Lily flopped into the white chair closest to Control's desk, leaving the far one – the one with the best view of the closed door – for him. Control wandered to it absently as he thumbed through her report.

"So we're exactly where we expected to be," he concluded as he dropped into the chair.

"Yes. Nobody wants to budge."

"Damn." He flipped back and began to read the report in detail.

"Did the best I could," Lily answered quietly.

Control glanced up at her. She looked tired, and somehow uneasy. "I know you did." He went back to the report and asked, absently, "How's our other project going?"

There wasn't even a beat of hesitation. "Oh, the results have turned quite positive."

Control snapped his head up, dropping the report into his lap. "What?"

A quirky smile played over Lily's mouth. She shrugged. "Of course, it will be months before we have any visible evidence."

"You …" Control's mouth was too dry for words. He licked his lips, shaking his head to clear it. His mouth moved, but no words came out.

Lily's smile grew broader. "You did ask," she pointed out.

Control took a deep breath, and then another. He stopped trying to talk and just looked at her. He couldn't stop looking at her. Her expression, smugly pleased and a little unsure. The delighted mischief of having genuinely surprised him – it shouldn't be such a surprise, they had planned this – and here of all places, here where they never even let their hands touch …

Damn! He glanced frantically at the door – shut tight – and around the office. They were alone. He was reasonably sure it was free of bugs. He reviewed the conversation. No, nothing incriminating so far.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. Opened them and looked across at his lover – and the mother-to-be of his child. She'd stopped smiling.

"Are you okay?" Lily asked gently.

Control shook his head, bewildered. He licked his lips again. "I'm not sure."

Lily's concern grew more visible. "It's what you said you wanted."

"It is what I want," Control answered firmly. "I just … uh … didn't expect results this quickly." He frowned sternly. "And I certainly didn't expect to be informed here."

Her mischievous glimmer returned. "Then you shouldn't have asked."

Control nodded grudgingly. The initial shock was wearing off; his thoughts became somewhat more ordered. "Are you sure?"

"I am not in the habit of reporting results I have not confirmed."

"How long have you known?"

Lily glanced at her watch significantly. Hours, not days.

"And, ah," Control's mouth was cotton-dry again, "exactly when are we expecting these final results?"

She shook her head. "Early November, I think. I need to look at a calendar. I meant to do that before I left home, but I was already late for work. And my boss is a real stickler for punctuality."

"He sounds like an inconsiderate bastard."

Lily shrugged. "He has his moments."

Control stood up and paced slowly, moved behind her chair. "You're all right?" he asked quietly.

"A little … off balance. But I'm okay."

"We need to start making arrangements."

"No." It was almost a snap.

"No?" Control asked in surprise. "You can't honestly think I'm going to let you …"

"Take any more meetings?" Lily asked reasonably. "You're right. I couldn't possibly squeeze any more meetings into my schedule for the next few weeks."

Control took another slow lap of the office, considering. She was right, of course. He knew her schedule and there was nothing dangerous on it. He didn't need to take any action right now. Still, "Plans, nonetheless."

"Let's, uh, wait on that." Lily licked her lips, and for the first time he was aware of the tension in her shoulders. "Give it a little time, make sure the outcome isn't going to be … the same as last time."

He nodded his understanding. "The circumstances are completely different. We've had assurances of a positive outcome."

"And my head is appropriately reassured," Lily agreed. She brought one hand to the center of her chest. "But here, I'm not convinced. Let's not jinx this."

Lily had never shown the slightest inclination to be superstitious, not in the whole time Control had known her. But this fear had been with her since the night they first began trying to conceive a child. She had miscarried her first pregnancy early, and he could see how, despite the difference in circumstances, she was terrified that it would happen again. Logic played no part in that fear. Nothing that he said would reassure her. Time would, nothing else.

She was going to meetings, out of danger. They had time. "All right," Control agreed. "We'll give it a little time, see how things develop."

"Thank you."

"Oh, no." He paused behind her chair, let his hand fall to her shoulder, and squeezed, once, warmly. "Thank you."

 ***

Early March in northern Virginia was ugly: cold, wet, snarling with wind, covered in mud. Control didn't honestly think that New York City would have been any better, but at least he could have been sheltering from the rain with his lover by his side. Instead he was perched on an uncomfortably hard chair around a conference room table with a handful of semi-powerful men engaged in a pissing contest.

The Director, Michael Olford, had convened the meeting to discuss the Company's priorities for the year. Federal budget cuts were, as always, looming on the horizon, and he wanted to be sure the most critical operations and projects got funded first. The most reasonable approach seemed to be to bring all the players together and reach an agreement on exactly what the priorities should be.

Reasonable approaches, in Control's experience, had very little bearing on actual events. This meeting was no exception. Every man at the table had his own turf, his own pet projects, and his status depended on having those projects fully funded. Instead of an exchange of ideas, the meeting had swiftly devolved into a full-out turf war.

The one grace to being Control was that his budget was largely untouchable. He discussed his expenditures only with Olford, and only in private. He had been assured before the meeting that his funding would not be cut. He had no particular stake in the meeting, though he sometimes weighed in to support those programs he felt were most helpful to him. The rest, the petty politics and deal-making, he could afford to ignore.

But he was acutely aware that Jason Masur was on the other side of the table, watching him with ill-concealed loathing.

Control was certain that Masur had played a role in the multiple attempts to assassinate him the previous fall. He would gladly have taken the little weasel out behind the building and shot him dead. But Olford had other fish to fry, and he still believed Masur could bring them onto the boat. Out of loyalty to the Director – and nothing else – Control had so far spared his life.

Soon, Control thought. Soon the bastard would wear out his usefulness. And then he would be Control's to dispose of.

He was going to enjoy that day.

A gust of wind splashed rain against the window, and Control turned his head, ignoring the droning argument behind him. Hopefully the meeting would wrap up by the end of the day. He could go back to New York, where it would also be raining. Back to Lily.

Back home.

He was still the only person that knew about her pregnancy. She had almost no symptoms – some fatigue, some loss of appetite, nothing that would attract attention – and of course she wasn't showing yet. But she knew, and he knew. Of all the secrets he had kept in his life, this one was the best. The most joyous.

She had four more weeks before her resignation from the Company became official. Four weeks before she was out, clean. Safe. She had nothing on her schedule but meetings and debriefings. No danger. No risk.

He smiled to himself. And then what? A new house? A new job? A lot of choices to make, a lot of changes coming. But they were all good things. They would work them out. And by next Christmas they would have a child together …

Olford stood up. "This is getting us nowhere," he announced. "Let's take a break." He stomped out of the room.

Control rolled slowly to his feet. The chair was killing him. He rubbed his back absently with one hand.

"Control."

He took his time looking up. "Jason?"

"This resignation. Romanov."

Control felt his stomach clench. He kept it off his face, out of his voice. "What about it?"

"I'm disallowing it."

With icy calm, Control asked, "Why?"

"She's valuable. We're not letting her go."

"She's a courier."

"I don't care what you call her. She has too much knowledge."

Careful, Control warned himself. Push too hard and it would provoke the little creep to look further. "She's burned out."

"Put her on a desk, then. But don't let her walk out the door." Masur dropped the paper onto the table in front of Control. It has been stamped 'DENIED' in red ink six times. "Or we'll have to kill her."

He walked out of the room.

Control picked up the paper. His hand was trembling. Carefully, he tucked the form with his other documents in a thin manila folder. He was full of rage and fear, and he didn't dare show either of them.

Jason was only a few steps ahead. He could catch up with him, kill him in the corridor. No one would try to stop him, not until it was done …

No. He needed to think. He needed to act, but he needed to act smart. Be calm, he told himself. She's in no more danger now than she was thirty seconds ago. You can find away around this. Calm down and think.

This was his own fault. After he was shot, he'd kept her at his side. He'd needed her. When his life was in danger and he could only trust a handful of true friends, she'd been one of them. In the end, she'd saved his life. He could call her a courier now until the end of his days; the evidence was convincing that she was something more.

He sat down again, ignoring the hardness of the chair. Then he folded his hands and closed his eyes and tried very hard to drive the vision of his hands around Jason Masur's neck from his mind.  

 ***

The meeting went on the rest of the day, and part of Friday. Control was careful not to let Masur see how angry he was. In fact, he barely spoke to the man – which was as things usually were. When the last ounce of his patience had been squeezed dry by the petty politics of money, Olford finally called a halt and released them all.

The Director, Control was certain, was going to spend Friday afternoon through Monday at his beachfront home in the Keys. He could almost have guessed what flight he'd be on.

He didn't care. All Control wanted to do was get back home, back to Lily. And then –

He still hadn't figured out what to do.

Put her on a desk, Masur had said. Easy enough, either in the city or somewhere else in the world. Easy except for her pregnancy. Because once her condition became obvious, the questions would fly. And the minute Control showed his face within a hundred miles of her and the child, the rumors would start to turn dangerously towards the truth.

Put her on a desk far away and never see her or the child again. That was the obvious, safe answer.

It was unthinkable.

There had to be another way. Appeal directly to Olford, or higher. Get Dr. Tillman to issue her a medical discharge – and rush it through before Jason noticed. Either one of those was likely to tweak Masur's interest. And once that little bastard knew about the baby, he'd draw a straight line between Lily and Control.

Somehow, Control had to convince Jason that getting Lily Romanov out of the Company was Masur's idea, and in his own best interest.

Or else he had to kill him.

Killing him seemed like a much better idea. Olford wouldn't like it, but if Control gave the Director plausible deniability, it would fly.

A third option occurred to him. He could hide Lily away somewhere until Olford had what he wanted from Masur, then reconnect with her once Jason was dead.

He still wasn't thinking clearly about it. He was too angry and too afraid. He knew Jason presented a threat to his life; that didn't bother him much. But a threat to Lily – and now to her child – was intolerable.

He needed to talk to someone who could think coldly and objectively about the situation. He needed Robert McCall.  

But first, he wanted to see Lily. Five days without her seemed unbearable now. It would be tricky; he didn't want to tell her that Jason Masur was meddling with their lives until he had a solid solution in hand, and Lily was damnably good at reading him. She was likely to know that something was bothering him. But he could pass it off as aggravation from the extended meeting, maybe, if he was careful. In any case, he could not stay away.

He caught the late lunch flight back from Washington. Most people would have called it a week and gone straight home. In all honesty Control wanted nothing more than to go straight to Lily's apartment and stay there, let her soothe his jangled nerves and vent his frustrations at the idiots he worked for. But he was Control, and he made himself stick to his usual pattern: He went to the office. Badgered a few people, barked a few orders, muttered darkly and locked himself in his office. When it was half-dark and the office was mostly empty, he stalked out, went to his apartment, showered, and finally, carefully, went to the place he considered home.

Lily was stretched out on the couch, and he could tell that until he opened the door she'd been asleep. It was barely nine o'clock. The pregnancy, early as it was, was knocking her out. "Don't get up," he said from the door. "It's just me."

She sat up anyhow. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"Sorry. Should have called, given your boyfriend time to get his pants on."

Lily shrugged. "Nah, he was leaving anyhow." She waited while Control took off his jacket and tie, then patted the couch next to her. "You look like hell."

"Thanks." He sank wearily onto the couch next to her, turned his shoulders willingly to her waiting hands. She rubbed his sore neck expertly, her thumbs and fingers almost unbearably firm, just the way he liked it. "How are you?" As an afterthought, he amended, "You two."

It seemed to Control that there was a beat too much hesitation. "We're fine."

"Lily."

"We're fine," she repeated, more certainly.

He caught her hands, twisted back to look at her. "Promise?"

"I promise."

She wasn't lying, he could see it in her, but she wasn't telling him everything, either. He drew her closer and kissed her experimentally, as if he could taste the truth on her lips. She returned the kiss, just a trace hesitantly. Control leaned back. "What is it, Lily?"

Lily sighed. "I promise, everything is fine. But … we can't make love, not tonight."

"All right." He watched her closely. Their relationship was years past the point where he only came to her apartment for sex and she knew it. But it could only mean, at this juncture, that there was some problem. All his concerns of the day, everything that had happened at the budget meetings, at the office, vanished. Even Jason was gone. He felt the cold edges of dread climbing up his spine.

"It's just for a couple days," she assured him, "not for the duration, just a precaution, really …"

"Lily," Control said firmly. "What's happened?"

She ducked her head, just for a second, and then looked up. He saw her read the concern in his face; she leaned and kissed him lightly on the forehead, on each cheek. "Kedves, my love, listen to me. I'm fine, the baby's fine. I had a scare, that's all."

"A scare. What the hell does that mean?" Lily flinched at his tone, and Control forced himself to soften it. "What kind of scare?"

"I had some spotting. Spotting," she repeated firmly. "As in spots." She held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "Spots. Understand?"

Her reassurances did not stop the apprehension that marched up his back to his brain. "Spots of blood."

"Yes."

"That's not usual. Is it?"

"It's not uncommon at this stage."

He glared at her. "Did you see a doctor?" he demanded, knowing that she hadn't.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Lily half-chuckled, nervous in the face of his angry fear. "I did. Kedves, listen to me, everything is fine. Stop this, you're all knotted up again. Stop." She brushed her fingers along his face, down his clenched jaw. "I swear to you, the baby is fine."

Control took a deep breath. She had always resisted doctors when she could. She must have been scared out of her mind if she'd actually gone of her own volition.

"I have a picture," Lily volunteered, "sorta." She opened the coffee table drawer, drew out an unsealed envelope and took a small square of paper out. "Here." She handed it to him, and before he could protest, bounced to her feet and went to get his reading glasses from his jacket pocket. "You won't be able to see much – at least, I couldn't – but the technician and the doctor both swear everything looks perfectly normal."

He slipped on his glasses and looked at the paper. It wasn't a photo, exactly, just a piece of glossy fax-type paper, with a two-inch black square in the center. Within the blackness there were white curving lines, irregular and broken, most of a long oval and within a small partial circle. "They did an ultrasound?"

Lily shrugged. "I made them. I was kinda freaked. I think they decided it was easier just to do it than to try to talk me down."

"Kinda freaked," Control repeated softly. It was very clear to him that Lily had indeed been terrified. Of course she had been, after the last time. She was light and dismissive now, trying to calm him, but he could feel the undercurrent, the residual fear in her. That was the conflict he'd been reading since he walked through the door.

On impulse, he reached out and put his hand on the back of her neck, drew her to him and kissed her, gently and at length. "My poor girl," he murmured. "I should have been here."

Lily shook her head. "No, it's bad enough I was an idiot all on my own." She sat up, pointed to the tiny picture with the tip of her pinky finger. "Here's where his head is," she explained, pointing to the smaller circle. "And this little squiggle is his heart, and they tell me it looks fine, but I couldn't start to tell how they know. And there are definitely two arms and two legs, you could see them when he moved."

"He?" Control asked softly.

"Um, no. He or she, too soon to tell. Do you have a preference?"

"No." Calmer, finally, he stared at the exquisite woman beside him. She was emerging from the shadow of her fear. Suddenly this baby was real to her, and she was starting to believe she could keep him. Or her. Pregnant glow, he'd heard and dismissed, but Lily was lit up in a way he'd never seen before.

She caught his gaze, and blushed. "What?"

"Nothing." He looked back at the picture. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to a thicker part of the bigger oval.

"Placenta," Lily answered, "and it's all high and nice and they're very pleased with the placement, although it may shift some as we grow." She shrugged. "I feel a little like a prize heifer, to be honest."

Control considered. "Well, if the shoe fits …"

"Shut up."

He sat back, letting the relief wash through him. Lily was right. Armed with an impossibly unclear black and white photo, things were suddenly much more real, and somehow more settled. "So the bleeding was …?"

"Nothing," Lily repeated. "They said it just happens, and unless there's a lot more I shouldn't worry about it. Just that I should take it easy for a few days and lay off intercourse for a week."

Control nodded again, satisfied. "I don't suppose you did anything radical like take a day off, did you?"

"Well, no, but I did postpone the Hennrich meeting and stay in bed all morning."

"You were meeting Hennrich on Wednesday."

"Yeah."

He frowned at her. "When did all this happen?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"Tuesday afternoon," he repeated slowly, "and I'm finding out about it on Friday night? They do have telephones in Washington, you know."

"Yeah," Lily answered, a trace defensively, "and fax machines, too. Did you want me to send the ultrasound picture to the hotel lobby?"

"You should have called me." His tone was distinctly cool.

"I wanted to. But when it first started I couldn't think of an excuse …and you would have been in meetings anyhow, and then by the time I could have reached you at the hotel I already knew there was nothing to worry about."

 "You should have called me anyhow." Control's voice moved from cool to heated. "If you were that concerned, you should have called me."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"You could at least pretend to keep me in the loop."

"I'm keeping you in the loop. I'm telling you now. There was nothing you could have done then, and there was nothing to worry about anyhow. I didn't see any need to disturb you."

"Damn it, Lily, this is my child, too!"

"Damn it, Control, you weren't here!"

They both froze.

It had been years, literally years, since she'd called him Control when they were alone.

"Andrew, I'm sorry," Lily said quickly, sincerely. "I didn't mean …"

"I know." He gathered her in his arms, in part so she couldn't look into his eyes. "I know. But you're right. I wasn't here, because I was off being Control."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I know you didn't, but it's still the truth."

She sat back, looked at him again. "You're absolutely right, Andrew. I should have called you. I should have. But I was so scared I couldn't think straight, and then by the time I could I knew everything was fine and so I knew it could wait … I'm sorry. I should have called. It won't happen again."

He took a long, slow breath again. It still hurt; there was still some nagging fear, in the pit of his stomach. But Lily was right, too. He nodded his forgiveness. "We need to come up with some codes," he said quietly, conversationally. "Should have done that before now."

Lily nodded contritely.

"Ah, love, don't. I'm not mad at you. I'm just …" He shook his head. "You caught me off-guard. But he's okay, really?"

"Really."

"Good." He turned on the couch and stretched out, with his head in Lily's lap, his ear pressed against her deceivingly flat belly. "I wish I could hear him. Hear his heart or something."

"In a month or so," Lily soothed his hair back from his forehead, stroked his face gently. "This time next year you'll be wishing he'd shut up."

Control smiled fondly. "It's real now, isn't it?" he said reverently. He held the picture up in front of him, studied it again. "We knew before, but … it's really real now."

Lily sighed. "Yeah. I thought that, too."

"We need to start making plans."

"Yes."

He closed his eyes. It was too comfortable, there with his lover and their child, their tiny, tiny, but so far healthy child. Their child who had two arms and two legs, an alarmingly large head, and a heartbeat all his own.

Or her own.

"Tomorrow," Control murmured. "Tomorrow we'll make plans."

 ***

Lily slept.

Control did too, for a time. Then he woke, in the relentless grip of an impossible dream. He lay for a long time, rolling it around in his mind. Inconceivable. Impossible. But he had done the impossible before. Dangerous. To him; he didn't care. To Lily. To the child. That risk was intolerable.

He had not told her that Jason Masur was going to block her resignation. She had been too distracted to notice that he was hiding anything.

Intolerable risks. Unimaginable rewards.

And the cost – his career, his honor, certainly. It was unequivocally treason, this thing he pondered. His life, very possibly. Very probably.

So – give up the idea. But consider the alternatives. Contemplate the life you will have if you don't do this.

A scare on Tuesday, and you find out on Friday night. And when you send her half a world away to hide the child?

He sat up. Lily stirred. "Gotta check in," he murmured, and she rolled over and slept. He padded to the living room for his portable phone and called the office. There was nothing urgent. He went back to the bedroom and gathered his clothes.

"Leaving?" Lily asked, still half-asleep. "Need me?"

"Always," Control replied. "Go back to sleep." He kissed her softly and left her already dreaming again.

He drove several miles from the apartment, then parked his car and walked. It had not rained enough in New York to wash away the heaps of show; instead it had covered the piles with a glaze of ice.

He turned the idea every direction in his mind. Considered the possible outcomes, the potential dangers. It was impossible. Reckless, foolish. And yet …

… and yet the alternatives were worse.

It came, in the end, to this: Lily had to leave. Had to start a new life, under a new identity, far away from New York City. Given Masur's edict, there was absolutely no other way to keep her and the child safe.

The safest thing, once she was gone, was for him to never try to contact her again.

Unless …

He rolled the idea over and over. At last, he stopped at a phone booth and called Robert McCall. He ignored his old friend's gruff tones and snide queries about his ability to tell time. He asked, when he could get a word in, only one question. "Are you alone?"

 ***

Robert considered the black and white picture on the thin, shiny paper. He pursed his lips to a thin line. "What am I looking at, Control?" he demanded impatiently. "A bunker? A coastline? What is this, that's so bloody important I had to see it at this hour?"

"It's my son," Control announced. His words didn't come out nearly as nonchalant as he'd intended; the quaver in his voice startled him nearly as much as his words startled Robert. He shrugged, swallowed hard. "Or my daughter. Too soon to tell."

McCall stared at him. Then he studied the grainy picture with new interest. "Lily's child," he said softly.

"Yes." Control ran his fingers through his hair. "And yes," he added, "he or she was most meticulously planned."

"I wouldn't have asked that," Robert protested vaguely. He studied the picture intently. "I don't know a lot about these things – ultrasounds? But from what I learned when Becky was pregnant, isn't it rather early for this?"

Control nodded grimly. "She had a scare."

"A scare? A miscarriage scare?"

"Yes. But everything's fine, she says." He shrugged again, gestured to the photo. "Everything's fine. There's the proof."

"And yet here you are, at four in the morning. What is it, Control?"

Control turned away from his friend's question. It was one thing to harbor an insane notion in the solitude of his own mind. It was quite another to speak it aloud, even to his oldest friend in the world. He turned back and took the picture gently from Robert's hand. "It happened on Tuesday," he finally said. "This scare. Tuesday. I didn't find out about it until a few hours ago. I was in Washington. Budget meetings. Lily didn't call me."

"If there was nothing wrong, nothing to report …"

"I know," Control agreed quickly. "I know. That was her reasoning. No need to take a chance. Perfectly logical, of course." He chewed his lip. "She was terrified, she had to be, but she never broke cover. My perfect little agent."

"Control …"

"It will always be like this!" Control snapped. "Every time, in this child's whole life. Every emergency. Every triumph. I will never be there. I will always miss it. His first step, his first smile, his first broken bone. Everything. I will miss everything!"

"Yes," Robert agreed harshly. "And when you planned this child so meticulously, you must have anticipated all of that."

Control covered his eyes with one hand. "I did, Robert." He rubbed his face, then dropped the hand. "I thought it all through. I just didn't anticipate how difficult the reality would be."

"For God's sake, Control …"

"There's more."

"More?"

"We put through Lily's resignation. Jason Masur denied it."

"What?"

"She's too valuable to let go."

"She's a courier! She's not …" Robert stopped. Control could see him recognizing the futility of expecting clear thinking from Jason Masur. "So what are you going to do?"

Control looked at him steadily. "I'm going to marry her."

"You're what? Control, have you lost your mind? You are Control. You cannot claim her, or this child. Because the moment you do, half the world will be gunning for them. Whatever half-witted scheme you're concocting …"

"I'm leaving the Company."

Robert stopped in mid-rant. "What?"

It was, Control found, much easier to say the second time. "I'm leaving the Company, Robert. I'm taking Lily and our child and I'm leaving."

"They'll never let you go, Control. They'll kill you first. Both of you. You know that as well as I do."

Control spread his hands in supplication. "And so I am here. To ask for your help."

"I won't help you commit suicide!"

"If I have to live without them, I might as well be dead!"

Their eyes locked. They had known each other for decades. Faced death together, and life. Taken impossible risks, attained impossible triumphs. And suffered unbearable failures. The years, the knowledge, the shared lives, filled the room around them, phantoms crowding memories. There was no need to talk about any of it. They knew each other too well.

After a long moment, McCall turned away. He poured a short whiskey for himself and another for Control. He took his time about it. When he finally handed the glass over, he said, calmly, "It won't be easy. Most of your staff has already seen you die once."

Control nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Robert."

"For helping you write your own death warrant? Always glad to oblige." McCall tossed his drink back. "Tell me, my friend, what does Lily think of this suicide mission?"

Control winced and threw back his own drink. "She doesn't know about it yet."

McCall sighed and refilled their glasses. "Well," he mused, "at least we know what our first obstacle will be, don't we?"

 ***

They made coffee, dark and bitter, and they talked. At seven, McCall called Lily's number. She answered on the second ring, clearly groggy. "'lo?"

"It's Robert. I'm sorry to wake you."

She didn't bother to deny it. "It's okay. What's up?"

Robert hesitated, looking across the room to Control. "I know this is short notice, but I have a new client and I could really use your help. If you're available."

"Ummm …"

McCall thought quickly. He hadn't expected her to be suddenly cautious, though he was glad she was. "It's nothing hazardous," he assured her. "Just a rather large organizational matter."

"Oh. Okay." She sounded more awake now. "I still have my day job, you know."

"We'll work around it. Can you come over right away?"

"Sure. Give me half an hour."

"Be careful. The steps are icy. I'll make you breakfast."

"I'll be there."

Robert put down the phone and looked again at his old friend. "Here we go."

 ***

In twenty-five minutes, there was a knock on the door. Robert was in his bedroom. Control opened the door.

Lily was still bleary-eyed, but only a little surprised to see him. She closed the door and kissed him on the cheek. "False pretenses so early, love?"

"You have no idea."

"Where's Robert?"

"Getting dressed, I think."

Her eyes grew wary. She knew him too well. "And?"

"Take your coat off. Let me get you some coffee."

"Andrew."

He helped her with her coat anyhow. "This isn't … there isn't an easy way to say this."

"The easiest way to hear it would be very quickly, then."

Still he hesitated. He was Control, damn it – but he wasn't. Not with her. And Andrew was scared to death. Start with the easy part. "Jason Masur has disallowed your resignation."

Control could see the relief in Lily's face, in her whole body. It was only Jason; they could handle it. "And you and Robert have been up all night dreaming up some scheme to go around him."

"Of course."

She trailed him into the little kitchen. "All right. Let's hear it."

He poured her a cup of coffee, lingering over it. Thinking. He should have had a ring. An emerald. Of course the jewelers weren't open yet, but Robert probably had one in his safe, not a ring but at least a stone. No, that was stupid. Here's an emerald, we'll get it mounted later, and will you …

It occurred to him, much too late, that part of this whole scheme involved asking Lily Romanov to marry him. And that maybe a proposal ought not to take place in a mutual friend's kitchen at the crack of dawn, and in the context of a plan that would probably get them all killed.

But she was sipping her coffee, waiting patiently, expecting brilliance.

"You and I are going to get married," Control announced, with a great deal more confidence than he felt. "I'm going to leave the Company, we're going to run away and change our name and buy a house on the ocean. And live happily ever after."

There was ten seconds of silence. When he managed to look up at her, Lily was sipping her coffee. Her eyes laughed over the rim of her cup. "That's lovely," she said. "Now what's the real plan?"

He sighed. "I should have had a ring. I knew it. An emerald, a really big garish one. And champagne – well, you can't drink, maybe sparkling cider or something …"

"Andrew."

"I'm absolutely serious, Lily."

"No, you're not."

"He is," Robert said from the other doorway. "We have it all mapped out."

Lily looked at him, then back to Control, then back at Robert. "Is this your idea?" she asked accusingly.

"It is not," he vowed. "But I understand Control's reasons. And I – reluctantly – agree that it's the best course of action."

She looked back to Control again. "They'll kill you." To Robert, "They'll kill him."

"We have a plan," Control assured her.

"They will kill you," Lily repeated, with more certainty than either of the men had voiced. "They will never let you walk away from them."

"If they think I'm of no use to them …"

"Then they will kill you because you're weak and a danger to them."

"Lily …" Robert began.

"There's got to be another way."

"Of course there is," Control answered. "The other way is for you to leave, now, and for me never to see you again. Or to ever see our child."

She was silent. She sipped her coffee again, then put her cup down quietly on the counter. She looked at Robert again, and then at Control. Then she went back to the living room, picked up her coat, and let herself out.

The door closed almost silently behind her.

Control sighed. "I should have had a ring."

"I don't think that would have made any difference," Robert offered. "Do we alter the plans?"

Control shook his head. "No. She'll be back."

"You don't know that."

"I do," he said. As he spoke, his confidence in his words unexpectedly grew. "I know my girl. She'll be back."

McCall shrugged. "Then let's get back to work."

 ***

Scott McCall was dreaming of bonsai trees, oddly enough, when his wife woke him. "I'm sorry," Becky said, "I know it's early, but you need to get dressed."

"Okay." He rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up blearily. "Why?"

"You need to go see Lily."

"Okay," he said again. "Why?"

"She needs to ask you something."

"Did she call or something?"

Becky cocked her head. "No."

"Oh." With a little thrill of apprehension, Scott shoved his feet into his jeans from the night before and pulled them up as he stood. His wife had been mildly psychic for as long as he'd known her, but in the years since they'd been married her intuitions had become rare. While he missed parts of her gift, like the part that always let her find a parking space, he didn't miss the horrific visions she'd had, the nightmares and the waking terrors.

But the fading of her gifts had made the instances where they still occurred more alarming. Scott grabbed a clean shirt from the top of the dresser and hurried out to the kitchen. Their son Alex was in his walker, with a rolled-up towel stuffed around him to keep him upright. Scott leaned to kiss the top of his head. "Good morning, smiley." He straightened and took the travel mug of coffee his wife held out. "Is she in trouble?"

Becky frowned. "I don't know. She's very upset. And for me to be able to read her at all, let alone from far away and without trying? You need to get over there."

"You think we should call my dad?"

"I think … your dad may be part of it."

"Oh, lovely." Scott slurped a little coffee, flinched at the heat, sipped a little more. "I'll be back," he promised. He grabbed a jacket and hurried out.

The morning was bitter cold and the sidewalks were icy in places. There was no point in getting his car from the garage; Lily Romanov lived in what had been Scott's apartment, barely six blocks away. He shoved one hand in his pocket, tried to warm the other on the insulated coffee cup. In his mind, he could hear his father's lecture as he walked. You're a musician, Scott. Your hands are part of your craft. You really should take better care to protect them.

His gloves, of course, were in his car.

Scott switched hands, slurped a little more coffee, and walked faster.

There was a security lobby at the front of his old building. Scott pressed the buzzer for Romanov's apartment, but there was no answer. He looked over his shoulder, then grabbed the knob to the interior door. He still remembered the secret: Lift the door, turn the knob slightly right, then hard left, push until it clicked, then pull fast. The door opened.

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on his old door. After so many years, it still felt a little strange to him that Lily lived there. There had been a time when he'd been sure she was his father's lover. And the truth was even stranger than that.

There was no answer.

Scott knocked louder. His hand stung from the cold. Lily had to be there; Becky wouldn't have sent him if she wasn't home. Unless she'd left after he started over. He stepped back and considered. Probably his best bet was to go down to the pay phone and call Becky. Of course, he didn't have a dime – or a wallet, or ID – on him.

The tiny old elevator dinged, and Lily came out, dragging a battered red footlocker behind her.

"Hey," Scott said, before she could get close enough to startle.

The woman looked up at him. She was dead pale, and her eyes had the puffy red dark-circle look that followed a hard cry. "What are you doing here?"

"Becky sent me." She dragged the trunk towards him, or rather towards her door. "Can I help you with that?"

He was sure she would refuse. Lily Romanov was a strong and stubborn woman. But to his surprise, she shrugged. "Sure."

Scott lifted the trunk. It wasn't very heavy. Lily unlocked her door and held it open for him. "Just put it on the coffee table," she said.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he put the trunk down.

"Fine. Why?"

"You've been crying."

She sniffed. "No I haven't."

"Oh. Okay."

Lily opened the trunk and began unloading Christmas wrapping paper onto the couch.

"Are you going somewhere?" Scott asked.

"Yes."

"Where?" She looked at him. "Right. Sorry." He began to help unload the trunk. There was a small stack of very old albums, Christmas songs by some group called the Fireside Singers. "What did you want to ask me?"  

"I have no idea."

"Oh. Well, maybe I'm just here to help you with the trunk."

"Maybe." Lily sniffed again, rubbed at her eyes as if she was on the verge of crying again.

Scott had never seen Lily Romanov cry. He'd seen her go icy in a rough situation, seen her put on the same dead-eyed calm his father had. But cry? It made his stomach knot up.

He groped for something to say. "Won't the Company let you buy new luggage?" he asked lightly. "This trunk is all beat to hell." It was true; there was a big dent in the top of the red trunk and another on the side. A third of the paint had chipped off. The inside liner was faded to flat gray and torn.

Lily sniffed again. "I like my trunk," she answered quietly.

"Okay. Sorry."

"What was it like," she asked, suddenly stronger, "growing up with Robert? With him as your father?"

Scott's anxiety gave way in an instant to anger. "Why the hell would you ask me something like that?"

To his deep surprise, the spy ducked her head. "Sorry," she murmured. "Sorry."

"Lily." His anger vanished; his concern returned, doubled. "What is it? I've never seen you like this."

She sighed, gave him a tight smile, though there were tears in her eyes again. "It's complicated."

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Lily dropped the small box she was holding. Glass inside shattered with a fragile tinkling sound. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Holy shit. Are you kidding?"

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"I didn't," Scott answered quickly. "I didn't, I just … when you were walking Alex for us, Becky said … she said you were trying it on for size. And the way you're acting today … but where are you going? Does Control even know about this?"

"He knows," Lily answered sadly. "Like I said, it's complicated."

"He doesn't want it?"

"Worse. He wants to leave the Company and be a real father."

Scott's forehead wrinkled in thought. "But they won't let him do that, will they?"

"No." Lily bent and picked up the box of glass shards, cradled it in both hands without lifting the lid.

"When my father left, they put a kill order out on him. For Control it would be even worse, right?"

"Yes."

"Then what …" Suddenly the trunk made sense, and the tears. "You're running. From him."

Lily walked across the room and dropped the small box into an empty trash can. The delicate ornaments shattered further. "To save his life." She bent her head again suddenly. "He won't listen to me. This is the only way."

The knot in Scott's stomach had migrated to his heart. She had done so much for him, for Becky. She had made their wedding possible. Held Becky together in the face of the worst possible news. She had walked their newborn when they were both desperate for sleep. And Control, in his sometime-sinister way, had helped them endlessly as well.

She was leaving, with her battered red trunk, forever. And he was the only one who knew about it. The only one who could stop it.

Scott sat heavily on the arm of the couch. "I loved him," he said. "My father. I loved him, my mother loved him. And it was horrible."

Lily shook her head, not looking at him. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters, or you wouldn't have asked. What was it like, growing up with Robert McCall as my father? It was horrible." Scott took a deep breath. "When he was gone, my mom and I had a life. This simple, complete life, just her and me. We had routines, rules … we were good. Happy. And then he'd come home and he was the head of the household. Very traditional, very strict. With his own rules, his own ideas about how things should run. He never asked us. He just told us how things were going to be. Mom let me stay up until ten on weekends. Robert said I had to go to bed at eight-thirty. I'd fight with him. She'd fight with him. And after a while we just gave up. I'd go to bed when he said, and as soon as he was gone we'd go back to our own way. After a while it was like pretend. He'd come home and we'd pretend he had a place there. That he belonged there.

"And he knew it. And he hated it. We all hated it."

Scott looked at his hands. They were still red from the cold. What would his father say?

Lily stood absolutely still, watching him, listening.

"So he came home less and less," Scott continued. "And when he did show up, he didn't stay as long. Since he wasn't there, I made up things about him. I had this terrific fantasy father who was always there, who listened to me, who understood me. And I had this real father who showed up once in a while and pissed me off and made my mom cry and went away again."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. "I hated him, Lily. I loved him because he was my father, but I hated him for never being there. And for who he was when he was there."

Lily put both hands over her face.

"We got over it," Scott continued quickly. "But it took a long time. A really long time. And there was so much pain, so much resentment – on both sides. By the time he retired from the Company we didn't even know each other." He hesitated. "I know you don't want to hear this. But Control isn't wrong. If he wants to be a real father to your child, this is the only way."

She made no sign, but Scott could see by the way her shoulders shook the Lily was crying again. He stood up and went to her, put his arm around her uneasily. "I know you're scared. You must be scared out of your mind. But he's right." Lily half-turned, and he took the chance to wrap both arms around her. "Would it help if you knew how it turns out?"

She looked up, startled. "What?"

"At our wedding," Scott explained, "Becky had a vision about you. You two. She said that you could have everything you ever wanted. But that it would cost you everything you had."

Lily sniffed, then rubbed her eyes impatiently. "She said that."

"Years ago."

"And you didn't think to pass it on?"

Scott shook his head. "She said you already knew."

She considered this for a long moment. "I suppose we did." She moved out of his arms, looked in dismay at the nearly-empty red trunk. "Damn."

"He'd just come after you anyhow."

"I know." She shook her head. "Scott … I don't know what to do."

That confession was just a little more startling than her tears had been. If Lily Romanov was turning to him for advice, she was in a lot more trouble than she knew. But he'd been right so far. At least she'd stopped packing. "If I know Control," he ventured carefully, "he's probably already working on a plan."

"Of course he is. And he's got your father in on it, too."

"They're really good at what they do, you know."

Lily sighed. It sounded like resignation – and relief. "I know they are."

"So blow your nose and we'll go find them."

She almost smiled. "You're coming, too?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Scott assured her.

 ***

She let Scott drive her Mercedes. If he'd needed any further proof of how miserable she was, it was that she handed over the keys without a word. He drove very carefully. "This is such a sweet car," he said.

"I'll leave it to you," Lily said quietly.

"No. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just … trying not to say anything else stupid."

"You haven't said anything stupid."

"Well …"

Lily glanced across at him. "Spill it."

Scott sighed. "It's none of my business. Really."

"But."

"If I … if I was this kid that you're carrying, I mean if I was grown up …" He stopped, started over. "Don't stop at one. Child. If you're going to do all of this for this child, leave everything and everyone, give away your car and everything, don't do it for one child. Because if he ever finds out –"

"He won't," Lily said sharply.

"If he does," Scott insisted, "it's much, much easier to think, 'they did all of this for me and my brothers and sisters, for our family', than to think 'they did all of this for me'. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes." Lily nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Like I said, it's none of my business. Just … something to think about."

"Something you think about," Lily guessed.

Scott sighed. "Yes."

"He loves you, you know."

"I know."

"And he's proud of you."

The young man paused. "I know that, too. But … it took us such a long time to get here."

Lily nodded. "Okay. If I get the chance, I promise, I'll have a dozen kids."

"Half a dozen is probably enough."

"And will you be having a half dozen as well?"

Scott grinned nervously. "Ahhhh … well, maybe one or two more."

"Oh. I see."

"I should have just kept my mouth shut."

Lily put her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. Then she folded her hands in her lap again, and went silent.

 ***

The knock on the door was not soft or reluctant. Robert and Control both looked quickly in that direction. It had been the firm, strong knock of a young man, a policeman or an agent. And yet it seemed familiar.

"That's Scott," Robert realized. He stood and went to the door.

It was indeed his son who waited at his door. To Robert's surprise, he had Lily Romanov huddled against his side. She looked very small, very frightened.

"Come in, come in," McCall said. "Scott, I … ah …"

"Becky sent me," Scott answered simply.

"Ah."

Lily finally moved away from him and into the living room. She stood in front of Control silently, her hands at her sides. Helpless.

"Let's, uh, let's get you some coffee," McCall said. He took his son's arm and guided him into the kitchen. It didn't give the couple much privacy or time, but it was all he could offer at the moment. He saw Control stand up and move towards the woman, saw him wrap his arms around her.

When he'd poured a cup for his son and another for Lily, the pot was empty. The two men clumsily set up to brew another; Scott's attempts to be helpful put him largely underfoot, but Robert didn't mind. "She was, uh, packing," Scott said very quietly.

"I'm not surprised," Robert whispered back. "How did you get her to come back here?"

"I told her Control was right. About … being a real father."

McCall glanced over; his son kept his eyes carefully away. "I suppose you know a thing or two about that," he answered sadly, gently.

Scott nodded, still not looking up. "Well, but it's all right now."

"We lost a lot of years. Too many years." He gripped his son's upper arm for a moment, squeezed it gently. There was a time when he could have reached all the way around that arm. Long gone, and he'd missed far too much of it.

Scott covered his hand with his own. "Dad."

"Your hands are frozen. Where are your gloves?"

The boy grinned with exasperation. "I knew you'd say that."

They went back to the living room. Control and Lily were sitting on the couch, close enough to touch, both of her hands lost in one of his, his other arm around her shoulders. Control had been right; the girl was in on the plan now. But she was not happy about it. She seemed weary, resigned.

Beaten.

Robert had an unpleasant flash, a memory from an old Russian novel. At a race track, the hero had just run his horse to death. There were sad, unsurprised head shakes, and someone says, 'He asked too much of her.'

He'd never seen Lily Romanov defeated before. He'd seen her sick, abused, angry, crazed. But never defeated.

He could tell by Control's posture, his eyes, that he felt the same concern. But they had talked half the night, turned over every possibility. There was no other way. No turning back.

Scott sat down in one of the armchairs, warming his hands around his coffee cup. "Okay," he said. "What's the plan?"

 ***

"This is nice," Douglas Tillman said, looking around the restaurant with approval. "Very nice indeed."

"Pete's done quite well with it," McCall agreed. "She's very attentive to detail. It makes a difference."

The doctor pondered a stuffed mushroom, then devoured it. "I hear a small cash infusion was necessary, though."

"Hmm."

"What is it you want, Robert?"

McCall shrugged grandly. "I heard you were in town, I thought I'd take you to dinner."

"Uh-huh."

"You've saved my life on several occasions, Doug. The least I can do …" Robert stopped, because the Company doctor wasn't buying a word of it. "We have a situation. We need your help."

"We."

"Control, actually."

"And?"

"And Lily Romanov."

"Good Lord," Tillman said, "are they still together?"

Robert stared at him. "Are they …?"

"Right, right. Just an old man jumping to conclusions. Go on."

"You always were a keen judge of character, Doug."

"You see enough people dead and dying, you get to read them pretty well. So what's the situation, or do I even need to ask?"

Robert sipped his wine slowly. "From the tone of your question, perhaps you don't."

Tillman shrugged. "Obvious. Almost inevitable. Roll the dice often enough, it's bound to happen."

"Ah." McCall found the doctor's intuitions unnerving. He looked around casually, but there was no one within hearing distance of the table. The low din of the restaurant covered their words. He leaned forward and lowered his voice anyhow. "He wants to retire and start a family."

Tillman sat back in his chair. He put both hands on the table, palms flat on each side of his plate, and drummed his fingers very softly. They were bluish and wrinkled, his fingers, but they were still as dexterous as they'd been thirty years ago. "Well," he finally said, very slowly. "That is a situation, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I suppose there's a plan."

"Yes."

"And she's going along with it?"

"Reluctantly."

"Hmmm." Tillman's fingers continued to play percussion on the tabletop. "How much time do we have?"

"Not much. The expansion won't be complete until the first of November, but …"

"Oh, yes. Not much camouflage on that one, is there? Been trying to fatten her up for as long as I've known her." He frowned. "That part of the project's going as expected so far?"

Robert nodded. "There was apparently a mild concern, but it's passed."

"Good, good." The doctor leaned forward again and picked up his fork. "All right, then. Tell me what you need."

 ***

James Simms arrived early. He sat in his car for a long time, staring at the ancient little cemetery. There was only one weak yellow light over the front entrance; the rest of the area was shrouded in darkness. Though he could hear traffic noise around him, no cars came down the little side street beyond the fence where he waited.

It was a fine place to dump a body.

It was bitterly cold. The ground was sparkly with frost. Some of the snow from the week before still huddled against the headstones.

Simms looked again at the note. It was on a sheet of red paper, folded in half. Control's paper, Control's precise handwriting. "If you want my job, be here at 9." An address, no signature.

It had been on Simms' desk that afternoon, put there while he went for coffee. On a Saturday, when he hadn't even known Control was in the office. He almost threw up when he saw it. He still wanted to throw up now.

He had been loyal to Control. He had never undercut the man's authority or attempted to take his power. He'd never tried to have him killed. Compared to some of the others, he had been the perfect lieutenant.

He had also watched the man, collected information on him and a woman who might or might not be his lover, but who was definitely his personal assassin. If Control had found out about it …

He was, Simms knew, very likely going to die in this graveyard tonight, and his body would probably never be found. Control was ruthless and efficient when he made his mind up do something.

And yet – if Control intended to kill him, why give him hours to run?

Perhaps there was another explanation. Perhaps the old man just wanted to put a scare into him. If that was case, it had worked brilliantly. Simms wiped his hands on his pants, but his palms were immediately damp with sweat again. He was shaking. Control was up to something, there was no question of that. The only real question was whether Simms would survive it.

Control was not here yet. He had most of a tank of gas and several hundred dollars in cash. He could still run. Put the car in gear and …

… wait until the old wolf tracked him down?

He had told Lily Romanov, not long ago, that he would rather face his death than run from it. She hadn't killed him then. But apparently now his time had run out.

A dark sedan pulled onto the road, its headlights going off even before it rolled to a stop behind his car. As the engine died, Simms swallowed one more time – tasting bitter bile – and got out of his own car. The ground crackled under his feet.

Control was alone. Simms didn't know if that was a good sign or not. He didn't know anything now.

The older man walked towards him slowly. His hands came out of his jacket pockets, and Simms tensed for the gunshot that would follow. Instead, the spymaster produced two cigars. "Smoke?" he offered by way of greeting.

"No," Simms squeaked. He cleared his throat. "No. Thank you."

"Suit yourself." Control put one of the cigars away, took his time about lighting the other. He seemed perfectly relaxed. As if he frequently invited subordinates for a moonlight meeting in the graveyard before he killed them. He paused, puffed smoke and looked around. "Let's go for a walk."

Simms nodded nervously and followed him onto the gravel drive and into the cemetery itself. They paced very slowly, their shoes loud in the cold night. "Control, whatever you've heard …" he began anxiously.

"I haven't heard anything, Simms. Should I have?"

"No. But then I don't …"

Control blew another smoke ring. "James, calm down. I don't plan to kill you here."

"Oh." He didn't like that added 'here'.

"Of course, plans can change," the older man added wryly.

Simms took a deep breath. "I don't want your job, Control."

"Of course you do. It's what you've worked for since you came to the Company."

"But I don't … I wouldn't go after you to get it."

Control glanced at him. "Why not?" he asked amicably.

"Because you're better than I am and I know I'd end up dead."

The spymaster nodded. "Clever boy. That's exactly the right answer. And that's why I'm giving the job to you."

"What?"

"I'm retiring, James," Control announced without breaking stride. "And I'm giving you my job."

"But … Control can't retire. The only way out is …" Simms paused, gestured to the graves.

"Something you should consider before you accept my offer," Control answered.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am." The man stopped pacing and turned towards him. "I absolutely am. I have had enough. I am going to retire. Going out to pasture. Going to live out the rest of my days in whatever peace and quiet I can find."

"But you can't," Simms protested again. "They'll never let you just walk away."

"Of course not."

"But … but …"

"I want you to think very carefully here, son," Control said gravely. "This is your last chance to turn back. Past here, you will either land in my job or in your grave. There are no alternatives."

"I don't understand."

"It's not complicated. I'm leaving. I need your help to do it. In return for that help, I'll see you established as Control. But if you betray me or fail me, I'll kill you. Or someone else will. It's that simple."

Simms passionately wished he'd tossed the rest of his dinner in the bushes before the man had arrived. His stomach roiled as if he'd been sucker-punched. "Control …"

The man gestured, and they walked again, slowly, in silence. There didn't seem to be any hurry now. The traffic in the city grew quieter.

They walked the entire perimeter of the cemetery before Simms spoke. "I'm in."

"Good."

Simms took a deep breath. "Are you taking the girl with you?"

There was the barest hitch in Control's stride. "What girl?"

"Romanov."

The men took ten more steps before the spymaster began to chuckle. "Oh, my clever boy. You have just laid to rest any doubts that I had about you." He clapped his hand on Simms' shoulder with surprising affection. "Clever, clever boy. How long have you known?"

There was no point, Simms decided, in telling him that he hadn't known for sure until that moment. "I started to suspect at the Wall party."

Control sobered. "That long?" he mused. There was a dangerous twinkle in his eye. "You have a file?"

Shit, Simms thought, I'm still going to end up dead. "Yes."

"Good. We may be able to use that."

"We … what?"

"The only way the Company will let me go," Control said seriously, "is if I'm no longer of any use to them at all. So we are going to burn down everything that makes this Control valuable. Everything."

"Then they'll just kill you," Simms answered.

"And that, my boy, is why I need you. In place, and firmly established as Control."

The younger man shook his head. "I'm sorry, I know I should be following this, but I'm just not."

"Don't worry. I'll explain everything. Well, everything you need to know." Control nodded to himself in satisfaction. "And yes, I'm taking the girl with me."

Simms took a very deep breath, trying to clear his head. "All right. Let's start at the top."

 ***

Mickey Kostmayer sat in the cheap seats at the half-full Garden, watching the Knicks kick around the Pistons for a change. He didn't much care about basketball, but the hot dogs were good. As meeting places went, it was way better than anything Control would have picked.

At the start of the second quarter, Lily Romanov dropped into the seat next to him. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Want a dog?"

"Uh … no. I'm good."

Mickey shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stay away from the fries. They're all limp and greasy."

"What the hell is the world coming to?"

"Tell me about it." He devoured half of his third hot dog in two bites. "So?"

Lily picked up his plastic cup full of beer, then put it back untasted. She watched the game intently for a minute. She looked pale, but it was probably just the cold outside.

"Lil?" he prompted. "Please tell me this is not gun trouble again."

"No. But you'd probably like it better it if was."

A vendor wandered through, and Kostmayer flagged him down and bought two soft pretzels. "Want one?"

"No, thanks."

"Wow. Must be serious, if you got no appetite when I'm buying." He smothered the first pretzel with mustard from three tiny plastic packs. "Let's have it."

She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

There was a personal foul on the floor; Mickey stared at the scoreboard and chewed slowly while they set up the free throw. "Well," he finally said. "I already have a wife, but she likes you and she's pretty liberal. Maybe we could all move out to Utah."

"There's an option I had not considered."

Kostmayer took another big bite of pretzel, chewed slowly, wiped the mustard from the corner of his mouth. "Is it his?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Well, that's where things get ugly."

"Uglier. It's already ugly."

"Yes."

"Hit me."

"He wants to marry me."

Mickey nodded. "That's ugly."

"And retire and run away to the country. Some other country."

"Holy shit."

He needed a minute to wrap his head around this last announcement, and being Lily, she let him take it. She did not ask any questions or press for answers or volunteer any further information. She took the pretzel that had not yet been frosted in mustard and tore a third of it off, then tore off a tiny piece and put it delicately in her mouth.

They watched the game in silence through a time out, another free throw, and a pretty steal. The wheels were beginning to come off the Knicks defense; the Pistons scored, stole the in-bounds and scored again. Mickey twisted the idea around in his head. Lily pregnant, fine. Control wanting to marry her was a stretch. Control thinking he could leave the Company … no matter how many times he turned that one over, he came back to the same answer. "Holy shit," he finally said again.

"Yep." She decided the pretzel wasn't poisonous and took a bigger bite.

"Can McCall talk him out of it?"

"McCall talked him into it."

"Holy shit."

They watched another full minute of play. Finally, Mickey stirred. "You gonna do it?"

"We wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"Every time I think too hard about it," Lily said carefully, "I want to throw up." She put the piece of pretzel back in her lap.

"Yeah. I can see why." He finished his hot dog. "So what's the plan?"

"That mean you're in?"

"Of course I'm in. Hell, any chance to get rid of him, I'm all over it."

"Love you, Mickey."

"Yeah, yeah. What's the plan?"

 ***

Senator Stovall woke suddenly. He was not alone in his bedroom.

He didn't look around. Instead he scrambled for the gun in the drawer of his bedside table. It was gone.

The bedside lamp snapped on. As Stovall blinked in the sudden brightness, Control stepped to the side of the bed and dropped the gun onto the sheets. "Looking for this?" he asked.

"Control! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you. Confidentially."

"It's the middle of the night!"

"Actually," the spymaster said mildly, "it's nearly six in the morning." He pulled a chair over and sat down beside the bed. "If you're going to sleep this soundly, you really should look into better security."

Stovall scowled at him. The apartment was tiny and hellishly expensive, but it was within walking distance of his office on Capitol Hill. A dozen other congressmen and senators lived in the building; security was tight. He pushed himself upright against the headboard. "I have an office, you know."

"I know." Obviously he wasn't leaving.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I need a favor."

"A favor."

"Yes."

"And you think breaking into my apartment in the middle of the night is the way to get it."

"It's a way we can talk without interruption."

Stovall continued to glare. "I'm not doing you any favors, Control."

"Hmm." Control sat back, crossed his legs, templed his fingers in his lap. "How's your son doing these days? Still saying clean?"

"That was ten years ago."

"Yes."

"He was a boy. A youthful indiscretion."

"Of course. And I'm certain the law firm that just hired him will see it in exactly that light."

"I will not sit here and let you threaten my son, Control."

"And then," the spymaster continued, "there's the whole matter of using Company personnel and resources to get him out of that prison and back to the United States. And the fees that were paid to cover up the whole matter. If you hadn't been on the Intelligence Committee at the time, the whole matter could have been much more unpleasant. Isn't that true, Senator?"

"How dare you? If you think I'm going to compromise my principles because you've threatened to expose …"

"I don't want you to bend anything," Control said simply. "I want you to do your job."

"What?"

"I want you to open an investigation of certain Company activities."

"What kind of activities?"

Control smiled. It made Stovall shiver. "Illicit. Immoral. Illegal. The usual Company medley."

The Senator's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Because it would be useful to me. And to your re-election bid, I imagine."

"Control …"

"Here." Control dropped a fat envelope onto the bed beside the gun. "Read this. Investigate in your committee. That's all I ask."

"And you'll never mention Robby's problems again?"

"Never."

"I don't believe you."

Control's smile broadened. "You're smarter than your colleagues know." He stood up and put the chair back where it had been. "I was never here, of course."

"Of course," Stovall snarled.

He watched the old spy move to the door of the tiny bedroom. Then Control turned back. "Stovall, time is very short. Start today."

"It's Sunday …"

"Your willing little intern will be delighted to have something new to do."

"I will not have my schedule dictated by …"

"Give my regards to your wife," Control said sweetly, with just the right emphasis.

Stovall reached for the gun, but the door was already closing. He put the weapon back in the drawer and closed it thoughtfully. Then he checked the clock; it was 5:48. He glared at it. Then he picked up the envelope and began to read.

 ***

"Morning, Munchie."

The mailroom clerk wheeled his chair around. "Hey, Lily, how are you? Nothing but smiles this morning, huh? Awful cheerful for a Monday."

"Three more weeks," she answered warmly. "Two more Mondays after this one." She held out a bakery bag to him. "Donuts."

"You're gonna make me too fat to get through the door," he protested, but he wheeled closer to the door and took the bag. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Hey, I've got to spoil you while I can."

Munchie put down the bag and reached up to get her mail for her. There was an ominous red sheet on the top of the stack, folded in half. "Uh-oh," he said.

"Just paperwork," Lily said confidently. She reached over the door for the stack and unfolded the paper. Her smile faded.

"Lil?"

"Oh, fuck no," she said emphatically. "They can't do this to me."

"You okay, kid?"

"I'm gonna kill him," Lily announced. She dropped her mail back on the counter, all but the red paper, and hurried down the hall. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

 ***

"He's in a meet—" Sue began.

"I don't care." Lily Romanov stormed past her and into Control's office. "What the hell is this?" she demanded, waving the red paper.

The spymaster was sitting at one end of his coffee table, with his lieutenants on long couches on each side of him. He paused in mid-assignment and looked at her calmly. "I believe it's self-explanatory, Miss Romanov."

"What do you mean I can't resign?" she shouted. "This has been in the works for months. Why can't I quit?"

"It was decided higher up the chain," Control answered calmly.

"I want out. I'm getting out. You've got to get me out."

"I argued your case as well as I could."

"Then go back," Lily said, "and argue it better." She dropped the red paper onto the coffee table. "Because I'm done busting my ass for this Company. I quit. You gotta fix this."

"I will fix it," Control assured her calmly. "It may take a little time."

"But you'll get me out?"

"I'll take care of it," he said again. "But you'll need to be patient."

"I already gave you six months."

"It was an unexpected development."

"But you'll fix it? You won't blow it off?"

"Miss Romanov," he said with strained patience, "take the day off. Be back at your desk in the morning. We'll work this out."

"You owe me, you know," she said darkly.

He looked up at her, with a glare that would have made several of his lieutenants flee. "We'll talk tomorrow," he repeated firmly. "Take the day off. Be back in the morning."

She stared back at him for a second, enough to let him know she wasn't willing to let him know she was intimidated. Then she spun and headed for the door. "I'm not coming back."

"Romanov!" Control did not shout, but he projected his voice with enough force to stop her in her tracks. She did not turn around. "Do not make us come looking for you. Go. Blow off some steam. Get drunk if you want. But be back at your desk tomorrow morning."

She stood for perhaps ten seconds, with her back to him, stubbornly refusing to turn. Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Uneasily, Simms said, "Control, she's …"

Control raised one hand. "Jason Masur made the decision. I don't know that there's much I can do about it."

"If she doesn't come back …"

"We'll give her a week."

"And then?"

Control shook his head. "And then we'll bring her in." He picked up the red paper and tucked it under a folder. "Let's get back to work."

 ***

Shortly after four p.m., Control's private line rang. He snagged it without looking away from the report in front of him. "Yes?"

"What the hell did you do to Stovall?" Olford demanded.

"Director?"

"Senator Stovall. What did you do?"

"I have no idea," Control lied calmly. "I didn't even see him during the budget meetings."

"Well he's got a big burr in his ass about you all of the sudden. He wants to open Committee investigations into certain Company 'improprieties'."

"Is that what we're calling them these days?"

"It's not funny, Control! I don't need this right now. I'm fighting tooth and nail for every dime in the budget as it is."

Control smiled to himself. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what I might have done to antagonize him."

Olford sighed heavily. "I'll try to divert him. But if the Committee gets their teeth into this … you'd better be ready to come back to D.C. And you'd better have a good story when you get here."

"I shall have my stories ready, sir," Control promised.

"Smart ass." The Director hung up on him.

Control continued to smile as he put his phone down.

 ***

Later, Simms would report that on Tuesday Lily Romanov wandered into the office at 10 a.m., sat at her desk and read the New York Times from front to back. Then she got out a pen and started working the crossword.

At eleven-thirty, she was summoned to Control's office. Their conversation, behind a closed door, lasted only a few minutes. She left without a word and continued with to work on her crossword puzzle.

Several other employees spoke to her about her employment situation. She told each of them that she couldn't discuss it. At twelve-thirty, Mickey Kostmayer came in and made his way to her cubicle. They spoke briefly, with expletives, and then went to lunch. Neither of them returned to the office that day.

On Wednesday, Romanov called in sick.

On Thursday morning, she arrived at nine forty-five. On Friday, it was ten-thirty.

"She's just playing solitaire on her computer," Simms told Control. "Should I say something?"

"Leave her be," Control advised. "She's still angry. She has cause."

"Are you going to be able to fix it?"

"I don't know. I have one idea. We'll see if it flies."

Simms had been going to ask what the plan was, but then the phone rang and the shit hit the fan.

 ***

"Why Romanov?" Russo wondered out loud.

"They know her," Simms ventured. "She met with the Intelligence Committee several years ago about Balkan issues."

"Maybe this whole resignation thing came across their desks," DeWitt suggested.

"And maybe she fed them all this information in the first place," Control snarled. He opened his door and barked, "Sue! Get Romanov up here."

He shut the door loudly before she could answer.

"You think she's pushing this investigation?" Simms asked.

Control paced the room, reading over the summary of the Committee's questions again. "She's involved with everything they're asking about," he said. "She's highly knowledgeable and deeply disgruntled. And as you say, she's met with them before. And they liked her."

The lieutenants fell silent. Simms could almost hear their thoughts. It seemed so unlikely that Lily Romanov – always smiling, always pleasant, and intensely loyal to Control – could have turned over information on their activities to the Intelligence Committee. But on the other hand, she was deeply angry and they all knew it.

"The other possibility," Control added, at length, "is that we're supposed to think Romanov's setting us up." He paused, looked at them. "Jason Masur was very probably involved in Walker's attempts to have me killed last year. Romanov ultimately saved my life. He may harbor some resentment about that."

"You think he's trying to divide and conquer," Simms said.

"He is the one who denied her resignation, for no particular reason. And the one who continues to block it."

There was a sharp knock on the door. Romanov walked in before they could answer.

She looked around the room, all the lieutenants arranged around the conference room table. "If this is a surprise retirement party, you forgot the cake."

"Sit down," Control said. She dropped into the empty chair at the end of the table. "When was the last time you spoke to Senator Stovall?"

"When I got his son out of … no, that's not right. At that Committee meeting about the Balkans."

"Not recently?"

"No."

Control looked at Lisinger. "Check her phone records."

Lily chuckled. "Check your own. If I was going to call a senator and lie about it, I wouldn't do it from my phone."

He stared at her. "Check her records," he said again. "And then check mine. And yours."

"Yes, sir." Lisinger left the room.

"What's going on?" Romanov asked.

Control dropped his paper in front of her. "Stovall and the Committee are investigating certain Company operations."

"Oh, good."

"Very specific operations. All of them involving you."

She looked at the paper. She looked at Control. She shrugged. "I haven't spoken to him."

"Well, you're going to now. Buy a suit and pack your bag. You're going to Washington."

"To talk to the Committee."

"To testify before the Committee, under oath."

"Excellent," she said. "I have so many things I want to say to them."

"You will say exactly what I tell you to say and nothing more."

Romanov looked at him, one eyebrow cocked in question. She seemed amused.

"We'll provide you with legal counsel," Simms said, trying to diffuse the tension. "We'll review your testimony over the weekend, and you'll appear on Tuesday."

She sighed. "Whatever. I'm putting in for overtime."

"Miss Romanov," Control said with exaggerated patience, "perhaps you're not clear on the seriousness of this inquiry. Our ass is in the crack on this, and you're as complicit as any of us."

"Just following orders, sir."

"I will resolve your separation issue when I can," he continued, "but at the moment I do not have time for your disgruntled employee act."

"It's not an act, believe me."

"You would do well to remember that I do not tolerate disloyalty. Even from you."

Lily stood up. "I'm facing the reality that I'll be working for this Company until the day I die. So that really isn't the threat you probably intend it to be."

 ***

"His name is Frank Donovan," Tillman said quietly as they walked down the dim corridor Monday morning. "He's not an exact match, of course, but he's close enough."

Robert McCall sighed. "Close enough will have to do." He left his mouth slightly open and breathed through it, rather than his nose. The smell in this place, more piss than antiseptic, with a garden of unsavory undertones, jangled his emotions as much as his nerves. If this went wrong, he and his friends would be lucky to end their days in an oppressive place like this.

But more likely, they would end their days very swiftly and rot in a shallow grave. It seemed preferable.

"You're sure he has no family?" McCall asked.

"Positive. His parents are long dead. His wife died ten years ago, and his only daughter last fall. He's retired from the Army, did fifteen years in a factory."

"And have you asked him?"

"Hell, no, McCall. That's your department."

"Thank you so much. You worked very quickly on this."

"Time is of the essence. You swear this man will come to no harm?"

"As far as I am able, I swear it."

They turned down a smaller corridor. There were ten doors here, six of them closed. The first was open, revealing a small private room, a hospital bed, a steel wardrobe and very little else. The bed was empty; the room was dim and blue and the smell of its last occupant still lingered.

There was, in McCall's view, very little on earth more depressing than a veteran's hospital.

"I put him in a private room," Doc announced. "Best I could do for you."

"Thank you," Robert repeated, this time sincerely.

He stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him. "Mr. Donovan?"

The man was propped up in his bed. The left side of his face drooped badly, and his left arm was arranged across his lap, limp and clearly useless. His hair was clean-cut, short and gray, and his eyes were starkly blue. He was tall and slender, his nose sharp and beak-like, his jaw pronounced under a bad shave.

Side by side, the differences would be plain. But given a verbal description … McCall nodded slightly. He would do.

The man continued to stare at him. "You look like a spook," he growled. His speech slurred ever so slightly; he gave his diction deliberate attention.

"Retired," Robert answered.

"Uh-huh. What do you want?"

McCall moved closer to the bed and lowered his voice. "I have a proposition for you, Mr. Donovan."

The man snorted. "For me."

"Yes."

"Retired spook turned con artist. You're wasting your time. If I had any money for you to steal, I sure as hell wouldn't be in this place."

"I'm not after your money, Mr. Donovan."

"Then what do you want?"

Robert considered. "Your body."

"I'm not done with it yet." The man spoke casually, and yet the portions of his body that he still controlled tensed. He was half-crippled, but he was still prepared to put up any fight he could.

Robert shook his head. "Please, Mr. Donovan, I mean you no harm, I assure you. Hear me out, and if you're not interested, I will leave and never bother you again."

"I was in the army more than twenty years," Donovan answered, without relaxing a wit. "Every time a spook offered me a deal, I got screwed."

"I don't doubt it." McCall waited. He knew this sort of man. There was nothing to be gained by rushing him. He would agree, or not agree, entirely on the merits of the proposition. And he would make up his own mind.

After a very long moment, the man nodded. "All right. Let's hear your pitch."' 

 ***

The Company sent their best attorneys, Seth Hall and Eugene Driver, to sit on either side of Lily Romanov in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Control sat directly behind her. But the Senators only had eyes for the woman.

"You understand," Senator Coleman said, by way of introduction, "you're under oath. If you lie to us, we can send you to jail."

"I understand." Lily looked small in the big wooden chair, a little lost in her severe black suit.

Coleman stared at her a moment more, then turned to Stovall. "Senator?"

The junior Senator sat up straighter and leaned towards his microphone. "Miss Romanov," he said warmly, "good morning."

"Good morning."

"I don't want you to have any misunderstanding about why we've asked you to testify here today. This isn't a witch hunt. We aren't looking to pin anything on you. As far as I can ascertain from your admittedly sketchy employment records, you've been …"

Seth Hall protested quickly. "Senator, you've been provided with Miss Romanov's complete employment history."

"Of course I have. And these lengthy gaps between assignments …"

"That material is classified to the highest level."

"Of course." Stovall scowled. "In any case, Miss Romanov, we aren't trying to get you in trouble. We're just trying to learn the facts. There's been a disturbing pattern of behaviors, failures in our intelligence community, and it's our job to find out why. Do you understand?"

"You want me to help you nail my superiors," Lily said calmly.

Her attorneys both moved to shush her, but Stovall nodded. "Baldy put, but essentially accurate. And you are under oath."

"I got that the first time, Senator."

Eugene Driver put his hand on her arm on the table. She drew away from him.

"Very well," Stovall went on. "What can you tell me about Gustav Freda?"

Lily paused, then turned to look over her shoulder to Control. He nodded. She turned back around. "Gustav Freda was a political prisoner in Pristina prior to the collapse of the Soviet Bloc. We were able to arrange his release and transport him into the West."

"He was an old man."

"Yes."

"What was his importance?"

"He had been as asset – a source of information – for our agents prior to his arrest."

"We know what an asset is, thank you. And that was all?" the Senator asked.

Lily looked to Control again for guidance, and again he nodded.

"Miss Romanov," Coleman snapped, "you will answer all of our questions whether Control wants you to or not. Stop looking at him for permission. He has no authority to stop you from telling us the truth."

"Yes, sir," Lily said flatly, unconvinced. "Freda was in possession of certain intelligence that was still relevant to Western interests."

"He was in fact in possession of the location of several nuclear devices," Stovall clarified. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you brought him back to the West."

"I was part of the operation, yes."

"And then what happened?"

Lily looked confused. "And then … the devices were recovered safely."

"By whom?"

"By Western intelligence agencies."

"By U.S. agencies? By the agency you work for?"

She took a long breath. "No, sir."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last answer."

Lily glanced at each of her lawyers, but not back to Control. "Mr. Freda was taken into custody by British authorities, and they were given the location of the nuclear devices."

"Robert McCall was involved in this mission."

"Yes, sir."

"Did he recommend that Mr. Freda be turned over to the British?"

"No, sir."

"In fact, he protested quite strongly when Mr. Freda was taken from your custody, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did the British authorities know that they wanted custody of Gustav Freda?"

"I …"

"I remind you, Miss Romanov, that you are under oath. Gustav Freda had information vital to the national security interests of the United States. How did the British find out about him?"

She ignored the Senator's earlier instructions, turned completely around and looked straight at Control. He hesitated, then gestured to her attorneys. Lily snapped back around and the three huddled. After a brief conversation, they all sat back. "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I may incriminate myself."

A ripple of surprise ran through the Committee; only Stovall seemed to expect this answer. "I see. That is within your rights, Miss Romanov, but I repeat that this Committee is not seeking any criminal prosecution against you."

The woman looked at him without speaking.

"Very well," the Senator said. "Did Control make the arrangements to give Freda into British custody?"

"I … refuse to answer that question."

"On the grounds that you may incriminate yourself?"

"On the grounds that my answer could get me killed."

Again the Committee rustled with surprise; Lily's attorneys also leaned into an urgent conference with her.

"Miss Romanov, would you like us to have Control removed from the proceedings?"

"It wouldn't make any difference," she said. "If you think I'm going to give you Control, Senator, you're wrong."

"We can have you jailed for contempt."

"Perhaps."

"Or we can promise you protection from retaliation in exchange for your full and honest testimony."

The lawyers leaned; Romanov waved them off. "With all due respect, Senator, this government has made me promises before, and not kept them."

Stovall sighed. "Let's move on. What do you know about an aid warehouse on the north side of Sarajevo that was ransacked in 1993?"

Lily leaned forward, seemed to relax. "We received a tip that the warehouse was being used to house weapons. We broke in, checked it, found no weapons, so we left. Apparently refugees from a nearby camp cleaned out all the food after our departure. We had nothing to do with that."

"You broke the lock to check the warehouse?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you left it unlocked."

"Yes."

"And you didn't think there was some chance the refugees would help themselves to the food?"

Lily shook her head. "Honestly, sir, we didn't care. The entire area was under intermittent sniper fire. We got in and we got out."

"You didn't care about the property of a government-permitted aid organization?"

"As long as they weren't shooting at us … no, sir. The food was for refugees. The refugees were starving. We didn't see a conflict."

Stovall smiled tightly. "But they were shooting at you, weren't they, Miss Romanov?"