::  Dreams and Liars  ::

Chapter Seven

17 September, Saturday
Ski Resort – Berchtesgaden
0630 Hours

She had purposely left the drapes open so that she would wake at first light. She climbed out of bed and did light exercises to limber and wake up. Afterward she felt a little better even though sleep had eluded her as she replayed the evening's events from the time she kicked Lucretia's earring across the floor to the final click of the latch when Webb closed the door after they had kissed.

It hadn't been an earth-shattering kiss by any means, but she could feel it long after she had scrubbed her face last night. She thought her lips burned most of the night.

When she gazed in the mirror this morning she thought they even looked different. Oh good! One damn kiss and I'm suddenly the sixteen year-old I never was. She hurriedly dressed in the warm clothes she had bought on her shopping spree with Lucretia, grabbed her ski jacket and purse and locked her door with the key she discovered on her dresser. Not that it will keep Herr Farber out if he wants to come in, damn his soul.

The corridors were mercifully quite this morning as she made her way to the staircase. When she reached the bottom she followed the delicious smell of coffee and heavenly baking into the kitchen.

Seated around the large country kitchen table were Brody Armstrong, Deirdre O'Neill and Ben Hareesa. One of the cooks was just filling Hareesa's cup with a wonderful rich coffee, the scent of cinnamon delicate in the aroma. "Oh lord, please may I have a cup too."

"Of course, Fraulien." The cooked was polite but she glared at Mac through lowered eyelids and Mac wondered if the whole house knew what had occurred last night between her and Farber. The three people at the table kept glancing at her and then at each other, barely able to suppress their knowing smiles.

Mac pursed her lips, considered taking the bulls by the horns as it were, but in the end settled for asking brightly, "Well I always get up this early. Why in heavens name are you guys?"

The three spoke at once, "Skiing," and burst into laughter. Ben Hareesa continued for them all. "Kurt and some of us are going out for the first run of the day."

"Are you joining us, Hannah." The room grew embarrassingly quite as Kurt walked into the room.

Mac looked around at him and gulped. "Oh dear."

He tenderly fingered his purpling eye and grimaced, "Well now Professor Edwards won't feel so different, ja? Hannah, please. Do not fret. Come have coffee with me by the fire."

They left the three whispering among themselves. "Kurt, I don't know¼"

"Say nothing, Hannah. It is forgotten. I was out of line and you put me in my place quite effectively."

"I was just so very tired and aggravated, Kurt. And, you were out of line." Mac looked out over the pristine forest, flags already flapping, marking the run to the east of the chalet.

"Ja, so. You will come and try the skiing with us today?" He was all brisk and businesslike now.

"No, Kurt. I told you. I don't ski. You go and have fun. I would definitely hold you back. I think I will see if Edward or someone wants to go into town with me today."

"Oh, not Dr. Thomas, my dear." Lucretia peered out from around one the huge leather chairs near the back of the room.

"Why not?" Mac was upset with herself for not realizing that someone could easily eavesdrop in the large room and tried to remember what she and Webb had talked about last night when she thought they were the only people there.

"He and that awful Sinclair left twenty minutes ago. Right after I came down. They were arguing about something silly." She fluttered her free hand. Standing, she came to join the pair.

Farber growled in exasperation but Mac probed. "What were they arguing about? Did they say where they were going?"

"Oh Sinclair was being pushing about Dr. Thomas going to meet some of his friends from the Internet. They had been planning to meet for months and months and now that Edward was in town at the same time the others were, Sinclair wanted to party." She shivered. "Hannah, dear. I don't know how well you know Edward, but it sounded awfully kinky to me." She dropped her voice. "They were going to meet in one of the old bunkers up at Eagle's nest and they were going to bring head."

"What?" Farber and Mac asked in confused unison.

She shrugged. "I don't know. That's what YOUR Dr. Thomas said anyway."

Shaking his head, Farber went back into the kitchen and Mac started to for the stairs but Lucretia put a hand on her shoulder. "Hannah," she hissed, "he said something else too."

Mac sighed, "Yessss?"

Lucretia practically danced in her excitement. "He said that he was feeling very guilty for ignoring you." Looking around she whispered. "Do you think he swings both ways, Hannah, because I think, he likes you more than a friend!"

Oh god. This must be what sixteen would have been like if I would had been sober.

Putting her foot on the tread she gently pulled away from romantically inclined Italian. "We are very old friends, Lucretia. Friends who don't get to see each other nearly as often as they would like. We had planned on getting together this weekend and I am sure we will."

She was halfway up the steps before Lucretia's reply floated up to her. "Well I still think it is awfully sweet. Sort of like having your own eunuch to protect you from the unwanted advances¼."

The rest of her explanation was lost on Mac who quickly scurried down the hall remembering his response to her on the hotel bed earlier in the week and the feel of his lips on hers last night. He's no eunuch, dear Lucretia. And by God, he isn't homosexual either.

As she brushed her teeth she pondered the questions most bothering her, a) what the hell the two of them were up to; b) how to get to him to back him up if he needed her to; c) what he would do if she did show up? And, if by showing up, she ruined this super secret mission of MI-6. She wished she knew the reason why he didn't just tell Sinclair he was CIA. That fact alone was worrying her to death. And what the hell was going on with the DAMN Breastplate. He hadn't come right out and told her to drop it. Well then I won't.

Returning downstairs, she found Gustav – or was it Fritz. "Excuse me, ah...I'm sorry what is your name?"

"Fritz, Fraulien. Guten tag," the man answered shyly. "How may I serve?"

"Ah¼may I have a¼oh darn, I don't know the word, a phone book?"

Fritz looked at her with some amusement and went to a small cabinet in the wall. Handing her the item she requested he soberly intoned, "Telefonbuch, Fraulien."

"Danke." She took the book and went to a table by the window and began thumbing through the pages. There were no Belks listed there. Terrific. But, turning to the business directory she almost gasped out loud when she found the small ad, `Horst Belk – Antiken' What the hell? If he's an Antique dealer why did he give the piece to his sister? She found a piece of paper and wrote down the address listed.

"Excuse me, Fraulien?"

Mac looked up. "Yes, Fritz?"

"The French lady?"

"Frau Bouchard?" Mac supplied.

"Ja, danke. Frau Bouchard is going into town and I see you are dressed to go out, but did not leave to go skiing?" He left the invitation hanging.

Mac jumped up. "Yes, thank you. I would like to go into town very much." Grabbing her purse and ski jacket she followed him outside.

The air was very cold. Much colder than it had been in Munich it seemed. The sun was just kissing the top of the mountain sending a blaze of fire down into the valley below. She reached into her purse and found the pair of Raybans that Harm had given her on her last birthday. Fritz held the door open for her and she slid in back next to Bouchard. Ever since their little altercation at dinner the night of the invitation they had been coolly civil to each other. This morning Lealia nodded politely and Mac muttered a brief good morning but then looked out her window. They had just backed up when something hit the car. The driver cursed and stopped. Mac and Lealia turned to look behind them, only to find Vasilii Gubin standing off to the side, a large walking stick in his hand.

The driver lowered the front passenger window and the Russian stuck head in. "You were going to leave without me." He whined. The driver swore under his breath in German, but leaned over to open the front passenger door for Gubin.

The driver slowly wound his way down the slippery drive, carefully avoiding the steep inclines on either side of the narrow track and pointedly ignoring Gubin's increasingly strident warnings about rocks and trees close to the road.

Seeing the driver's neck muscles cord in anger Mac gently asked, "Professor Gubin, tell me of the treasures of Armoury Chamber in the Kremlin.

Lealia groaned, but Gubin turned away from pointing at a tree at least 10 feet from the road and excitedly began to wax poetic on the Museum and how it housed one the great collections of Faberge Eggs in the world. He made only one disparaging comment for the rest of the trip down the mountain, "That capitalist thief, Armand Hammer, stole many of the most beautiful, but...." Mac sat back and managed to tune out most of the rhetoric, nodding occasionally when his voice would raise slightly but mostly she was able to watch the picturesque town take on more and more detail as they got closer. Traffic was non-existent until they joined the main thoroughfare through town and then it bogged down just like back at home. Finally the driver pulled up in front of a large colorful inn. Looking in the rearview mirror he told Mac, "I will return here promptly at 5 o'clock. But, if you wish to return earlier, then see Frau Hauptmann at the counter. She will call the house for you and someone will come and get you right away."

::  ::  ::

Berchtesgaden
1000 Hours

The three climbed out of the Land Rover and looked around at the crowded street. People speaking several different languages jostled about them.

Gubin took both women by their arms. "Come inside, we will decide what we want to do."

Bouchard snatched her arm back and shook her head. "Sorry, I've got plans." Before he could protest, she disappeared into the mass of people.

Mac tried to walk away from him too, but he held her more firmly. "You aren't going to desert me too?" His whine was pitiful and Mac gritted her teeth.

Thinking perhaps it couldn't hurt to have some company, at least until she spotted where she needed to go, she sighed, "Come on then. But, I warn you in advance, I want to see everything." That ought to tire him out by the time I have to get away.

He started to argue, "But we should organize and see only those¼." Her glare shut him up and she led the way into the first store.

Two hours and every shop later, they exited from the last store on the main street and Gubin snapped irritably, "How many more stores that sell lederhosen must we see, you haven't even bought anything. I am hungry and I wish to eat now."

Mac was hungry too; she only had coffee this morning. However, she had finally spotted the street where Belk's shop was and she suddenly had to find the shop and actually DO something on this aggravating mission. "Tell you what. I'll meet you back at that little coffee house in about an hour, you can relax and eat." Gubin sniffed and turned on his heel.

Making her way back to the small side street was difficult. It was 1208 hours and most people were trying to find places to eat. Hell, he probably won't even get a table by the time I get back. Nah, he'll figure a way to whine a seat from some old lady.

She carefully checked each sign on either side of the very narrow street. Finally with only two more storefronts to go, she spotted her goal. It looked very old and shabby, the windows were very dark from dust and only vague outlines of merchandise could be made out. She was surprised to even find the shop open; half expecting to discover the door was locked. An ancient brass bell announced her but she was alone in the cluttered mess. Carefully, she made her way down a narrow aisle. She tried to take in everything around her, on the off chance that Webb would give a damn and she spotted¼absolute junk. She had caught several episodes of `The Antique Roadshow' on PBS but she would give up her Lt. Colonel clusters if any of this stuff were worth more than $10.00. Of course that hideous painting of the Eiffel Tower might hide a Monet, but¼Nah.

"Guter Nachmittag, junge Frau." The deep guttural voice was so gentle that she automatically smiled as she looked away from the plaster pig in a bikini, resting next to a broken transistor radio. She hoped that the smile didn't turn in a parody. The man was horribly disfigured. Burn scars kriss-crossed his face, one eye drooping shut.

"Good afternoon. Herr Belk?"

"Ja. You are American?"

"Yes, yes I am. You can tell from one sentence?"

"Oh it is easy. The Englanders sound nothing like the Americans and the French?" He made a noise that sounded remarkably like a raspberry, "The French seldom speak anything but French. So tell me pretty lady. What brings you to my out of the way shop?"

"I was just exploring. The main street is so crowded and all the shops sell the same tired things that you can buy in Munich or Berlin."

The old man smiled at her, a least a half smile. "Ja, but as you can see," he waved his hand around his small shop, "I have little to offer the tourist. Mostly old things that I have picked up when I wanted something else." He eyed her carefully, stepping forward into the shop to get a better look out of his one good eye. She stood her ground and hoped that by waiting patiently she would find an opening. "Tell me Fraulien, what is your name?"

Mac cocked an eyebrow but answered. "Hannah Jacobs." She stepped forward and held out her hand to him. "I'm a Professor at Georgetown University. I'm staying with Herr Farber at his house up the hill."

He took her hand. "And tell me Professor Hannah Jacobs of Georgetown University, what are you a professor of?"

There was an intensity to the question that left her hesitant but she told him Dr. Jacob's field of expertise. He seemed to analyze each word, looking for some clue to her real identity. "It is strange that one of your field would take interest in my shop, Fraulien Doktor."

She took a deep breath, looked around the shop once more before solemnly regarding Belk. "Well, I do have a question?"

"Ja?"

"Why did you give the reliquary to your sister? Couldn't you have found a better way of selling it¼and the other items¼." She was talking to herself. One minute he was there, holding her hand, the next he had dropped it, turned and stalked into the back room." Good job, Marine.

She knew she should just leave, but something made her follow the old man to the back of the shop. She pushed past the curtain and found herself in a cluttered hallway. A wide draped doorway at the end. "Herr Belk?" She heard tapping coming from the back of the shop so she continued until she entered a large workroom. He wore an eyepiece over his good eye and was working on a small piece of filigree. Stepping forward she saw how intricate the work was, obviously it was an original piece. "It's quite beautiful, Herr Belk." He ignored her and continued tapping away for awhile before picking up a small blow torch and gently waving it over a portion of the piece before continuing his tapping. She shrugged and started to turn around. Webb, you should have been here.

"What is that you really want, Fraulien Doktor Jacobs?" He asked softly. When she turned around she found that he had taken off the eyepiece, extinguished the blowtorch and was heading deeper into the back of the shop. She felt compelled to follow him and when she came to yet another draped opening she stepped through into a small apartment. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall and a comfortable chair in front of a small television set against the other. In the corner was a kitchenette and ancient dining table with two chairs. He was filling a teakettle as she entered and he commanded. "Take off your coat. Sit down."

She watched as he prepared the tea. While the water heated, he rummaged through a cupboard and brought out a foil-wrapped plate and set it on the table. "Frau Schulman next door continuously bakes, not just during the holidays either. I hate sweets, but I cannot tell her `No.' So now, at least, I have treats for my pretty American guest."

Wanting to steer away from the pressing issue for a moment she asked another question that had struck her as strange. "Herr Belk, may I compliment you on your English. It makes me quite embarrassed that I know so little of your language."

He shrugged his shoulders. "At one time it was important to me that I learn English." The teakettle whistled and he set out cups and saucers. Pouring the water into a teapot he brought it to the table and sat across from her. "We will let it steep awhile and you will tell me why you are interested in my sister and a reliquary not in your field of interest."

"A friend of mine has interest in one of the pieces that supposedly went missing with the reliquary in 1945." He poured the tea and took the foil off of the plate to reveal delicate lacy cookies.

As he poured the tea into the fine porcelain cups she admired the delicate pattern of the teapot. Glancing around the small space, she noticed other inconsistencies with the rest of the shop. Across the room, where someone sitting in the chair only had to slightly turn away from the television to see it, hung an incredible painting, small but beautifully rendered in pale blues and pinks Monet? No. It couldn't be. Whether or not the painting was real, beautiful trinkets sat on most of the flat surfaces around the small room. Movement in front of her face brought her attention back to the table where Belk was holding the plate of cookies in front of her.

She let the buttery confection melt in her mouth and felt the sugar spike through her system almost immediately. Without shame she took another one, but managed a mumbled, "Oh goodness. Please tell Frau Schulman how good these are."

He seemed content to sip his tea and watch her, with an almost dreamy expression in his one good eye. After she devoured yet a third cookie, Mac guiltily pushed the plate away and sipped her tea; it's bitterness a perfect contrast to the almost too sweet treats.

She knew he was lost in memories older than any of the junk in the front of the shop. So, she waited and watched as the disfigured face spasmed with each change of emotion. Melancholy replaced longing and was itself consumed by a rage so apparent she was surprised when he didn't cry out. When the shudder finally died away, she tried again. "Where did you get the reliquary?"

He waved a hand to silence her, though not in anger. "I stole it, of course." His fingers clenched around the cup and Mac suddenly reached out and touched the still strong rough fingers. He looked into her eyes for just a second before returning to stare at the cup in his hands. He nodded once, as if he had come to an important decision. "Ja. It is right that a person's evil be known before he dies and it is fitting that a Jew be mien confessor." He sat back, breaking contact with her. I am 83 years old, Fraulien. I was born upstairs in this very building. My papa was a gold smith and he taught me his trade. Of course times were very bad and there was little gold to be had and fewer people who had money to buy it. Hans, my best friend and I were able to make some money as guides to the few rich tourists who wanted to climb the mountain. But we were restless and we convinced our parents to let us go to Munich to find work.

I was 15, Hans was 18 and found a job at a newspaper in the pressroom. He was deceptively strong for his size. I found a job washing dishes at a club on Lindenstrausse. Very gay, very frantic. It is where I first heard your American Jazz. He swayed slightly and Mac could almost hear what he was hearing. "How wonderfully decadent it was. Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong. All I wanted to do was listen to music and speak English. I practiced with anyone who would take the time and they all took the time. I had crazy dreams back then." He shook his head trying to drive out the memories, it seemed. "Hans und I shared a room. A very small room but it worked out well since I worked nights and he worked very early in the morning." His expression darkened. "We grew apart, very different we became. There were other boys at the paper that started taking him to meetings. Even though we were both older, Hans joined the HitlerJugend - the Hitler Youth. You've heard of this, ja?"

Mac nodded. She looked into the bottom of her cup; the tea leaves swirled in the tension radiating from her hands. She whispered. "And you?"

A bitter smile kissed his burned lips. "Nie. I had found a good life, or so I thought. I worked hard and the manager liked me. Plus, I had an eye for details and a head for numbers. In less than a year Franz had me helping in the office, making sure deliveries were right." Proudly, as if the 17 year-old had come out of hiding for moment he touched his chest. "I made sure that WE weren't being cheated. But the best thing was, working in the office I had to dress better than a dishwasher did. When my work was done, I stayed and watched the dancers. One of the waitresses taught me to do all the dances and I was quite good. It was a happy time for me, but not so happy for many. Hans kept taking me to youth outings - picnics really - and all I had to do was listen to the speakers. You know I heard Hitler twice that summer. Hans wanted me to join the HJ but all I wanted to do was dance, practice my English, listen to the music and date my Helga." He grew silent as the memories and the shadows in the small apartment darkened. For a moment it looked like he couldn't breath and Mac started to stand up but he waved her back down. "That was the summer the brown shirts began beating up on the Jews in public. Nobody said anything. I didn't say anything. I didn't even think of my Jewish friends at the club. I didn't think of Helga."

Mac stared at him in sympathy. "Helga was Jewish?"

He growled angrily. "Helga was my love! What did I care of such political ideas? But she cared. She and others were trying to change things. She died in 1938. November. Kristallnacht. She tried to stop the bullies and they beat her to death. Hans found her and told me. I wanted to kill them all, but little Hans threw me up against a wall and put a gun to my head and cursed at me. He told me that if I wanted to die then to let him kill me right then, `better that' he said `than crying over a filthy Jewess.' He dragged me back home and let me drink myself into a stupor. He talked all night trying to convince me that it was all Helga and the Jews' fault. Two days later I stumbled out into the streets and saw that stores once owned by Jews suddenly had Aryan names. No one seemed to care, they ignored the people with the stars on their coats, people who two days ago had been their friends, but then the stars disappeared, the Jews disappeared. Hans made me join the SS with him. At the time I didn't know what a special honor it was. The SS was very important."

Mac whispered accusingly, "They ran the death camps."

Tiredly he stood and took the teapot to the stove and poured more hot water into it. "Ja, ja. I know. I never went near one. Never saw one. Hans took good care of me. He was very important you understand. He was a captain at 24, very angry at the world and able to put fear into the hearts of much older men. Me? I never made it past corporal. I drove for Hans and then for others. I drove for Hitler once. Finally, in 1942 Hans got me transferred to Himmler's special squad." He jabbed his chest again. "I who had never been further away than Stuttgart was suddenly riding in Himmler's private train all over Europe. Once again, my eye for detail paid off. I kept detailed records of the stolen art. Whole train cars of paintings, truckloads of gold and jewelry; I remember it all you know, every picture, every watch, every candlestick. Just like at the club, I could sit and listen to everyone talking and they all forgot I was there. I heard more than state secrets while I wrote the ciphers in the ledger. But I cared nothing for any of it. I was dead. My Helga was dead and I had become just like the monsters who had killed her.

He looked at Mac, defying her to argue and when she coolly met his stern gaze he nodded in approval.

"I heard about the search for the artifacts. I knew that Himmler and Goering were both very interested in the occult and talisman and relics. Every time a reliquary or chalice was found, they wanted the history of the piece. One time Hans became so angry at one of the guards who had found a cache of very old religious items that he put a bullet in the man's head while all the other guards stood at attention."

"Why?" Mac's voice came out raspy and hoarse and Belk pour her more tea.

"What crime? The guard was executed because he had killed the priest before the old man could tell who's bone fragment rested in the stem of a chalice." Belk stood and began to turn on lights around the room. It was 1612 hours and Mac idly wondered just how fretful Gubin had become. She looked at the empty plate and wondered when she had finished the rest of the cookies.

When he sat back down, she could tell how tired he was but she didn't dare suggest they finish later. He closed his eyes for a moment before beginning again. "It was all so insane you know. Here were men of such evil and godless cruelty and yet they could quote the bible." He shrugged. "At least the parts that interested them."

"Exodus 28?" She wasn't even sure she had said it out loud until he nodded sadly. "Does it really exist?" She held her breath because suddenly she cared very much that it did.

"Oh, ja, Fraulien Hannah Jacobs. Come. I will show you." They stood and he led the way to the back door. Take your coat, Fraulien."

He flicked a switch by the door and a stark, bright floodlight suddenly illuminated the back yard. They trudged through snow that had drifted until it nearly barred them from opening the shed door. Mac looked around but Belk found the shovel resting against the side of the decrepit looking structure. She knew he was tired when he didn't even put up a token resistance when she insisted upon doing the shoveling herself.

The snow was cleared quickly and Belk took a key ring from his pocket, the lock was old and rusty looking but it opened easily. The door was heavier than it looked and when they stepped inside she was surprised to see how clean and neat it was. A perfect workshop; hanging against one wall was a rake and scythe and some other implement she couldn't put a name to. A workbench was mounted to the opposite wall and hanging above it was various tools, a hammer, saw and a row of chisels.

She was surprised at how small the room was. Much smaller than it appeared from outside. Belk reached up and pulled on a peg set into the wall and the back panel dropped neatly to the floor, revealing an ancient safe door. He moved the panel aside and quickly worked the combination. Pulling open the safe door he looked at her. "This was the last thing I did in 1945, Fraulien. Himmler entrusted Hans to take this to Brazil so that the Reich could start again. You see they had not found it until late in the war when it was too late. They thought with such a powerful symbol to guide them they could once again take control. I could not let that happen. In the entire war, I never killed anyone. But that night I set a bomb under our car. I was driving you see. Hans was sitting in back and the treasures were in the truck. Something happened. I really thought we would both die and the awful thing would be destroyed but the bomb blew downward and caused the car to plunge into a ravine where it caught on fire. That is when I was burned so badly. But I was thrown free and so was the breastplate. It protected me, but Hans died."

He flipped on a switch and she stood in reverent awe at the fiery brilliance before her.

"Excellent, Hannah dear. I knew you could talk the old fool into leading us to his hiding place."

Mac spun around and found Lucretia Pedrotti pointing a very deadly looking P226 right at her.

::  Chapter 8  ::

16 December, Saturday
Belk's Antiques – Berchtesgaden
1800 Hours

Mac was concentrating on the gun so it took a moment for it to register that Armin Dettwiler was standing just behind the Italian, a look of terror etched on his gray face.

Mac tore her gaze away from Pedrotti to check Belk's reaction. "Herr Belk, I didn't know they followed me."

Lucretia snorted. "Followed you? I've known about Herr Belk's shop for days, just not where the safe was." Turning her gaze but the not the gun to Belk she sneered. "Your very greedy sister told us everything." She paused and the grin that lit her face froze Mac's heart. "They will find her body eventually – when the smell gets too bad."

"Oh god. Why did you kill her?" Mac whispered. Belk stood rigid. Mac realized that there was no way Pedrotti was going to let them live so she quickly scanned the room for weapons to use, judging her distances to the scythe on the wall and the hammer on the bench behind her. The Italian's next words shook her resolve.

"I didn't kill her – Bauer did."

Mac gasped but Belk hissed. "Bauer? Hans Bauer? Bah! Hans Bauer is dead over 50 years!"

Mac reached out. "It can't be your friend, Herr Belk. I've seen him¼"

"Kein, Fraulien Dokter Jacobs. I am not his old dear friend. His dear friend who watched out for him. Who fixed it so that he didn't get sent to be a guard at Dachau or Auschwitz. Which was all you were good for, you dirty Jew-lover." Mac wondered idly how she could ever have thought the furious little man, holding the deadly little pistol, had ever reminded her of Santa Claus.

Belk took a shuddering breath and Mac thought he was going to topple forward. She moved back until her hips rested against the workbench. Bracing her hand behind her she prepared for whatever opening she would be given. When Belk spoke finally it quavered with age and emotion. "You are Elise's son?"

Bauer snapped out. "Enough. You will not speak of my mother. It is enough for you to know that she and I found his body. You didn't know we were behind you, did you? You didn't know that she suspected you of treachery. You didn't know that his six-year-old son found him broken in that ravine, his trusted friend gone, the precious icon stolen." Rage blackened the bearded face. Mac judged her chances, as everyone focused on the two old men. She knew that any movement would be noted immediately and she wouldn't have time to reach back for the hammer and do anything with it. Her only hope was to lunge at Lucretia and pray.

Bauer turned his gun on Mac. "Don't think of it, Doktor. I don't want to shoot you, but I will. I have other plans for you." Mac shrugged but didn't really relax her stance. She didn't like the tone of his `other plans' and knew that whatever they were she wouldn't live long. Still holding the gun on her, he growled at Pedrotti, "Go in and get it."

Dettwiler left the shed and Lucretia walked into the safe proper. Mac could no longer see the case where the heavy garment hung. From her one glance at it she found it incredible to believe that it was as old as it was supposed to be. The gold threads had blackened with age, but the fabric and all the jewels appeared to be intact.

Mac strained to hear and in the confined space, the scrape of metal against metal sounded shrill as Pedrotti found the latch and lifted it. Her `oh' of surprise barely had a chance to reach the antechamber before they heard the thud. Mac moved forward, but made no move on Bauer who had a knowing smirk on his face. "Go check on her, dear Hannah. See what Herr Belk had planned for you." Mac stepped over the threshold of the vault and knelt next to Pedrotti, the once beautiful face contorted in a look of anger and surprise.

Mac checked the pulse to be sure before glaring up into Belk's face. "You booby-trapped the latch didn't you?" Belk nodded but said nothing. "You would have let me open it too, wouldn't you?" Mac rose slowly to come face to face with the former SS Corporal.

He shook his head. "Kein, Fraulien. You would have never have touched it."

"Bullshit." She pushed past him only to find Dettwiler standing there, a large metal suitcase in his hand, staring in at Lucretia's body.

"You bastard." He cried and suddenly swung the suitcase. Not at Belk as Mac would have expected but at Bauer. As the heavy metal made contact with Bauer's arm, Dettwiler cried, "You knew that he would have protected it." The gun went off as Bauer fell and Mac lunged at Dettwiler, knocking him back outside the shed. She raised up and brought her fist down on the banker's windpipe. She whirled and kicked out at Bauer but the man was able to step aside and his backhand caught her in the jaw, sending her backward across the yard. She stopped hard, knocking her head hard against a brick flower box, hidden by the snow. As she struggled to regain control, she saw Bauer find his gun and bring it around. She tried to move out of the way but she knew it was too late.

A large shadow fell across the brightly-lit back yard and both of them turned to see Clyde Marshall standing there, a silenced revolver pointed at Bauer.

"Drop it, Professor." The Texas drawl had never sounded so thick or welcome. Bauer lowered his gun to the ground. "Now, go and get it. "No, Hannah, don't move, darlin'. Just stay where you are."

"Clyde?"

"Now, Hannah. You know how much this means to me. Get it, you little Nazi." He waved Bauer into the shed, but didn't follow.

Mac finally spared a thought to Belk and looking into the shed again, moaned. "Oh, no. Clyde, please, let me go to him." Marshall never took his eyes off Bauer. "In a minute, sweetheart. Just stay right there." Bauer reached into the glass case and pulled out the ancient relic. He turned around and reached out but Marshall barked, "Hold it right there. Lay it on the floor, gently. As Bauer began to stoop down he must have seen something in Marshall's stance because suddenly he roared, lowered his head into a ramming position and started forward. The bullet caught him in the head and propelled him back. His knees buckled and he fell into the safe, the garment crumpled on the floor next to the wounded Belk. Before Mac had a chance to react, the gun was already trained on her. "Don't do it Hannah."

"What are you going to do, Marshall?" Mac asked harshly. She kept glancing down at the injured Belk, the blood soaking the whole side of his shirt now. "You gonna shoot me too?"

"Only if I have to, sweetheart. Now, let's clean up the rest of the mess. Drag Dettwiler's body over to the safe." The look in his eyes left no room for argument. It took her a while and the aftereffects of the adrenaline and sugar highs combined with hitting her head on the brick wall, were rapidly leaving her weak and dizzy. She stumbled over the threshold of the safe but Marshall backed away from her and growled. "Don't try it, Hannah or I'll put a bullet in Belk's head for him. Now pull him into the safe."

"Screw you, Clyde. I can't and I won't. You want to kill me, do it." She leaned against the workbench and bent over until her hands rested on her knees trying to catch her breath. It was then that she noticed the shelf below the workbench top. Keeping her head down, she started to sink to the floor and she saw her chance. A set of mountain climbing spikes, so old, a vision of a young Horst Belk scaling the mountain above them flashed through her mind.

Marshall walked up to her and fisted her hair. "I will kill you Hannah, but I want someone to share my¼.aihheeeee!" The scream of pain rent the air as the spike bit into his calf. She pushed him away and started to grab for the gun but he held on and brought it up. She dove for the shed opening as the bullet ripped through the wood just above her head. Rolling away to the side, she regained her footing and ran for the door to the shop. Another bullet pinged off an old metal plow blade leaning against the wall as she yanked open the door and stumbled inside. It was dark. She couldn't remember if Belk had ever turned on the lights here or not, and she kept hitting her shins and other soft parts of her body, but she ignored the pain. The backdoor slammed open and then shut. "Hannah!" The roar was one of rage more than anything else and Mac was afraid that she hadn't hurt him much at all. She ducked down and felt her way to where she thought the front of the shop was. Her breathing was becoming ragged and her light-headedness was causing her to make more noise that she should. Come on Marine, get a damn grip here. She found the large table where Belk had been working on the gold piece, scrambled under it and waited.

She could hear his labored breath mingled with the occasional curse as he came closer. Her ears were roaring and she was trying very hard to control her breathing so he couldn't hear her. Just as she thought he was close enough for her to touch, she heard the tinkling of a small brass bell over the front door of the shop. "Ahhh¼Excuse me! Herr Belk? Hannah? Hannah Jacobs are you here?" Webb's voice floated back through the layers of old junk, two sets of heavy drapes and her fear. Oh God, Webb. You showed up after all, partner.

Sinclair's voice was snide and cold, "Damn it, Thomas, she's not here. Why would she be? That old fool Gubin is an idiot. She's probably tucked into a hot tub with Dettwiler, Marshall and that slut Pedrotti."

"Shut up, Sinclair. She's here. Hannah."

Webb was getting closer but so was Marshall. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the near pitch-black and she saw the dark shadow of Marshall's leg next to her hiding place. Just as the curtain between the hallway and the workroom was pulled back, Mac yelled "Gun!" and lunged for Marshall's legs. The silencer coughed once again and she heard a grunt of pain as she made contact, toppling Marshall into the wall across from the table.

She was vaguely aware that a light skittered across her face several times before she heard a muted crack and a loud, "Shit, I broke the bloody thing" just as the light extinguished again.

She came shakily to her feet. "Sinclair?"

"Yeah? What?" The MI-6 agent snarled.

"Nothing, where's¼where's Ed?" She asked softly

"I'm over here, damn it. Will somebody turn on a light?" He sounded petulant and cross and Mac's relief at being ‘rescued’ was squelched and the anger at them both was returning. She was of half a mind to blow his damn cover but made her way to the back of the shop and felt along the wall where she remembered there was a light switch. Several lights around the large room flickered on and she turned to survey the damage. Marshall was sprawled across the floor, blood oozing from his temple, Sinclair kneeling over him, checking his pulse. Webb was leaning against the wall holding his arm, and all the anger ebbed from her.

She stalked past Sinclair, her glare daring him to say or do anything. "Let me see." Webb pulled away, but she slapped his hand. "Damn you!" Suddenly she stopped. "Oh God!" She turned and ran past a now startled Sinclair and out the door. She slid along the trampled, snowy path, into the shed and knelt down next to Belk. "Oh, damn." She hung her and a tear dropped and mingled with the blood pooling on the floor. She reached up and closed his unseeing eyes.

"Jesus Bloody Christ! What the devil happened here?" Sinclair stood in the doorway. Mac looked around and then stood. Pushing past him again she ran out into the yard again.

"Damn it!" She cried, as a wail of a police siren sudden rent the air.

A rough hand grabbed her forearm. "Come on, we can't be found here."

Trying to jerk away she snarled, "Why the hell not? I know what happened. I need to stay. I'm a damn¼" She almost said she was an officer of the court but caught herself in time. Instead, she allowed him to pull her up the steps where Webb was tying a kitchen towel around his upper arm, not doing a very good job at it. Quickly she slapped his hand away and wrapped it, tucking the ends in.

Sinclair led the way to the front of the shop. Pausing before going out into the street he snarled, "See the Range Rover? That's ours. The doors are unlocked. Just go and get in."

She looked at Webb. "Can you make it?"

He nodded and went out into the street, Mac following close behind him. He opened the back door and when he went to close it after her she pushed back against it and ordered. "Get in. I want to check the towel."

"I'm fine," he retorted.

"Oh bloody hell, just get in and keep her the fuck quiet." Sinclair pushed against him and Webb collapsed next to her.

Sinclair climbed in behind the wheel and was just pulling away from the curb when a police car pulled up in front of the building next door to the shop. Mac noticed the lights above that storefront were turned on and she spared a moment for poor Mrs. Schulman.

After they had left the town limits and began their assent up the steep hill, Mac sat back and studied Webb. She had double-checked the wound and declared, "It's a scratch, I'll look at it when we get back." Webb returned her gaze and nodded.

They rode in silence for a while and finally Mac gently told him what had happened. Sinclair studiously ignored them both until she got to the part about running out of the shed, Marshall following her. "Bloody greedy amateurs. That's what you get for playing at games you aren't meant to play at. So, where the hell is this precious Breastplate of Aaron?"

Mac never took her eyes off of Clay. "I don't know. It was lying in the shed next to Belk when I ran out. Marshall didn't have time to do anything with it. The only thing I can think of is that someone else was waiting and while Marshall and I were in the shop, they snuck in and took it. We didn't have time to check the other stuff in the safe so I don't know if it was the only thing taken or not." Still watching Webb who at least had the courage to return her gaze, she whispered sorrowfully, "We should have gone back for it. I thought that's why we came." She watched as he closed his eyes in a pain that had nothing to do with his wounded arm.

"Oh! And a fat lot of good that would have done. The police would have come and questioned us for hours and that would have put a real crimp in my plans." Sinclair slowly made the turn that would eventually bring them back to the chalet.

She touched Webb gently on the cheek, drawing his eyes back to hers, "Tell me Mr. Sinclair, what is more important than finding a relic that right wing fanatics hope to use to rally all their forces around. A catalyst for more violence."

As if explaining a foreign concept, Sinclair spoke slowly. "The right wing fanatics have been searching for catalysts since 1945. Whoever has the damn thing probably will rip out the damn jewels and toss the rest. Trust me children, what I am working on is more important."

Mac sighed and demanded. "Then tell me, you supercilious son-of-bitch. What is so damn important and why is Edward," she gritted out the name, "so important to your so-called cause?"

Sinclair laughed bitterly. "You really don't know much about your ‘dear' friend do you, sweet innocent Hannah? Oh you know he's a faggot and you rather like that don't you - the whole ‘queer friend' syndrome. Well sweetie, your friend back there likes to make lots of friends, particularly on the Internet. Some of those friends happen to be very dangerous and Eddie has been helping me identify some of them before they blow up all of bloody NATO in Brussels Monday night."

"What?" She finally tore her gaze from Webb and spun around to look at their driver. "What about Brussels? Tell me and tell me now, or so help me God I'll have every cop in Germany breathing down your neck and ‘Eddie' be damned!"

They had just reached the chalet and Sinclair parked at the end of a large car park and turned around and grabbed her by the neck. "You listen to me, Miss Jacobs. I'll take care of your friend's friends, but don't you threaten me. You have no idea of the hurt I can bring down on you and Professor Thomas. You want your careers ruined? How about I just arrange for a little accident. I have no time for¼" He stopped suddenly as Webb leaned forward and put a small gun to Sinclair's forehead.

"Let her go. Now." There was steel in his voice that Mac hadn't heard since that first night in the elevator. A determination that even Sinclair heard and he let go of her.

Opening the door he got out from behind the wheel but leaned back in. "You did just fine today, Eddie. Stay away from your friends and it will go down and we'll get the bastards." He slammed the door and walked across the lot and climbed the stairs into the chalet.

Mac sat back and rubbed her throat. When Webb reached out to see if Sinclair had bruised her neck, she viciously slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me. Do you have your cell phone on you? Mine is in my purse, back at the shop."

Webb wearily reached into his pocket and handed it to her. "Who are you calling?"

"The Admiral. To warn him."

Webb tried to snatch it back. "Mac you can't. He could screw this up."

Mac hissed back at him. "He could die, Webb." At his startled disbelieving look, she continued. "He's in Brussels now, with Francesca. He's going to the NATO ball tomorrow night."

"Shit!" Webb relinquished the phone but she had no luck.

"Come on, I'll try in my room. Some special CIA cell phone you've got here, Webb."

He followed her up the stairs, but before entering, he gingerly pulled off his coat and draped it over his bloody shoulder. When they walked in, several people were just coming out of the dining room. Lealia came up and glared at her. "Where the hell did you get off to? Gubin found me around 4:00 o'clock all worried about you. I had to listen to him for two hours before he finally reached someone here. Thank God, Sinclair and Thomas were just coming in. I see they found you, now what have you done with Gubin?"

Mac shook her head and nearly winced from the pain. "I'm sorry. I got involved with someone interesting and the time just flew by. I haven't seen Gubin since we parted ways in front of the hotel in town. I'm awfully tired, excuse me please." She followed Webb upstairs and when he went toward his room She tugged on his arm. "Come down to my room. I want to look at that arm and we are going to talk."

"You go on down. Order up some soup or something, maybe a sandwich for me. I need to check on something." At her determined look, he glanced around quickly and then stepped closer, his lips a scant inch from hers. "Mac, I swear, I'm through keeping you in the dark. I'll be there in ten minutes."

She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back slightly. "Ten minutes, or the whole house knows who we are and what we're doing here." Anger flashed behind his eyes but she knew hers were just as heated. As she turned away and walked toward her room, she watched their twin reflections bounce between the two mirrors at either end of the hallways.

Out of habit, she had put the room key in her pocket instead of her purse so at least she didn't have to hunt anyone down to let her into her room. As she opened the door she noticed that the bed had been turned down and a huge arrangement of flowers rested on the dresser. Even from across the room she could see the card and knew they were from Farber.

She went to the phone and dialed the kitchen's extension. When the cook answered, she meekly asked if a tray could be sent up to her room. "Oh ja, Fraulien. Herr Farber left word to bring you dinner whenever you wanted. He said to tell you that he is sorry he cannot be here to dine with you, but he had to see important friends tonight. He will return around 9:00 o'clock and would like to see you then."

She sighed to herself, It's 1936 hours, I'm so tired and I want to know what the hell is going on. I don't have the time or the energy to deal with Herr Farber. "That will be fine. I'm going to shower so just leave the tray on the table."

"Of course, Fraulien."

Mac stripped out of her soiled clothes and tossed them in a pile by the dresser. Now all she wanted to do was wash the dirt and the memories of the afternoon down the drain.

Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the showerheads to let the shower warm up and then went to brush her teeth. She stepped into the steamy torrent of water and closed her eyes. The pounding worked the kinks out of her muscles and she began to unwind. But with relaxation came the playback of the day's events and as the vision of Horst Belk's dead staring eyes came back to her, she slowly collapsed to the floor. Racking sobs shook her and she hugged her knees to her chest and began to rock back and forth.

The water trickled off and she looked up to see Clayton Webb standing there, a thick huge towel clutched in his hands. "Get out," she hissed but he stepped into the shower and she noticed one whole side of his clothes was wet where he had reached in and shut off the water. He squatted down before her and, wrapping the towel around her shoulders lifted her up. The tears stopped and fury seized her. She pushed him away and the towel fell to the floor as she advanced on him and suddenly she began to pummel his chest. "Get out, get out, get out!" He stood there and took every hit and she finally realized that blood was dripping down his hand onto the tile floor to join the last of the water down the drain. "Damn you, Cla¼"

He grabbed her then and kissed her hard. He was holding her firmly but she could have easily gotten away from; kneed him like she had Farber. But his lips brought her warmth where the water had not and it took her a minute of rigid shock but she began to respond. She leaned into him, crushing her breasts against his sodden shirt. He groaned as she ground her pelvis into his hardening groin and it was he that finally broke the kiss. He looked into her eyes and shuddered. Bringing his face to her neck he buried his lips there for a minute but she could sense the change in him and she started to stiffen. "Please, Mac," he whispered into her ear, "I kissed you for a whole lot of reasons but the main one was to shut you up." She froze and something snapped, but he continued. "No don't, please. The whole damn bedroom is bugged; there's even a camera in the corner. I don't know what's in here. Okay?"

She rested her head against his chest and muttered bitterly, "Fine." Turning from him, she stooped down and picked up the damp towel and wrapped it around her. She went into the bedroom and she recognized a listening device detector sitting on the nightstand, a bright red light blinking on its screen. She looked at each corner of the room and saw a bushy fern hanging in one. She didn't study it too closely but even so she spotted the man-made cylinder shadowed in the fronds. Like an automaton she dropped the towel and walked to the dresser and pulled out clothes and put them on, not caring what she wore or if it matched.

She felt him behind her and watched listlessly as he reached down and grabbed his backpack. "I took the tray from the maid. Eat something." He returned to the bathroom.

She stared at the tray for a moment but pulled the last reserve of strength from somewhere deep and called out. "Leave your shirt off, I still want to look at that ‘cut.'" She heard his muffled agreement and lifted the cover off one of the plates to find a bowl of thick stew. She ate two spoonfuls but the bile threatened to make her vomit it back up.

"You okay? Is the soup hot?" She turned her deadened eyes on him and only vaguely registered that he stood there with a hand-towel over his wound, his chest bare. She noted the fine detail of muscle and sprinkling of hair and idly thought it attractive. Some part of her Marine training told her she was going into shock but she couldn't seem to care. She pushed him to the lounge chair and went into the bathroom where she found antiseptic cream, gauze, and tape. She wet a washcloth and returned to the bedroom. Sitting next to him she carefully cleaned his wound, gently bandaged and taped it. As soon as she was done, with nothing left to do and nothing left safe to say, she dropped her hands to her lap and just sat there. He reached out and touched her cheek but she wouldn't - couldn't - move or even meet his gaze.

She wasn't even aware that he had stood up, let alone moved purposely around the room. The next thing she realized he was tugging on her arm. "Come on¼Han¼come on."

"It's 2046 hours. Kurt will be here in 13 minutes 30 seconds." She whispered. "Should we wait?"

"Fuck no." He voice was harsh and his movement abrupt. "Come on, damn it." He shook her. "Stay with me just a little longer. I know you're beyond furious. Just stay with me." He held out her wool coat and she could only stare at it. He sighed and got her arms in and turned her around and buttoned it up. "Christ, I'm sorry. Please just hang in there." He pulled her by the hand and out the door.

They were down the stairs and almost out the door when Lealia came up to her. "Hannah. Are you going out? The police just called and talked to one of the cooks. They found your purse and want to bring it out to you."

Mac looked from Webb to the Frenchwoman and managed a whispered, "We're going out for a walk. We'll be right back." She heard Webb say something but didn't pay any attention, the lights were so bright and Bouchard's face was so red, red like the blood that had flowed from Belk's side and Bauer's head.

She felt his hand clench her arm. "She's feeling a little nauseous. I wanted to take this to the trash anyway, so I figured we could uhm¼." It was the first she had noticed the large brown trash bag in his hand.

"Yes," she agreed, "we're going to go to the trash and we'll be right back." She let him lead her out the door and the cold struck her on the face and brought her back a little, woke her to her surroundings a bit. "What are we doing?" She was afraid to call him by Webb and she could no longer stand the sound of the deceit in his other name.

"Just stay with me. We have to get out of here before the cops show up." She could just make out the tension in his voice; it floated between them like the snow that was beginning to fall.

"I'll stay with you, that's what partners are supposed to do. Right?"

"Yeah, Mac that's what partners are supposed to do." She heard the regret and sorrow and anger in his voice but the overwhelming cold was beginning to return to her and she tried to huddle into the heavy wool for warmth but some part of her knew it would do no good. She could be in front a raging fire and she would still be cold. She felt like she was freezing from the inside.

She found herself being pushed into one of the white SUVs. His hands were gentle but insistent as he settled her into the passenger side and buckled her in. His cheek was close to her lips and she could see the fine lines of worry there. One part of her wanted to lean forward and kiss away the worry another part wanted to scratch his eyes out. So, doing neither, she sat rigid in the seat. He threw something in the back seat and then ran around to the driver's side. Vaguely, she wondered where he had gotten the keys that dangled from his fingers. She stared straight ahead as the headlights picked up the rutted snow of the track down the hill. He had to go slow and she heard as buzzing his litany but only made out the occasional word or phrase. "Farber knew¼. those three¼Sinclair's gone." It was all so much white noise in the center of her pain.

She registered the bump and turn as Webb finally reached the main road. Blinding lights and a blare of horn shook her out of her stupor as Webb cursed and twisted the wheel. "Son-of-a-bitch. Hold on." She looked behind them and saw the car behind them skid into the ditch. The Land Rover lurched back and forth, but Webb held it to the road and the belt kept her secure in her seat. "Damn, I wanted to get away before he got back. Oh shit." She saw he was looking in the rearview mirror and when she turned again she saw the red and blue flashing lights of a police car. "Here we go." He slowly accelerated and the snow tires bit into the snow and soon she could feel the speed as he slowly worked the car to a death defying 50-mph. "We have to get to the autobahn and it's a good hour away. I sure hope they go check to make sure that we aren't up at the lodge."

"Why can't we just explain what is going on. Oh wait, you don't ever explain when you can avoid or lie do you?" She said it without rancor or bitterness.

He never took his eyes off the road but he muttered. "Get mad at me would you. Shout if you want to. Don't hit the arm, but damn it, mean something."

"I'm too tired Webb. Do what you want, just please don't let the Admiral and his daughter get killed because you are too damn pigheaded to make a phone call."

She was looking ahead into the night so she was surprised when a weight landed in her lap. "There's my phone. Keep trying until you get through." He bit the words off, but when she looked over at him he was gripping the wheel, his eyes constantly shifting from the road ahead to the rearview mirror.

It took several tries, but finally she made a connection and she heard the burrs ring hollow in her ear. "Chegwidden, I'm unavailable, leave a message."

"Damn it." She slammed the phone shut. "I can't leave him a message. What the hell time is it in Brussels for Christ sake! What the hell am I supposed to say? `Don't go to the ball there's a bomb!' Where the hell are we heading, Webb?"

"That's my girl. Anger I can deal with."

"Screw you, you bastard!"

"To answer your question, we are heading to Brussels." The car slowed as a huge lorry passed them on the other side of the road.

"By car? Are you insane? What is it? 500 miles?" Her voice cracked.

"Mac, as soon as I can, I'm stealing another set of plates for this sucker. We can't go to Munich. We can't go to an airport. They are looking for both of us." His voice was tense and hoarse.

"Why?"

"For questioning in the murder of four people at the shop of one Horst Belk, antique dealer."

"How do you know that? It's too soon. That's ridiculous. Why? Because they found my purse? Why you?"

"I'd let you listen to the tape recording, but it's in German. Sinclair turned us in. I placed a small bug in his room. That's what I was checking on while you were having your break¼were in the shower."

"Go to hell." She said it with little conviction because she could feel the ennui steeling over her again. It was just overwhelming. Every hideous thing that had ever happened in her military career came crowding in on her and she began to shake. "Can we turn up the heat?"

"A little, it's pretty warm now. I don't want to fall asleep, but you need to." She could hear the concern in his voice but she didn't care.

"I need to hear how bad this mess is that you got us into, Webb." She started to reach for the heat setting but pulled her hand back. Instead she shoved her fists into the coat pockets and turned to glare at him. "Talk. Tell me what your boyfriend, Sinclair, told the police." God, I'm so cold.

"He told them he was a neighbor from across the street and he saw two people leaving Belk's shop. He described us to a tee and even gave the license number of the car."

"This car? Then why the hell are we driving it?" Her voice sounded wooden to her ear.

"Mac!" He tore his eyes from the road and looked at her, actually two of him looked at her and the last thing she remembered was his hand snaking out and touching her cheek.

::  Chapter 9  ::

::  ::  ::

17 December, Sunday
Wiesbaden, Germany
0730 Hours

"Jesus H. Christ, Mac! You are determined to get us arrested aren't you?" She woke and found that they were in a brightly-lit motel parking lot. It took her a few moments to realize the reason why the parking lot was so brightly lit was because the sun was shining in the east. She looked around frantically and realized that Webb was supporting her, trying to get her into a hotel room. Noticing that a couple three doors down were staring at them she tried to straighten up and found that the pain had started to go away but hunger almost doubled her over.

"Sorry, `dear'." She mumbled and glanced down and found she was no longer wearing the coat. The simple long-sleeve white sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans seemed sufficient to keep her warm, at least from the car to the hotel room. She muttered at him. "Where are we?"

"Wiesbaden. Can you make it the rest of the way? Two more doors to go." He sounded exhausted.

"Yeah. But what the hell is going on? We've still got a long way to go and it's..." Webb opened the door and gently herded her in.

"Mac, I have driven over eight hours. Even though I was on the autobahn I couldn't go more than 60 miles an hour because of the snow. Thank God, there was only a couple of us idiots out there. I've had three hours sleep in the last two days and you weren't a whole lot of help. Though I have to admit, the humming in your sleep was really annoying and helped keep me awake. Now you're awake and you're ready to go. Well, tough."

He looked terrible. But her dream was still close to the surface. "What about the Admiral? We have to warn him."

Defiantly he snarled, "I already did. I woke him up at three AM. Not on his cell phone by the way, but the good old fashion way. I got routed to his hotel room by calling into Langley and having them patch me through back to Brussels. Hell, I think that phone call probably could have bought an Osprey Helo. But hey! It's me! I'm a liar! You call him." He pulled out a note pad and tossed it to her. "Call him, just watch what you say. My cell's secure but his line isn't. That's the number he can be reached at this morning. Now if you will excuse me I'm going to the bathroom."

He left her standing in the middle of the room and even though she knew he was telling the truth, she had to talk to the Admiral. Tremulously, she dialed the number and almost immediately she heard his deep rumble. "Chegwidden." A wave of relief washed over her and for a moment she couldn't say anything. "Hello? Webb, damn it is that you?"

"No, sir." Her voice came out harsh and dry. "It's me. Mac."

"Mac. Are you okay? Webb was worried sick about you. He said you needed to sleep but you were tossing and turning. Evidently you hit¼well no matter. How are you feeling?"

"Achy. Did he tell you everything? About the¼situation? Do you know what's going down?" She looked around the room and a saw the small sink in the corner of the room and a stack of plastic cups next to it. "Hold on a minute, sir, I want to get a drink of water." She let the water run for a moment and even though she could taste the minerals in the water, she didn't care and greedily drank three cups before putting the phone back to her ear. "That's better, sir. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"No, Mac. Not over these lines, but Webb will tell you everything. We've alerted security and we're going to make a decision this afternoon. Webb said he was arranging for the company to fly in new passports for the two of you and he hoped to leave Wiesbaden by tonight and get to Brussels to look for Sinclair."

"Admiral, about Sinclair¼." She began.

"Webb will tell you, Colonel. Now I have to get to NATO HQ." There was a long pause and she almost put the phone down, but he asked softly, "You sure you're okay, Mac?"

She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. "I will be, sir. I'll¼we'll talk to you later." She closed Webb's phone and went to sit on the edge of the bed.

The door to the bathroom opened and he stood there, his shirt off and a wash cloth held to his arm. Seeing the blood track down his bicep she gulped. "Oh damn. It's bleeding again." She saw the look on his face and her voice dropped. "Did I do that last night?"

He looked very gray, but he managed a weak. "Nah, I opened it while I was trying to clean it in the bathroom." She knew he was lying.

"You got any money? I'll go find a store and get some bandages."

"Don't need to." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys. "Bring the case in from the back seat would you." She caught the keys and looked at him funny but went out the door to the car parked in the nearest parking space, four doors down. The motel was of fairly new construction, built around itself so that all the rooms formed a U-shape around the parking lot. She could just hear the early morning traffic rumble through the open end of the building. Fortunately, they were near the end and the noise was muffled. When she opened the back door of the Range Rover all she saw was her coat and a brown garbage bag. When she looked inside of it she grinned. I think I remember something about taking out the garbage. Well, I guess that would cause less comment than the backpack.

He stood at the bathroom door and watched as she dumped the contents out onto the bed. She found that he had packed himself one change of clothes, plus an extra shirt as well as a complete change for her. There was the small caliber, almost useless, little gun he had put to Sinclair's forehead the night before. There were the rolls of bandages, antiseptic cream and tape she had used. Finally she spotted the sandwich that she had ordered for Clay from the kitchen. Her hunger came back full force and she reached for the sandwich greedily.

There was humor in his voice as he stopped her. "Don't! I ordered a full breakfast from the motel kitchen when I checked in. There it is now." Grabbing up the small kit bag hiding under her sweater, he reached into his back pocket. "I'm going to the bathroom to hide this blood from the bellhop. Here's my wallet?"

She tipped the boy that brought the heavily laden tray into the room and set it on the dresser. Closing the door behind him, she finally took a moment to look at the obviously budget-class busy-hotel room. Hell, it's smaller than the bathroom back at Farber's place. Longingly looking at the tray she sighed, but went to picked up the bandages and other supplies before walking into the bathroom.

Webb was just standing at the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror, totally oblivious to the rivulet of blood that coursed down his arm. I wonder what he sees?

But, she knew, of course. The veneer of control was gone, stripped away by too many nights of little or no sleep, too many days of lies and unrelieved deceit. He's seeing the same self-doubt, the same flaws, the same crumbling resolve that I see a lot of mornings. She wondered briefly if Rabb ever saw the disgust that waited patiently for your guard to go down so that it could creep out of the locked room you kept it in to sit on your shoulder to mock you while you stared at the lines and wrinkles that appeared from nowhere.

Gently, she used her hip to nudge him out of the way and she pushed him until he sat on the toilet seat. Running fresh warm water into the sink to rinse away the residue of his shaving cream, she saw that he had grabbed her toothbrush and deodorant from the sink back at the ski lodge. She soaked a clean washcloth and squeezed much of the water out before turning to face him. He had a resigned look on his face. "I supposed I have to tell¼"

"Sssssssh." She put a finger to his lips. "I've waited this long. I can wait until you can be coherent." She covered the gash, letting the warmth and moisture seep away the encrusted blood. Some of the blood had stained his chest and she as she cleaned it, she accidentally brushed his nipple, sending a shudder through both their bodies. She blushed but proceeded to clean the blood off his arm and finally his hand. As she carefully cleaned his fingers they clutched at her hand. He pulled the rag from her and tossed it into the sink.

"Mac?" She closed her eyes at the reaction her body had to the sound of his question. She forced herself to turn away to pick up the thick gauze. When she turned back, she was grateful to find that the stark expression of need was hidden away and he had extended his arm for her to dress.

She concentrated on the task before her but found she was studying the hair that patterned his arm. Snap out of it. "There. That ought to hold." She knew her voice sounded ragged and it had nothing to do with how tired she still was. "We better go get to that breakfast before it gets cold."

"Sure." His voice sounded every bit as tired as hers. He waited for her to move out of the way before he leveraged himself up. She saw the effort it took him to keep from swaying and she quickly turned and left the bathroom.

"Well this isn't how I normally see breakfast in bed. But I guess we don't have a lot of choice." The room was so small that the desk was unusable for anything but making quick notes at; there was no desk chair. There was no other table. Webb looked at the tray, at the bed, then at his bare feet and crumpled slacks before gazing at her, a confused look on his face as if the decisions were too much all of a sudden.

"Oh for Pete sakes, drop `em and get into bed. I'll set the tray between us." She waited patiently and he finally unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and let them pool at his feet. He pulled back the covers and sank into the bed. The pillows were hotel-thin but he managed to plump one into shape to cushion his back against the solid wooden board serving as the headboard. He pulled the bedding over his lap and waited. Picking up the tray she handed it to him and settled on top of the covers next to him. "Here, give me half the tray. Damn, what all did you order?"

His grin barely tugged at the corner of his mouth. "One of everything they had, I think. What have we got?"

They ate in silence. Each of them lost in their own thoughts, though each time Mac glanced over at him she found him looking at her. This cannot happen. This will not happen.

Neither of them touched the coffee and the orange juice was obviously from a can. Mac got up and took the tray. Placing the carafe of coffee and the cups on the dresser for later, she opened the door and placed the tray on the ground next to the door. "I'll get us some water." She went to the sink and by the time she turned around he had scooted down under the covers and was already asleep. She drank the water in one swallow and studied the sleeping spy. His face still held the tension that she had seen there all week. She walked over to the bed and gently checked the bandage. She bit her lower lip as she watched him breathe. No, no, no. Turning away she entered the bathroom and stripped out of her clothes.

Standing under the shower she refused to think of anything but Brussels and what they would need to do. Except, of course she had so little to go on that she found herself replaying every scene they had together over the past week, every look that past between them, every nuance. The "kiss." One? Two? She gave up and dried off. Pulling on the underwear and T-shirt that he had packed for her, she opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom. A shaft of bright light streaked across the bed so she went and pulled the curtains completely shut, plunging the room into cold impersonal darkness.

Gingerly she got under the covers, careful not to disturb him. She thought she would lie awake worrying.

The quiet tweet of a cell phone woke her and she was disoriented for a minute. Where the hell am I and what is this weight doing over my waist? The weight was removed and the bed shuddered as Webb groaned and stretched.

"Yah?¼I don't know. What time is it?"

"Yeah, I appreciate it. Yeah, that's the right size¼"

She rolled over to find herself resting on his good arm. He held the phone in his other hand and she could see the bandage was holding firm, only the faintest trace of pink colored the gauze. He smiled down at her. "Terrific. No, I understand¼. Hell I can't say I blame him. No I'm sure MacKenzie will be happy to know he sent it on but decided to stay in Brussels with Chegwidden. Yeah, we'll see you at 1900 hours. Send them in the car, we'll change and then go right to the airport. No, you're right. It is the best way. Have you heard anything else?" She watched his features as he listened intently. She knew that she should feel embarrassed lying this close to him. Her T-shirt was rucked up under her breasts; one of her legs was carelessly laid over his. But that smile. Lord, he has a nice smile. "No, I understand¼thanks for letting me know." He stretched and put the phone on the nightstand and lay back down, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

She rolled over until she was resting against his chest, her face over his. "Well?" When he didn't answer her immediately she growled low in her throat and started to push away from him, only to find that his arm had trapped her against him.

"I know you want to hear everything, okay. But would you let a guy savor the moment?"

"What moment would that be, Mr. Webb?" She playfully asked, thinking he would smirk and tell her some grand plan of his was coming together at 1900 hours. But when he finally focused on her eyes she suddenly grew very still.

His voice was so soft if felt like a warm breeze caressing her. "Waking up like that. My nose pressed into your hair." He reached up with his free hand and looped a stray strand behind her ear. "My arm wrapped around you. Do you know how many of my fantasies were fulfilled in that moment?" She closed her eyes, a tear squeezed out. His voice grew rough and serious. "Hey. Mac, don't. I'm sorry." His arm released her and she opened her eyes to see the pain in his. "Hey, I guess I better fill you in¼"

His words were swallowed by her lips on his, the kiss brutal in its intensity, her body pressing against his. It only took a moment for his arms to encircle her. He rolled them until their positions were reversed. Breaking the kiss, he demanded raggedly. "Sarah? Are you sure?"

"Yes." I'm insane. We're insane. Oh, Webb, please. I need this. I need you.

Gently, reverently, he kissed both her eyes then the tip of her nose before descending for a long sensual kiss. She wasn't sure whose groan vibrated between them but she was almost instantly wet with wanting him. His hands led the assault on her body, paving the way for his lips. He nibbled his way down her throat while he rolled off her enough so his hand could torment her breasts. He stopped long enough to roughly tug the T-shirt over her shoulders and as she raised her hands above her head, instead of pulling it off entirely, he twisted the garment around her wrists capturing them, holding them secure. Twin moans of bliss echoed in the room. He descended until he could take the stiffened nipple of one breast between his teeth, teasing it, pulling on it until she cried out. His thumb and forefinger roughly rolled her other nipple and she arched up trying to increase the sensations. Her hips bucked and as he moved lower, he had to release the grip on her hands. She flung the shirt across the room and grabbed his hair pushing him away.

Sitting up, she demanded another kiss and when he complied, she proved to him that she was a more-than-willing partner in this dance. Her tongue demanded entrance and she plundered his mouth wantonly. She pushed him back until his head rested near the foot of the bed. She knelt next to him and began an assault of her own, trailing kisses down his chest. Stopping briefly to minister to his hardened nipples, she didn't linger there for long. His hands occupied themselves, touching and caressing her. Reaching up, he trailed his hand down her back. Her body was almost perpendicular to his now as she yanked at his briefs. "Oh Mr. Webb, you are very excited to see me," she purred as his briefs joined her T-shirt. With little preliminary teasing, her mouth engulfed his straining shaft and he tried to concentrate on not bucking into her mouth. His hand made contact with her cotton panties and he tugged on them until she released him and knelt back up to meet his gaze.

"Please, Mac. I want to¼" His blush only endeared him to her more.

"What do you want, Clay?" She stood up and slowly lowered her panties. Touching her mound she asked, "Is this what you want?"

"God. For so long, Mac." His voice was a prayer. She moved back to the bed and slowly lowered her sex to his lips. She felt his tongue gently begin to explore her and she was lost in the vibrations he was sending through her core. She caressed his balls as she slowly engulfed him again, this time swirling her tongue around it as she took him in. She could feel the burning build in her stomach. So long. It's been so damn long. She couldn't remember the last time she was so caught up in this ritual. Too often in the past she had stepped out of herself and it almost like part of her was watching the coupling from afar, analyzing each thrust and parry making sure she received as much as she gave. But here and now all she felt was his strong sure body under hers and it wasn't enough. She needed to see his face. Releasing him with a pop, she pulled away from his mouth causing him to moan, "Sarah?"

She turned and mounted him, bringing her vulva to his penis. "Please Clay, I need to see you." Remembering his sexy question in the elevator she grinned, "I want to watch¼as you loose control." She felt his shaft breach her core. "Because that's what it's about with us, isn't it Clay?"

She lowered a little and was rewarded with his shuddered, "Oh, Sarah, yes."

She was going to draw it out but he firmly grasped her hips and thrust up, burying himself deep within her. "How long Clay? How long have you wanted this?" She moved off him a little ways before pushing home again, sending chills down her back as he hit her spot just right. Her next demand was more ragged. "When did you first want to fuck me, Webb?"

His hands left her hips and grabbed her shoulders to bring her down to his mouth. He bit on her lower lip, nibbling it and suddenly, in a move that her DI would have approved of, he deftly flipped them over again. Kneeling up, he pushed her knees forward, exposing her completely. He was so deep within her now she could feel every centimeter of him inside as he gently rotated his cock. He gasped out, "How long? I don't even know anymore. But," he pulled almost all the way out, "if you think that this is only wanting to fuck you?" He plunged down causing her to groan his name. "Then you don't know me at all, do you Colonel MacKenzie?"

Her breath was coming in short bursts. She was having trouble drawing in enough air, but even so she clearly saw the love in his face. There was no hesitation, no indecision. For just a moment she remembered part of her dream, `Will you dance with me now, Sarah MacKenzie?'

She pushed back and brought her knees down and pulled him down into her embrace. Raising her legs, she encircled him, locking her heels behind his back. He buried his face in her neck and as she whispered, "I know Clay," he pumped his seed deep within her. She felt each spasm and the incredible eroticism of them locked together here, in this dingy hotel room in the middle of Germany, seized her and plunged her into her own intense organism.

They lay there trying to catch their breath. Mac panted and laughed. "Wow. Talk about your fantasies. I don't think I can take too many of those." She meant it as a compliment, and she knew part of him, most of him realized it, but she saw the hurt flit across his face.

"Is that what this was, Mac?" A fantasy? A dream?" He had been holding her but now he pushed up, his hands resting on either side of her face, forcing her to let go of his shoulders.

"I don't know, Clay. I don't know a lot after this week." Again she could see she had said the wrong thing. She watched as the mask descended and he pushed off the bed.

"I uhm¼I'm going to go wash up. Unless you want¼"

"No. No, you go ahead." Damn, damn, damn.

She watched him enter the bathroom and shut the door. His words whispered in her head. "Then you don't know me at all, do you Colonel MacKenzie?" No, Webb, I don't. What just happened here? The best sex of my life? Was that all it was? The tension of the last week finally became too much and we reached out to each other? But that's not what it was for him was it? Was it for me? She heard the shower come on and her fists beat on the bed. "God!" Suddenly the room began to close in on her. She had to get some fresh air. Sitting up, she found the lamp and the dim light did little to relieve her panic. Picking up clothes scattered over the floor, she dressed quickly, grabbed the car keys from the dresser and, jerking the door open, she ran from the room.

This morning when she had gone out for the bag, the sun had been out and there was no wind. Sometime during the day, the clouds had rolled in again turning the afternoon dull and gray. The wind bit into her through the sweatshirt. The vapor lamps that dotted the parking lot cast an eerie yellow glow on the snow dusted cars.

Mac reached the car, unlocked it and pulled out her coat. Buttoning it up, she looked around and wondered where she could go. Oh yeah. Let's go for a walk. Great idea! Aw, hell, I've got to pee. Sighing, she returned to the room and just as she realized that she hadn't brought the room key with her, the door yanked open and he stood there, bare-chested, his pants zipped but the belt buckle hung down from the loops. Rage, panic and something else flashed across his features and she wanted to say something, anything to make it better for both of them but she just stood there, too afraid to say anything. He stepped aside and she walked to the bathroom, discarding her coat as she went.

Chapter 10 - 12

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