"Sir, your 11:15 appointment with the courier from European Headquarters is here.  Should I send her in?" asked his newest secretary.

"Yes, and when I'm finished I'll see Morganthal and Richards, Miss, ah..."

"Burrows, sir."

"Burrows.  Send in the courier now, please," he finished with the 'please' to make up for forgetting her name.  She was the fourth secretary in the six months he had been in New York.  The personnel department was working on a plan to rotate a new secretary into the position every six weeks or so to prevent a hostility build up in the steno pool.  But it was getting damn confusing.  He could never remember their names.

The courier walked into his office and handed him a file envelope. During the few seconds it took for her to enter and approach his desk, his basic training noted several things.  She had long black hair, almost down to her waist, with dark eyebrows behind gold rimmed eyeglasses.  Average looks.  She was dressed neither professionally nor even attractively, which was good.  You should never call attention to yourself.  And she carried a purse big enough to be a backpack.  'What did women carry in such large bags, and why,' he wondered to himself.

"Sir," she said in a deep southern drawl, "the boys in Paris would appreciate it if you could sign off on these action reports so that the files can be closed.  You know, no loose ends and everything neat and tidy," she finished and then stood silently as he harrumphed his way through the stack of reports.

Paperwork, everything had to be neat and tidy.  He had personally signed off on enough paperwork to chop down a forest of trees during his time with the company.  He was sure the tree huggers had his name at the top of their Most Wanted list. 

Reaching the last sheet of paper in the pile, he stiffened as he read the words typed in large letters.  "Knock, knock," it read.  As he slowly looked up into the eyes behind the bushy brows and eyeglasses, his voice croaked, "Who's there?"

"Guess, you idiot," replied the voice he loved so well.

Jumping to his feet, he lunged across the desk and grabbed her.  In one Herculean test of strength, he pulled her back to him over the top of his cluttered desk, scattering everything in his path.  Kissing her ferociously, he said,  "You are just what this tired old war horse needed.  How did you get on this courier run?  What are you doing in the States?  Why didn't you tell me you had time coming?  How long can you stay?" he finished as if in one sentence. 

"I'm glad; I'm sneaky; it's a hit and run visit; don't have any; and I'm catching a plane back to Berlin in just over an hour," she panted in reply.

He stopped his passionate march across her face and looked into her eyes, "An hour!  That doesn't give us time to..." he stopped when his voice broke. 

"Then we must make good use of the time we have."  Saying this, her hands worked their way to his belt buckle.  Getting the idea, he reached under her skirt and pulled her panties and panty hose down in one clean jerk.  He took the woman he cared so much for right there on top of his desk, on the scattered folders and reports that occupied his days.  She alone could cause him to do something so out of the ordinary, unprofessional, and out of 'Control'.  He loved her the more for this.  In the time he had known this most unusual of women, he had done quite a few out of the ordinary things and he looked forward to the idea of more to come.

When they had recovered their breath from their hurried but tender lovemaking, he stood and pulled her gently to her feet.  Finding her purse, his ever-prepared, efficient love pulled a pack of baby wipes from the cavernous bag and they enjoyed the joke as they cleaned each other up.  From long-standing practice, they quickly caught up on each other's news.

"Paul and Annie said hi.  I ran into them, literally and figuratively, in Berlin last week.  I almost clobbered him thinking he was you, out with another woman.  It was a good thing I noticed her cane.  By the way, you promised you'd tell me all about Paul and that secretive family of yours but I'm still waiting."

Sighing emphatically, he responded to her curiosity with, "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.  That's the code of my family.  And, you are a very lucky woman that Annie didn't go after you with her cane.  She can defend herself with the best of them, especially where her man is concerned.  Did he mention why they were in Berlin?"

"Something we have in common, it seems," she snickered.  "I didn't get a chance to talk to them for long. I was in the middle of an on-the-run training exercise, and it looked rather odd for them to be talking so friendly-like to a bag lady.  It took Paul a few seconds to realize who it was under all that dirt, but he had had a good laugh.  I could just see him explaining to Annie what his brother's true love looked like.  That's a picture for the family scrapbook.  Anyway, I got the impression it was part work, part second honeymoon, so I didn't press for details," she ended.

"Umm, I can just hear the family now.  'Jim has a girlfriend who's a bag lady?'  My mother must be spinning in her grave.  And knowing Dad, he's probably decided that it's time for me to retire and come home to the farm.  I've gone too far and need a quiet place to rest and recuperate.  And the Good Lord only knows what my very proper sisters would say," he laughed. "Okay, I promise, when we get together, if we get together, next month in London, I will fill you in on all of the Blaisdell family secrets."

"Ah, will I actually get to know your full and real name during this secret tell-all?  Or is that one of the things you'll have to kill me for telling me?" she asked as she hugged him affectionately.

"Sorry, my love. It's been nice knowing you if that's something you really want me to tell you.  Are you getting tired of calling me idiot already?" he asked, hugging her back.

"No, since the shoe fits," she said, trying to be sincere. 

They had straightened themselves up and replaced the scattered jetsam on his desk by this time.  He looked at the desk clock and his mood instantly changed.  "I've got a meeting set up in about thirty seconds.  My secretary will be buzzing me in about fifteen to remind me.  This was just what I needed, but it was way too short."

"I know, but we have London next month.  And we can still talk dirty to each other over the phone," she said as she repacked her baby wipes and the folders that brought her to him. 

He kissed her once more to say goodbye and she turned towards the door.  She took two steps and turned back, a wicked gleam in her eye, and asked, "So, what's this one's name?  Or have you even bothered to ask?"

"Burrows," he shot back, a triumphant smile on his face that he remembered the name.  "Now get going or I'll..."

"What, spank me?"

"That might not be a bad idea.  Don't tempt me. I'm sure your father and your brothers wouldn't blame me one bit."  As he finished his sentence, the intercom buzzed.  Throwing her another kiss, he picked up the phone and told his secretary that he was finished with the courier and to send in Morganthal and Richards.  He sighed deeply as she walked out of sight, and he resumed the aura of the man known as Control.  

Morganthal from Communications knocked tentatively on the door to Control's office.  The man had been in a blistering mood this past week.  He had had to cancel a planned trip to London due to one of the crises that kept popping up lately.  No one wanted to be the one to disturb him with any sort of bad news.  Hearing him bark, "Enter", Morganthal said a prayer and opened the door to the inner sanctum.  Control was seated behind his desk, his reading glasses resting on top of several folders.  He was rubbing his eyes and he looked tired.  Morganthal was sure he had not left the building for the last three nights.

"What is it?" the man behind the desk asked.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but this just came in from EHQ regarding a problem at Berlin Station.  I know that you had been directly involved with that station when they had all those problems some years ago and I thought you would want to see this ASAP," he answered and handed him a cipher message.

Control took the message and calmed himself before reading it. He didn't want to betray the fact that he had a very special interest in the happenings of Berlin Station.  Scanning down the lines, he saw words and phrases that his mind's eye processed but did not react to.  Finally, down near the bottom, he read the name he had hoped he would not see, Corrine Murchison, and stopped. 

Pushing the button on his intercom, he told his newest secretary to put a call in to EHQ, then book him on the first flight direct to Berlin and make hotel arrangements for him there.  Looking up at Morganthal, he said, "Good catch, Bob, I appreciate it.  Yes, I was there after Davies made the headlines, and I like to stay up on what's going on there.  Peterson is a good man.  He has to ride roughshod over a weird bunch of characters but he gets them to produce."

Bob Morganthal laughed, "Yes, I know one of those characters well.  Did you get to meet Corrie Murchison when you were there?  The woman is magic with electronics, and can speak a dozen languages. She's fearless behind the wheel of a car and has the strangest sense of humor I've ever come across."

Working to keep from giving his true emotions away, Control replied with an unpleasant edge to his voice, "Yes, I met her.  She had been sent to the airport to meet me.  I had come down with some kind of bug during the trip there and got sick on her at the airport.  To this day, on the anniversary of that meeting, she sends me an airline barf bag in the company mail.  Calling that a strange sense of humor is an understatement.  How Peterson puts up with her, I'll never understand, no matter how good she is on the job."  He said this gruffly, hoping to carry off the illusion that he and Corrie were still not on friendly terms.  Fortunately, the secretary buzzed to let him know she had Roberts from EHQ on the line.

"John, Control here.  What's your take on the situation in Berlin?" he asked.

After hearing what John Roberts had to say, Control informed him that he was catching the next plane direct to Berlin and suggested he make similar arrangements.  Putting him on hold, he buzzed his secretary and asked her to give the EHQ director the travel plans she had made for him.  After hanging up the phone, he stood and began piling folders up on his desk.  Looking at Morganthal, he said, "It doesn't look good.  It sounds like they suspect they have a very active mole working out of the station and this Murchison woman has gotten herself in deep trying to dig it out.  You can reach me there if something comes up."  He grabbed his suit coat and headed out of his office.

He operated on autopilot during the trip to the airport, through check in, and the actual flight to Berlin.  His mind was fixed on one thought. 'What had Corrie gotten herself into and is she all right?' he wondered over and over. Once in Berlin, he hurried through baggage pickup and customs as fast as his feet would carry him.  As he walked from the terminal to the Arrivals pickup area, he involuntarily let a great sigh of relief escape his lips when he saw the woman who had been occupying his thoughts standing at the curb next to Warren Peterson and John Roberts.  Walking up to them, he greeted Roberts and then Peterson warmly.  Turning to her, he was about to give a non-committal hello when, much to Warren Peterson's anguished surprise, she handed Control an airline barf bag and said, "For the ride to the station, just in case."

Looking her straight in the eyes, he said in a cold voice, "Do you get these by the case from the airlines?  And don't you think it's time to move forward with your life and not stay rooted in the past?"

Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison looked seriously back into his eyes and replied, "Yes I do, and what fun would that be?  It's nice to see you again too, tall, dark and grumpy."  She turned to Peterson and said, "Can we go now?" in a whiny child voice and she turned away to get behind the wheel of a company vehicle. 

The trip back to the station was notable for the pained silence in the car.  Corrie drove wordlessly, weaving the vehicle flawlessly through afternoon gridlock.  Roberts kept his own counsel while Peterson was still seething at Corrie's behavior at the airport.  For the life of him, he could not understand why she went out of her way to aggravate this man who could make or break her career.  Control sat quietly, a look of deep displeasure glued to his face, all the while thinking to himself, 'She's all right, she's still laughing.'

When they arrived at the station, Warren led his visitors directly to his office.  Corrie Murchison followed behind, not saying a word as Warren pointed to a chair in the corner for her to sit in.  Control made a mental note of the fact that since their arrival at the station, Corrie's usual flippant manner had become serious and subdued.

Once Alex, Warren's secretary/secret wife, had brought in coffee and took a sandwich order for everyone, Warren began his briefing to his superiors.

"As you are well aware," he began, "about eight months ago, a team we had recruited and trained was caught as they entered the Eastern Zone.  They were brutally interrogated and shot after the required show of a trial. That was the most noticeable of the unusual events occurring at the station this last year, and we suspect it goes back longer than that."

"What do you mean, longer than that?  How far back are you talking?" Control broke in.

"Ah, we aren't sure yet, but we suspect it goes back to the time Davies was in charge.  As a matter of fact, we are working quietly with the West Berlin Police to get copies of the their findings from the accident that killed Davies and the other three members of this station.  We have a strong reason to believe the car they were in had been tampered with."

"Why wasn't any of this reported sooner?" Control broke in again.

"We didn't have enough evidence at the beginning. It was just a feeling that both Corrie and I had, more so with Corrie.  After the team she had trained was taken going in, she began looking into a few things, quietly, so no one would notice her asking questions."

"And what has changed now that you have decided to make an official report of your investigation?"

"Two days ago, there was another attempt on Corrie's life," Warren said, looking directly at Corrie.

Control jumped in his chair and shot a look at the woman sitting quietly in the corner that said, 'And when were you going to tell me about the first one?' but he kept his voice neutral and asked Warren, "A second attempt?  When was the first one and why wasn't it reported then?"

Warren looked at both of his superiors and sighed, "Because we didn't suspect that the first incident was an attempt on Corrie's life.  It happened about seven months ago.  Corrie was returning from a family wedding in the states when her car lost its brakes on the trip from the airport to home."

Control looked hard at Corrie, but she did not return his look.  She knew he was staring at her, but she was deliberately avoiding his gaze.  She had not mentioned any car problems, or an accident, at anytime these last seven months.

"She was able to keep control of the car and avoid hitting anyone, then somehow managed to steer the car off the road before it hit a sign post.  The police report and the independent report I requested from a reliable mechanic, indicated that the brakes were a bit worn and the brake line had a small defect in it that caused the fluid to leak slowly out, probably over a period of time.  A check at the airport showed a puddle of fluid in the stall her car had been parked in during her trip. So, the file was closed and chalked up to mechanical failure."

His heart pounding faster and a lump now in his throat, Control barely managed to make his next question come out in a normal voice, "And the second incident this week?"

"The official report indicates a gas leak in her kitchen stove which caused an explosion.  Unofficially, the line had been tampered with.  If it had not been for the fact that Corrie had a coffeepot with an automatic timer on it, she wouldn't be here today.   It is believed that the line had been partially disconnected about thirty to forty-five minutes before the coffeepot timer clicked on.  The gas fumes were building up in the kitchen, but they had not affected her, asleep in her bedroom.  Normally, Corrie leaves her bedroom door open at night, but a leaky faucet in the bathroom had caused her to close it that night so she couldn't hear the water dripping. When the timer turned the pot on to brew, it caused a spark that set off the gas fumes.  The explosion pretty much destroyed her apartment, and did some damage to the building, but by the grace of God, no one was seriously hurt.  The force of the explosion threw Corrie out of bed and she was protected for the most part by the bed and other furniture in the room.  One of the other residents in the building suffered cuts and bruises, but was treated and released from hospital."

At this point, Control had to literally force himself to remain seated where he was.  He did this for two reasons.  One, Corrie would clobber him for any display of emotion in front of men they had managed to keep their relationship a secret from.  And two, he would strangle her for not telling him about any of this herself and for almost losing her, again.

It was quiet in the room for several minutes as each one dealt with their own mental picture of what kind of damage a kitchen gas explosion could cause.  Control's mind was processing his thoughts so rapidly, he was sure the others in the room could hear it whirring and clicking. 

Finally, assured that his voice would not betray what his heart and his soul were screaming, he asked, "And what's being done now to assure Miss Murchison's safety?  I haven't noticed any guards around her.  Where is she staying with no apartment left?  And wasn't it a bit foolish to have her driving to the airport and back this afternoon?"

Warren cleared his throat and said in answer, "Since her release from the ER after the explosion, she has not been out of the sight of either myself or Ed Matsue, the head of the communications room.  For the last two nights, Corrie has slept here in the station, on that very couch," he said, pointing across the room.  "She refused to accompany either John or myself to our own homes because she did not want to endanger either of our families.  As to picking you gentlemen up at the airport, Corrie asked if she could accompany me, saying she was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic here in the office.  I did not think whoever was behind these attempts would be stupid enough to try anything in broad daylight with someone else present."

Gathering his thoughts into a coherent pattern, Control took the floor.  "That may well have been true, but whoever is behind this must know that something is suspected because of our arrival.  They may not care now just how many people they take out in their desire to end Miss Murchison's investigation. The first thing I want is for you to contact my office in New York and tell them to put Mickey Kostmayer on the next plane here.  Then I want your secretary to contact the hotel and make arrangements for three rooms, along side each other, with Miss Murchison in the middle.  I want her room to have a connecting door to at least one of the other rooms, though I would prefer all of the rooms have connecting doors.  I will take the room with the connecting door if we cannot get both."

For the first time during the meeting, Corrie spoke up, saying, "Wait a minute.  Don't I get a say in who's going to baby sit me or where I'm going to stay?"

In unison, the three men turned to her and said, "NO!" and turned back to hear Control finish.

"Next, I want to know if Miss Murchison has any notes or files indicating her exact steps in this investigation of hers."

Warren interrupted by saying, "The notes are in the dossiers I've just given to you.  I had her detail exactly what she has done and when and whom she has spoken with."

"Good, that was good."

Before he could continue, Corrie raised her hand like a schoolgirl asking to go to the bathroom.  When Control stopped speaking and directed his attention to her, he said, "Yes, Miss Murchison.  What is it you object to now?"

Flushing slightly, Corrie looked at the three men and said, "I really don't like being treated like this.  You're all acting like I'm not even in the room or I'm some imbecile.  No one has even asked me if I have an opinion on any of this."

Taking a deep breath, Control gave her a hard look. Then he said, "Miss Murchison, the last time I looked Mr. Peterson, Mr. Roberts, and myself all had positions, accompanied by appropriate titles, that indicated we were capable of making important decisions. These decisions would be based on our years of service, training, and experiences in the field, as we saw fit, without requiring the approval of the person or persons we were endeavoring to protect.  At this moment, you are that person.  You are a highly trained, valuable member of this organization who has earned said protection by your hard work and personal sacrifices, despite your penchant for irritating behavior. Your are either getting too close to finding out who the people involved are or you know something they don't want you to tell anyone.  Now, if you do not agree with the arrangements we have just outlined, the alternative is this: I will personally put you on the next military plane leaving for the United States, under a heavily armed military guard.  Upon arrival at Headquarters, I will have you incarcerated, for your own protection, at a secure location to be determined by the Director himself.  Once there, you will remain under the watchful eyes of several of our finest agents.  Now, which would you prefer: staying here with Mr. Kostmayer taking good care of you, and possibly being able to contribute something useful to the investigation, or being shipped off and locked away until this is all cleared up?  Which will it be?" he finished.

Corrie looked away from his eyes and answered in a barely audible voice, "I'd prefer to stay."

"Good, then you may stay, but please refrain from any more diva behavior."  With that, Control opened the portfolio that had been given to him by Warren and began to read through Corrie's notes.

The meeting continued non-stop for the rest of the evening.  The sandwiches arrived and were cleared away, many pots of coffee brewed and consumed and Chinese take out brought in.  It was somewhere in the early hours of the morning that a yawning Warren Peterson finally noticed that Corrie had fallen asleep, sitting straight up in her chair.  The decision to call a halt to their discussion was unanimous and Warren dropped his companions at their hotel on his way home.

At the hotel, the three adjoining rooms had received a thorough sweeping by a security team from the station.  The team was situated in a room across the hall.  Both Control and Roberts agreed that the connecting doors between the rooms need only be kept partially open to allow Corrie some privacy, for which she expressed her supreme gratitude.

Sometime later, the going to bed preparations were finished and the three rooms appeared to have settled down to sleep.  Corrie, however, was not asleep, but stood noiselessly at the adjoining door listening for John Roberts' soft snoring to settle in to a steady rhythm.  Assured he was resting in the arms of Morpheus, she tiptoed across the room to the opposite door and listened carefully.

"I'm up," she heard whispered from the opposite side of the door.  She gently pushed the door open.  He was standing there, his hands on his hips, waiting for her.  She entered and was pushing the door closed again when he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him rather forcefully.  For a few seconds, he held her in an embrace that assured her all was right with their world.  Then, his hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away to stand at arm's length from him.

"Do you have any idea just how angry I am right now?" he asked in the coldest voice she had ever heard.

"At me?"

"Of course at you," he barked, then lowered his voice to a whisper again.  "I have to learn through an official report that you had been involved in an incident here.  I have to fly halfway around the world to learn you were almost blown to bits in your own bed.  All because of your meddling in something I told you not to do!"  He was actually hissing as he finished the last sentence.  "On top of that, I hear that seven months ago, seven," he emphasized, "you were almost killed in an automobile accident that totaled your car and put you in the hospital overnight."  His grip on her shoulders was tightening with each word he spoke.  "Is this the way you want our relationship to be?  You tell me only what you want me to hear?"  His anger was radiating like waves from his eyes.

"Oh puhlllleeeeezzzee!  Don't give me that holier than thou attitude!" Corrie barked at him.  She could give him tit for tat with the greatest of ease.  "Are you going to stand there and tell me straight to my face that you've been totally honest and open with me these past four years, that you don't have any secrets?"

"Yes..." he started.

"Bullshit!"

"What?"

"You heard me, that's bullshit!" she spit back at him.

"Corrie, don't make me any angrier..."

"Uganda!" she interrupted.  He stopped, staring at her.

"Cambodia," she said.  His hands loosened their death grip on her shoulders.

"Syria," she said.  His hands dropped from her shoulders and slowly came down her arms to her elbows.  "Did you really think you could lie to me and I not know?  Do you really believe you could keep anything from me, and I wouldn't find out?"

He was silent for a few minutes, then exhaled deeply.  "You would think I'd know better by now. How is it that you know every time I'm not telling the truth?"

"Radar," she answered quietly.

He took a deep breath and said, "Corrie, I love you more than my own life.  Do you understand why I act this way?  I finally find the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.  I want to grow old with and die with, and lay next to you through eternity."

"The feeling is mutual, big boy.  And so are the concern and the worry about what you are up to now that you've reached that exalted position of yours with the company.  But we knew the risks when we took the job.  We knew the risks when we fell in love.  We promised each other to be honest and not lie if we could help it.  And you had just flown off to New York to become The Almighty Exalted One.  I thought about it and decided that the accident wasn't something you needed to know about at that time.  We were working on the belief it was a freak accident and you had enough on your mind. I didn't even tell my folks.  The bruises cleared up and my knee is fine now."

"And your little visit to me in New York.  Was that tied into this investigation of yours, too?"

"Yes and no," she answered truthfully.  "I took a courier run to Langley so that I could talk privately with my brother, Frank.  He had just been transferred to headquarters in that new job of his.  I wanted to run some of my thoughts by him, but not over the phone or through any other means that could be intercepted.  You did get that through my thick skull.  Anyway, I knew I wasn't going to go all the way to the States and not go and see you so I took the Paris courier job, too.  I just had to see my stud muffin, you know."

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her forehead.  "You are going to be the death of me yet," he sighed.

She nuzzled her face into his chest and murmured, "I intend to do just that.  But not until we are deep into old age, are lying in bed and you tell me you can't get it up anymore."

He chuckled into her hair and held her tighter.  "God, how I love you, but you are going to drive me insane one of these days.  Come on, we'd better get some sleep.  Morning will be here soon and we still have a great deal to arrange.  And Mickey will be here and I can relax knowing that you'll be well supervised."

"Mickey, supervising me?  You've got to be kidding."

"All right, then I'll just pray that you two don't turn the station into bedlam with your antics.  I may regret this, but at least I'll know he will keep you safe.  Come on, let's get to bed.  I'm not really tired, though.  Are you?" and with that, he grabbed her hips and pulled her tight against him.

"Hello down there," she murmured, moving back and forth against him.  "I'm glad to see you still miss me even though he's ready to strangle me," she cooed and then she took his hand and led the way to his bed.

The next day dawned brightly.  Warren arrived at the hotel and picked up his visiting superiors at the appointed time and took them for a quick inspection of the demolished apartment before heading off to Berlin station.  An interested observer would have made note of a great deal of activity at the station that morning, including angry voices, banging doors, and long embarrassed silences.

About two hours after their arrival, John Roberts left the office to return to Paris.  Anyone questioning him as to his abrupt departure would receive a grumble of "too many people crying wolf too often".   Two hours later, it was Control's turn to leave for the airport.  No one dared ask him to explain his abrupt departure.  The glare on his face was more than enough warning to stay out of his way. 

As for Corrine Elizabeth Margaret Murchison, she was uncharacteristically quiet.  That might have been caused by the blistering letter of reprimand, signed personally by Control, that had become a part of her permanent record that morning.  Word of the letter had passed along the station grapevine like a virus.  Her reflective attitude could also have been caused by the full two-grade demotion she received from a very angry Warren Peterson, with accompanying loss of pay.  Then again, her silent mood could have been caused by her transfer from her position as second in command of the Communications Room to keeper of the weather log, there being no lesser position to transfer her to.

None of the station denizens knew what to make of these occurrences.  No one in the know would say anything other than, "Nothing happened!  False alarm!  File closed!"  But they could not help but notice the deep chill that separated Peterson from his star pupil, Corrie.  Their relationship, up to that point, had been friendly and close and now, they didn't speak.  And a week after these confusing events, Peterson and his family left for a previously planned, three-week trip in the States to celebrate his parents' fiftieth anniversary. The station was under the guidance of second in command, Bob Hoskins, and even he was not privy to the full story.

Two weeks after Peterson left the station, Corrie was siting in her cubicle logging in some the mundane traffic she was in charge of now when Ed Matsue leaned in.  "Hey Corrie, a bunch of us are going to Hauptmann's for some dinner and a couple of drinks.  Join us?" he asked.

"Thanks Ed, but I've got to finish this before my boss bites my head off," she said, winking at him.  "Besides, I've got an appointment to look at an apartment tonight.  I'm getting tired of sleeping on the couch in Mickey's hotel room."

"Does this one look any more promising than the last bunch?" Ed asked hopefully.

"No, it's supposed to be really small, not that I have a great deal left to move into it," and she managed a weak chuckle.  "And the landlord wanted references before we even came to see it, which has me worried," she finished.

"Dont worry about stuff.  My wife is cleaning out our basement and so is the rest of the gang.  You'll have more furniture to choose from than you can imagine, and a lot of it is pretty good, too," he laughed.

"I appreciate everything you guys are doing.  My mom wrote me and told me the family has an entire bedroom set collected and crated for shipping.  My brother, Rob, in the Air Force, is making arrangements to get it here before I grow too old and gray to use it.  All I need now is some place to put it all," she finished, trying to keep the depression she felt out of her voice.

"Hey, we stick together in this business.  And you still have to eat.  If you change your mind, come on over.  It's been a while since you let your hair down. And don't worry about those logs.  They've been so far behind the last few months, they won't know what it's like to be caught up.  And I guarantee your mean old boss won't bite your head off," he finished with a wink.  Waving, he threw his suit jacket over his shoulder and left.

Thirty minutes later, Corrie threw the log sheets in her desk and grabbed her purse. She said goodnight to the three night people on duty and headed down the corridor to the elevator.  Mickey Kostmayer was already waiting for her and pushed the elevator button.  He had been her shadow for the last three weeks, ordered by Control to keep her safe.  At the station, his presence was explained as being the new bean counter sent to help Warren with some of the bookkeeping for the station.  No one but Corrie, Control, John Roberts, and Warren knew who he really was or why he was there.

"Slight change of plans," he said with no overture.  "The guy from the apartment we were going to see just called and told me that it was no longer available.  So, we're going to join everybody at Hauptmann's and get something to eat."

"Terrific, he must have called Herr Schmidt for my references.  I can just hear that conversation," she tried to laugh, but failed.  "Oh yes, Frauline Murchison was always on time with her rent.  She was clean and tidy, and never caused trouble.  At least not until she turned my four flat into a three flat," she finished, barely able to keep from crying.

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but before any words could come out, an explosion rocked the floor, emanating from the direction of the Communications Room.  The concussion funneling down the corridor knocked both of them to the floor and up against the wall.  Sitting up, Mickey shook his head to clear some of the ringing and, through the smoke and dust, saw Corrie jump to her feet and grab the fire extinguisher that had been knocked off the wall.  Sprinting down the corridor, she was calling, "Barb!  Marty!  Tim!" the names of her friends she had just said goodnight to.  Mickey got to his feet and ran after her.  He stopped at the inner stairwell door and grabbed the fire hose and turned the water on.  Running up behind Corrie, he set the nozzle on a strong spray.  Corrie dropped the useless extinguisher and followed the spray into the room, Mickey shouting at her to be smart.

A few minutes later, Corrie returned to the shattered entrance, dragging the lifeless body of Barb Ferguson.  Leaving her friend just outside the door, she returned to the smoke and flames and returned a short time later dragging the also lifeless body of Marty Halloran.  She was sobbing in between coughing fits.  Mickey grabbed her arm and said, "That's enough.  You take the hose and I'll look for Tim," and passed her the fire hose nozzle. 

Mickey disappeared into the hell that had been the communications center of Berlin Station only a short time before.  Corrie directed the spray in the direction Mickey had taken, hoping to beat down some of the heat and flames for her friend.  She heard crashing sounds, as Mickey moved some of the shattered equipment, then Mickey shouted, "I've got him!"

Just as Mickey's form was coming back into sight, Ed Matsue pushed past Corrie and hurried to give a hand carrying out the still alive, but unconscious, body of Tim Grace. He had been returning to the office carrying coffee and sandwiches for the night crew when he heard the explosion.

The next hours went by in a blur for Corrie.  The fire squad arrived; the members of the station who had stopped at Hauptmann's all returned; and an emergency medical team arrived to care for Tim.  They also insisted on taking Corrie to hospital to treat the burns on her hands and face she hadn't noticed in the chaos.  Finally tired of hearing Corrie's protests about being all right, Mickey had picked her up off her feet and personally carried her to the ambulance and accompanied her to the emergency room.

Very early the next morning, the shocked and mourning members of Berlin Station assembled in the ruins of the Ops Center.  Bob Hoskins asked for everyones attention and, without preamble, said, "I've just talked with the hospital.  Tim is in critical but stable condition.  The doctors believe he should make it, baring any unforeseen complications at this point.  The doctors wanted me to know how much they appreciated all of you going in to donate blood.  Corrie," he turned to look at the bandaged figure hunched on the arm of a nearby chair, "is going to be okay, just minor burns and cuts.  We were damn lucky that thing didn't go off during the day, when we had a full compliment on duty."  Hoskins sighed and tried to collect his thoughts for a minute.  Then he continued, "Roberts from EHQ, and Control are on their way here, along with the agency's forensic and bomb experts.  Our job is to keep the scene locked down and nothing tampered with until they get here and take over.  Warren has finally been contacted, I understand, and is making arrangements to come back immediately, but we don't know his plans yet.  Mickey, you are on airport detail, coordinate with Ann, my secretary.  Take Corrie with you," he said, glancing at her sitting on her perch.  Then, addressing her directly, he continued, "I know how you feel, Corrie, and I know you want to be part of the action, but with those hands, well, there's not much you can do to help right now," he finished.

Glumly, Corrie nodded her head in agreement.  She, like the rest of the people in the room, had gotten no sleep the night and was fighting off not only that, but the effects of the painkillers the doctors had insisted on giving her.

Hoskins finished by telling all assembled there that headquarters in Langley was contacting the next of kin for Marty Halloran and Barb Ferguson.  His secretary would keep everyone informed of the funeral arrangements and she would also be responsible for taking up a collection to defray the funeral costs for the families.

Mickey and Corrie left for the airport a short time later.  Control had taken the Concorde from New York to Paris to join Roberts on the last leg to Berlin.  Their flight was due in shortly.  Their ride to the airport was quiet; each lost in their own thoughts.  As they stood at the passenger arrival area, Mickey cleared his throat and asked, "You want me to make some excuse and take John back into the terminal so that you can have a few minutes alone with Control?"

Corrie was staring down at the sidewalk, trying to figure out how to explain her newest set of bandages to the man she loved, and who would not be happy at her most recent brush with destruction.  "Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. He won't strangle me out here, in front of half the world, but he would definitely try if we were to go inside and him find a quiet corner to do the deed."  Corrie had never in her life felt this depressed. 

Mickey put his hand on her shoulder, part in comfort, partly to let her know that the men they had been waiting for had arrived.  He separated from her and walked up to the men as they exited the terminal. He spoke briefly to both of them, then took John Roberts by the arm and said there was something in the terminal he needed help with.  Roberts left his bag with Control and returned to the terminal.

Control walked slowly up to the woman waiting by the company car.  The trunk was open so he placed both travel bags directly inside and closed the lid.  Exhaling deeply, he turned towards Corrie and reached out his arms, inviting her to him, not wanting to grab her and possibly cause her injuries more pain.  She came to him almost reluctantly, like a repentant child.  Once inside his embrace, she let go and sobbed freely into his shoulder.  He stroked the back of her hair, and he also shook with emotion.  He had nearly lost her, again, and it was not getting any easier to deal with. After a few minutes, Corrie pulled away and started sniffling, trying not to wipe her nose on the sterile bandages. 

Control reached into his coat pocket and handed her a handkerchief and sighed, "Woman, don't you ever carry Kleenex with you?"

"No, because big girls don't cry," she snuffled back at him.

He smiled weakly at her and replied, "I seem to remember hearing that somewhere before," and leaned over and gently kissed the bandage on her forehead.  "What am I going to do with you?  Must I wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a safe house forever?" he asked, exasperated.

"You could try," was her only reply.

Mickey and John Roberts returned just then.  Mickey shaking his head and muttering something about having been told a package was there waiting for them, and apologizing to John for the mistake.

During the trip in, Corrie brought her two superiors up to speed on everything that had happened since their last visit to Berlin.  Nothing was left out in the hope that even the smallest detail would fit another piece into the puzzle they were assembling.  Control and Roberts had been very busy during the time they were gone.  Each had certain agendas to follow and every detail they could assemble helped narrow their choices for who was the mole.

Pulling up in front of the building, Control put his hand on Corrie's shoulder from the back seat where he was sitting.  "Stay put," he told her.  Turning to Mickey, he said, "Open the trunk so we can get our bags, then take her back to your place and make sure she gets some sleep.  She can barely keep her eyes open."  The nod and the look in his eyes implied to Mickey that he was to stay close and keep an eye on her.

For once, Corrie didn't argue with him.  She was definitely very tired and the painkillers were not helping.  She accepted the order to go home without a word and let Mickey take her straight there.  He even insisted that she take the bed this time and not the couch, so that she could be more comfortable with her bandages.  She didn't remember hitting the pillow.

Back at Berlin station, Control took charge of the investigation immediately.  Calling Hoskins and Matsue into the only office habitable, he questioned them thoroughly on the activities of each since the explosion.  The forensic and bomb experts where already at work and were putting together what little was left.  He checked with the hospital on the condition of Tim Grace and put in a call to his family back in the States.  He also called the parents of Barb Ferguson and the eldest son of Marty Halloran.  That was the part of the job he hated the most, but he knew, if the situation had ever been reversed, he would appreciate his family getting a personal call. 

Warren Peterson returned to quarters that evening.  He had left his wife and family back in the States for his parents' celebration and returned without bothering to pack his suitcase. After inspecting the damage to the Com Room and the other offices on the floor, he set off for the hospital to see Tim Grace.  Upon his return, Control allowed him some time alone to come to terms with the events of the past few days.  Then, Control called Peterson and Roberts into the room he had claimed for himself and instructed Bob Hoskins to allow no one to bother them.

At about the same time, Corrie Murchison sat bolt upright in her bed and stared at Mickey Kostmayer.  Mickey had been watching her agitated sleeping for some time, not sure if he should wake her from her nightmare dreams. 

"Mickey, help me get dressed. I've got to go to the station, right now and see Control," she said. 

"What's up?  Something come to you in all that thrashing you've been doing or will it be a social visit?" he asked as he moved to the bed to help her.

"God, you are a smart ass.  But yes, something did just come to me and I don't like it, not one bit.  But if I'm right, he's not planning on sticking around much longer.  He'll bolt," she answered, swinging her legs out of bed and trying to deal with the buttons of her nightgown and her bandaged fingers.  "Damn, these things better not stay on too long or I'm going to get really pissed!" she grumbled at her hands.

Mickey laughed at her.  He knew that when she got good and angry, nothing was going to get in her way or stop her.  Better to just humor her.  He grabbed both sides of the offending garment and ripped the buttons off in one pull.  "Is that better?" he asked innocently. 

"You are a freaking smart-ass," she hissed.  "This nightgown was brand new.  Are you sure you're not really one of my brothers, stolen from the nursery at birth?  But since you're being so helpful, snap up the back of my bra for me.  The rest I think I can handle on my own," she told him.  Within seconds, she was dressed in slacks and a baggy T-shirt and was slipping her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks. 

They arrived at the station minutes later.  Mickey was in the same class of driver as Corrie: fast isn't fast enough.

Bob Hoskins met them and told them where Warren and the others were.  Without waiting for him to tell her they did not want to be disturbed, she walked straight in to their room and closed the door tightly. Mickey sat down in a chair and just smiled and shrugged at the confused Hoskins.

Some time later, in the wee small hours of the morning, Bob Hoskins walked into the remains of his office. The big boys had hurried out an hour earlier and he had thought he was alone for the most part.  Though a temporary lighting system had been set up in the corridors, the room was dark with shadows. He stopped short of his desk, instinctively knowing that he was not alone.  He turned the flashlight he was carrying on, and swept it around the room.  Corrie Murchison was sitting ever so quietly on the couch waiting for him.

"What's up, Corrie?  What are you still doing here?  That couch can't be very comfortable with all that debris on it, if you're planning on spending the night," he said quietly.

"Why?" was all she said.

"Why?  What do you mean, why?" he started.

Corrie stood and glared into his eyes and spat her next words out.  "Why?  Was it for your political beliefs?  Was it money?  Why did you sell out five innocent people when all they wanted was a better life for their families?  I don't give a rat's ass if you wanted to do me in, but plant a bomb in the Com Room and kill two innocent people trying for me?  How many more people did you sell out and have killed?  Davies and company?  Did you keep a count?  Do you even care?  Obviously not since you and Barb had been dating.  She cared about you, you son of a bitch!" Corrie voice was hard with her hatred.

Hoskins moved the flashlight in his left hand to reveal that he was holding a gun in his other hand.  "Corrie, since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you the truth.  I don't give a shit for the communist way of life.  I'm a dyed in the wool capitalist, down to my loafers and fancy car.  They say money is the root of all evil.  And after that bitch I was married to took everything I had worked for all these years and left me with squat so she and the brats she bore could drive better cars than I, well, it was easy.  Very, very easy.  Davies was getting too greedy, and he was drinking too much.  Then, I wasn't going to let you and your high and mighty ideals get in my way.  You're just a nosey bitch, and you were getting too close.  My mistake was in underestimating you.  You're worse than a cat, always landing on your feet.  But I'm going to fix that little problem now," he sneered.

"You'd better aim directly for her heart," a voice behind him said.  "Killing her instantly is the only way to prevent her from crawling over to you and kicking your traitor ass all the way to hell.  Then again, knowing her, her nerve impulses may stay active long enough to do the job an hour after she's dead."  Control walked out of the shadows by the door and held out his hand for Hoskins' gun.  Control held his Glock very steady in his hand, pointing directly for his enemy's heart.

"I should have known you wouldn't be far behind her," Hoskins sneered.  "Control and his tasty little bitch, my, my, my.  Who do you think you're fooling, acting all hostile to each other in front of everybody?  I've known from the beginning about you two.  My only regret is that I can't get both of you at the same time," he snarled at Control.

Without moving his eyes from Control's glare, he turned his gun on Corrie and fired.  As Control screamed, "NO!" she lurched back into the couch and fell to the floor.  Before her body had even hit the ground, Control fired, once, twice, a third time. Then walking up to the man's body sprawled in front of him, he took aim again. 

A voice from the floor said, "I think he's dead, dear.  Don't waste any more bullets on that scum.  You know how the company gets about wasted bullets."  Corrie rolled over and sat up. 

"Are you okay?" Control asked.

"Yes, but this damn vest is cutting off the circulation to my boobs," she replied. 

"Come here and I'll massage them for you," he answered, a small smile on his face.

Just then, Roberts, Peterson and Matsue entered the room with hand-held lights.  "You got the bastard," Warren said, staring at Hoskins' blood forming a pool on the floor.  "And I trusted the son of a bitch!" he finished.

Two hours later, sitting in the remains of Peterson's office, Control had just hung up the phone.  "Well," he said, putting his hands behind his head, "everything is wrapped up.  They just closed the trap on his handler here in Berlin and on Ed Carstairs in Langley.  Carstairs immediately gave up his handler and is singing like a bird, as we speak."

"And here I thought I was bringing in a hot news flash and it turned out to be old news to you guys.  So, all I was to you was a pretty target all along?" Corrie laughed. 

"Yes, my dear Miss Murchison," Control looked straight into her eyes.  "All you were to us was a pretty, smart-mouthed, irritating, guinea pig, that we used freely to take the heat off us while we walked the dog back to find our mole and his playmates.  John and I have been sending out false information trails these last few weeks, watching carefully to see what gets around.  Carstairs was one of our leaks and he was working with your friend, Hoskins.  The fact that you remembered that the two of them had gone fishing just before the failed infiltration was very helpful to close the noose.  It seems they had a habit of going fishing together and we had been tracking their pattern of meetings.  Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome, I'm sure.  Can I take the target off my backside now, sir?" she asked testily.

"Yes, you may.  And you may also thank us for giving you that new bulletproof vest to wear in case Hoskins got a chance to shoot.  I confess, I must be getting soft, Miss Murchison.  Here I had a perfect opportunity to rid myself of an irritating pain in my behind and I let it go by," he said with a sneer on his face.

"Are you sure you meant soft, and not senile?" she retorted, her eyes blazing.

"Miss Murchison, I remind you that you are speaking to Northern Control, the man who has the power of life or death over your career," he responded coldly.

"I always believed you had delusions of God-hood.  Nice of you to confirm my suspicions," was her acid reply.

Slowly, trying to blend into the background and not draw the combatants' attention, John Roberts, Warren Peterson, and Mickey Kostmayer slipped noiselessly out of the room.  The three men felt it would be much safer for them to be standing naked in the middle of the bridge at Check Point Charlie than to remain in harm's way.   They decided to go and get a few beers at Hauptmann's, and maybe some breakfast, then come back to the station and pick up the pieces when these two were done.