DAY ONE - Joe Mannix flipped the ledger sheet and continued to scan the columns of figures that were beginning to swim before his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than the case reports that Peggy Fair had to practically hold him at gunpoint to get him to write, it was verifying the business report that his much too efficient secretary stuck under his nose once a month. Privately he admitted, but only rarely, that these two tasks made him long to work for Intertect from time to time. At the gargantuan detective agency, reports, along with the company's financial records, were someone else's responsibility. But, upon further consideration, not having to perform those functions had come at too high a price for Joe. At the moment, however, working with Lew again didn't seem like such a bad idea.

With a slight shake of his head, Mannix turned his eyes toward the ceiling while massaging the back of his neck. The day was warm and the late afternoon sun sent a golden shaft into his office. Playing a round of golf with Art or Adam would have been more to his liking on this picture perfect California day. Instead, he was chained to his desk by paperwork. He pressed his eyelids together tightly as if to make his unpleasant task vanish, like the old saying - out of sight, out of mind.

When he opened them again, he realized that there was a shadow creeping across his desk. The dark patch wasn't long enough to reach his papers, but it had definitely appeared where previously there had been nothing.

Joe was more than slightly disconcerted to find a man, and a familiar one at that, standing silently in his doorway. He'd seen this man somewhere before but couldn't quite put his finger on the circumstances. Wordlessly the two studied each other. Joe realized at once that the tall, distinguished man knew exactly who he was and furthermore had a specific purpose for this visit. Leaning back in his chair, Joe took in the visitor who wasn't really a stranger.

For his part, the man let Joe look him over. His impeccable gray suit almost matched the color of his shaggy brows and thick, close cropped salt and pepper hair. The steady, hazel eyes that held Joe's gaze revealed nothing. Obviously the man had been well trained.

And then the information he'd been struggling to retrieve struck Joe like an unexpected ocean wave. New York, last year... or was it the year before? Time had gotten away from him. Peggy and her son had traveled east to visit a college that Toby had thought he might attend. When both of them had gone missing, Joe followed their trail, determined to locate two people who meant the world to him. In his quest, he'd enlisted the aid of Robert McCall, known by the street name of "the Equalizer." Whether or not the moniker was considered flattering depended on which side of his temper a person happened to be standing... or on which side of the law. The man before him now was connected to McCall, although exactly how, Joe had never been sure. Just as he was never sure of the man's name.

One thing Joe did know for certain, this man had been instrumental in getting Peggy and Toby back safely before fading into the dark night of their rescue.

Glancing over the man's shoulder, Joe spotted Peggy standing in the outer office, wearing a baffled expression. Though they had discussed the episode, Peggy had never seen her rescuer. Joe gave her a brief smile and nod, letting his secretary know that everything was fine, although he suspected that wasn't the case. He'd never thought to see McCall's associate again and certainly not here in his office.

"Come in, Mr... ah... " Joe got to his feet, pausing halfway when he realized he didn't know how to address his visitor. Straightening, the detective let the sentence hang.

"Control will do fine," the other man supplied without explanation, his deep voice carrying softly yet easily across the room. The hint of authority was unmistakable.

"Would you like some coffee?" Joe wasn't sure just where this interview was going so he opted to stall for time.

With the grace of an athlete or a man who carried himself well, Control crossed the space to a chair and made himself comfortable. With one emphatic shake of his head, never taking his eyes off Joe, he replied, "No, thank you."

"Take the rest of the day off, Peggy," Joe told his secretary as he resumed his seat.

"But Joe... " she started to protest, not so much for the time remaining in the work day but out of concern for her boss.

"I'll be fine, Peggy." His eyes reassured her even as his words did not.

With a last troubled look, she gathered up her belongings and quietly slipped out the front door. But Joe knew she wasn't happy about the turn of events. Control waited until he was sure they were alone. "Is there anyone else here?" His eyes flicked toward the staircase leading up to Joe's living quarters.

Mannix shook his head. Deciding to let Control do the talking, Joe leaned forward, arms braced against the top of his desk, the financial report not even a distant memory.

Taking a deep breath that allowed him to consider one more time whether or not he wanted to confide in this man, Control finally spoke. "Scott McCall's in trouble."

The words were so low that Joe wondered for a moment if he'd heard correctly. "Robert McCall's son?"

"Yeah." Control seemed to growl. Only his voice gave him away. By his appearance he could have been discussing the weather, but there was an underlying emotion beneath the words that betrayed his false calm. Looking past Joe, out the window behind him, Control seemed unaware of a deep breath, almost a groan, which escaped him. "And he doesn't even realize it."

"Has he been kidnapped?" Joe immediately recalled the Fairs' disappearance that prompted his trip to New York and subsequent need for Robert McCall's services.

"No." Irritation flashed across Control's face, causing him to swipe a meaty hand at the suggestion as though to brush away a bothersome insect.

"Perhaps if you tell me the whole story?" Joe purposely kept his tone neutral, yet was rewarded by Control's intense gaze. Joe could see the anger flare and die behind the other man's eyes as he acknowledged Joe's right to ask the question. Yet Joe read correctly Control's desire to be in his accustomed position of being the one who asked for information.

After a moment that stretched into two, Control finally glanced away with a second sigh before turning his attention back to Joe. Shifting in the chair, he crossed one long leg over a knee while at the same time flexing the fingers of his right hand. Mannix momentarily wondered if the appendage pained him. That fleeting thought disappeared as Control's story unfolded.

"Scott McCall has been here on the West Coast for almost six months, performing with the symphony orchestra," Control began, and Joe knew at once that the man, whatever his secrets, was leveling with him now. "I don't know if he wanted to get away from home or was tired of the East Coast - either way he accepted an offer to play here in LA. Almost immediately upon his arrival, he has been surrounded by foreign agents."

"Foreign agents?" Joe struggled to keep the incredulous expression from reaching his face. "Here? How do you know that?"

"We've had him followed since he left New York." Control was eerily matter of fact about the survelliance.

 "Who's 'we'?" The moment the question hit the air, Joe knew how ridiculous it sounded to ask and yet he had to cover as many bases as possible.

Control held his gaze level until it became obvious that he had no intention of answering. At last he glanced away. Joe decided that to apply the rules he normally employed to obtain information from clients was useless. In fact, he wasn't even sure that Control was a client. He wasn't certain exactly what was going on. And that was a feeling that Joe Mannix didn't enjoy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Control's next words. "Scott McCall is the son of one of our... the son of a man who used to be one of our best agents. That makes him dangerous - for himself, for us, and for others. Look at Scott as a weapon, one that can be used by any number of people against any number of people for a great many reasons. That danger is compounded by the way in which his father left the agency. There are people who would like to see Robert brought down a peg or two and wouldn't hesitate to use his son to make that happen."

"Your own people?" Joe regretted the interruption, but he had to know. He couldn't bring himself to call them 'our' and the thought disgusted him.

"Yeah." Again Control growled his answer before continuing, "It doesn't help that Scott has never been able to appreciate the work his father did nor the ruthlessness of the people he... encountered."

While Control took some time to ponder how best to proceeded, Joe realized how fortunate he was not to have married and had children. There had been times when he wondered if he'd made the right decision and, once or twice, considered giving up his choice of career for the luxury of a family. But in the end, he'd stubbornly clung to the decision he'd made years ago when he turned his back on a vineyard in Summer Grove.

Over the years, there were times when Peggy and Toby had wound up in harm's way. The recollections made Joe shudder. When he looked up, Control was watching him. The detective felt uncomfortable, as though the other man had the ability to read his thoughts. He resisted the urge to explain his reaction or ask questions, figuring that Control would reveal the information in his own time.

"In order to ensure Scott's safety as well as the safety of certain others, we have routinely kept him under surveillance." Control's deep rumble picked up the story. "Robert is aware of that and, while he may not like it, he is a pragmatist. He knows it's necessary, if for nothing else, Scott's sake."

"You mentioned foreign agents," Joe prompted, still in the dark about where this was going.

It was obvious from Control's expression that he didn't appreciate the prompting. His eyes narrowed as he slowly rubbed his jaw with a knuckle, but when he continued, his voice was even. "Scott immediately acquired a girlfriend in LA... "

"Are you sure she isn't really his girlfriend?"

"No, she's a known agent. Look, I need your help," Control said at last, sounding exasparated. "You know your way around Los Angeles and I need someone to watch my back."

"Robert... "

"Doesn't know what Scott has gotten himself entangled in and I'd rather that he stayed out of it."

The two men locked eyes; Control refused to look away. There was something Joe couldn't quite put his finger on, but he wasn't sure just what. He stood and began moving slowly about the room, reviewing the information he'd been given. More to give his hands something to do than from any real need, Joe poured himself a Scotch. Cocking a brow and lifting the glass in Control's direction, Joe offered his guest the same.

Seated again, both men with a drink in hand, Joe reviewed what he knew. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Earlier this year Scott McCall relocated - voluntarily - to Los Angeles to accept a position with the symphony. He immediately fell in with at least one enemy agent – that you know of - in the form of a girlfriend. Robert knows he's here, but not that he may or may not be in danger. How'm I doing do far?"

Control merely tilted his head in Joe's direction in acknowledgment. Something about the exercise grated on Joe, so the detective decided to go on the offensive. "So why are you coming to me now?"

"Because it appears that the assignment is escalating into more than just one of observation," Control answered smoothly, triggering a response in the back of Joe's mind to wonder if the reasoning didn't come a bit too smoothly. "We think these agents may be getting ready to snatch him... or worse."

"Why would they want to do that? And why now?" Joe's drink was forgotten.

"I... can't tell you that. It's classified." Joe accurately read in Control's expression the certainty that was all he was going to get... for the moment.

"Can you at least tell me who these people are working for?" The furrow between Joe's eyes deepened. "What could Scott McCall possibly know that they don't?"

Control only shook his head and took a sip of his drink. He seemed to be enjoying the liquor more than his host at the moment.

This time it was Joe's turn to sigh deeply, his teeth ground together so tightly that his jaw bulged. "What do you want from me?"

Pushing himself up straighter in the chair where he'd begun to slump, Control seemed to open up a bit more. "I'd like you to check out the situation and report back to me. Of course, I'd prefer that neither Scott nor his girlfriend become aware of your presence. That shouldn't be too difficult for you." Joe couldn't help but wonder if the man known as Control was taking a dig at him. Before he could reason it out, the spy continued, "If I should be spotted, the other side might decide to fold up shop, taking Scott with them. You, however, are an unknown entity who can move around a bit more freely."

Joe thought over the proposal for a long time, not caring that the minutes were stretching out. Time was precious, but Mannix wanted to know what he was walking into. The request didn't seem that complicated although Joe knew without a doubt the assignment most likely wouldn't stop there. Under other circumstances he might have refused for no more reason other than a gut feeling, but he reminded himself that this man before him had been instrumental in getting Peggy and Toby back safely, and both men knew that Joe owed Control a favor. That was a fact Control had not mentioned, but then it hadn't been necessary. Joe wasn't sure that outcome would have been assured without his involvement. At last he nodded. "And then?"

"We'll go from there," was all Control volunteered.

* * * * *

DAY ONE (LATER) - Armed with Scott's address, and a pistol in the small of his back under a navy windbreaker, Joe slouched in his car across from an apartment building in the Westwood section of LA as the early evening sun slanted in the distance. With the university close by, the area was trendy, as evidenced by the heavy amount of foot and car traffic. The address provided by Control earlier in the day was that of an apartment building that blended in with hundreds of others in this sprawling city - landscaped with palms and yuccas, the low dwelling featured the same Spanish influence as a majority of the area's architecture.

During his stay in New York, Joe hadn't had the occasion to meet Scott McCall. The closest he'd come were framed photographs in Robert's apartment. Most of them dated from Scott's youth. Control - every time Joe thought of that name the image of Lew Wickersham flashed in his mind - had provided some grainy black and white eight by tens of Scott, made since his arrival on the West Coast. Joe was confident he would have little trouble recognizing the young musician.

Sitting in his Barracuda waiting, Joe pondered what he knew of Robert McCall and how that knowledge might affect what he'd been asked to do. The man known as the Equalizer was honorable in his own way. He might work outside the law on occasion, but there was a solid core of ethics and morality guiding his conduct. There was a decency to Robert McCall that Joe had admired from the moment the two met in New York. Despite their different paths in life, they shared many similarities and a strong sense of conscience was one. That made it uncomfortable for Joe to keep a secret, especially one involving McCall's son, from him.

Mannix suspected that Scott had been raised by a mother who was pretty much left to her own devices while McCall was on assignment. That couldn't have been easy for either mother or son. Mannix contrasted that upbringing with his own. His father had been an all too present yet just as unapproachable influence in young Joe's life. Perhaps a little more balance for both would have been preferred, but what was done, was done. And the detective could easily understand Scott not wanting to follow in his father's footsteps. The young man was apparently no more a spy than Joe was a vintner. But, growing up, the son of a grower of grapes didn't have to watch a shadow over his shoulder like the son of a spy did.

With that thought, the object of his musing climbed out of a Mustang convertible that had just pulled up to the curb. Joe scribbled a note of the car's make, year and license plate number. As insurance, he'd have Peggy trace down the information. He watched as Scott, with an instrument case rigged with a strap to fit over his shoulder, paused at the driver's window to speak to a young lady. The two talked excitedly and Joe began to wonder if the conversation would ever end, or if Control's speculations were just that, paranoid notions hatched in the mind of a man who'd been undercover too long. These two young people looked exactly like what they were - a young couple who enjoyed each other's time and company.

At last, Scott leaned in and kissed the girl gingerly, pulled away but then darted in again for a quick second kiss. Flashing her an All-American grin, he lifted a hand and ambled toward the apartment building. After watching Scott until he was out of sight, the driver put the car in gear and drove away. Joe hesitated for a few seconds before following.

* * * * *

DAY TWO (MIDNIGHT) - "So where did she go?" Art Malcolm took a sip of his coffee, made a face, eyeing the cup with a disgusted expression. Joe Mannix had shown up at his office just as he was about to leave for the night. Seeing his friend come through the door, the police lieutenant collapsed back into his chair with a grunt, leaned back, laced his hands over his flat stomach and propped his feet on the desk, one ankle over the other. The detective prowled the confined office for a few minutes and, looking on, Art could almost see the gears turning in the other man's mind. Patiently he waited. After a while, he was rewarded when Joe dropped into the chair across the desk and looked at him bleakly.

"That's just it, Art," Joe explained, sounding puzzled as he gazed across at his friend. "She went straight to another apartment building – no stops, no phone calls, no meeting of any kind."

"What'd you expect her to do, Joe, talk into the heel of her shoe?" Malcolm couldn't hide his smart aleck grin behind the oversized coffee mug. After enjoying his stab at humor, he did manage to look abashed when confronted with Joe's frown. Sitting his mug aside, Malcolm straightened up, attempting to give Joe's problem the consideration it deserved. "Seriously, what did you think would happen?"

"I don't know," Joe replied in a grumpy tone, sweeping his arm in a wide arc, "maybe meet somebody or several somebodies. Go someplace other than her apartment... "

"What makes you so sure it was her apartment?" Malcolm had firmly settled into the role of devil's advocate, figuring that's why Joe had dropped by, needing his help in sorting through the facts surrounding this situation. Thanks to their longtime camaraderie as well as Art's standing in the police department, Joe had held nothing back, relating all that had taken place from the moment Control – Control, Malcolm had questioned, what kind of name was that? - until the moment Mannix walked into police headquarters.

"I staked out the place all evening." Joe got up and restlessly moved to the window, looking out as LA sparkled in the night below him. "I expected that someone else would come or go, or that she would. But she stayed put."

"Doesn't mean she couldn't or didn't call someone... " Malcolm stared at the chair Joe had just vacated. He knew the detective would return to it. "And you haven't answered my question, how do you know it was her apartment? That she wasn't reporting in to someone else who lived there, or maybe that apartment is used for a meeting place?"

With a sigh, Joe moved back to his chair. There wasn't much maneuvering room in the cramped office. "I checked the name on the mailbox – Lila Foulks. That's the name that Control gave me. She's a violinist, same as Scott. The whole thing looks like what it should be - a boy and girl dating."

"Joe?" Malcolm's voice added weight to his words. "What exactly is bothering you about all this?"

Mannix locked eyes with his friend, struggling in a silent battle. At long last he blinked wearily before answering. "There's more to this case than Control is telling me. I can feel it; I just can't put my finger on the missing..."

"How do you know that?" Art interrupted, his demeanor suddenly all business.

Joe waved a hand as though to discourage a lazy insect. "I've got a feeling." When Malcolm began to react, Joe rushed to defend his point. "Come on, Art. You've had gut feelings, we all have. You can't say why exactly, but something just doesn't sit right. Sometimes that feeling is all that stands between life and death. I have that same feeling with Control, like the ground is rolling and I'm having a tough time keeping my balance. The man tells you only what he wants you to know."

"Half your clients meet that criteria." Art fell back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Why should that disturb you now?"

With a snort, Joe retorted, "Because that's what Control's trained to do; that's the business he's in. He's a professional."

"But he came to you for help, so why all the secrecy?" Malcolm kept the questions coming; someone had to voice them.

"Did he?" The words popped out of Joe before he could give thought to them, surprising both men. The room was silent for a moment while they contemplated that angle.

Art was the first to speak. "If this Control guy didn't come to you for help, why even make an appearance? You said he's a spook, right?"

Joe nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, a professional spy."

"That answers one question. But we're still back to why all the fun and games."

With a jut of his chin, Joe gave Art a look the lieutenant had seen many times before, and didn't particularly like. "Maybe he didn't need me for help so much as he needed a bird dog."

"A bird dog! Joe, why... "

"A man like Control has made a lot of enemies over the years - on both sides. He can't maneuver as well in strange territory and we both know LA isn't New York. So he comes to the one person he knows in LA... or the one person he is sure will help him out. Maybe bird dog isn't the right animal. Maybe I should have said sitting duck."

"He wouldn't do that... " The statement sounded like a question as Malcolm straightened in his chair.

Joe shrugged nonchalantly but his mind was working a mile a minute, considering the possibilities. "You tell me, Art. I don't know the man. What little I do know of him has been filtered through Robert McCall. I trust McCall's judgment, but it's plain to see that nothing is black and white when dealing with Control."

That pronouncement was followed by the sound of conversation and movement out in the hallway while both men sat, consumed by their thoughts. Finally Joe offered softly, "He may be leveling with me, Art. I just don't know. But if he is, why are alarm bells going off in my head? I can't just walk away. What if Scott McCall really is in danger? I owe Robert McCall. Without his help, Peggy and Toby might have... "

And there it was - the motivation that would drive Joe, despite the dangers in which Control's truthfulness or lack thereof might place him.

"Be careful, Joe." Art knew that he didn't have to say the words, but he wanted Joe to hear them. "Do you need someone to watch your back?"

The detective's look told Malcolm all he needed to know.

* * * * *

DAY TWO (EARLY MORNING) - Joe hadn't slept very well in the hours since he'd left Malcolm's office. He felt exhausted, yet his mind refused to stop the merry-go-round revolving around Scott McCall and Control's involvement in the young musician's life. As a result, Joe had tossed and turned, finally dozing off just before dawn. He awoke soon after as the pale gray light of morning penetrated his bedroom blinds. He gave up on more rest, grabbed a quick shower, and started his day early.

Peggy was surprised to find her boss already behind his desk, coffee cup in hand, when she arrived. Sensitive to his moods and a wise woman, she refrained from prying. She knew, sooner or later, Joe would confide in her. The two of them tried to conduct business as usual, but Peggy sensed Joe's heart wasn't in it.

When he ordered her to go home early for a second straight day, she could no longer resist. "Joe, what's going on? Your mind's a million miles away. Does it have something to do with that man from yesterday?"

Joe gave her a weak smile. Funny, he thought, that Peggy had always been able to pinpoint the exact cause of his consternation and yet, how could he tell her why he felt the way he did. The Fairs' kidnapping and narrow escape were still difficult for him, much less Peggy, to recall. Joe didn't want her to know just how close the two of them had come to a much different fate. Some interchange had taken place between McCall and Control that Joe hadn't been privy to, which had convinced the spymaster to lend his assistance. Without that... Joe could not contain the shudder when he thought about what might have happened.

Strengthening his smile that both of them recognized as phony, Joe hedged more than a little. "He's asked me to help the son of a friend who's in trouble. I'm not sure how to go about that, but we're working on it."

He hadn't lied, but he hadn't exactly told the truth either. Yet he had the distinct impression that Peggy Fair knew that as well. An amused voice whispered in his mind that Joe Mannix might not be that far removed from Control.

Peggy's perceptive brown eyes locked with his. Before she could argue, he rushed on. "That's all, Peg, really. I'm sorry I've been so distracted. Let's call it a day. I need to think through my strategy of helping this young man. And speaking of young men, you've got one who would probably enjoy a home-cooked dinner with his mother before he starts cramming for finals."

"Joe... "It was a routine that both of them knew by heart. Peggy had to try, but Joe waved away her arguments.

"I'm going to meet with..." Peggy's brow arched. "...the client later this evening. I'm sure we'll come up with something. See you in the morning, Peg."

Joe forced himself to return Peggy's stare with a neutral expression. There was nothing more she could say; she was forced to give up and do as he asked. In a bit of a huff, Peggy put her desk in order, picked up her purse and, feeling like she was repeating lines from an oft-seen play, told him that she would see him in the morning. Joe poured a Scotch, listening for the sound of her car driving away.

Satisfied at last, he checked the office door to make sure it was locked - it was - then slowly climbed the staircase to his apartment. Loosening his tie, he used his thumb and forefinger to spread the collar apart before taking a sip of the fiery amber. He would have kicked off his shoes, but he didn't want to be found in his stocking feet when Control arrived.

His prowling was interrupted by the ringing phone. Joe eyed the instrument suspiciously, wondering if it might signal bad news. It did, but not from the direction he was anticipating. Rather than Control on the other end, Robert McCall answered his greeting.

"Joe Mannix?" The smooth cultured voice carried across the miles and Joe could once again picture the cosmopolitan man who had come to his aid. "Robert McCall here. I realize we haven't spoken since..." There was a slight pause while the man considered his phrasing. "...ah, you were in New York. I hope you remember me."

Joe was stunned. More than stunned, he was speechless. For an instant, he considered quietly hanging up the telephone. He had, however, no choice. "Robert, I'll never forget what you did." The detective could hear the strained tone in those seven words and knew at once that his caller did as well.

McCall, however, was much too polite to point that out. He proceeded as though Joe's response had been perfectly normal. "I'm phoning because my son, Scott... I believe that I mentioned him?"

"Uh, huh," was the best that Joe could muster as his mind worked overtime to untangle exactly where this conversation might be going. How much did Robert know and how much could Joe say?

"Good. Well, Scott is now playing with the Los Angeles symphony," Robert continued as if Joe's answer had made perfect sense. "You might not have been aware of that. Mind you, he's not the first chair yet, but I'm proud nonetheless. I want to surprise Scott by flying out to the coast to attend a concert... "

Scott won't be the only one surprised, Joe thought grimly but kept silent. "...I had hoped you might accompany me and finally get to meet him. I would be honored if your secretary and her son, if they're free, might join us as well."

When there was no response to his offer, McCall asked uncertainly, "Joe, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," Joe blurted out, improvising hurriedly. "Your call caught me off-guard. When are you planning to make this trip?"

"My flight is scheduled for tomorrow morning," McCall supplied as Joe tried desperately to calculate just how long he had before this steadily worsening scenario blew up entirely. "I should have called long ago, I realize. I have reservations at an establishment near the concert hall and had tentatively planned to attend this weekend's performance. If tickets are a concern, they needn't be; they're on me. But if this isn't a convenient time, I completely understand."

That was it, the little bit of breathing room that Joe needed. If he told Robert McCall not to come to LA without an explanation, there would be no stopping the man. But if Joe could stall him for even a while... Trying to pitch his voice as normal as possible, the detective finally answered. "I'll have to check with Peggy and Toby, of course, but I think something can be worked out. Why don't you call me after you arrive?"

Before Robert could respond, there was a knock at the door. "I'm sorry," the man known as the Equalizer replied, "You've obviously got a visitor. I will do as you ask and I look forward to renewing our friendship. Good night."

Friendship, Joe frowned as he absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, I suppose you could call their relationship that. At the moment, however, he didn't have time for semantics. Striding across the room, Joe yanked the door open to reveal Control standing there. "Old Home Week is starting to wear a little thin," Joe said by way of greeting, causing Control to eye him puzzlement. Stepping back, he allowed the other man into his apartment. "Want to join me?" Joe offered, holding up his tumbler of Scotch.

"Sounds like I should," Control replied, uncertainly, never taking his eyes off Mannix as he settled onto a barstool. "Why the crack about Old Home Week?"

Joe handed his guest a drink and refreshed his own. Subconsciously, Joe envied Control his... well, control. The man seemed to have no emotions at all or, what he did have, had long ago been completely mastered. Nothing appeared to faze him. Joe, on the other hand, was as nervous as a cat.

Taking a sip of his drink, he paced his living room, considering how best to answer Control's question. With a glance over his shoulder, Joe said, "You'll never guess who was just on the phone."

Control's shaggy brows drew together, giving him the appearance of a thundercloud about to break into storm. "I never cared much for playing games."

"Really?" Joe tried, but failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "For a man in your profession, I'd have thought that talent would have come in handy."

Control looked away into the middle distance before his eyes swung back to find Joe still pacing. "I'll let that one go because I need your help. Now can we drop the cute stuff and talk straight?"

Stopping in the middle of his living room, Joe took care to scrutinize Control's reaction to his announcement that he'd spoken with Robert McCall. The man was good, Joe admitted, for the only physical sign was a slight narrowing of the eyes before Control dropped his gaze and looked away so that Joe was unable to read his expression.

Still directing his attention to the fading sunset outside Joe's window, the spymaster made the question sound like a statement. "Robert McCall called you?"

Joe could have cursed out loud for draining the liquid from his glass in one gulp, but the warmth that sped through his body seemed to put a damper on the edginess he'd been feeling. Suddenly, he was more relaxed, yet he wasn't sure if that was from the Scotch or from having succeeded in getting under Control's skin. Neither helped this situation. "Out of the blue, to say that he is coming to LA."

Though he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, Joe took a bit of sadistic pleasure in seeing the snap of Control's head. The detective had captured his attention now. "He what!?"

Glancing at his empty glass and deciding subconsciously that he didn't want nor need another drink, Joe sat the tumbler down on the sofa table but moved to the bar to put some space between him and Control. He stood, facing his guest, suddenly tiring of the sparring. "He wants to surprise Scott by seeing him perform with the symphony. I didn't get the impression that he was aware that anything unusual was going on. He invited Peggy, Toby and me to accompany him this weekend. I told him to call me after he arrived... tomorrow."

This time Control started to bolt from the chair before forcing himself to relax and appear nonchalant. Joe wasn't buying any of it; there was a startled look behind Control's eyes. "That doesn't give us much time, does it?"

"Time?" Control snorted, but the hand that he kept clenching into a fist and then releasing betrayed him. "We're not calling the shots on the future. They are."

"The enemy agents?" Joe clarified and Control nodded. "Maybe having a talk with Scott would be a good idea."

"No." But Joe thought the answer came a bit too quickly... and sharply. Once again, alarm bells began sounding in his gut. Before he could counter, however, Control continued, "If we approach Scott right now, who knows what might happen. We could trigger all kinds of reactions. That's taking too much of a chance." Control rubbed the tip of his nose with a knuckle before deciding, "You'll have to keep Robert out of sight... you did say he wanted to surprise Scott. You can bring him here..."

"He has reservations at a hotel near the symphony hall." Joe just kept delivering the good news.

"Pick him up at the airport, tell him it would be rude not to have him as a guest." Control was so deep in thought that he failed to notice Joe's skeptical look. "You can show him around tomorrow, but keep him away from Scott and away from the auditorium."

"What will you be doing?" Control may not have seen the look on Joe's face, but he couldn't miss the harsh tone in his voice.

"I'll have Scott under surveillance. If I notice anything unusual, I'll pick him up and meet you back here. I'll call you if that's necessary."

And there he goes again, Joe thought, spoon feeding me. There was little Mannix could do. To object would put several lives in danger, lives of people who had saved those he loved. He had no choice but to follow Control's lead. Once this was over, he would make a point of asking McCall if he'd ever felt the same way.

* * * * *

DAY THREE - Joe was drained. Physically he'd done little but escort Robert around LA, but mentally he was whipped. Stress had left him wrung out. Now, as he drove away from McCall's hotel, Joe could only be grateful that he hadn't yet received a call from Control.

McCall had been pleased to find Joe waiting for him at the airport, earlier in the day. After having secured his luggage, Joe made the offer to put Robert up during his stay, but McCall would have none of it. Realizing that if he pushed too hard, he would tip his hand, Joe grudgingly helped Robert check into his hotel.

Once that was complete, the detective insisted on giving him a tour of the city. At the conclusion, they ate dinner and, with McCall pleading for sleep thanks to the three-hour time difference, Joe gratefully returned him to his hotel. Now heading toward 17 Paseo Verde, Joe wondered what Saturday might bring.

He was still inspecting angles as he climbed the stucco stairs leading up to his apartment. With his mind on other things, Joe almost failed to spot the slight movement in the shadows. Halting, he flattened himself against the low concrete wall that served as a railing. He could reverse his direction and enter through the office, but Joe suspected that whoever was lurking outside his door would be long gone.

Figuring that he'd already been seen, Mannix prepared to face the danger head on. He was reaching for the gun snuggled in the waistband of his slacks when a familiar figure stepped out into the moonlight. "Joe," Art Malcolm's deep voice floated down to him on the mild evening air. "Figured I'd better say something before you shot me and asked questions later."

Letting his hand fall to his side, Joe took a deep breath. "You don't know how close you came to the truth, but I'm glad you're here," he said as he reached the landing.

With Art looking on bemused, Joe let them into his apartment. Turning on a light here and there, the detective indicated that his friend should make himself at home before flopping down on his sofa, kicking off his shoes and stretching out his long legs.

Malcolm settled himself into an armchair, facing Joe. "Your alarm bells must still be sounding; that or Peggy is really giving you a hard time." He was trying to lighten the mood, but Joe was having none of it.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes closed, Mannix answered wearily, "This must have been how Alice felt in Wonderland. I wouldn't be surprised to see a talking rabbit hop along next."

"Come on, Joe. It can't be..."

"Robert McCall is in town." Joe fixed his eyes on Malcolm, continuing to massage away the pain. "He wants to see Scott play tomorrow night... or later tonight. What time is it anyway?"

Art waved away that question as unimportant. "What're you going to do?"

"What can I do?" Joe answered with a tired shrug. "Robert McCall hasn't survived this long by being stupid. If I try to discourage him, that'll be like waving a red flag in front of a bull."

"But why now?" Malcolm, ever the policeman on duty, lamented.

"I spent the day with him and as far as I can tell, he wants to surprise Scott by seeing him perform." Joe arched his back and stretched his neck, enabling his head to rest against the back of the couch. "From what I could gather, he has no idea that anything is out of the ordinary. Never mentioned Lila Foulks... wonder if he knows about her?

"Then again that could just be for the role he's assumed. Art, you never know when one of these guys is handing you a line or being straight with you. I need a mind reader, but all I've got is a pounding headache. I guess we'll just have to go to the concert and pray nothing happens, and then get him out of town as quickly as possible."

"We?" Art asked suggestively with an arched brow.

"Yeah, he's asked Peggy, Toby and me to accompany him." Joe ignored the implication, giving his head a little shake with a roll of his eyes. He began to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "Just one big, happy outing with friends. Wonder what Robert would say if he knew his old friend Control was in town?" Both men were silent at that, pondering the possibilities. After a while, Joe turned his attention back to Art. "How'd your day go?"

The lieutenant shrugged with a grimace. "Without Control's real name or a location where he's staying, I decided to tag after Scott McCall. Sure enough, I spotted your buddy, Control..." Joe opened his mouth to clarify, but Art plunged ahead. "I'm pretty sure he picked up on me as well. After that he dropped out of sight, but I guarantee he was still around. Funny thing is, I never saw anybody else but the two of us on Scott's trail."

"And Scott?" Joe asked but was certain he knew the answer.

"After practice and a long cup of coffee, he took his girlfriend – a pretty girl who's attached to him at the hip - and hightailed it back to his apartment. That's where I left him. I got back here just before you showed up. Joe..." Malcolm's normally deep voice had dropped to a growl. "...the only person I saw watching Scott was this Control guy. And as for the kid, I have to agree with you. He looks like your typical young male dating a typical young female. Maybe there's something else going on here, but I didn't see it."

Joe snorted. "Now you see why I have a headache. Should I get two aspirins?"

"I'll pass," Malcolm decided, unwinding his lanky frame into a standing position. "I need my beauty rest. Don't bother to get up, I know the way out."

The detective gave him a weak smile of gratitude. But Malcom paused as he opened the door. "Joe..."

"Art, I hate to ask this, but would you mind coming to the concert as backup?" Joe's voice drifted up over the back of the couch, where he'd slumped down to stretch out flat.

"I'll dig my tux out of mothballs," was all Art said in reply.

* * * * *

DAY FOUR - His headache had subsided to a dull but unremitting pain by the time Joe, accompanied by McCall, arrived to pick up the Fairs. After greeting each other like old friends, Peggy returned to the bedroom to get her evening bag. Joe had to smile to himself at the thought of three men who looked like penguins in identical tuxedos escorting a princess to the symphony, for his secretary was dazzling in a strapless evening gown of teal jade with a wrap of jewel-tone colors to slip around her shoulders. She walked proudly between Toby and Joe to the car.

True to his word, McCall presented the tickets at the box office and immediately an usher escorted them to their seats - four on the aisle not too close yet near enough to see the musicians as well as the conductor. The four of them made small talk as the orchestra warmed up.

The concert began with a lively piece by Aaron Copland. As the full, rich tones filled the concert hall, Joe couldn't help but notice that McCall, sitting to his right, on the aisle, was straining to find his son in the violin section. Joe had also failed to spot the young man or Art Malcolm, although Joe hadn't expected to see Art. The police lieutenant was somewhere nearby, of that he was sure. That still didn't answer the question of Scott's whereabouts.

McCall leaned over and spoke quietly. "Perhaps other musicians will be introduced at intermission to keep the orchestra fresh."

Joe forced himself to smile and nod, but he couldn't disguise a sinking feeling inside. From Copland, the symphony moved to the lush orchestration of Ralph Vaughan Williams. Later, Joe would be hard pressed to remember any of the selections, for his mind was elsewhere.

Long before intermission, Joe could stand the tension no longer. If he remained in his seat for one more minute, he'd explode. Patting Peggy, to his left, on the arm, Mannix gave Robert a pained expression and excused himself. Crouching over and moving quickly so as not to obscure anyone's view, Joe didn't take long to reach the back of the concert hall where he stood for a moment, surveying the scene, in the cover of darkness. Inside the hall, all appeared as it should have - finely attired ladies and gentlemen giving their rapt attention to an orchestra that performed like a well-oiled machine. Joe barely registered the music.

Quietly slipping out of the door, he glanced around the expansive, glassed-in foyer, taking note of the ushers who, for the moment, had little to occupy them. Seeing a patron suddenly appear in their midst, one approached hurriedly. "May I help you, sir?" he asked in hushed tones.

Clutching his stomach with a grimace, Joe managed to rasp out, "Restroom?"

"Over there," the young man in a red jacket answered, pointing vaguely to the left.

With a grunt, Joe scurried off in the general direction, the usher willing to let him suffer alone. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Mannix determined that the young man had returned to his flock of red jacketed cronies, having quickly forgotten the apparently sick man headed for the 'john'. Straightening, Joe moved smoothly along the edge of the foyer until he found what he was looking for - an unmarked doorway hidden in the folds of the heavy velvet drapery that adorned the walls. He wasn't sure where it led, but then he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

Thankfully, the knob turned in his hand and Joe slipped from the lobby into the bowels of the massive structure housing the concert hall. As though heard from a great distance, Joe could make out that the concert continued undisturbed. He paused for a moment, not listening, but allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Once he could trust his vision, Mannix checked out his surroundings. He appeared to be standing in a narrow hallway, lined on one side with cramped dressing rooms used by either musicians or actors, depending on the particular performance. Moving as fast and as unobtrusively as possible, Joe glanced in each cubicle, prepared for anything, but surprised at nothing...except what he found which was... nothing. Save for empty instrument cases and street clothes, he was alone.

Undeterred, Joe gave a mental shrug and began navigating deeper into the building. More like a giant maze, he allowed, observing the myriad passageways and levels. Thankfully there appeared to be few people around, at least in this section of the backstage area. Perhaps, Joe decided as he faded into a shadowed area while a security guard ambled by, most of the backstage crew were gathered in the wings taking in the performance. That suited his purposes just fine.

Not wanting to be constantly on the lookout for another watchman, Joe moved to a darkened wall and located an attached ladder that led up into the catwalks. What better way, the detective thought as he climbed, to observe without being seen. Although it didn't appear so from the outside, the concert hall was an immense, hulking facility, much of its gut filled by a network of intricate catwalks, lighting, sound equipment, and wiring.

Careful to keep his footfalls from drawing the attention of anyone who might be below, Joe wished for his black sneakers. There was no way, he thought wryly, he could have explained wearing them with his tux. Joe edged along the narrow walkway, alert to everything around him. Subconsciously, he heard the audience applause before the musicians moved into a familiar piece - Beethoven? Joe dismissed the question, focusing, on what he wasn't sure, but he wasn't here to enjoy the performance.

A drop of sweat rolled down the middle of his back, soaking into the material where it pressed against his skin just above the cummerbund. That was quickly followed by another bead, tracing the same pathway. Joe was immediately aware of just how warm and close the atmosphere was up in the rafters. The auditorium itself had been air-conditioned, but little of that coolness managed to escape backstage.

Ignoring the discomfort, Joe crept along one catwalk after another until he was no longer sure of his exact location within the massive building nor was he certain he could find his way back his seat. As he approached what he recognized as the stage left wing, Joe could clearly see a small group of people enjoying the concert just out of sight of the audience. Those gathered below him appeared as rapt as the paying customers. Joe couldn't locate either Scott or his girlfriend in the group.

A moveable wall separated the stage from the cavernous area behind it. Joe followed the suspended catwalks into the murky darkness behind the barrier, straining his eyes to make out the odd shapes. He could feel the hair curling around his collar that was clinging, along with several patches of his once-starched white shirt, to his damp skin. The detective considered abandoning the jacket of his tux but decided that the garment was more valuable to conceal his gun.

His attention was jerked back to his present situation by another drop of sweat, this one barely avoiding his left eye as trickled off his forehead past his brow. Running a hand through his hair, Joe discovered that his palm was wet enough to wipe on the leg of his trousers. He'd be a mess if this turned out to be a wild goose chase and he was forced to return to his seat. How would he explain his condition? That question was shoved aside by a nagging voice in the back of his mind wondering if he'd been missed yet. He couldn't spare the time or energy to consider that possibility.

Removing a handkerchief from his breast pocket, Joe wiped his face, then jammed the wilted cloth back in place. He continued his silent patrol, halfway expecting to encounter Art Malcolm also prowling in the gloom. But he saw no one.

Just as the orchestra launched into Gustav Holtz's Mars, something drew Joe's attention, off to the far right, almost in the rear corner of the building. Not quite sure what he might find, Mannix quickly located a catwalk leading in that general direction.

His concentration suddenly narrowed to the tableau below him. Looking on, Joe could feel the hackles rise on the back of his neck.

For several long moments, Joe studied the scene below in growing consternation. He'd located Scott McCall; that was plain to see but in what circumstance? Something was terribly wrong.

The young man appeared to be terrified as he conversed rapidly with a second man whose back was to Joe. From his girth and bearing, the man appeared older than Scott.

There was no gun in view but that didn't mean there wasn't one being held on Scott that Joe couldn't see. The only other person in sight was Scott's girlfriend, the foreign agent Lila Foulks. She hovered near Scott but not too close.

Scott appeared to be urging her away while appealing to the unknown man. For a stunned moment Joe wondered if he was looking at Control, but realized quickly that wasn't the case. The man below him wore his hair slicked back and sported a chunkier build than the lanky spymaster. The questions remained – who was he and what was his connection to Scott McCall?

Although the music was the crux for not only Scott's being in LA but for Joe finding himself on a catwalk behind the concert hall stage, at the moment he desired nothing more than complete silence. If he could only make out what was being said, he might have a better understanding of the situation playing out below him.

The notes of Mars continued to soar around him as Joe used the only tools available to him, forcing himself to study the details of the trio below. In contrast to Scott, the man with his back to Joe appeared to be very still, moving his shoulder in an occasional shrug. Until he got a good look at the man's face, there was little more Joe could learn.

Turning his attention to the girl, Mannix noted that she seemed little different from the day he'd followed her and Scott. This night, however, she was dressed in what was usually called a simple black dress. Joe could see no jewelry, which seemed a little out of place to the detective, and her straight hair was pulled back in a sophisticated chignon from which several strands had escaped to curl around her long neck.

More than her appearance, it was her behavior that interested the detective. As he looked on, she continually darted her eyes into the dark regions of the concert hall. She appeared to be on the verge of fleeing, yet she never strayed far from Scott despite his occasional gestures to do so.

Joe turned his gaze to Scott and immediately froze. The young musician, also decked out in a tux, had a wide metal collar with some sort of box attached around his neck. If the metal had been studded, Joe would have thought it was a dog collar. But this was some sort of device he didn't recognize. How in the world had he overlooked it before and what in blazes was the thing?

Surrounded by nothing but questions at this perspective, Joe had to get closer. Moving gingerly, he edged to the nearest of the many ropes and pulleys dangling from the ceiling like limp noodles. Tugging to determine whether or not the thick rope would hold his weight, Mannix was briefly grateful for the music that would mask any noise his descent might make. The trick was not to be seen. The three people below him were so consumed with each other; nothing else existed.

Stripping off his tux jacket and cummerbund, Joe left them draped over the catwalk railing. He climbed over, balanced between the edge of the catwalk and open air. Taking a deep breath, Joe grasped the rope and, hand over hand, lowered himself to the top of a storage cubicle that, thankfully, wasn't lighted by the single security bulb over the loading dock door several yards behind Scott.

Joe tested the strength of the cubicle's top before releasing the rope, noting that it remained within reach if need be. Heedless of the dust and grime, Joe stretched out flat on top of the storage compartment, attempting to filter out the muted music and pick up some of the conversation taking place about ten feet from him. Unless a delivery was being made, this section was pretty much deserted, populated by stacks of crates.

Did something move in the shadows across the expanse? Joe narrowed his eyes and swept that area, but could see nothing suspicious. That's all he needed, his nerves playing tricks on him.

The lusty notes of the Holtz piece gave way to the more mellow strains of Brahms' Tragic Symphony. Joe had to practically hold his breath to hear, but he could just make out the words that drifted up to him. What he heard made his blood freeze.

"Please mister, I don't know what this is all about but you've got the wrong guy. Let me go before this thing goes off," Scott pleaded desperately. The sweat stood out plainly on his face, plastering his shaggy hair to his skin.

"I told you, kid, we don't really want you. We want your old man and we're willing to wait until he shows up."

Joe took advantage of his closer perch to study the man he'd only seen from behind. He'd once been an athletic man but his muscles were quickly turning to fat. Good wine and rich foods had added a spare tire around his middle. Despite that, he carried himself well, with a visible air of arrogance. Gray strands threaded his hair and there was a hardness about his eyes that revealed nothing. Like Control, the thought popped unbidden in Joe's mind. And the man's voice had no accent. He could have come from anywhere and fit in everywhere – Control, Joe thought yet again.

Before he could process that information, Joe heard Scott once again begging. "My… father," he stammered. Joe decided it was from nerves rather than subterfuge. "He lives in New York. He's… re… retired. What's this got to do with him?"

"He's sitting out front, kid," the man sneered. "Don't tell me you didn't know that."

"He… my father… is here?" Scott gulped, obviously stunned by this information.

"Cut the act, kid, we all know he's here. Took him longer than we anticipated to make the trip but that doesn't matter now. We've got him right where we want him." The last was delivered with the smugness of someone who had all the time in the world.

Even as Scott struggled to accept what he'd been told, the man turned to Lila, saying, "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

From a distance, Joe could see her start. The question had been as unexpected for her as it had been for Scott. She slowly turned her sad eyes to Scott's. It wasn't difficult for Joe to read the young musician's body language. He'd given up – all but.

Dragging his gaze back to the other man, Scott murmured, "What do you want with me?"

"Why, you're the bait, of course," and Joe picked up on the cruel streak underlying his words. The man was enjoying this.

With more insight than Joe gave him credit for, possibly gleaned from Robert, Scott muttered, "You're going to kill me anyway. Go ahead and push the button." Just like that, gone were the pleas for his life.

Joe stopped breathing. A bomb! Scott McCall had a bomb strapped around his neck. Mannix tore his eyes away from the musician to the older man. At Scott's words his hand had strayed to his jacket pocket but he aborted the movement before actually reaching inside.

This situation could turn explosive in more ways than one. Should a security guard or someone else stumble upon this gathering, a great many people would be in grave danger. Joe couldn't afford to wait any longer. He had no idea how many pounds of explosive hung around Scott's neck.

Slithering to the back of the storage cubicle, Joe lowered himself to the floor, crouching until he was certain his movements hadn't been detected. Circling the compartment away from the lighted area, Joe eased between a crate and an industrial-size speaker. Just as he was preparing to lean out to check the situation, he heard something in the darkness.

At once Joe was aware that the music had stopped. Intermission meant that people would be milling about – possibly as far back as this poorly lit corner. But just as disastrous, his presence would be missed, along with Scott's.

He scurried quietly toward the movement he hoped only he'd heard. Some 10 to 15 feet away, Joe rounded a double-tiered rack of folding chairs to encounter a sight he'd dreaded to contemplate – McCall trailed by Peggy and Toby.

Scrambling as quickly as he could to McCall's side, Joe put his finger to his lips, warning them not to speak. Pulling them behind the stack of chairs, Joe felt safe enough to whisper to Peggy. "Get out of here. Take Toby with you." When she started to protest, he hurried on. "Art's around here somewhere. I need for you two to find him and send him here, then go back out front as though nothing's wrong. Please, Peggy…"

She read his eyes in the dimness and nodded once with emphasis. Tugging at Toby's sleeve, they disappeared into the backstage maze from which they'd come.

Quickly turning back to Robert, Mannix heard him barely breathe. "I need to know what is happening."

Quietly, with a minimum of words, Joe told McCall what he had a right to know. When he was done, the man known as the Equalizer simply stared at him but there was no change of expression that Joe could detect. He was a cool one; the detective gave him that. Only his eyes gave him away; they burned in the darkness, letting Joe know that whatever happened, those responsible would pay.

Touching McCall on the sleeve of his immaculate tux – in contrast, Joe's white shirt was dirty from crawling around in the rafters where he'd left his jacket and cummerbund – Mannix led the way back to his hiding place. Only then did he step aside to give Robert a look. Despite McCall's years of training and experience in the field, Joe kept a hand on his jacket to prevent him from doing something rash. The person in danger was, after all, his son.

McCall eased back into the recesses of darkness with Joe. Pausing he struggled to control his breathing and master his emotions. A part of Joe had to admire the speed in which that was accomplished. The PI wasn't sure he could have done the same had it been Toby out there.

Leaning close so that his voice couldn't be overheard, Joe related what he knew. "…and the device around his neck appears to be some sort of a bomb. I've never seen anything like it. The man holding Scott hostage keeps reaching for his pocket. That's probably where he's got the detonator."

"What does he want?" McCall asked in a brisk business-like tone.

"You," Joe answered simply. At the puzzled expression on Robert's face, he continued, "He told Scott that he was the bait to draw you here. Apparently they've been watching and anticipating your arrival. Do you recognize the man?"

After barely any thought, McCall shook his head.

"The girl's in on it too." Joe supplied the information he'd almost forgotten in all this. "That took Scott by surprise."

"It would," McCall said, with a hint of apology evident in his whisper. "My son has always been far more trusting than I. He takes after his mother."

Both men were silent for a time, listening to the man taunt Scott with his father's impending death. "How do you want to play this?" Joe asked at last. Once again he found himself in the backseat on this case.

McCall was saved from answering by a voice they recognized instantly.

"Haven't you had enough fun, Dennis?" Despite being able to count the number of times he'd met the man on one hand and still have fingers left, Joe knew the deep baritone of McCall's former boss, Control. Both men edged closer to the action, taking up positions in the darkness that afforded them a limited view of the tableau before them.

Across the wide expanse of concrete floor, Control had stepped out of the darkness to lounge against a crate of who knew what – instruments, sound equipment, clothing or maybe paper for the copier. So, Joe realized, he had seen something in the darkness.

"You can slither out as quietly as you came in. Your presence isn't needed or welcome here." Seen from the side by Mannix and McCall, Dennis' body language tipped them off that he was not pleased to see Control. More than that, he was growing more nervous by the minute. One hand darted into a jacket pocket and Joe would have bet money that the gesture was more than to wipe away sweat.

Feeling McCall's tug on his arm, Joe looked in the direction the other man indicated. Scott appeared to be in shock as, speechless, his large, glazed eyes swung from one tormentor to his would-be rescuer.

But it was the girl's behavior that drew Joe's inspection. The color had drained from her complexion, leaving her the palest one of the four principal players. She was frozen but left no doubt that she longed to be anywhere but where she found herself. Lila looked, so the old saying goes, like a deer caught in the headlights. Joe couldn't help but wonder if she feared being too close to the bomb or being uncovered as a turncoat.

Control's voice captured his attention. "I'm here to keep you from doing something stupid… like dragging this out any longer than you already have." The tone was calm and level. He could have been reading a menu. "Going after McCall is one thing. Endangering members of his family is off limits."

"I'm gonna kill the kid! He means nothing to me." Dennis was growing more agitated by the minute.

Control had to raise his voice a bit to be heard over the music that opened the second half of the performance. "That still won't get rid of McCall. You might as well kill yourself at the same time. McCall will never let you live."

Joe glanced at the subject of this bizarre conversation. For the moment, Robert remained in darkness, his expression unreadable. But could Joe trust him to stay put and not jump out into the open, literally blowing things apart?

But it wasn't McCall who disrupted the back and forth. Though he couldn't see what happened next, Joe heard the loading dock door slide open as the voice of Art Malcolm shouted, "Freeze! Police!"

In response, Dennis yanked a box the size of a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. "Nobody move or I blow the kid up along with everybody else!"

In the quiet that followed that threat, Control's voice could be heard clearly over the music that continued in the background. "Then shut up and do it. Go ahead and push the button, Dennis!"

The spymaster had something up his sleeve, of that Joe was sure. But Scott wasn't Control's son. McCall, at last, tossed off his professional restraint and lunged for the opening. Joe managed to get an arm around the man, preventing him from revealing their presence. He couldn't be sure that they hadn't been seen or heard. Pushing McCall behind him, Joe was prepared to tackle Dennis from behind if Control's plan, whatever it was, failed.

"Allow me." Those two words brought everyone up short but Control. One minute there had been the four of them with Art and his men looking on and the next a small, thin man stood at the edge of the shadows.

Pushing himself away from the packing crate the spymaster had used as a backdrop to reinforce his cool demeanor, Control casually turned to the newcomer who had seemingly appeared out of thin air. "Took you long enough, Walter. I was beginning to think you'd chickened out – again – leaving the dirty work to Dennis. But then he's always taken care of your messes."

Strutting across the floor, Walter moved to Dennis' side, relieving him of the hand-held box. "Not this time, Control. This time I'll have the pleasure of taking care of this job myself. In fact, to make it that much better, why don't you move over next to Scott and Lila. I'm sorry, my dear, you were useful but now you're just another loose end."

With a shrug, Control did as he was told. What was he up to, Joe wondered? And what was Art doing during all this? Probably the same as he – wondering how long to let Control call the shots.

"So you kill the three of us," Control replied, but Joe couldn't fail to detect an underlying taunt in the words. He was sure that Walter, whoever he might be, picked up on the tone as well. "That still leaves McCall to deal with."

Walter burst out laughing at that, but the sound wasn't pleasant. Gasping for breath he managed to say, "That's going to be the fun part. I want him to suffer and, after losing his son, he'll be a broken man, almost too easy to dispose of then."

Joe could feel McCall tense behind him. He didn't know how much longer he could keep Robert hidden.

"At this rate, he'll come looking for Scott, wondering why he isn't performing, and mess up your brilliant plans." The gloves were off now; there was no mistaking Control's mocking. Did he know Joe and McCall were in the shadows? Was he trying to tell them something? If so, what?

"You in a hurry to die?" Walter was trying to one-up Control. He failed miserably, and knew it. Losing face caused his voice to break. He lashed out in embarrassment. "I'm going to push the button."

"Then do it!" Control's words snapped through the air.

Joe could never be sure of exactly what happened next. As if in slow motion, he saw Walter lift the box and deliberately press the lone button on its top. Simultaneously, he heard Robert and Art yell no, and then the man known as the Equalizer thrust him aside with more strength than Joe gave him credit for. He propelled both of them into the weak light.

Before he managed to tackle him to the floor, Joe caught a fleeting image of Walter glancing up in surprise. As the two men tumbled to the concrete, Walter let out a whoosh of air as the metal box skittered across the floor.

Scrambling to his feet, Joe saw a couple of Art's men corral Dennis before he could slip away into the backstage maze. Looking around he spotted McCall reaching Scott as the young man's knees gave way, sending him to the floor with his head buried in his hands. Control had pulled Lila off to the side.

For the first time in what seemed to be days, Joe drew a deep breath.

* * * * *

DAY FIVE – Peggy sat facing Joe across his desk while the sunlight traveled across the terra cotta floor. The detective had just completed his tale of the previous evening's adventure. Both were waiting, as the morning grew older, thinking about the father and son reunion taking place upstairs.

"I know I don't say it enough, but thank you, Peggy." The image of his secretary with Toby by her side that he'd been relieved to see when he walked out of the concert hall lent an extra measure of sincerity to his words. He'd had more physical jobs, but the stress of this one had worn him out. Without even thinking, he'd limped straight into Peggy's arms, feeling Toby pat him on the back. The three of them had watched Scott leave on a stretcher, Robert at his side. They'd been followed by Dennis and Walter, both in handcuffs, and Malcolm in deep conversation with Control. The two of them paused to let Lila catch up, only to stop hesitantly at Control's right hand. Malcolm scanned the area quickly, spotted Joe and gestured that he wanted to talk with him. The detective merely nodded.

The concert was still going on, the audience blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding behind the building. Joe saw Peggy and Toby home before collapsing in his own bed. He fell asleep quickly, but tossed and turned, fighting off disturbing dreams.

Just an hour or so earlier, he'd surrendered his upstairs apartment to the McCalls. It would serve as neutral territory so that father and son could meet after Scott's release from the hospital when it had been determined that he'd suffered no injuries.

Interrupting his musing to look back at his secretary – and his friend – Joe asked her, "How did you manage to find Art and time his arrival so well?"

Peggy's expression assumed that smug look he knew so well. "Toby and I went back out front and stopped the first uniformed cop we found. I was all set to make up some story about trouble because I didn't think he'd believe talk of foreign agents, but then I recognized Brian Paige…" At Joe's raised brow she explained. "…he knew Marcus so I just told him that you needed Art Malcolm and all his firepower behind the building. The timing was all Art. Toby and I directed traffic to the loading dock."

Joe's cheeks expanded as he exhaled, once again contemplating the catastrophe that could have resulted. For all anyone knew at the time, the bomb was primed and ready to explode. It might not have contained enough explosives to bring down the house, but it was very likely that Scott wouldn't have been the only casualty if Control hadn't…

The object of his thoughts opened his front door and was quickly met by Peggy at the office door. Unsure of how to treat this enigmatic man, she asked him to come in, offering her abandoned chair. He sank into it gratefully, his soulful eyes letting Peggy know he appreciated her gesture.

"McCall…" he began before Joe interrupted.

"Upstairs with Scott. How did you manage to pull it off last night?"

"I…" But once again he was halted, this time by the sound of footsteps descending the staircase.

Control rose as McCall came into view but Joe was already moving thanks, to a sixth sense. He intercepted the Equalizer, prepared this time for the man's unexpected strength. Bracing his legs, Joe wrapped his arms around the suddenly charging McCall.

"You… son of a…" Immediately he was aware of Peggy and bit back the insult he'd been about to hurl. Instead he growled over Joe's shoulder. "You used my son and that is unacceptable."

Control held his place in an effort to appear calm; his hands were the only things that gave him away. They clinched and released at his side. "Robert, believe me, I had no other choice."

"Believe you?" McCall spat out before he straightened and pushed away from Joe. With a glance he let the PI know that he appreciated Joe's action but it would no longer be necessary. McCall moved beside Scott who stood wordless in the archway of Joe's office. One look at him and McCall couldn't trust his voice.

Control took advantage of the quiet. "You knew, as I did, that our LA office picked up surveillance of Scott, as soon as he moved out here." His words were measured and sure. Joe wasn't sure why but he believed they were hearing the truth at last. "An agent, a loyal agent…" He stressed the adjective. "…working out of Walter's office had been slipping reports to me ever since you'd retired. Walter blamed you for…" The spymaster glanced at Joe but the name on the door said Mannix so the PI was disinclined to leave. After all, he'd been part of this case too. For the same reason, Joe saw no reason Peggy shouldn't be included as well. Had it not been for her quick thinking, things could have turned out for the worst.

With an imperceptible shrug, Control continued. "…the things that went wrong in Pakistan."

"He should have blamed you," McCall lashed out but Control let the accusation pass.

"Walter's problem has always been his own ego. He's a good agent but he has to let everyone know that. Whispers got around that he was going to use Scott to teach you a lesson. That's where Lila came in."

All eyes turned to Scott, who continued to glaze at Control. Once again, despite his wonderful musical talent, Scott McCall had, in his own eyes, failed to live up to his father's reputation as a man. His girlfriend had turned out to be a "sham" and when confronted by a bomb, he'd ended up fainting. His pride was stung and the most convenient target was his father's former boss.

"Yes, she was doing her job," Control answered everyone's question, "but that doesn't mean she didn't care for you, Scott. She does. In fact, she had to struggle with that. It wasn't easy for her to infiltrate the LA office and appear to work under cover for Walter and Dennis while working undercover for me."

There was a crack there, but Scott no longer had the heart to make it. Instead he sat down abruptly on the single step that led into Joe's office and stared at a spot on the floor, pretending to ignore them all. He never saw McCall reach out to touch him then let his arm fall before contact was made.

But Joe noticed and chalked up a lot of things to failed gestures like that one. His thoughts were drawn back by Control's words.

"This assignment was difficult for Lila. Don't think too harshly of her. She did manage to disarm that bomb you were wearing last night," he reminded Scott.

At that, the younger McCall's shoulders visibly sagged; any remaining fight had seeped out of him. If only Scott could face what his father had always known – the musician never had the stomach for what McCall had spent his life doing. If he got the chance, Joe thought he might like to tell Scott about another father and son relationship that was much the same.

"Where is she now?" Scott asked wearily.

Sticking his fists in his pockets, Control hunched over a bit as he replied, slowly, "You know I can't tell you that. She's taking some well-deserved time off before she gets another assignment."

"Why didn't you call me?" Robert inserted into the silence that followed, still unwilling to let Control off the hook. "I could have…"

"These were pros, Robert, not like those people who answer your ad," Control cut him off but there was no bite in his tone. "You know that. I had to make it look good to draw Walter out. Stopping Dennis would have been easy but I had to let things proceed as though Scott were in real danger. I knew Walter couldn't resist that scenario."

Robert held Control's gaze but silently shook his head. Touching Scott's shoulder, the elder McCall indicated that they were leaving. Encountering Peggy at the door, Robert turned back, ignoring Control. "Thank you, Joe, Mrs. Fair, for all that you did."

Mannix rounded his desk to shake the man's hand. In a strange sort of way they were friends. With that the Equalizer followed Scott, who kept his eyes downcast, out the door and disappeared in the LA sunshine.

The tension in the room eased a bit.

"Can I get you anything?" Peggy addressed the question to Control, not really knowing what to call him.

He shook his craggy head. "I'm leaving as well," he told her.

Getting a negative shake from Joe, she retreated to her desk, leaving the two men alone, as she'd found them four days before.

Once again, Joe studied the enigma before him. There didn't seem to be much to say. The spymaster had given his statement to Art Malcolm the night before. Lila was gone and Joe would catch up with the lieutenant soon. Control had pulled the strings of all those involved and, despite the odds, had succeeded. Joe still found both the man and his methods hard to figure.

"Why?" The detective asked and, at Control's lifted brow, rephrased his question. "Why did you do what you did?"

Control was a long time responding. When he did, his deep voice carried a hint of sadness. "For Scott. I did it for Scott's sake."

And then he was gone, leaving only questions, and a hint of sadness in his wake.