The noise emanating from his outer office wasn't all that loud. In fact, had that been the case, Joe Mannix might not have been as nervous. But the whispered sounds of paper rustling and tiptoed steps disturbed him far more than any calliope would have. Just as he was about to investigate the furtive movements, his office door swung open to reveal the temporary standing there, her arms cradling a number of files.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Mannix, but these files got accidentally dropped while I was straightening," Cindy Morris explained breathlessly, eyes wide over the stack of folders. "But don't worry about a thing. I'll have them back where they belong in no time and, when Mrs. Fair gets back, her files will be as good as new."

"Cindy!" Joe interrupted quickly, hand up, palm out to indicate that she should stop talking. He paused, smoothing the hair at the back of his head with the other hand, before lowering his tone. "It… isn't necessary for you to be in the files at all while you're here. Peggy has her own system and she knows where everything is. I just need you to answer the phone and greet clients, understand?"

"Oh perfectly, Mr. Mannix," Cindy nodded excitedly.

Studying her, Joe realized that she hadn't paid attention to a word he said. At first glance, she looked exactly like what he needed when the temp agency had sent her over. Cindy Morris was presentable, personable, and enthusiastic. Perhaps it was that last which accounted for this latest disaster.

His long-time secretary, Peggy Fair, had left only a couple of days before to accompany her son, Toby, to New York City so that he could visit a university there. The thought of her only child traveling all the way across the country to attend college had been enough of a strain on Peggy, so Joe hadn't wanted to add to that tension. He'd taken one look at Cindy and agreed to use her as a temporary until Peggy returned. That was a snap decision he was living to regret.

Watching a stray paper or two drift, like snowflakes, to the floor, Joe rushed to retrieve them as Cindy stooped and the whole pile threatened to fall. "Why don't you… put those files on the desk and I'll take care of these?" He smiled reassuringly to let her know that's what she should do. With an apologetic look, she trotted over to Peggy's desk and dumped the entire load there.

Helplessly, Joe held the errant sheets while Cindy attempted to make sense of the conglomeration of paperwork. What next, he thought. His initial clue that this might not have been his wisest decision was the terrible coffee she'd made the first day. The brew was so strong he wondered if she'd used the entire bag. With her looking on questioningly, he managed to swallow the hot mouthful, gracing her with a wide smile before disappearing into his office to throw the cup's contents out the window. He hoped the shrub outside didn't shrivel up and die. The second day, he could only stare amazed at the mug's bottom through coffee that was hardly more than light brown water.

That wasn't all, however. Not wanting to disturb him, Cindy had taken messages from important clients, as well as L.A. police lieutenant Art Malcolm, only to present them all to him at the end of the day, explaining that she'd forgotten to pass them along earlier. Joe had spent the better part of the evening returning those calls and soothing ruffled feathers. He'd taken Art's ribbing with a grain of salt, offering to recommend Cindy to the police department for employment when Peggy returned. His offer was quickly declined.

And now here she was, three days into a temporary position, volunteering to "straighten" Peggy's files. He'd never hear the end of that when his secretary returned from New York. Maybe, Joe thought, I'd feel better if I talked to Peggy.

"Cindy." Joe touched her arm causing her to flinch, sending several more sheets to the floor. As she bent to retrieve them, he stopped her. "Why don't you leave all that stuff right where it is, go home for the day and get a fresh start on filing in the morning?" He nodded hopefully, letting her know that the offer was sincere.

With a perky duck of her head, Cindy agreed, "Okay, Mr. Mannix. That sounds like a good idea." Snatching her purse out of a bottom desk drawer, she stepped around him, still smiling, and paused at the door only long enough to say, "You're sure?"

"Definitely," Joe told her, hoping that she wouldn't notice the sarcasm, but doubting she would recognize it. As the door shut behind Cindy, Joe slumped into Peggy's chair, surveying the mess before him. With a sigh, he scooped the papers off the floor and studied them. Recognizing his notes from the Vlasin case - for some inexplicable reason Cindy appeared to have started at the end of the alphabet -Joe absentmindedly attempted to marry those pages to the proper file while at the same time dialing the number Peggy had left on her blotter for the hotel room in New York.

He had just managed to locate the file and return the papers to what he hoped was their original place when he realized that the phone had rung a number of times without an answer. Hanging up, he glanced at his watch. Seven o'clock back east - perhaps she and Toby had gone out to dinner. He'd try back later.

By the time Joe trudged up the stairs to the apartment over his office, it was after dark and he was hungry. Not trusting the files to Cindy, he'd put them back in order and returned them to the file cabinet, wondering in the process if there was some way he could lock the thing up safely until Peggy's return. The best he could do, he realized, was to give Cindy a stern lecture in the morning.

Searching the refrigerator, Joe settled at last on a grilled cheese sandwich that he made, managing to burn one side. Scraping most of the burned crumbs off, he finished the sandwich with a minimum of bites. After he cleaned up his little mess, Joe decided he had just enough time to call Peggy then read a few chapters of the latest Ed McBain police novel. He'd been reading McBain since the late 1950s. Though he felt the earlier novels were the best, Joe never missed a new one.

The phone number was still rattling around in his brain and he dialed it now. After clearing the switchboard, he was greeted by the same endless ring and, for some reason; he knew there would be no answer. A nagging concern tugged at him, but Joe told himself that Peggy and her son were spending an evening on the town. He would do the same in their place. He'd try again in the morning... after dealing with Cindy.

* * * * *

When Joe failed to reach the Fairs the next day, he could no longer ignore his growing concern threatening to mushroom. Instructing Cindy to remain at the desk, fielding all incoming calls in case one came from Peggy, Joe sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the blotter.

He reviewed his options, which didn't take long. He knew not one soul in New York he could call on and he doubted the police would want to help an out-of-state private investigator out of the goodness of their collective heart. He could fly to New York, but pictured Peggy's incredulous reaction should he break the door down out of concern for her safety and this be merely a false alarm.

Nevertheless, something told Joe that Peggy would have, should have, checked in by now, and the fact that he couldn't reach her only added to his distress. Peggy had promised to be in New York just long enough for Toby to check out a prospective school and to see a few sights before flying home. Whatever action he decided on, waiting would not be one of them.

Not trusting Cindy to handle the task, Joe this time dialed the hotel's front desk. "Hello, Manhattan Carriage House," an impersonal voice answered.

"I'd like to check on a guest, please, Peggy Fair."

"Just a moment." Joe was put on hold, forced to listen to a dreadful distortion of a jazz number for several minutes. "I'm sorry. Mrs. Fair and her son appear to have stepped out yesterday morning and haven't returned. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Haven't returned?" For some reason that refused to register. "What do you mean by that?"

"Sir," the voice dripped with obvious disdain, "it means that they left and have not come back as of yet. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Do you know where they were going?"

"Sir," that same tone again, "guests are not usually in the habit of informing the hotel staff of their plans. Any message?"

"Yes," Joe answered, ignoring the man's tone. "Please ask her to call Joe as soon as she returns. It's urgent. She has the number."

After the merest of pauses, the man said, "Anything else?"

Joe assured him that was all before hanging up. Internal alarms were sounding as his unease escalated. Peggy and Toby didn't know anybody in New York either. He could not imagine any circumstances in which they would have stayed away from the hotel overnight of their own accord. Something was very wrong; he could no longer deny that possibility. Making up his mind quickly, he next dialed the airline he most often flew and booked the first flight east. Before packing, he needed to make arrangements with Cindy.

She was staring off into space; chin in hand, thinking who knew what when he emerged into the outer office. "Cindy."

Again she jumped, looking up at him sheepishly. "Yes, Mr. Mannix," she managed to stammer out.

"I'm going to close the office so I won't need you for the rest of the week... "

"Oh Mr. Mannix, I didn't think I made that big a mess in the files... " Tears began to pool forcing Cindy to blink quickly to stem the flood. Joe was reminded of a friend's little girl just prior to a well-deserved spanking.

"Cindy." Joe ground his teeth together in consternation. He didn't want to deal with this at the moment. He barely had time to make some arrangements, throw some clothes in a bag and make the drive to LAX. "This has nothing to do with the files. I need to go out of town so I'll turn the phones over to the service and close the office. I'll see that you get paid for the days you would have worked. I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry so if you could… "

He opened the drawer, indicating her purse, and ushered her to the door. When she turned to wish him good-bye, Joe said, "I'll keep you in mind if I need anyone in the future. Bye Cindy." Shutting the door and checking the lock, he raced back through the office and up the stairs.

* * * * *

"Whadaya mean there's nothing you can do!" Joe bellowed as he stood in a Manhattan precinct office of the New York Police Department early the next morning. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer.

"Look Mannix, that's your name, right? This lady you're talking about is a grown woman with a grown son. They can come and go as they please. She's not been reported missing... " Holding up a hand he continued, "except by you and there's been no crime that I can see. For all I know she's headed back to L.A. You're a detective," - he stressed the 'de' in the word - "so you know how something like this works."

"No, you look, officer," Joe barged in, concern making him angry. "This is my secretary who brought her son here to visit a college. They would not have left early without letting me know. I am the one who will be picking them up at the airport in L.A. Got it? Besides, I checked with the hotel. Their clothes are still there. They would not have returned home without their belongings."

Joe placed his palms flat on the officer's desk and leaned over to glower at him. The policeman dropped his eyes in thought. It wasn't that he was intimidated by a PI from L.A.; he recognized a certain stubbornness in Joe that wouldn't go away. And right at the moment a missing persons case was the last thing he needed. Looking back up at Joe, the officer said slowly, "Well, there is a guy… "

* * * * *

Robert McCall immediately spotted the tall, darkly handsome man as soon as he entered the New York Cafe. Located across the river from the United Nations building, the art deco restaurant was one of a number of locations he utilized to meet those who called on him for help. An early arrival - McCall liked that - the man had said he was a private detective from Los Angeles, but after years of employment by the Agency, McCall was wary nonetheless. Not everyone was who he claimed to be.

Intelligent and alert, the man he'd singled out as his latest client had apparently noticed him as well. McCall was well aware that he was being sized up as he traversed the booths lining the window that afforded a view of the skyline beyond the river. Stopping at the empty bench, McCall inquired in a quiet voice, "Mr. Mannix?"

"That's me," Joe answered with a quick smile that disappeared at once. McCall could see that the gesture was a pleasantry only; the man's eyes were worried. Sliding into the seat across the table from Joe, McCall studied him for a moment. Up close he was as good-looking as he had been from across the room, but there was an underlying hardness about him that McCall picked up on at once. This man had been in combat or he was exactly what he claimed to be, a PI accustomed to dealing with danger on a regular basis. That still didn't mean that his story was straight. McCall wanted to hear the details first hand; listen to the sincerity of his words.

"Robert McCall." The man nicknamed the Equalizer, first in service to the Agency and now by his newspaper advertisements, extended his hand. It was grasped firmly and given a healthy shake. That, at least, was a good sign. "Suppose you tell me once more why you think I could help you?"

Joe observed the gentleman as he settled across the table. At first glance he'd been tempted to write him off as too old, but now, Mannix realized that the two were contemporaries. McCall's distinguished salt-and-pepper hair combined with the weariness that surrounded him like a cape lent an air of more years. Both men, however, were around fifty.

"My secretary's clothes and things are in the hotel, but I haven't heard from… "

McCall raised a hand, his gaze intense, saying, "From the beginning, please."

Joe realized the extent of his frustration and concern. He was a licensed, experienced professional. He knew the ropes and yet, here he was, bumbling along like those who came to him for help. McCall looked on as Mannix steadied himself, running a hand through the hair at the back of his neck.

When he was ready, Joe began again, "My secretary, Peggy Fair, and her son, Toby, flew here three days ago so that Toby could visit SUNY. He's getting ready to graduate this spring and is trying to select a college. She called me when they arrived, but I haven't heard from her since. That's not like Peggy so I took the red-eye and went straight to the police department. Someone there recommended you."

Silent for a handful of minutes, McCall, his face revealing nothing, finally asked, "Is it possible that your secretary and her son have taken a side trip to visit, say, another university?"

Joe felt a momentary flash of anger before realizing that this man was simply examining all the angles, something he would have done had their positions been reversed. "It's possible," he admitted grudgingly, his frown slashing a vertical line between his brows. "But unlikely. As I said, their belongings are still at the hotel. Their trip was well planned. They barely had time to visit SUNY, do some sightseeing before flying back to L.A. Peggy would have called me had there been a change in plans, particularly if they'd been delayed. I'm their ride from the airport."

"You seem pretty confident of your secretary's actions." McCall made the statement into a question. He sensed an immediate change in Joe.

"I am. We've… been together for a long time." Seeing the hint of a question on the Equalizer's face, Joe smiled slightly, but it never reached his eyes, as he added. "It's not what you're thinking."

"Oh. What am I thinking?"

The question sounded innocuous, but Joe knew at once that his help hinged on Joe's answer. The truth was what McCall was seeking and the truth is what Joe intended to give him.

"That there's something going on between us, that we've had a lovers' quarrel and she's run off," Joe filled in the blanks in an amused tone, his eyes holding McCall's. "Not every relationship between a man and a woman is about sex. Peggy came to work for me after her husband was killed and she had a young son to raise. That was more than a decade ago. We… are very loyal to each other to the point of risking everything for the other. What Peggy and I… and Toby, mean to each other goes far beyond what any physical relationship ever could, Mr. McCall. That's why I'm here and why I'm asking for your help."

Neither spoke as the ensuing silence lengthened with the shadows.

"Call me Robert," the Equalizer said with an aborted grin before once again becoming all business. Only then did Joe allow himself to relax even slightly. He'd found the one man in New York who understood and could help him.

* * * * *

The place to start, both men knew, was back at the Manhattan Carriage House, the last place the Fairs had been seen. That they caught the manager just as he was leaving for the night did not improve his attitude.

"It is against hotel policy to let you into a guest's room," he explained, his posture making clear that he would not be swayed by circumstance. "I'll be happy to cooperate if you get a court order."

"Mrs. Fair is my secretary," Joe explained even as he felt his temper rise, "and I'm worried about her safety as well as her son's. Have either of them returned yet?"

"I've not seen them," the man, a Mr. Harvey Whitehead, replied, softening a bit in the face of Joe's concern. "Let me check with the front desk staff."

The answer was negative when he returned to Mannix and McCall. "Their key is still in the slot and the only messages are yours," Whitehead informed them.

"When did you say Mrs. Fair and her son left," McCall's calm voice asked.

Whitehead recounted his story of how, two, no three days ago now, the Fairs had paused in the lobby only long enough to leave their key at the front desk and ask someone to hail a taxi. Neither Whitehead nor anyone else on duty recalled the cab's number. Mrs. Fair did not mention their destination to any of the Carriage House employees. Throughout the recitation, Whitehead managed to look pointedly at his watch several times.

McCall and Mannix got the message. Thanking him for his time, the Equalizer turned to his client, saying, "Let's step into the bar for a drink."

"I'm not thirsty," Joe growled, turning away.

"I am." There was an undercurrent in McCall's tone that said this was more than a polite request. Joe studied this man who'd agreed to help him and knew at once that a drink was the last thing on his mind. With a nod, he followed Robert into the dark bar that was masquerading as a pub just off the lobby.

Taking the first table they came to, the two men sat, Joe's back to the door, McCall facing it. When the waiter came to take their order, Robert automatically requested a couple of scotches. Only after the man walked away did he glance at Joe. "I hope that suits your taste."

Joe could only shrug, puzzled. The drinks appeared a moment later and the waiter disappeared. McCall took a sip of his, offering up no reaction. Mannix continued to study him in consternation. Why on earth, when every second counted, was this man insisting that they sit here having a drink like old college chums who'd run into each other unexpectedly?

But McCall wasn't watching Joe. He was looking beyond him. With a start, Mannix realized that and didn't dare look behind. Less than a handful of minutes had passed when McCall jerked his head.

Standing, he dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table between the hardly touched glasses and led the way out of the bar, Joe closely behind.

Rather than turning right toward the door that led out to the busy Manhattan street - the one Whitehead had just exited - Robert veered left with all the self-assurance of a hotel guest. Once up the thickly carpeted stairs and into the first floor hallway, McCall murmured to Mannix over a shoulder, "What floor was your secretary on?"

Liking the man's style more and more, Joe replied, "Third. Room 326."Taking the steps to reduce the odds of encountering hotel guests or employees, the two men moved swiftly up two floors. Outside room 326, Joe watched in admiration, as McCall extracted a black leather case no larger than a cigarette pack. Inside, it held the finest set of lock-picking tools he'd ever seen. With an experienced eye, McCall selected the one he wanted and, a moment later, they were inside the darkened room.

Both of them stood, allowing their eyes to adjust. When they could make out shapes, McCall risked turning on the desk lamp that provided just enough light to make out the room's contents. Peggy's large suitcase rested neatly on the carrier at the foot of the bed that obviously hadn't been used, Joe knew, for several nights.

Quickly they took opposite sides and efficiently, thoroughly searched the room. Peggy's clothes hung in the closet but the rest of her things were in the other pieces of luggage, out of the way.

"Toby?" Robert asked softly.

"Room 324," Joe answered under his breath as well. They'd passed it in the hallway, but now McCall simply convinced the lock on the door of the adjoining room to admit them. While not as neat as his mother's, Toby's room contained no clues as to their whereabouts either.

Standing by the bed, Joe glanced around one last time in frustration only to notice a scratch pad on the nightstand. Picking it up, he ran a finger over the surface of the paper. He could feel the indentions where someone had written something on the sheet above, which was missing. Touching McCall on the arm, Joe held up the pad.

After peering at the blank sheet under a nearby lamp, they looked for, but couldn't find a pencil. Joe finally took a pen and lightly ran its point back and forth over the writing. The words The Battery jumped out at them.

"Would it be safe to assume that young Mr. Fair was referring to the park here in Manhattan?" McCall asked in the same quiet voice he'd used earlier.

"That would be my guess," Joe replied, also keeping his voice down. "But do we know that's where they were headed when they left here."

"Not necessarily, but it's all we've got to go on," McCall pointed out. "And remember, we are not without other resources as well."

When Joe gave him a questioning look, McCall merely turned up one side of his mouth in what passed for a smile. Leaving both rooms as they had found them, the two men moved on.

* * * * *

McCall had one more stop planned before they called it a night. Joe gave up trying to keep track of all the turns the Jaguar made as it crisscrossed Manhattan. Finally the luxury car eased to the curb in the middle of a block of nondescript apartment houses. Wordlessly he followed the Equalizer along the poorly lit street then down a half dozen steps to one of many basement apartments.

The inner door was protected by an outer one of iron. The place appeared deserted, but McCall pushed the buzzer in what Joe immediately recognized as a code. After only a moment, a panel on the inner door slid aside as a pair of eyes stared out at them.

"It's me, Jonah," McCall said in hardly more than a murmur.

Without a word, the panel slammed shut and, for an instant, Joe was afraid there would be no other contact as the two of them stood, surrounded by the muted sounds of the city. Instead the door swung open from inside and, at the sound of the latch releasing, Robert opened the security door. Once again, Joe followed him.

As the doors closed behind them, Mannix looked around in amazement at an apartment that was as nondescript as the building except for one feature. Every inch of space in this dwelling appeared to be filled with every piece of electronic and computer equipment known to man. All of it together emitted a considerable hum and the glowing greenish blue screens bathed the stuffy room in an eerie light.

"Long time, no see, McCall," Jonah rasped in what passed for his normal tone of voice. Making his way past the maze of machinery to one of many computers lining the walls, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

Joe detected a slight hesitation on the Equalizer's part. He knew at once that McCall was reluctant to part with the information. Was that because he didn't trust Jonah, or he didn't trust Joe? Mannix didn't care and at the moment didn't feel like debating the issue.

"A client, Jonah, from California," McCall answered flatly. "That's all you need to know at the moment."

"Yeah, sure," the man replied, his attention already drawn to the monitor. He got paid one way or the other, and McCall always paid well, extremely well. "What can I do for you this time, McCall?"

"A bit of information." The words hung in the air until Jonah swiveled in his rolling chair to look at McCall through thick glasses. Joe took the opportunity to study Jonah. The man looked like the guys Joe used to work with years ago at Intertect. His skin was pasty, much too pale from spending almost all their time indoors. His eyes were already going bad, his hair stuck out like he'd rolled out of bed that way, and his clothes were rumpled. Nothing mattered to Jonah, or the guys at Intertect for that matter, except coaxing information out of the computer's circuits. They looked on the quest the same way the crusaders had.

"What kind of information?" Suspicion dripped from the question. McCall always paid top dollar because the data he was seeking didn't come easy.

"I need for you to find a woman and her son." McCall's expression was bland almost to the point of boredom. That only served to heighten Jonah's natural wariness… and interest.

"McCall," he began in a haughty tone, "a computer can do many things, but it is not a people locater, especially if someone wants to stay lost."

"I think," McCall explained in that same flat tone, "that this lady and her son want to be found and you're going to help us do that." It was not a request. Jonah recognized the fact and cleared his computer screen. "I need for you to trace a New York City cab ride from the Manhattan Carriage House possibly to the Battery three days ago. That would have been the 18th."

"Aw, come on, McCall." When Jonah swiveled around, he found a folded bill - Joe couldn't determine the denomination by the computer's light - thrust under his nose. Snatching the green paper from between the Equalizer's fingers and pocketing it in one smooth move, Jonah rasped out, "Come back tomorrow. It'll take a while." Returning his attention to the screen, he'd already dismissed McCall and his client from California.

* * * * *

McCall sat in his nearly dark apartment alone. He had offered Joe the option of staying with him, but the man had insisted on taking a room at the Carriage House on the off chance that the Fairs might show up out of the blue. McCall had dropped him there after retrieving Joe's luggage from JFK.

Swallowing a sip of very smooth scotch, Robert sat the heavy crystal highball glass on an end table and dialed a number he'd long since committed to memory.

"Hello, old son," the craggy voice greeted him on the other end of the line. Someone else might have found it disconcerting, but McCall wasn't surprised that Control knew who was calling. The Agency man wasn't psychic, just connected to a vast intelligence network. Control had managed to survive this long because he left nothing to chance.

Robert hated to utter the words, but he knew Control wouldn't offer. "I need your help."

The chuckle never sounded, but McCall could almost swear he heard the soft laugh through the lines and felt the old familiar irritation. Swallowing that emotion along with another sip of scotch, he continued, "I need all information that you have on a Joe Mannix. He claims to be a private detective from Los Angeles, here to look for his missing secretary and her son." McCall knew better than to ask whether or not Control had what he was seeking; the information, he knew, was available and, if he'd caught his former boss in a cooperative mood, it would soon be forthcoming.

"Just a moment," Control muttered and, all at once, McCall heard nothing. He knew, however, that the line wasn't dead. After a time, he heard Control say, "How've you been, old son? It's been a while."

"Does that really matter?" Robert answered wearily but regretted the tone. After all, he was coming to Control for help and the man deserved better than that. "Sorry. I'm tired… no, I'm not. I just… "

"You just don't like asking for help," Control completed for him. "You never did. There's something else, isn't there?"

"I've got a bad feeling about this one," McCall spoke, even as he realized that it was true. "I don't know exactly what but… "

"Hold that thought," Control interrupted just before the phone went silent again. While he waited, McCall thought about his unease, trying to pin down the reasons. He found he couldn't say just why and that bothered him even more. He hoped that Control would tell him something to calm his disquiet.

"Robert, Joe Mannix is exactly who he claims to be. Secretary is Peggy Fair, a widow with a son, Toby Fair." McCall listened as Control did a quick rundown of Joe's life history - service in Korea, employment with Intertect, established his own agency. The man was a straight shooter, as was his secretary. That knowledge only served to increase McCall's anxiety. Why, he wondered, would someone like Peggy Fair just disappear off the face of the earth along with her son? He had no logical answer and that, Robert realized, was the source of his troubled thoughts.

* * * * *

The next morning, Joe sensed a change in McCall's attitude as he stepped from the curb in front of the Carriage House and slid into the Jag. The shift was subtle, but tangible nevertheless. The P.I. figured his story had been checked out to the other man's satisfaction and now he could focus all his energies on helping Mannix find Peggy and Toby. He nodded at McCall in greeting. Robert studied Mannix for a long moment, an enigmatic smile playing around his features. At last he said, "That was not what I was thinking."

Joe just had time to flash a grin in acknowledgement before the Jag pulled away and began threading its way through the heavy Manhattan morning traffic. After several blocks, Joe recognized where they were headed - back to see Jonah. The routine was repeated as, once again, Joe found himself in a room that knew neither daylight nor dusk, only the flickering of artificial light.

"Jonah?" McCall packed a great deal of meaning in the name. "What have you got for me?"

"I found what you're after, McCall." With that, Jonah dropped into his chair and punched a key at the same time. The monitor revealed a spreadsheet with one line highlighted. "It wasn't all that hard really."

Robert let his former operative have his moment, well aware that Jonah enjoyed the accolades as much as the money. Tracing the line across the monitor, careful not to touch the screen with his fingertip, Jonah indicated the pickup of a fare at the Carriage House hotel late in the aftrnoon. "The cab company has become very computerized; cuts down on the cabbies ripping them off on the fares. You notice I didn't say stops it, McCall."

Ignoring the banter, Joe pondered this information, figuring that Peggy and Toby had already visited SUNY at that point and had some time to kill. But what in the world could possibly interest them along the Battery? He hadn't realized that he'd uttered the question aloud until Jonah answered him. "That's easy; they went to see the lady."

"Lady, what lady?" Joe was thoroughly confused, wondering how Jonah gathered that information from his spreadsheet.

Jonah beat McCall to the punch. "The Statue of Liberty," he said with a shake of his head and barely concealed disdain for this non-New Yorker. "See, the cabbie dropped them just off South Street in the vicinity of Battery Park. That's where you catch the ferry out to the island." Jonah indicated the drop-off point, again with a fingertip that hovered near but never touched the screen.

"The time was after four." Robert's voice was soft, but Joe picked up on an undercurrent. Jonah looked up at the former agent as though he'd just revealed the meaning of life.

"What," Joe wanted to know, looking from one to the other, waiting to be enlightened. "What happens at four o'clock?"

"The last ferry leaves for the island at four. Your friends got there too late to catch that ferry, yet there's no notation of a return trip by cab to the hotel. Am I right, Jonah?" It was only then that McCall lifted his eyes to look into Joe's.

"No return trip," Jonah confirmed.

"Looks like your secretary and her son are somewhere in the neighborhood of Battery Park," McCall said quietly.

"If they're still alive, that is," Jonah blurted out before a scathing look from McCall silenced him. "What'd I say?"

But the two men were already leaving.

* * * * *

"What's she like, your secretary?"

They were trapped in the Jag, surrounded by dozens of cars, all of them moving in stops and starts along the Manhattan boulevard. Joe was no stranger to Los Angeles traffic jams, but three thousand miles away, he was always the one behind the wheel. The role of second fiddle was wearing thin, but this wasn¹t his town so there was little he could do under the circumstances.

"Peggy, she's… " How could he explain their relationship to this stranger? What words would adequately convey what Peggy Fair had come to mean to him? And he to her? There wasn't enough time to tell McCall about the occasions he'd put his life on the line for the woman who was more than a secretary, or the times she'd done the same for him. Would Robert understand that Peggy often had the ability to read Joe's mind, enabling him to focus his thoughts and find the answers he was seeking? "We're friends," he finished lamely, waiting for the skeptical look, a raised eyebrow. But those expressions never came.

Instead, Robert seemed to accept Joe's statement and all the shades of meaning friendship carried. Yet, Joe knew, there were so many more layers to his and Peggy's relationship. A beautiful woman, Peggy Fair was a devoted mother and friend. On numerous occasions she'd enticed him to her apartment where Joe had been treated to a nourishing home-cooked meal, something he rarely enjoyed since his mother had passed away and he'd left home. A single man, he found it easier to eat out or snack in the apartment over his office. In return, Joe had helped Peggy with many things around the house including providing a male role model for her son, Toby. The two of them had enjoyed movies, baseball games and other outings through the years. Although he never let on for Peggy's sake, Joe knew he too would miss Toby if the young man chose to attend college on the east coast.

As the car jumped ahead again, Joe continued, his mind straying back to Paseo Verde. "Several years ago, I had a case wrapped up, even had photographs as evidence. One of those involved showed up at the office to retrieve the photographs before he could be incriminated. When he pulled a gun on me, Peggy threw her coffee in his face."

McCall chanced a quick glance at the detective, throwing a smile of admiration his way. The look faded quickly, however, in the face of Joe's next softly uttered words. "Peggy took a bullet in the shoulder that day. Could have been worse; she could have been killed. I've… there've been other times."

Joe let that thought hang. The man they called the Equalizer now knew enough to be assured that the PI wasn't on vacation while in New York City.

Their next stop was the dispatch hub for the cab company. Located in a seedier part of the city, McCall didn't hesitate to double park the sleek, black Jag near the entrance while the two men conducted their business.

Not thrilled to see two strangers, the dispatcher kept them cooling their heels while he made his way through a fistful of call sheets. "Yeah, what can I do for you?" He finally asked in a way that told them he hoped the answer would be 'nothing.'

"We would like to speak with a Mr. Vinnie Salazar, please." McCall stared the dispatcher down impassively before a fifty-dollar bill slid across the desk, ending up near the man's hand.

At length, following a silence during which the dispatcher's eyes flicked to the money before quickly returning to the two men, he picked up the hand mike and radioed, "Cab 435 report to base." He was forced to repeat the page several times. After another wait, the phone inside the dispatch booth rang and half a conversation could be heard. "Yeah. Where are you? Yeah. Got a coupla guys here wanna speak with you." The last part came out sounding like 'wit youse.'

McCall suddenly found the phone thrust in his direction. Taking the receiver, he spoke politely, but firmly, "Mr. Salazar?" On the other end he heard a wary acknowledgment. "I'm trying to locate a fare you dropped off near South Street four days ago. It would have been around four p.m. on the 18th."

"Mister, do you know how many people I… "

"Think!" Robert paused to rein in his irritation. "Please try to recall, Mr. Salazar. This would have been a black woman in her forties... " He glanced over at Joe who nodded in agreement. "...with a young man of college age. You picked them up at the Manhattan Carriage House and took them to the Battery."

"Yeah, now that you describe the two of them, I seem to recall a couple like that. She was a real looker, ya know. What about 'em?"

"Do you recall anything they might have said during the trip; did they ask you anything; engage you in conversation?"

"Just the usual chitchat about the Statue of Liberty. I wasn't paying much attention."

"You didn't bother to tell them, I suppose, that they were going to be too late for the last ferry across?" McCall was staring at Joe, but picturing what he imagined the cabbie to look like in his mind. Listening to McCall's half of the interrogation drew a deep frown from the detective.

"Hey, it ain't my place to lead every Tom, Dick and Harry around by the hand.  I just deliver them where they want to go." The cabbie's waning patience was starting to wear even thinner.

"Did you happen to see which way they headed after you dropped them off?"

"Naw. Over to buy a ticket I guess. I didn't pay no attention. Who cares?"

McCall was glad that Joe could only hear half of the conversation. "Is there anything else you can remember about that trip or that particular fare?"

"That's it, bud. Look, I gotta go. I'm losing money here."

"Yeah, thank you." He handed the phone back to the dispatcher. "Appreciate your trouble," the Equalizer told the man, but both knew the words were only a formality.

Climbing back into the Jaguar, McCall said, without letting on how bleak he considered the search to be, "Now we go poking around the Battery and see what turns up."

Circling around by the spot where Peggy and Toby had been dropped by the cab, McCall wasn't surprised to find a lack of parking spaces. He covered the blocks in a widening circle until he found a place several streets over. As they exited the car, McCall gave Joe a long look, which was returned steadily. With a slight nod, Robert acknowledged that he trusted Mannix to handle himself well and cover his back should they find themselves in a tight spot.

Wading through the crowds, the two men spent the rest of the afternoon looking, studying, searching. Neither was sure exactly what it was they were seeking or exactly where they should look, but they didn't let that stop them. Peggy and Toby had last been seen in this area so that's where they concentrated their efforts.

Later he couldn't say exactly why the man had drawn his attention, perhaps his caution stemmed from years of experience, but McCall touched Joe on the arm, indicating a man with a slight shift of his eyes. Tilting his head slightly, Mannix indicated that he was ready to follow Robert's lead. Together they threaded their way through the press of tourists, never coming too close yet always keeping the man in sight.

He'd come from the direction of the harbor and was unhurriedly making his way several blocks inland. His behavior indicated that he was no out-of-towner for he moved like he knew exactly where he was going. Tall and lanky, the man, who was approaching 40, wore a faded t-shirt over olive drab military pants tucked into scuffed Army boots. His "high and tight" suited him like the rest of his attire. He was carrying a box.

Rounding the corner of a building after their prey, McCall and Mannix immediately spotted him talking with a second, similarly dressed man as they loitered in the deserted street below a loading dock, its grill partially open above the box that had been riding on the man's shoulder. Both men appeared startled, then hostile, at the intrusion. Striding purposely in front of Mannix, McCall swept an arm to encompass the aging brick warehouse on the opposite side of the street.

"I know you wanted to check out this building because it can be had for a song," he blustered just loudly enough to pass for a pushy real estate agent. "I'm not saying it's not a good location, mind you. But consider all the alterations you'll have to make to suit your needs."

Joe stepped into the role of buyer without missing a beat. He appeared, along with McCall, to be studying the layout when, in fact, the only building that mattered was the one behind them. Making his interest obvious, he opened his mouth to speak, when McCall drew him by the arm, insisting, "Now that you've seen this one, why don't you let me show you a little gem of a warehouse I've been sitting on, waiting for just the right customer to come along?" As they walked back the way they'd come, Joe took a last look or two as McCall pressed his 'client', "I promise you the location will be just as good as this one and, with me working for you, the sellers will knock a bit off the price. How does that sound? Wait'll you see it; just you wait."

As soon as they were out of sight, McCall and Mannix quickly faded into the crowd, picking a spot to observe from deep in the shadows of a business awning on the next block.

"Heavily guarded," Joe muttered under his breath, running down what he'd seen. "Secured when people aren't coming and going."

"Guns," Robert pronounced with finality. "I'd stake a good bit on that."

"Why not drugs?" Joe wanted to know, his eyes scanning the throng of tourists, but always returning to the brick structure, seen in the distance.

"Heads up," was the soft reply. McCall nodded in the direction of another man of like age, also decked out in pseudo-military attire, moving at a steady pace along the street, another wooden box on his shoulder. As the two men looked on, he went around the corner and disappeared into the same alley they'd emerged from only a handful of minutes earlier.

Joe wore a thoughtful expression as McCall expounded on his theory, "Packaged to be easily transported, a box at a time, one man at a time, down the street. Just one more delivery person carrying a package, no one will pay the slightest bit of attention. Dressing up in military attire isn't the brightest move I've seen, mind you. Then again, half the young Turks in this city are wearing the same thing. Serving as muscle for gun runners doesn't exactly draw the best and the brightest either."

Having grown tired of the chitchat, Joe was itching for action. Pushing away from the wall, he said, "We need to take a closer look inside that building. Peggy and Toby might… "

McCall rested a hand on his arm, stopping him in mid-step. "Too dangerous in broad daylight. I've got a better idea."

Mannix moved back into the shadows, looking expectantly at the slightly shorter man. "I thought you might."

"We need more firepower." McCall was a casual as someone reciting a grocery list. "Along with some backup."

"And just where might we find all that?" Joe asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

* * * * *

Joe stood in the middle of the living room of Robert's tasteful apartment and took it all in - from the grand piano in one corner to the artwork on the walls. He knew at once that these living quarters suited the man they housed. Pausing at the edge of a hallway, McCall urged him out of his reverie, "This way."

Mannix followed the man who'd stepped forward to help him into a darkroom off the hallway. What in the world, Joe wondered as he watched Robert release a hidden latch to open a panel in the wall. He didn't bother to hide his shock at the array of armament within its confines. Easily picking out handguns as well as shotguns, all with a stockpile of ammunition, there were other weapons and gadgets Joe had never seen before. The display was impressive to say the least.

"Hobby of yours," Joe asked with a trace of humor.

The private detective was surprised to note a flicker of sadness - or was it regret - behind McCall's eyes before he answered, enigmatically, "Tools of the trade. Take your pick."

While Joe evaluated each piece and his skill with it, Robert stepped to a phone on the wall near the door, and dialed. "Mickey? Can you round up Jimmy and meet me at the apartment? ...As soon as you can get here...I think you and Jimmy are all we'll need...I've already got a fourth man...Yes, Mickey, he can handle himself." Without another word, he replaced the receiver.

As Joe looked on, McCall swiftly selected a couple of weapons, nodded in approval at Joe's choice then closed the cabinet, returning the darkroom to its normal appearance. Mannix couldn't help but wonder just what other "goodies" the apartment contained. He reflected on the detective work he undertook back in L.A.; Robert's occupation was similar yet somehow surrounded by more menace. Joe filed that away to ponder at another time.

The two men made their way back to the living area overlooking the Manhattan avenue. Joe crossed to one of two front windows, allowing McCall a measure of privacy to check the messages on his answering machine. "Care for something to drink?"

The question caught Joe by surprise, causing him to turn away from the view, an eyebrow raised in question. "Sorry," McCall answered the unasked question with an amused grin. "I wasn't referring to alcohol. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks." Joe shook his head, returning to his perusal of the room. Coming to the mantel, Mannix studied several small, framed photos of children. As far as he could tell, they were the only photographs in a room of artwork.

From behind him he heard McCall reply to another question he hadn't posed." My son and... my daughters." Joe couldn't be sure, but he thought he detected a wistful note in the words.

"Mickey?"

"Beg pardon?" Joe turned to find McCall frowning at him in puzzlement as he carried a cup of steaming tea from the kitchen. "Oh, I see what you mean. Is Mickey my son? No." There was a suppressed chuckle and a twitch of the lips at that thought. "Mickey is a former colleague who will be assisting us tonight. Scott, my son, is a musician - violin - quite good actually. Several years ago he moved to Hollywood where he... Ah, I believe they refer to it as scoring for the movies."

Mannix waited for Robert to continue with information about his other children, but nothing else appeared to be forthcoming. Turning back to the other frames, Joe picked up a tiny photograph for a closer study. "And your daughters," he felt compelled to ask without knowing why.

Again there was a protracted silence making Joe regret asking. He'd only done so to be polite, but now wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake bringing up relationships that McCall didn't want to think about, much less discuss. But finally he answered and when he did, Joe couldn't fail to miss the infinite sadness he heard.

"Yvette lives in Canada. We get together when we can, which isn't nearly as often as I'd like. Kathy… died at a very young age." He let that declaration go without explanation. Instead he asked, "Do you have any children, Joe?"

This time Joe was the one who sounded wistful as he shook his head. "No. Toby's the closest thing to a son I have. That's one reason why he and Peggy mean so much to me." He glanced outside again, gauging the encroaching darkness.

"Yes, I can understand," Robert replied softly, his focus in the past. "There was a time when my daughter had been kidnapped... Scott, too, was once held hostage. It's not a pleasant sensation, that. Not to worry, things have a way of working out." But Joe wondered if McCall really believed it.

"Yeah, I meant to ask you about that," Joe began, leaning against the cold, empty fireplace, arms crossed against his chest. As he looked on, McCall brought his eyes around to Joe's as though he knew what was coming. "This thing you do... " Joe swept his arm wide, taking in McCall and everything else in the room. "This service you provide... you're not a private detective." The statement came out sounding like a question.

"No, I'm not." Again there was that soft reply with undercurrents of hidden meaning. "What I do... isn't bound strictly by the law."

Tilting his head to one side while he considered that, Joe thought before asking, "Were you ever bound strictly by the law, as you put it?"

Lifting his chin a bit as though a touch defensive, McCall finally looked Joe squarely in the eye. "No, the... agency that employed me bent the law, twisted it and disregarded it outright if the circumstances warranted. Perhaps it would be better if we left things at that, hum?"

But Joe hadn't survived to become one of the best by backing away from anything that captured his interest. "This 'agency' you worked for... I didn't think anyone ever retired from that line of work."

Robert drew back slightly, impressed with the depth of Joe's insight. His respect for the man was growing by leaps and bounds. Only last night he'd called Control to verify the background information Joe Mannix had given him. Now he was finding that a jaded warhorse could still be impressed by honesty, courage and obvious intelligence. Robert found himself wishing that he'd met the private detective under different circumstances. They might have become fast friends. "Well, about that." He stood, carrying his teacup to the sink. "I've made certain arrangements for my... freedom."

A sound issued from Joe signaling that he was properly impressed. The statement wasn't, he recognized, a casual admission on Robert's part. The former agent had had some clout or he wouldn't be standing here now. His words had told Joe plenty and the detective wasn't about to pry, knowing that McCall had said all he was going to on the subject; probably more than he would have with anyone else.

Instead Joe brought the conversation back to the present. "Do you enjoy 'equalizing' the odds as your ad says?"

"Sometimes." McCall glanced at him from the sink. Joe was struck by the innocuousness of the scene - a very lethal man rinsing out his teacup. "Without someone like me, there would be a great many people who might find themselves alone in a tight spot."

"But that's not all of it?" Joe didn't move as McCall paused while rinsing his cup, then finished the job.

"Can you understand that, in a small way, I'm restoring the balance in my life, making reparations for the things I've done?" Drying his cup before placing it back in the cabinet, he turned to study Joe for a long moment. His lips twitched in a ghost of a grin. "Yes, I believe you do see that."

"We've both done things that... "

A sharp rap on the door interrupted Joe's quiet voice. For a fraction of a second, Joe thought the summons would be ignored. He'd gotten the distinct impression that Robert would very much have liked to pursue their line of conversation. But no longer than he took to think those words, McCall was already opening the door, admitting two very different men.

One appeared to be about fifteen years younger than Joe; the other slightly older. Both carried toughness with them like the clothes they wore. Each nodded briefly at Joe, studying him surreptitiously while McCall made the introductions and outlined the situation. The dangers they faced seemed to make little difference to these newcomers, causing Joe to be glad they were on his side. The odds, he knew, were growing considerably more even by the minute.

When neither Jimmy nor Mickey had any questions about the night's events, McCall disappeared for a time, reappearing with a black t-shirt that he pitched to Joe, indicating a bathroom where he could change out of his dress shirt. When he emerged, he found that Robert had donned a black shirt as well. "It's time," he declared. Turning to his former comrades, he posed a one-word question. "Weapons?"

"In the van," Mickey answered succinctly as if to say, 'where else'.

With a nod, McCall led the way. As the four emerged from his building, Robert hesitated at the sight of a well-dressed man, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the Jag's passenger door. Joe noticed at once that Mickey and Jimmy exchanged glances.

"Going somewhere on this fine evening, Robert?" The cultured yet craggy voice carried across the space between them, but not much farther.

"Nice to see you, too, Control." Suddenly McCall had grown cocky as he sauntered up to the man who never moved a muscle.

And just as suddenly Joe recognized 'Lew.' The two men looked nothing alike, but Joe instantly knew that this man whom Robert addressed as 'Control' was his former boss just as surely as Lew was Joe's. He immediately identified with Robert's bravado and nonchalance in the face of the ultimate authority figure.

Looking on as the two men glared at each other, Joe was both amused and intrigued as he waited with McCall's colleagues. Was this how he and Lew must have appeared on more than one occasion? He was glad, for once, that he wasn't in Robert's place. On the other hand, the two of them were wasting valuable time trying to one-up the other. Just as he was about to put an end to the gamesmanship, Control's words sent a chill through him.

"They're not there, you know." No emotion showed in his eyes; no emotion animated his features. "If you'd listen to me for once, I can save you a lot of time and trouble."

"Oh, and how do you know where we're going and who we are looking for?" Robert struggled but failed to keep the heat from his tone.

Control glanced away quickly before focusing on McCall again from under shaggy brows. One hand flicked out quickly, emphasizing his point before disappearing back under his arm. "You know better than that, old son," he answered quietly, and Joe was aware of an immediate change in Robert. As curious as that was, the private detective was more interested in the welfare of his secretary and her son. He moved down a step or two, closer to the two men, but a swift glance from Control kept him at bay.

"The warehouse, the guns, you know about all that, do you?" But it wasn't a question, just a tired statement, and not the first time McCall had uttered those words or ones very similar to this shadow man.

"The people you're looking for were there, at one point in time, but they've been moved," Control informed him.

At these words, Joe could no longer contain himself. Bounding down the remaining steps, he closed the distance between himself and Control. "And you didn't do anything to help them?"

Angry as he was, Joe was nevertheless impressed that his outburst drew no visible reaction from Control. Rather the man eyed him with an almost bored expression before turning back to McCall. "Your client?"

This time Robert became exasperated. "He's got a right. This woman is his secretary and the young man with her is her son. More than that, they're old friends. That should mean something, even to you, old son." McCall stressed the nickname, his eyes never leaving Control's.

At last the agency chief pushed away from the car and walked away, waging war within. A handful of steps later, he whirled and returned to the two men. Mickey and Jimmy were leaning up against the railing of the stoop, patiently awaiting the outcome. This was old territory for them.

"Yes, I knew about it, Robert," Control explained heatedly.

"When you asked me about the background of one Joe Mannix... " Here he glanced briefly at the L.A. detective, before continuing, "I didn't connect him with the other two. Contrary to what some people believe, I don't know everything."

Mickey snorted in the background, but he was ignored. Instead McCall's eyes drilled into Control's, who continued, dispassionately, "After spending a great deal of time and effort tracking this operation, Robert, we've finally located the source as well as the distribution points. Now we can concentrate on tracing the buyers. You know how long it takes to put surveillance in place without being spotted."

But McCall wasn't letting him off the hook that easily. As the night grew darker, he asked softly, "And what of the two civilians?"

"What of the countless lives we'll save when we close down the whole operation?" Control countered heavily.

"I'm not willing to let them be an innocent sacrifice; it's not their fight," Robert said, signaling Mickey as he moved toward the van. "The operation will be shut down tonight."

"You're too late." Control's tone was completely flat causing Joe to freeze in his tracks.

"What does that mean?" The underlying growl in McCall's voice was evident as he stepped between Joe and the agency boss.

"I told you they were no longer in the warehouse," Control shrugged, but had already made his decision. This was another one he'd lost to Robert and his damned conscience. "They're on a boat, headed out to sea."

* * * * *

Joe felt an odd sense of deja vu as he stood in the bow of the big boat, watching the lights of Manhattan slide away into the darkness. He'd been in similar surroundings before, long ago, sailing on a leg of his journey toward military service in Korea. Just as he had been surrounded by soldiers then, so he was now. Only the uniforms differed, but the men were soldiers underneath, just the same.

Thinking of Peggy and Toby, Joe felt his stomach lurch as it had all those many years before in anticipation of battle. Another apt analogy, for there would be a fight before he walked away from this situation, he vowed as he gripped the railing. An image of what the Fairs must be going through filled his mind. They'd had no way of contacting Joe; no way of learning that help was on the way. They must have imagined themselves helpless in the face of the mercenaries who held them.

Peggy was a brave woman, Joe was well aware; but this didn't just involve Peggy. Toby was mixed up as well and, where her son was concerned, Peggy could prove quite formidable, risking her life before letting something happen to him. This time the price might be just that.

Hang on, Peg, I'm coming for you and Toby, Joe thought, trying to project his assurances over the waves. And when this is all over, I want to be alive to find out how you got caught up in all this.

Just then he was aware of Robert coming up to stand beside him, another set of eyes sweeping the growing expanse of water ahead of them, watching the running lights of a sleek boat giving off a speck of illumination in the distance.

Without looking his way, Joe asked, "This man you call Control... your old boss?"

McCall grunted in reply, yet he made even that sound civilized and cultured.

"Yeah, I've got one of those floating around too," Joe continued, in a halfhearted attempt to lighten the mood. "He always seems to be able to get under my skin."

Robert cut his eyes toward Joe, took note of the other passengers' positions and, satisfied that they were indeed alone, spoke softly. "Control and I started out at the Agency together. He was... is the best at what he does."

"I get the feeling you were no slouch," Joe told him, paying the man a backhanded compliment.

In the darkness, Joe thought he once again detected a hint of a smile playing around McCall's lips before he took refuge behind the barrier he rarely let down. "For a time we performed like an evenly matched pair of racehorses," he allowed.

"But something happened to change all that?"

For a long moment the only sound was the hissing of the water as the boat cut through the swells. The gulls had long since given up any hope that this vessel carried food and had disappeared like the sun. "It began, I think, with Kathy's death," McCall's flat voice was hardly above a whisper. Joe had to strain to make out the words. "I... wasn't there; gone on one more bloody assignment. The price was my marriage and, for a long time, my son. I... there was someone else for a time, but... I didn't stay. I don't know why I'm telling you this."

There was an angry note bubbling just below the surface, but Joe suspected that he wasn't the target. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he offered lamely.

"No, nothing you did, ancient history," Robert brushed the apology off graciously. "Let's just say there were a combination of things that led to my... disillusionment with the Agency. A disillusionment that Control doesn't share... or at least not often enough to quit. Don't think badly of him; he's got a knack of seeing the forest."

"But sometimes people like Peggy and Toby get lost among the trees," Joe pointed out.

"Yeah," McCall agreed. "And as long as they do, there's a need for people like us who... "

"McCall!" Mickey's urgent voice spoke up from behind them. "Look, there."

In the distance both men could just make out a large ship bearing down upon the two smaller vessels. Making out more than the shape of it was impossible in the darkness.

"An escort?" Joe asked quietly, touching the gun tucked into his waistband.

"Most likely," McCall answered, obviously assessing the change in their situation. "Along for guard duty."

"At least we'll get in the first lick," Mickey announced with some satisfaction as the three men turned to gaze forward again. They were drawing nearer to their quarry. Still shy of the territorial limits and unable to let the engines out completely, the craft appeared to be creeping along as their bigger vessel closed the gap.

"What do you want to do, my friend?" McCall had brought Joe this far, but was now graciously allowing the detective to call the shots.

"What I came to New York to do - get my secretary and her son," Mannix answered matter-of-factly without hesitation. "You're free to back out if you want. This is my fight. I can't ask you to risk your lives against these odds."

"What do you say, Mickey?" McCall asked almost jauntily, but Joe had the feeling that the answer was never in question.

"Haven't you heard, Mannix?" Mickey replied with an odd little smile. "McCall's in the business of equalizing the odds."

Having said that, the men fanned out, taking positions along the boat's railing. Control might have been late in offering help, but when he did, he'd handed McCall a decent-sized club. They crouched, guns in hand as their boat pulled alongside the gunrunner moments later.

Without waiting for an introduction, shots rang out, pinging into the metal around them, as the sleeker vessel continued trying to reach open water. McCall's trained agents returned fire at a much slower rate, trying to conserve ammunition while attempting to pick off shadowy figures on the other deck.

At least Peggy and Toby were most likely secured somewhere below deck, Joe hoped as he braced his hip against the railing, struggling for better aim. If not, they'd be sitting ducks in this shooting gallery as both boats jockeyed for position in the choppy water.

Gunfire died out as men paused to check the damage and reload. In the void, broken only by a smattering of shots, a voice boomed out. "Ceasefire!" Suddenly everyone on both vessels became aware of the large ship that had joined the melee. In answer, the crew of the gunrunner directed a volley of gunfire at the new arrival.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" The voice sounded again as two giant searchlights blazed into the night, illuminating a large deck gun aimed at the smugglers. The night grew quiet except for the vessels' engines and the slapping of the waves.

Nobody seemed to know what to do next to end the standoff. Joe eased over to McCall's side, saying, "Who the devil... "

"Control," Robert answered simply and Joe knew at once why the voice on the bullhorn had sounded so familiar. He'd heard it only hours before on a quiet residential street in Manhattan. "Once again his conscience sprang to life at the last minute."

"Robert!" The name carried across the water as if the speaker had heard what was being said about him.

"Here!" The answer, without benefit of amplification, floated back weakly on the air.

"My men will secure the ship. You can take it from there."

McCall waved when the glare of the spotlight found him; Joe glanced away to keep from being blinded. As the Equalizer's men looked on, liferafts from Control's ship quickly pushed off, making their way like sleek seals to a rock.

Joe, following the adrenaline rush, fought down the urge to join the exodus. Instead he paced the deck, his eyes never straying far from the movements he could barely make out in the dark; Mickey and McCall leaned against the bulkhead nearby, talking quietly. This, Joe decided, was worse than ducking bullets in a nighttime gun battle.

After an interminable length of time, a different voice called out through cupped hands, "All clear."

Nudging Joe, Robert led the way to a lifeboat that Mickey and Jimmy were already lowering into the ocean. The two older men scrambled aboard as Mickey manned the motor. Barely before he could get settled, Joe found himself clamoring up the side of the gunrunner.

Control's men, clad in dark clothing with faces blacked out, had herded the handful of smugglers together. A couple of men, guns trained on the group, stood guard while others scoured the boat from top to bottom. Joe left McCall standing on deck as he raced for the steps that led below.

Bursting through the cabin door, Joe was greeted by the sight of Peggy rubbing her wrists, Toby nearby flexing his wide shoulders. Control's men had already set them free. Upon seeing Joe, his secretary let out a sob, barely giving him time to thrust his gun into his waistband before he gathered her up in his arms. Holding her close, Joe extended a hand to the young man who'd become like a son to him. Toby could only smile in relief as he grasped it gratefully for a handshake.

Joe wouldn't have admitted the feeling to anyone, but the relief was so great at seeing Peggy and Toby alive that, for a moment, he thought his legs might not hold him. Taking a couple of deep breaths as he squeezed Peggy, Joe waited a few moments until he was sure he could trust his voice.

"Are you okay?" He felt Peggy nod against his chest, pretty sure she was crying.

"Yes sir, Mr. Mannix," Toby answered good-naturedly in a habit left over from childhood. "We sure are glad to see you though. This wasn't exactly the kind of vacation we had in mind."

"So, was SUNY worth it," Joe asked with a counterfeit air of casual conversation.

"Why don't we go up top and I'll tell you all about it," Toby replied, matching his attempt at dry humor. Peggy could only stare in consternation at them both.

"Told you that UCLA should have been your first choice." Joe stepped aside to let Toby, who'd grown from a boy into a man taller than the detective, precede them up the narrow stairs.

"I give up; I can't fight both of you." Toby's voice drifted back down to them as Joe helped Peggy up. They could hear the smile in his words.

* * * * *

The small English pub, tucked into an out-of-the-way corner of Manhattan, was packed with patrons the following evening, although it was easy to see that McCall's table was getting the lion's share of attention. Nobody questioned the service, however, since the Equalizer just happened to be the pub's owner.

"Now that brandy has been served, perhaps we could... " McCall started only to be interrupted by Joe.

"Toby, are you sure you wouldn't like a little more to eat?"

"Well, if I'm going to try out for the basketball team at UCLA maybe I should have one more helping." The look of anticipation on Toby's face caused his mother to chuckle.

"I take it this means that you've decided against attending school in New York," McCall asked as he signaled the waitress from the large table in front of the pub's hearth.

"Yes sir, for now," Toby answered politely, casting a glance toward his mother, seated at Joe's side. "I think it's best if I stick closer to home."

"Have you selected a course of study yet?" Robert nodded at the waitress as another plate of food was placed in front of the young man.

"No sir. For a long time I thought that I wanted to be a policeman like my dad. But that doesn't really interest me anymore."

Toby paused, fork stationary in midair, as Robert wrote something on a business card. "This is my son Scott's telephone number in Los Angeles, if you think you might want to pursue a career in music." He smiled at Joe before adding, "My number's on the other side in case you find yourself in need of my services again."

"Yes sir," Toby answered politely, pocketing the card. "Maybe we could all get together in L.A. sometime."

"I'd like that very much," McCall assured him. "Now, I want to hear the whole story about how you got mixed up in this particular adventure."

"Adventure, that's a good term for it... now," Peggy allowed, after a sip of her brandy. Glancing fondly at Toby as he wolfed down his second helping, she continued, "After visiting the university, we decided to go sightseeing with the rest of our day. After spending most of the afternoon at Rockefeller Center, Toby was so disappointed that we missed the last ferry over to the Statue of Liberty. He decided that since we were down on the Battery anyway, we might as well poke around a bit. By the time we headed back to the cabstands, it was later than I thought; getting dark. We took a wrong turn into an alley and bumped into a couple of military types."

"Mom asked for directions," Toby said, wiping his mouth before taking up the story. "About that time another guy walked up with a wooden box on his shoulder. He sorta shoved it up onto the loading dock. When he did, a slat jarred loose. I could see hundreds of metal casings. Because my dad was a policeman, I recognized them as bullets. I guess that must have showed on my face because the next thing I knew they were hustling Mom and me inside the warehouse."

"Let me guess," Joe inserted, toying with his snifter. "They held you prisoner there for a day or two before moving you to the boat sometime prior to sailing." At Peggy's nod, Joe's hand covered hers, resting on the tablecloth, trembling slightly. He squeezed reassuringly to let her know that she was indeed safe.

"How did you know," she asked Joe, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her emotions.

He tried to shrug nonchalantly but failed; he knew how close they'd come to never being seen or heard from again, most likely pitched overboard at sea. He also knew that, without Robert, they wouldn't all be sitting here now. "I called the hotel several times but got no answer. When I finally reached the front desk, the manager told me you and Toby had gone out but never returned. I knew you'd never do that unless something was very wrong. I hopped a flight that night."

"And Mr. McCall," Peggy wanted to know, flashing the Equalizer a grateful smile.

"Let's just say that the police weren't able to help me and he was," Joe said quickly, not sure of how much Robert wanted them to know.

"Oh," was all Peggy could say in the face of that statement. Her puzzled frown testified to the fact that she didn't quite understand his role in their rescue.

"Yes, you see I have... certain contacts and resources at my disposal," McCall explained enigmatically in the face of Peggy's unasked question.

"Well," she was a bit skeptical; after all, she'd worked for a private detective for more than a dozen years. "Toby and I are... grateful. There's no way we can thank you enough for what you did."

"No thanks are necessary; the books are closer to being in balance," was all that McCall would allow.

"Books? What books? I'm afraid I don't... " Peggy started, but Joe interrupted, sliding his chair back to help her stand. "Let's get you and Toby back to the hotel; we've got an early flight tomorrow." His secretary knew from years of reading his expressions that her friend and boss would tell her what she needed to know when the time was right.

* * * * *

Standing beside the Jag outside the Manhattan Carriage House as the glittering New York night surrounded them, Joe watched Toby escort Peggy into the building before turning to the man nicknamed the Equalizer.

"One question," he asked with the lift of an eyebrow.

"If I can." Robert figured he owed the man that much.

"Control let the smugglers go." The statement was a question.

"Yes, well, I suppose he hopes to salvage at least a part of this undercover operation," McCall explained and Joe wondered how much of that Robert believed. "Control had invested a great deal of time and effort into setting the thing up and I imagine he wanted to recoup that investment. Perhaps Control feels that his operation still has a chance."

Joe studied him silently for a moment and McCall let him. Finally Joe said, "Thank him for Peggy and Toby... and me. And thank you for all you did; saying that's not enough. Nothing I could do, nothing I could give would be enough. Your bill... "

"Control owed me one, shall we say," Robert explained, and this time Joe could see the humor behind his eyes. But when Joe started to protest, McCall continued, glancing away for a moment, "Besides, there's the matter of balancing my personal set of books." Looking back at Joe he said, "Mind you, the scales haven't been equalized yet. But they're closer than they were."

"Tell you what," Joe offered, not letting him off the hook. "When you get my bill prepared, why don't you hand-deliver it to L.A. We'll have Scott over and enjoy one of Peggy's home-cooked meals."

"That," McCall replied, shaking his hand firmly, "is a wonderful idea. And Joe, you be sure and take care of that family of yours... for both of us."

Joe's mouth turned up in a crooked smile, but all he could do was nod. Catching up with Peggy and Toby inside the lobby, Joe turned to wave, but the black Jag and its driver had disappeared.

"So Joe," Peggy asked, touching his arm, drawing his attention, "how did Cindy work out?"

"Cindy?" Joe frowned, for once at a loss. "There aren't enough words to adequately describe Cindy."

"Uh, huh," Peggy said, as the two of them walked together watching Toby lead the way to the elevators. "On the flight home, you'll have plenty of time to find the words to tell me all about her... and about Robert McCall."