outside.  I took the car into the trees to sanitize it and ditch it.  As I was getting out of the car, I remembered the bag and pulled it out from under the seat.  It caught on something and ripped open."  Corrie shuddered violently at this memory and Control doubled his efforts holding her.

"Ok, it's ok.  Just take your time," he reassured her. 

Corrie closed her eyes tightly, remembering the scene in the car, and held on to him for dear life.  "There were some … personal items," she said and paused.

"How personal?"

"Stuff that a kid would save, rocks and pieces of things ... remember the beginning of the movie To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"Yes.  During the opening music and narration, the little girl was taking things out of a shoe box or cigar box," Control remembered.

"Yes.  That's the sort of stuff that fell out of the bag.  The kind of mismatched and broken trinkets a child would save, in a secret box. But there were also several envelopes of … of … pictures …"

Control closed his eyes and pulled Corrie even closer to him.

" … Pictures … of … children … small children.  Grotesque pictures … straight … from … from … hideous nightmares."

"Oh my God…" Control whispered.

"He … he was … abusing them … sexually.  Their little faces … were … so … terrified … and twisted in … in pain…" Corrie sobbed.  "I … I …hurt for them … so bad."

"I know you did, I know," consoled her husband.

"And there were … more pictures … of them … they … they were… dead," Corrie sobbed.

"Bastard …" Control cursed.  He held Corrie tightly in his arms for several minutes to let her get control of herself.

Then, suddenly, Corrie pushed herself away from him and sat up, starring out of the window.  Her eyes were dead, unseeing.  Her voice was flat and expressionless, a hoarse whisper.  "I lost it … I ran back to the hut, and I shoved Mickey out of my way and I jumped on the bastard, and I started hitting him with my fists as hard as I could.  I don't know how long I beat on him.  Mickey tried to pull me off.  I was banging Freedman's head on the dirt floor when Misha and Moshe came in," Corrie said as if it were one sentence.

Corrie paused and took a deep, shuddering breath.  "It … took … the … the three of them … to pull me off of him," she whispered.  "Misha and Moshe had to carry me outside and sit on me under a tree until I stopped kicking and fighting them to let me go and finish the job.  Mickey came out a little while later and said that Freedman was still breathing but unconscious.  Then he showed the boys the pictures and … and … they stood a little bit off from me and 'conferred' about what they would do next.  The chopper was inbound and would be getting there any second.  Time was really short.  Finally, Mickey told the boys to take the car and go back to all of Freedman's known camps and check them thoroughly.  They were to make sure that there wasn't anything left, even if they had to burn the places to the ground. Then, they were to find a ground route out and meet up with Mickey back in Langley."

"Sound plan," Control said as he readjusted the blankets around Corrie.  Her hands were ice-cold and he didn't want her going into shock.

"Mickey didn't say a word to me all the way back in the chopper," Corrie told him.  "He told the crew that Freedman sustained his injuries running from the team.  Then, he just sat there, leaning against a bulkhead, watching me.  All the way back to the Company intake farm, he stared at me.  I got the feeling he was waiting for me to try and hurtle Freedman out of the open door."

"I wouldn't have stopped you," Control said.

"No, and I think Mickey was beginning to think they stopped me too soon back in the shack and now it was too late to finish the job.  There were more witnesses," Corrie said flatly.  "When we landed at the compound, and the crew was busy getting Freedman into an ambulance, Mickey took me aside and told me to get lost, beat it, disappear.  He told me to walk quietly away, head towards the main gate, sign out of the compound like everything was normal, rent a car in town, drive back to Washington and sit in my hotel room until he called me.  He would handle the official reports and debriefing.  My name would never appear anywhere.  He and the boys were going to say that the injuries were unavoidable due to Freedman's resistance.  He told me he'd catch up with me before I left for Berlin on Sunday, and then he went off with the ambulance."

"And you had no trouble blending into the woodwork?"

"No, I was just another set of khakis signing out and heading to town.  Like a courier on a run … just blended in and acted perfectly natural, like I did this every day."

"What happened to the pictures?" Control asked softly.

"I still had them, in my pack, along with the other … items.  I still do," Corrie whispered.

"Where?"

"In a safe place … our safe place."

Control nodded.  After their marriage, the new husband and wife had decided to 'secure' some of the more damming information they had each collected in their lives in the shadows together in a safe place.   He waited a few minutes for Corrie to calm herself a bit and asked quietly, "What happened then?"

"I drove back to Washington in a rent-a-car.  I took a very, very long, hot shower, and cried until I couldn't cry anymore.  Then I went back to the class and took the test, becoming my usual smart-ass self again.  Mickey called me late Saturday night and we met in a dive we both knew.  The boys had called him and reported that all known sites were clean.  Nothing else was found.  They had even talked to a few of the locals, but they only said Freedman was a crazy gringo no one had much to do with.  The boys were on their way in."

Corrie sat still and stared for a few seconds, then continued, "Mickey told me that Freedman was in a coma, a whole bunch of broken bones, bad concussion, but no skull fracture."

"The dirt floor saved his life."

"Yeah, I should have brought a rock with me," Corrie replied with no emotion.  "Anyway, he was also running a very high temp from some kind of jungle fever.  The action report Mickey submitted said that Freedman resisted and fought back like a madman.  No one even questioned the information, especially since I had left a few cuts and bruises on Mickey and the boys trying to get free of them and back at my main quarry."

"No, I probably wouldn't have questioned the report, either.  Freedman was way over the edge … and with a high fever … extreme force would have been reasonable to subdue him."

"Mickey never mentioned the pictures in his report.  He did say that when Elias Hoffman got there, he questioned him about whether Freedman had any personal effects on him.  Mickey told him no, Freedman had nothing with him.  Hoffman seemed … relieved."

"Oh?  Relieved?"

"That's what Mickey said."  Corrie sighed deeply.  "And Mickey and I have not spoken about this since," she whispered.

While pondering all of this new information, Control reached over and grabbed the teacup and handed it to Corrie.  "Here, sip a little more of this, sweetheart. I don't want you having a relapse or anything."

"Yes, dear.  Actually, I'm feeling better than I thought I'd feel," she admitted.  "Talking about all this was no picnic, but it wasn't as horrendous as I thought it would be.  I guess confession is good for the soul."

"Yes, or it's the fact that you are finally sharing this unholy secret with me," Control said caressing her cheek, "and not carrying its weight alone anymore.

"Yeah, that could be it too," Corrie nodded, and gave him back the empty teacup.

Control put the cup down and Corrie snuggled back down against his chest.  He wrapped his arms tightly and comfortingly around her and let her settle in quietly.

"I went back to Berlin that Sunday and hugged the hell out of your shirt for the next few weeks," Corrie said softly.  "Word came that Freedman died.  I had no sense of guilt or remorse for what I did to him, beating him the way I did, but the pain in those little faces still haunted me.  I couldn't sleep for days.  Then, like some wonderful miracle, I came home one night and there you were sitting in my bed smiling that Cheshire cat smile of yours.  God, you don't know how much … how good it was to see you and hold you."

"So that's why you wouldn't let me out of bed for two straight days."

"Yeah … you resisted with your last ounce of energy too," Corrie remembered.  "An all was right in my world again, life went on.  You can fill in the blanks from there.  Eleven months later, I get the news that Corrine had only six months to live; I transferred to New York, and lo and behold we got married."

"Hmmm, lo and behold," Control mused, silently marveling at how she found the strength to put this nightmare behind her.  "And earlier this week in Washington?  What set that chain reaction in motion?"

"Fate, I guess," Corrie answered.  "Or unfinished justice.  You'll have to ask God that question.  I caught an early flight to Dulles so that I could stop at Birdies on my way to Langely."

"Ah, the bakery shop with the kill-for doughnuts and coffee almost as good as yours?"

"Flatterer … but yes, that's the one.  It was pouring cats and dogs and really awful."

"Tropical storm Danielle stalled off the coast."

"Whatever, just damned wet.  I'm sitting there, looking out the front window at the downpour, and enjoying one of those mortally sinful cinnamon rolls, when Walter Freedman walks right in to the place.  I thought I would throw up …"

"And waste that awesome cinnamon roll?" Control asked elfishly.

Corrie looked up into his eyes and said seriously, "I said 'almost'.  Murchisons do not waste food, especially awesome food."

"Yes, that's true.  What I saw was mostly liquor."

"Bite me!" Corrie whispered and settled back down.  "So, I ducked behind the manual I was reading and watched him.  His hair was totally white, and he walked with a limp, and he looked like he was a hundred years old, but it was definitely Freedman.  I waited for him to leave with his order  ...  scrambled egg on crescent roll and a double-shot French vanilla latte, skim milk."

"Don't make me hungry," Control said, looking at the burnt toast sitting so forlornly on the coffee table in front of them.

Ignoring him, Corrine continued, "Then I followed him, taking the roll with me," she added looking up at her husband, "and hurried to my car.  It wasn't hard following him in the rain.  It was coming down in sheets and everyone was moving like drowning bugs. He pulled into what looked like one of those senior complexes advertising that on-site medical care was available for all residents.  It was about a mile east of Birdies."

"Very interesting," Control said.

"Yes, very.  I watched as he went into one of the buildings, then followed discreetly into the lobby.  The elevator went up to the fourth floor.  A receptionist was sitting there looking bored and uninterested so I asked her if the gentleman that just entered was my old coworker, Andrew Jackson."

"Andrew Jackson?" 

"Don't go there!" Corrie warned.  "Anyway, Little-Miss-Perky answers, 'Mr. Walters?  No, his name isn't Andrew Jackson, its Mason Walters. Would you like me to call him on the house phone for you?'"

"I thanked her and told her that I needed to be at a meeting and that I would check the phone book and give him a call some time later.  I went across the street to a drug store on the corner with a good view of the building entrance, and that's when I called you."

"And we both know just how well that went."

"Yeah, modern technology sucks again.  Anyway, I hung up and called Mickey.  He was going to read the riot act to me for waking him so early until I said 'Walter Freedman'.  He was all ears, then.  I asked if he would please come down and help me check this out."

"Let me guess, he was there before you hung up the phone, right?" 

"Just about.  Not only him, the M & M boys appeared out of the woodwork, too."

"Oh?  They're supposed to be retired and living like Hungarian kings somewhere in Florida, aren't they?

"No, too warm there.  They're now some place near the New Jersey shore."

"Interesting," Control said as he mentally made note of the change of address.

"Need some white out?" Corrie asked devilishly as she watched her husband process that bit of news.

Control smiled, then moved one of his hands slightly and pinched Corrie on her bottom.  "Smart ass!"

"You know me.  Anyway, Mickey had called them up before he left New York, and they must have rendezvoused somewhere on the turnpike.  Before I can even say anything to them, the M & M boys each give me a big bear hug … now what are you finding so funny?" Corrie asked.

"Just the mental picture of Misha and Moshe wrapping you in their arms and hugging you like some poor rag doll, your tiny feet dangling two feet off the ground, that's all," he laughed.

"Yep, that's about the way it went down.  Then, Misha bows formally to me, and scoops me up off my feet again.  Moshe opens Mickey's front door and Misha plops me in the front seat without a word.  Moshe slams the door shut and Mickey peels out without one word between us."

"Planned ahead.  Good field work.  To know you is to not give you a chance," teased Control.

"Keep it up, laughing boy," Corrie warned. 

"Sorry, you left yourself open to that one.  I'll be quiet," Control apologized.

"Harrmppf," Corrie snorted.  "So before I can ask him what the hell he's doing, Mickey throws a shopping bag at me with a change of clothes and orders me to crawl into the back of the van and change!  He said I looked like a conspicuous drowned rat standing in the rain watching the apartment building, just like a ROOKIE!"

Control managed to hold his tongue upon hearing this, but he could not stop from jiggling slightly as he suppressed his laughter.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "And you replied …" stone faced.

Corrie's voice grew hard and she said, "I grabbed him by a very sensitive part of the male body …"

Control winced, but said nothing.

"And told him he was coming dangerously close to never fathering any children, and that he had better have a good reason for talking to me like that."

"That's my girl, but I don't think Joan would be too happy about the idea," Control smiled.

"Yeah, that's what Mickey said, too, and I told him Joan would more than likely side with me once I told her how he treated me."

"I can definitely see that," Control confessed. 

"Anyway, Mickey just wanted to make sure that I was thinking straight and with the program. So I let him live and played the good agent and crawled in the back of the van and changed clothes," Corrie finished.

"Ok, that explains why Kostmayer is still with us, and the jeans."

"Jeans?"

"When I was 'assisting' you out of your clothes the other morning, I wondered about the jeans.  You don't normally go to a geekfest at Langley in jeans."

"True, my love, you know me so well."

"Much practice," confessed her husband.  "Now, woman, get on with the story.  Jacobs will be here soon and I know you don't want to drag this out any longer than you have to."

"Yes, boss," Corrie replied.

"Not boss, concerned husband."

"Yes, dear, you're right." Corrie smiled.  "Okay, where was I, yes, in the van.  While I'm changing, Mickey radioed the boys and filled them in on what I had seen.  We stopped and got some sandwiches and met up with the boys to plan strategy.  Misha had already gone in to 'deliver' something to Freedman's apartment building and scoped out the layout inside.  Before we could formulate a plan, Freedman came out, got in his car, and drove off.  We tag-team followed him into Washington where he pulled up in front of this posh apartment building and Elias Hoffman came out and got in the car.  They headed back into Virginia.  First stop was a park across the street from this big public school.  The two of them just sat in the car and watched the kids as they came out at the end of the day.  Because of the rain, no one went into the park, they got right on their busses or into cars and in no time, the area was clear.  Then we followed them to an arcade in a nearby mall.  Hoffman and Freedman got some coffee and sat down at a table right outside an arcade.  They sat and watched the kids playing games for the next two hours, like they were watching animals at the petting zoo!"

"I'm surprised …"

"That I didn't just shoot them in the coffee court?  That's what the boys voted to do, but I told them not in front of all those children," Corrie answered soberly. 

"After they left the mall, they headed west, out of town.  About an hour away, they pulled into what looked like a deserted farm.  Not much had happened in the fields for some time.  They pulled up to the farmhouse and went in like they'd been there many times before.  Soon, lights went on in an upstairs room.  The M & M boys tossed Mickey up into the tree next to the house …"

"Wait, they tossed Kostmayer up into the tree?"

"Yes, it was a tall tree and the first branch was too high to jump up and grab.  So, like some circus act, Misha and Moshe locked hands and ally-ooped Mickey up to the first branch, and he climbed up the tree to the window to scope out the situation.  Freedman and Hoffman were alone in a bedroom together … I don't need to go into detail, do I?"

"No, I can fill in the blanks here," Control answered.

"We waited a while, and then quietly let ourselves into the house."  Corrie took a deep breath and continued, "The whole layout was like something out of an exaggerated sex farce.  It had everything, from bondage rooms, to French whorehouse, to Roman whorehouse, every fantasy a sick guy could think of, even adult baby nursery fantasy stuff."

"All the pleasures a man … or men … could imagine."

"Yeah, we took pictures for the record.  Have you seen my purse?" Corrie asked.

"It's on the floor near the bed."

"Push, please," Corrie said as she gave him a kiss on the cheek and moved to get up.

Placing his right hand on her lower back, Control held his left arm out as a support for her to pull on and pushed Corrie forward to stand up.  She shuffled over to the bed, still wrapped in her cocoon of blankets, and returned carrying the purse.  Control held out his arms to accept her back on his lap, but she sat down next to him on the couch instead and handed him a bundle of instant snapshots she had retrieved from the bowels of the bag.

He flipped through them slowly, taking in the varying scenes in each room of the house.  "Very interesting.  Anything and everything you could want for very sick, eclectic tastes.  Are these for me?" he asked, tossing the pile on the coffee table in front of him.

"Yes, I thought you might like to keep a set in your treasure chest for future 'leverage'.  Personally, I don't care what two consenting adults do to or with each other.  I just wanted to be sure there … there were no …"

"Children involved?"  Control finished for her.

"Yes."  Corrie paused a few seconds and then continued.  "We finally worked our way upstairs and kicked in the door of the room Hoffman and Freedman were in."

"Did Freedman recognize you?"

"He fainted dead on the spot," Corrie answered.

"I guess he recognized you."

"Yep, that was my take.  Hoffman ran over to the door screeching like a banshee and tried to bitch slap me … easy big boy," Corrie reassured him as she patted his thigh.  "He didn't have a chance to hurt me.  Moshe knocked him across the room with a flick of his finger."

"Good, I'd hate to have to kill a dead man," Control confessed as he settled back on the couch.

"Always my hero," Corrie smiled.  "The boys tied up Hoffman, and Mickey poured water over Freedman and he started to cry like a baby.  I, um, evidently left him with a little brain damage after El Salvador."

"Does that bother you?"

"No.  I'm just giving you the details."

"Good."

"Where was I … oh, ok?  Mickey and the boys had decided going in to keep the hierarchy from the El Salvador trip, with Mickey acting as team leader."

"You were ok with that?"

"Yeah, then I could be the implied threat if Hoffman and Freedman didn't give Mickey the 'right' answer to his questions."

"I know I would seriously consider giving up all my secrets if someone threatened to let you loose on me," smiled her husband sweetly.

"Flattery will get you nowhere tonight, dear."

"That's fine with me.  I want you strong and back to your normal self … whatever that is," he smiled and blew her a kiss.

"Aw, so sweet, now shut up so I can finish this, please?"

"As you wish," Control agreed.

"Sure, we'll see.  Anyway, Mickey started interrogating them.  Freedman just sat there crying the whole time.  Hoffman was defiant at first and then turned into an arrogant idiot.  He tried to sell the song and dance that Freedman only turned to those children in El Salvador because he was homesick and missed his lover … like that was supposed to make it acceptable.  He swore up and down that they never hurt any children here in the States and that they weren't pedophiles. When asked about their visit to the school yard and the mall, Hoffman just said that Freedman always loved watching children at play."

Corrie stopped for a few seconds and Control watched closely as she pulled herself together to finish the story. 

"Finally, Misha and Moshe and Mickey decided that we wouldn't get any more out of either of them and that we should head back to the apartment in Washington to finish this up.  We all figured it better to leave any connection of them and the farmhouse out of the picture for now."

"Yes, sound idea.  Don't let anyone know we know about it yet," Control agreed.

"Mickey handed me the keys to his van and told me to follow behind them.  He took Freedman's car, and Misha and Moshe took Hoffman & Freedman in their truck."  Corrie took a deep breath and looked down at her hands for a few seconds.  "I was almost afraid the boys would take things into their own hands on the trip back but they didn't.  We drove back in to Washington, went in the back entrance and up to Hoffman's apartment without being seen.  While Misha and Moshe searched the place, Mickey and I sat with them in the living room.  Freedman had stopped crying finally and Hoffman, well, he seemed … indifferent … like he didn't care anymore what we did.  Mickey told them that they were charged with crimes against innocents and found guilty by their own admissions.  The sentence was death."

Control took Corrie's hands in his own and asked, "You sure you want to finish this?"

"Yes, it's not as bad as you're thinking.  Hoffman actually asked to be allowed to kill Freedman because he was his 'soul mate' and didn't want us 'desecrating' him again.  Mickey thought that this was an acceptable request and after an almost touching farewell to each other, Hoffman shot Freedman with his own gun.  Unfortunately, he was shaking so badly, he literally blew Freedman's face off.  Then, he quickly turned the gun on himself and put a bullet through his own heart.  None of us had to do anything," Corrie finished.

Control sat quietly for a few seconds.  "That's not how I thought this would end," he confessed.

"You figured I would be the lone gunman and carry out the sentence all by myself?"

"Yes," Control answered honestly.

"Well, you would have been right.  I was fully prepared to do it, the whole nine yards; there was never a doubt about it.  Mickey and the boys all agreed it was my call to finish this and I fully intended to do it.  But the way Hoffman asked to be the one … the look he gave me …  it was as if he were saying I'd already hurt Freedman enough."  Corrie shook her head, "In one way, I figured it was poetic justice."

Control put his arm around his wife and moved closer to her on the couch.  "Yes, it was poetic justice.  If what Hoffman said was true, and Freedman started hurting those children out of loneliness or homesickness, or whatever, than Hoffman was just as guilty of their murders.  He could have prevented it all by bringing in Freedman sooner and he knew it." 

"Yes, he knew he shared the guilt, whether he participated directly in it with Freedman or not.  I'm sure that's why he didn't try and fight us, just accepted that it was over." 

Corrie was silent for a moment, and then said, "And for the record, I'm fine with the way it ended up … just as long as no more children where hurt.  Well, dear, that's my tale.  The M & M boys bowed and went home; Mickey and I came back to get drunk.  The rest of this mess is in your hands now."

Control smiled enigmatically and asked, "My hands?"

"Don't be dense, darling.  We both know that Elias Hoffman did not act alone when he 'killed' Freedman off after we brought him back and then resurrected him as Mason Walters.  Someone else up the food chain at the Company is involved in this, too."

"And you want me to smile charmingly and find out who this big tuna might be?"

Corrie stared into her husband's hooded eyes and read his thoughts, "Why do I even bother?" she asked out loud.  "That's why Sterno and Jimmy are in DC working with Frank," she exclaimed.  "I'm right, aren't I?  You looked into your little crystal ball and figured all this out before I even opened my mouth, and you were already working on the equation."

"To know me is to love me, as you so often say, my dear."

"I'll learn to keep my mouth shut one of these days."

"Yes, dear.  Anyway, you are correct.  The second they identified Freedman in that apartment, I knew we had bigger fish to look for. This isn't over by a long shot.  And it's going to get pretty ugly, of that I am sure.  And now that I have these lovely snapshots to add to the pot, well, this will be very interesting to watch unfold."

"Amen," Corrie sighed.

"Not quiet 'amen' yet, darling." Control said.  "I have … a question or two to ask you."

"Oh?  Okay," Corrie answered suspiciously. "What do you still need to know?"

"I'm a bit … concerned."

"About?"

"About you."

"I'm fine, almost," Corrie said avoiding his eyes.

"Corrie, if you're fine with everything, then why the knock-down, drag-out drinking binge?  Having a couple of drinks to de-stress, yes - that I could see.  But a passing out, heaving your guts out, drunk?  That's not like you, dear," Control said softly.  "Why?"

Corrie tried to pull away from her husband's encircling arm; he just pulled her back closer.  Her eyes welled up with tears and she looked down at her lap and whispered, "I had to … for those little faces … to give them closure.  They never had a chance … to grow up or live their lives.  So I wanted to remember them, celebrate them and … and the children … we'll never have together," she said softly.

"Corrine…?"

Corrie swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, "I had an appointment with Dr. Willis the day you left for Paris."

"Willis?  Why?"

"I've been having a few problems, lady-plumbing wise."

"I knew something was going on …"

 "You noticed but didn't ask any questions?"

"I didn't want to get punched in the chest again."

"Who?  Me?  Okay, I'm busted I guess…"

"Hmm, and you told me to mind my own business … even though you are my business. Every day of your life is my business," Control answered softly.

"I'm sorry … I know.  As you are mine," Corrie whispered.   "After the little punching incident, I called Willis and he ordered some tests." 

"Tests?"

"Yes, an ultrasound and a biopsy, blood tests…"

"And you didn't bother to mention any of this?"

"You've been … busy.  And I wasn't sure I could talk about it rationally.  We both knew that the doctors in Paris hadn't given us much hope of ever having children with all the damage done by the bullet and all that surgery and scar tissue, but you know I never gave up hope that one day …"

"Yes, I know …" Control whispered softly, "Like you, I had hoped that they would be wrong, too."

Trying to smile, Corrie said, "I figured odds of a million to one were right up my alley…  But the results were all back … I've got all the classic signs of early menopause and my uterus is … 'dysfunctional' was one of several words he used along with quite a few more lurid ones.  Willis and Jacobs agree it's time for a hysterectomy before I get any worse or hemorrhage."

"Jacobs was in on this consultation too?"

"Yes, you know the wonderful word of insurance nowadays.  Get that second opinion done a.s.a.p.," Corrie answered sarcastically.

Control wrapped his other arm around his much-loved wife in consolation and whispered, "I'm so sorry, honey.  I knew you never gave up hope, even though you kept saying it wasn't that important to you …"

"I lied."

"Since we're being honest with each other, so did I."

"Yes.  It was pretty selfish on my part, though.  The thought of seeing you big with our child … maybe a second chance at fatherhood…  But I never said a word to you because … of the fear that something might go wrong and I might lose you…"

Corrie burrowed deeper into her husband's chest and whispered, "I do so love you."

"Likewise, my dear," Control whispered back.

"Am I forgiven?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Control assured her.  "In fact, I would have joined you on your binge if you had let me," he added wistfully.

"Then who would have been left standing to call Jacobs?"

* * * * *

Three weeks later Control walked into the evening din at O'Phelan's and found his party waiting in a quieter corner.  He was only an hour later than he had promised, but hours sooner than they had actually expected him.  Sliding into the booth to sit next to Corrie, he greeted her with a warm kiss and asked, "Well, has my wife been behaving herself on her first day out of the house post surgery?"

"No, of course not dear," Corrie laughed and offered him a bite of the breadstick she was chewing on.

"I didn't expect anything less from you, dear," he replied, biting off the end of the offered snack.  "Thank you, I am hungry."

Robert McCall shook his head at this display of affection and said, "Yes, yes, Control.  Rest assured that we have endeavored mightily this day to keep your spouse from running riot in the streets."

"Yeah, but the big mistake was taking her for a carriage ride in Central Park, for some fresh air," broke in Mickey.  "We had to hog-tie her to keep her in the carriage and not chasing muggers and pick pockets," he quipped.

"My friends," Corrie mumbled.

"Yes, dear, they are your friends because they were watching out for your wellbeing … just like I asked them to … whether you like it or not.  I have no intention of getting on Willis' or Jacobs' bad sides because you are too headstrong to take it easy following surgery and for the next four more weeks of your recovery period.  Do I make myself clear, dear?" asked Control with a slight edge to his voice.

Corrie mumbled something to herself and grabbed another breadstick.

"Corrine, it would be rather crude and inappropriate for me to bite you here in front of all these people.  Maybe later, at home," Control leered.

"Thank you for sharing that unneeded image, Control," McCall responded as he finished his drink.

"No problem, old son.  And pray tell, what did the good doctor have to say to you today?" he asked Corrie.

"The usual.  I'm healthier than a horse.  Blood counts all back to normal.  Incision is healing fine.  He wants to see me again in four weeks … arrrggghhh! … to release me to go back to work.  I will be insane by then, you know that, don't you?" she demanded.

"Yes, dear, as will most of our family members, friends, and neighbors, not to mention half the City of New York, two thirds of the Company personnel roster … "

"Funny.  Very funny.  I married a comedian," Corrie grumbled.

"Do you mind if I change the subject and ask how the investigation is going in DC?" asked McCall.

"Please do," replied Control.  "It is going slowly, but it is progressing.  I contacted the M & M boys and asked them to forego the Jersey shore for a while and join Frank and friends in the investigation.  They have made themselves quite at home in the Virginia countryside keeping an eye on the infamous farmhouse.  The list of visitors grows daily as the pile of snap shots grows exponentially.  We have identified some quite high ranking officials of not only the Company, but other government agencies as well, plus a few highly placed politicians," advised Control.  "And, for your peace of mind, dear," he said, addressing Corrie directly, "I can assure you that there has been no evidence so far of any children being involved, that we have seen.  But we will continue to be vigilant in that respect."

"Thanks," Corrie answered sincerely.  "I'm relieved to hear that."

"Same here," agreed Mickey.  "I can just see the M & M boys stacking bodies up like cord wood for the winter if they ever see anything."

"Yes, they have already advised Frank that they will personally, permanently rearrange the anatomy of anyone bringing a child anywhere near the house."

"I would take their word as Gospel," replied McCall.

"Oh yeah," agreed Mickey.

"Unfortunately, as of right now, there isn't much we can charge anyone with other than keeping a house of ill-repute, or any other violations of Virginia codes that we can find," answered Control.  "The law of consenting adults …"

"Yes, but where these is smoke, there is generally fire," commented McCall. 

"True, very true," replied Control.  "And my people will stay on it until we find the chink in their armor.  The bean counters have tracked the ownership of the property back through a maze of legal finagling only to lead us back to an old friend, Corrie."

"I know of no friends who would have any stake in a place like that," commented Corrie dryly.

"Not even Jason Masur and his mother?" asked her husband devilishly. 

Corrie looked up at Control and complained, "This is a hell of a time for me to be on the wagon.  How come I didn't smell his involvement in this?"

"You had other things on your mind," deadpanned Mickey.  "Besides, he's been in jail long enough now for his rancid stench to clear out of any room."

"Well put," commented Control.  "Someone is running the operation while Jason is indisposed, and I promise you, dear, we will find out who the lackey is.  And I will personally serve his head to you on a platter for our anniversary.  Is that pleasing to you?"

"Only if there is an apple in his mouth," returned Corrie.

"So be it," Control agreed.