Also, accolades to the Puff, conqueror of my 'was' monster, and champion of my characters' voices, if not for her, you'd never see how my characters feel. She gives me balanced and is forever planting seeds in the garden of my imagination.

I know it's mush, but I have to say, I've lucked out with my betas. We make a great team and they enrich me. (I haven't forgotten the divine Ms. M, she just didn't beta this one. She's the greatest, too!)

And to Marag, who asked if Paddy could also speak a little French. I have enough trouble with the Spanish, so Jean-Claude is entirely of her furtile little mind. I will not tell you the giggles I gave her trying to translate my English into her French (at least she called them giggles) Dites votre mère que j'attends ces mots. (I know, I couldn't help myself )

We had a good time.

"What is it about you and out-of-doors?" the slender figure demanded, hands on his hips.

"You don't have to go, dulce," Choate replied quietly, hardly sparing his irate lover a glance as he continue to pack.

Okay, since assertiveness didn't work, Justin switched to sympathy. "But, you'd go without me?"

The big Marine didn't budge. "Yes."

"We always do what you want to do," he said crossly.

Choate paused long enough to pin his lover with a look that said he wasn't buying any bull today, before he resumed packing.

"All right, fine! We do my stuff too, but why does your stuff always involve strenuous--"

Choate stopped him with another glare.

Justin sighed. "But mine aren't outside--" This time he stopped before the glare, his lips thinning into a tight line. "How long?" he asked, his voice tinged with his capitulation.

The Marine continued to pack. "Five days."

"Four in a cabin." Justin demanded, then waited in anticipation. His lover ignored him. "Three?" he bargained hopefully.

Choate began zipping his bag closed.

"Two, Paddy," Justin said, in his sternest voice, "but it has to have all the conveniences."

"Like room service, and a spa?" The big Marine looked up. "You'd be lucky to find a place that has running water and inside plumbing where we're going."

Justin made a face. "But, on the camping trip you're using the big tent?"

Choate shook his head slowly. "The circus stays home, but this one'll sleep three to four comfortably."

"We're all staying in the same tent?" Young Evers asked in surprise.

The Marine only raised an eyebrow.

"Right. Stupid question. And who cooks?"

"The one who doesn't catch anything."

"Paddy! Not fair! That's five days of KP for me." Justin waited for a response. "All right, but, you know I'm not great with a campfire."

His lover laughed at that. "You have a point," he conceded. "We'll take turns cooking, but cleanup and odd chores are your job."

"Paddy!" he whined, almost stomping his foot.

"It's not a resort," the Councilor's Aide chided as he carried his bag to the door and retrieved his jacket from a nearby chair. "That's the deal, brat. Take it or stay home."

Justin remained by the bed. "Can I bring my own sleeping bag?"

The item in question was an elaborate affair, a double-stuffed, special order, custom-made monstrosity. Choate planned to burn it someday, but it slept two quite comfortably.

"You leave the heating pad and battery pack here."

Evers pouted. "But how will I keep warm at night?"

Choate's look gave him the answer, and that answer sent the message due south of his brain.

Justin's shuddered in anticipation of that promise making everything else worthwhile. "All right, fine! Give me a minute to get my bag packed."

The older man opened the closet door and pulled out Justin's duffel, fully packed. "Your sleeping bag and jacket are in the Jeep," he said smugly, holding the door open.

Justin stood there, mouth open in astonishment.

~~~

"Chief."

Blair turned at the softly spoken word.

His lover stood behind him watching as he hefted an object in his hand.

"Not the harpoon."

"Jim, this is a Cree fishing spear."

The Sentinel reached for the object in question. "We're going fishing, babe, not native. Take a pole."

Blair moved it just out of reach with two steps and a deft twist of his body. "I'll have you know this spear will work just as well."

The Sentinel smiled. "Yeah. I can see it now. The fish'll be laughing so hard you can just scoop them out of the water with your hands."

"Very funny," Blair said with a slight pout. "Ha ha."

Jim walked up and took the smaller man in his arms, this time carefully easing the spear from his hands. "Use the pole, this time, babe," he whispered, bringing his mouth closer to the lush one beneath it. "For me?"

Blair smiled as he curved his arms around his lover's slender, muscular waist. "And the terms for my cooperation?"

Jim eased the pole to the floor so both his hands were free to hug the beloved body close. "Are negotiable. But, I'll definitely make it worth your while."

~~~~~~

The thin, balding man pulled at the lever of the door with just a hint of desperation. "This isn't funny, Hofmann. Open the door and let me out," Isaac Orr demanded. He glared at his colleague, Dennis Hofmann, with an expression of fear and accusation showing clearly on his face.

Hofmann stood in the doorway to the lab and shrugged nonchalantly, the movement nearly undiscernible from beneath an oversized white lab coat. "Stay, Isaac! We're almost there." He turned and walked back into the room behind him.

"Almost where?" Orr said a little too loudly as he followed. "I've tried to achieve one of the biggest breakthroughs in the history of genetic research!"

"And you have," his partner said as he sat on one of the ancient stools.

The lab around them was old. Old and dingy. Everything, every piece of equipment, used and second hand. The funding the two men had received for this project had been small in the scheme of other grants, so they had to scrimp and cut costs everywhere they could.

Orr leaned against the scarred countertop, nearly upsetting the beakers and bottles that rested there on the drainboard next to the sink basin. The tiny room always made him feel claustrophobic when he wasn't working.

"Until I made the mistake of letting you touch it!" he spat vehemently.

Hofmann made a 'tsking' sound as he replied, "That's a cruel thing to say, Isaac. I've made it better."

Orr gaped at his colleague in astonishment. "Better? Are you mad? How do you see this as better?"

Hofmann gestured helplessly as he graced him partner with a careless shrug. "So it doesn't work quite the way we planned. So we stumbled upon a way to modify certain genetic structures instead of cure genetic diseases." His voice turned earnest. "This isn't a bad thing." He moved closer. "How do you think the public would respond if they learned that after six years of wasting our talents trying to find a way to treat genetic disorders, our only success was in creating new ones, Isaac? What I'm doing is turning a complete and utter failure into something positive."

Orr made a disgusted noise and waved his hands in the air to encompass the entire room. "And you think this will bring us critical recognition??" he said, his voice reflecting near hysteria.

"From the right people, yes. It can also make us rich."

"If our government learns of what we've done here, they'll have us shut down so fast we'll miss it if we blink. Then they'll burn this laboratory. And just maybe, for good measure, they'll make us vanish off the face of the planet."

Hofmann placed a comforting hand on his colleague's shoulder. "You're blowing this whole thing out of proportion, my friend. The virus is harmless --"

"Harmless?" Orr screeched, eyes wild.

"As long as we keep it frozen until we need to work with it, and it doesn't come in contact with specific genetic material," Hofmann clarified.

That statement render Isaac momentarily speechless. "I'm ashamed I played any part in developing this aberration. What if there's an accident?! It may be benign now, but if released it can find that 'specific genetic material' with frightening ease. And guess who'd be victims one and two."

"That's why I need you to stay and start work on the vaccine."

"A vaccine? Be reasonable." Orr began clicking each sentence off on his fingers. "The virus has no specific function. We have no comprehension as to how or why it's attracted to any particular ethnic genes. Its structure is unpredictable, and, it's feasible it could slowly begin to mutate into something beyond our comprehension, or control." He glared at his co-worker. "How am I doing so far?"

"All right, Isaac," Hofmann said with a sigh, "but what do you propose we do? We can't stay locked in here for days and weeks or however long it may take to find the key to making this virus into an effective treatment for genetic disorders. We could spend years working on this project and not find the answer."

"I wanted to do something for the greater good. This thing is evil. I don't want to see it fall into the wrong hands."

"Neither do I, but you have to admit the chances of us finding the answer at this moment are slim. We can keep the virus frozen, indefinitely. Meanwhile, we can try other combinations of the mutagens later."

Just then the third member of their team, Eugene Goldacker, emerged from the inner office at the other end of the laboratory. Athletically fit, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, Goldacker didn't resemble the stereotypical image of a biochemical lab technician.

But that hadn't been the reason Orr had been reluctant to accept Goldacker as a member of his research team. Although, his education and qualifications were. . .adequate, the youth also had a history of problems with the law. None were serious crimes in themselves, but it was enough to make him nervous. To date, Isaac could find no fault with the man's job performance. He seemed to become more enthusiastic the longer he worked at the research center, but he still made the researcher skeptical.

"We've decided to call it a night, go home, get some sleep and come back in the morning," Orr explained. "Say we come back about nine-thirty to make sure we all get enough rest and a chance to have breakfast, then we'll pick up where we left off."

Goldacker frowned as he thrust both hands into the pockets of his white lab coat, obviously disappointed by the news.

"The research we're doing here is so important, Dr. Orr. We're so close to getting control of this virus and finding a way to use it for the benefit of mankind. We can't stop now."

"We're not stopping," Orr said shaking his head. "But, we're no closer now than we were when we first stumbled across it three days ago, Eugene. A few hours won't matter. I vote we go home."

Goldacker took a hand from a pocket check his wristwatch. "Another half hour. Can't we stay another half an hour?"

Orr frowned with impatience. This conversation had become tedious. "What difference will a couple of hours make?" he asked. "We'll get back to work here tomorrow--"

The metallic click of a key in the doorway of the vestibule interrupted the beginning of Orr's rant. The three men turned as the door slowly opened. The face of a security guard they knew only as Tomas appeared. The frightened expression and stiff body movement of the man revealed that something was obviously very wrong.

Eugene stood in the doorway, one hand raised at shoulder level and the other fixed to the door handle.

"Is there something wrong, Tomas?" Hofmann asked.

As the guard opened his mouth to reply, the biochemist saw a quick motion behind his back, followed by the dull crack of a hard object impacting against something brittle.

Tomas' eyes rolled up, and he fell bonelessly forward, his face smashing into the hard, tiled surface of the floor, blood seeping from his shattered skull.

The three scientists stared at the fallen figure, stunned by the unexpected display of lethal brutality. All looked up together, they saw another man standing on the threshold. He held a bloody blue-black pistol with a silencer in one gloved fist.

"Actually, my name is Lla, not Tomas," the man announced coldly. "Lla Sharma. That saves you the trouble of asking me the usual stupid question about who I am. Not that it is really important to you under the circumstances."

"What are you doing here?" Hofmann demanded, not quite successful in keeping a quaver from his voice. "How did you get in?"

"The second stupid question that was bound to come up," Sharma replied with bored amusement. "And the third. So far, my associates and I have killed the security guards, shut off your alarm systems and the video surveillance cameras.

"And, in answer to the fourth stupid question. The fact that you're still here means I want to keep you alive. Now, just go outside and don't give us any trouble, and you'll be allowed to keep breathing. Those instructions should be simple enough for men of such intelligence and education," Sharma sneered.

Orr turned, on the verge of bolting from the laboratory, when Goldacker stepped in his path. Orr gasped and staggered backward, as if struck in the face by an invisible hand. Hofmann stared at the younger man, who simply shrugged.

"I forgot to mention Eugene is one of my associates," Sharma declared. "He told us all about security here and took care of all the cameras and alarms for us. Nice to have someone working for you you know that you can trust, isn't it, Hofmann?" His smile turned nasty.

"What do you want from us?" Hofmann asked.

"There's that fourth question again. I have already told you, I want you two to get outside." Sharma motioned with the pistol. "I'm not going to ask again."

Hofmann and Orr hesitated, then reluctantly approached the door. Sharma stopped them with another motion of his pistol.

"Before you leave, take off those smocks and drop them on the floor. Then take off your rings, watches and other jewelry and place them on your coats." He thought a moment. "Empty your pockets and leave the contents on the floor, as well. I mean everything." He said, forcefully. "Especially wallets and keys. Hurry up, gentlemen. We don't have all night."

The older men obeyed, trembling fingers making the task difficult. A tall, blond haired and blue-eyed figure appeared behind Sharma, carrying a small automatic weapon.

"We have the bodies ready," he reported quietly.

"Get these two to the truck first. And, no need to be rough with them. We want them to stay healthy--" he eyed the two scientists critically, "--until I tell you otherwise. Cuff them, gag them and put a guard on them. Then bring the bodies in."

The blond nodded.

"Now. Put the personal belongings of Hofmann and Orr on those bodies, Sam," Sharma continued. "Watches on wrists, rings on fingers and other items in pockets. No mistakes," he warned. "I don't want anything to look suspicious when they investigate this place. Understand?"

Sam nodded. "Yes."

"What bodies are you talking about?" Orr asked in a fearful tone.

"In the your Hollywood productions, they would be called your stand-ins," Sharma answered impressed with his own knowledge. "Shut up and do what I told you. Eugene? We need your stuff, too."

"Why are you helping this man, Eugene?" Hofmann asked.

"It's a long story," Goldacker replied, his tone condescending. "I'll explain another time, but you probably still won't understand."

Sam escorted Hofmann and Orr from the building at gunpoint. Two men dressed in coveralls soon entered carrying a stretcher with a motionless form encased in black rubber. They placed it on the floor and unzipped the body bag. Goldacker grimaced when he smelled the stench of the corpse within.

The henchmen began the grim task of dressing the corpse in a smock and planting Orr's belongings on the dead man. Another pair of Sharma's followers appeared with a second body bag. Goldacker headed for the laboratory, followed by Sharma.

"You're sure the virus is secure?" Sharma asked.

"Don't worry, Colonel," Goldacker assured him. "It's safe as long as we handle it properly."

"Did they test the virus on these animals?" he said, as they walked past a series of cages.

Goldacker opened a freezer unit and removed several plastic disks of brightly colored media, then carefully packed them in a special metal case.

"Yes. It did not affect rats, dogs or lower primates. The virus only thrives on specific types of human blood."

"Blood samples in the lab," Sharma said in disgust. "That's not the same as living human beings, Eugene."

The young man nodded. "We couldn't very well get volunteers to experiment on, but there's no doubt it will work."

"But I do have doubts. I have many doubts," Sharma said smoothly. "We'll have to run our own tests," the small Cuban remarked absently, as he turned to Goldacker. "I'm going to be very upset if this doesn't work," he informed him, his voice heavy with his implied meaning.

"You won't be disappointed," Goldacker promised as he closed the case and adjusted the temperature-control system.

"I'd better not be."

"There's no going back now. Not after what we've done tonight." Goldacker's voice held not a shred of remorse.

"Your life will never be the same," Sharma told him with confidence. "If we succeed, no one's life will ever be the same again."

"And a lot of lives will end," Goldacker said, satisfaction in his voice.

Sharma dismissed the statement with a casual wave of his hand. "That happens during a war. I've seen it often enough in the past. I've also seen men and women who should have been united against the real enemy, kill each other instead of joining the revolution against the oppressors. This time, we'll deliver a special nightmare designed just for the bastards who think they can keep us oppressed with their arrogant authority and power that they believe to be their privilege by birthright."

Goldacker patted the metal case. "What we have here, Colonel," he said with a grin, "is a modern-day Pandora's box."

"What we have is a miracle of modern science," Sharma remarked. "Genocide in a jar."

~~~~~~

Once at the campsite, the two 'designated' leaders had pitched the tents, delegating the chore of wood gathering to Justin and setting up the campfire to Blair.

Unconsciously, Jim tracked the small figure as he stomped his way through the surrounding growth, gathering dead tree parts and cursing softly under his breath.

"He didn't really want to come, did he?" Ellison asked Choate as they tightened the lead rope.

"If it has anything to do with sweating, dirt and the out-of-doors, no."

Jim laughed at a colorful string of blue adjectives Justin tacked onto an innocent noun. "Got quite a mouth on him, doesn't he?"

The Marine looked up towards the trees. "What?"

"Curses like a sailor." Jim chuckled. "And quite creatively, I might add."

Choate scanned the tree line. There was no sign of his young lover. He turned his gaze to Ellison. In his dealings with this man, he'd learned to accept the fact that he seemed to hear and see better than the average person. Justin had to be several hundred feet away.

"If he comes back with only one stick, I'm going to use it on his bottom."

Jim laughed. "No, he has quite an armful." The Sentinel paused. "Wait, he dropped them," he said, holding up a hand to silence Choate as he listened a moment. "He's picking them up again. Now he's saying not so very nice things about your lineage." The Sentinel laughed again. "And that's physically impossible to do." He paused and laughed again. "And that's illegal in the state of Washington." Scanning a cluster of trees not to far away, Ellison announced, " Here he comes."

"Have any trouble, chiquito?" Choate asked when young Evers came close enough to hear.

"Only with the man I love," Justin grumbled under his breath.

"What did you say?" Choate asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"No. No trouble." The smaller man stomped over to where Blair had just started a fire. "Where do you want this?" he said sullenly.

"Over there's fine." Blair pointed to a spot under a nearby tree.

The big men joined the group, just as Justin dropped the wood in the indicated spot.

Choate couldn't help but tease. "So, Justin. What's for dinner?"

The look on the young man's face was priceless. "Dinner? We just got here. You can't be hungry! Couldn't we have picked up something on the way? I thought you guys were going to go fishing or something?"

"Not today. It'll be dark soon."

"Don't we have something to make sandwiches?" he asked hopeful the answer would be yes.

"I don't know. What about you, Ellison?" He winked at the Sentinel. "You've got to be tired. You worked today, didn't you?"

"A full day." Jim nodded, a solemn look on his face.

"And the professor has to be beat, too," the Marine added with a wink to the Guide.

Blair had to fight hard to hide his smile, but played along with the game. "I have to admit I'm pretty tired."

Choate turned back to his young lover, smoothing out his features. "There you are."

"What's being tired got to do with sandwiches?" Justin groused.

"We want something hot."

"Hot? You mean cook?" he all but screeched.

The trio nodded.

"Why do I have to go first?"

"We took a vote." Choate said. "The cookware's in that pack over there."

~~~

Choate sat back on his stacked packs and watched as the small figure labored over the fire. "Need any help?"

"No," Justin snapped as he cracked another egg into the skillet he'd place on the grill they had set over the fire. In a griddle next to it, he had three cheese sandwiches frying.

Blair, who'd been watching Justin's progress from a closer vantage point closer than Choate, leaned over his shoulder. "Man, is that butter? Do you know how much fat--"

Justin spun on him brandishing the spatula. "I'm not afraid to use this," he threatened.

Blair held up both hands in surrender as he took a step back. "Whoa, man."

"I know how to make an omelet, toasted cheese sandwiches, broiled steak, baked potato and fried chicken. Oh, and I can do something to a hot dog, if really desperate. Paul Prudhomme I'm not!"

"Chill, J.C." Blair laughed. "I surrender."

Justin turned back to the food. "I can fry bacon and warm soup, too," he mumbled defensively to himself. "You want five star, you got the wrong man."

Later, sitting around the camp fire, the men had to admit, though simple, the food was good.

Blair looked on with horror as Jim finished off this third sandwich and second plate of eggs. Choate matched him mouthful for mouthful.

"Dulce, this is good," his lover remarked as he slid his last piece of sandwich around on the plate to catch every crumb of egg.

Justin was pouting not far away, his food relatively untouched on his plate. "There's not much you can do to ruin a toasted cheese sandwich."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Ellison said, popping the sandwich heel into his mouth. "It takes real skill to get the bread just crisp enough without burning it."

"Sí, amante. Cooking over an open fire isn't easy."

Justin looked up at the two men, trying to gauge if they were laughing at him or just having fun. If they were laughing, he was ready for a fight. If they were having fun, he wasn't ready to be coaxed out of his bad mood.

"You two just don't want to do any cooking," he grouched.

"You're right," Jim laughed. "We couldn't do this great a job, could we, Choate?"

The big Marine shook his head. "No."

Justin looked at them in horror. "What?"

"I vote we let Justin do all the cooking," Ellison said, his face showing his pride at that revelation.

"You what?" Justin said in disbelief.

The Marine nodded solemnly. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

"Paddy!"

His lover smiled. "Ellison is right on this one, dulce."

Young Evers' eyes narrowed in anger. "You said we'd take turns."

"I know, dulce, but since you can't fish. . ."

Throwing them a stricken look, Justin jumped to his feet and stalked away.

"Justin!"

"I hope you guys are happy, now," Blair said, standing and dusting himself off.

"Come on, Chief. We were only teasing," Jim said defensively.

"If he'd stopped to think a minute he'd seen that." The Chief Aide frowned. "I promised him we'd share the cooking." Choate slowly rose to his feet. "I better go after him."

"No," Blair said firmly. "I'll go. You've done enough damage for one night."

~~~~~~

The Estate
Southwest Region

An alarm sounded at the console. Twenty-four year old Booker Perry had poured himself a cup of the potent coffee he always brewed when the signal had activated. The Estate's level three computer specialist immediately rolled his chair across the computer room at near super sonic speed, easily navigating around the various equipment in his path with the agility of years of practice. Checking the panel, he saw the alarm had been triggered by information flooding into the system's main database.

The young man moved into position at the three-sided console and, like a maestro at his keyboard, began to access the Center's mainframe located several levels below. The Estate's computer complex was one of the most advanced in the world, linked to hundreds of other systems worldwide, and it gleaned Intel from them tirelessly, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, every day of the year.

Considering the mountain of data continuously pouring into the secret compound, something extremely portentous had to have been received to merit an alarm. Perry watched as the screen divulged the answer.

The incident defined in the incoming report was from Squamisho, a small Canadian town several miles north of Seattle. On-line graphics depicted a map of the province and enlarged an area just to the north of Vancouver.

A series of reports appeared on-screen. Calls to emergency vehicles and medical -team evaluations from a hospital in Vancouver described a devastating illness sweeping through the town's population. The number of victims rapidly became so overwhelming, the police had to be called to assist paramedics.

From there, the level swiftly reached volumes to warrant contacting state police. Roadblocks were quickly formed to keep any unauthorized personnel from entering or leaving Squamisho. Hospital administrators decided to set up a temporary clinic in the town to protect the citizens of the province from further exposure to this mysterious and deadly threat.

The rest of the report confirmed that the Canadians weren't overreacting to the situation. In a twenty-four hour period, thirty-seven people at Squamisho had been declared dead, and nearly two hundred others had become deathly ill. The small resident medical team offered almost no hope these patients would recover. Aware they were dealing with a major crisis, the hospital contacted the Laboratory Centre for Disease Control in Vancouver. A copy of the fax appeared on the screen.

"For the love of. . .what the hell is going on?" the young man hissed as he scrolled down through the words on the CRT screen.

Doctors from the province were mystified by the events. They couldn't determine what the illness might be or how to treat it. The first symptom appeared to be the lost of motor functions starting in the limbs: soon patients were unable to maintain a grip on anything, next they lost the ability to walk. Then the paralysis quickly spread throughout the rest of the body.

The effected became totally incapacitated within a matter of hours. The paralysis travelling upward until neck and facial muscles finally ceased to function, rendering the patients mute. Next, breathing became nearly impossible, and the heart rate plummeted, finally, ceasing to beat at all. CPR and other stimuli proved unsuccessful in attempts at revival. Ultimately, the victims died of heart failure. Whether brought on from asphyxiation, because the respiratory muscles had ceased to function, or the heart itself had shut down, was still the topic of speculation.

In desperation, the Canadian physicians on-site sent out an urgent call for a specialist in epidemiological study or virology, anyone who could shed some much needed light on their dilemma. Clearly, the lethal illness was contagious in nature, but the doctors didn't know how it was spread, why symptoms took longer to occur in some patients than others--or why a few members of the community had shown no symptoms at all.

The Estate's computer expert barely finished reading the data on Squamisho, when another report rolled in from a mainframe in Brussels, Belgium with an almost duplicate theme. The original context appeared in French, an instantaneous translation supplied by the Estate's system. It read, a small province in southern Belgium, just outside the town of Mettet, had also been struck by disaster.

As Perry rapidly scanned the information, the hair along the back of his neck lifted as if by an icy finger. Belgium health authorities and law enforcement faced an identical problem at Mettet as the Canadians did in Squamisho. People were dying from a mysterious illness, and no one could determine the cause. The only difference in the two sets of data being that Mettet reported a one hundred percent contagion.

Data continued to fill the screen as Perry reached for a telephone by the console. Without even a glance, he punched in some numbers, and moments later a deep voice came on the line.

"Speak."

"I have something you need to see," Perry announced without preamble, then replaced the receiver.

~~~

Winston Dupris strode purposefully down the hall, heading towards the computer room. During the short ride down from the main branch of the complex, he had time to imagine what the computer wizard, code named 'Chips', could possible make sound so ominous over the phone.

As director of the Estate's Southwest Region Operations and the Justice Department's Sensitive Operations Group, all based in the Sauceda Mountains of Western Arizona, the big ex-Fed was accustomed to crises. Still, he couldn't help but hope this wasn't as bad as the kid made it sound one the phone.

He punched in the access code to the steel door, crossed the threshold and entered the computer room.

Chips had just walked back to his terminal from pouring himself another cup of coffee and sat down, headphones in place, not noticing the ex-Fed's entrance.

The young man stood barely over five feet five inches tall. Pale skin, fresh with youth, unmarred by any hit of facial hair. Wide eyes accentuated by the slight tilt up at the corners, dark as the black hair pulled away from his face, secured in a tight band in the back of his head. What was it about these children and hair? The small figure vaguely reminded Brown of Viper's present lover.

And, like Viper's mate, this one also radiated intelligence and possessed a level of barely contained energy that left Winn with the urge to swat him like an annoying insect. First, Justin, then that new kid up in Communications, what was his name? Usher? And, now this one.

Was he getting old, or had someone in Procurement and Acquisitions robbed a nursery?

Brown came up behind him and touched his shoulder. The computer expert jumped, looked up at him, grabbing up several files, Chips spun in his chair to the massive conference table so fast, the stack of printouts nearly wound up on the floor.

"Looks like it's going to be one of those days," Dupris remarked dryly.

"One of those days, and then some," Chips replied as he straightened the stack.

After the older man settled in the chair opposite him, Booker pushed the reports on the table towards him and activated the 3-dimensional view screen in the table's center. Images of the Canadian effort solidified before them.

"This virus in British Columbia sounds bad," the kid began, "I don't know, boss. The Estate's personnel's better equipped to handle the physical attackers themselves. That U.S. Army Research on. . .Nasty Diseases or whatever it's called should probably be the primary unit for something like this."

Brown had been scanning through the Intel packet in his hands throughout Perry's speech. "If we were talking about the outbreak of a contagious disease, under usual circumstances USAMRIID would be the folks to handle it. But these cities have no significance. They have no military, scientific or government bases of operation. The town outside Mettet had no strategic significance at all.

"We've good people onboard," he went on to say, "don't sell them short. So, let's keep the grunts out of this one for the time being," Brown said, gruffly as he read a few more pages, "give our people a chance to prove themselves in this area." He closed the report. "I have a contact at LCDC that would be willing to come in on this and remain. . .discreet."

"I don't know, boss, the LCDC is still pretty new. You think they're equipped to handle something threatening to become wide scale?"

Brown frowned at the title, 'boss.' "They've got talented people onboard." He eyed the young man speculatively. "How big do you think it will potentially become?"

Chips manipulated the screen image to highlight the areas as he discussed them. "A previously unknown or at least unfamiliar disease showed up in a small town in Canada. Not two hours later a small community in Brussels is stricken in the same manner. And, the outbreaks occurred in two small areas separated by an ocean almost simultaneously with almost identical circumstances. The odds on that occurring randomly are astronomical."

The young man pushed a button and the depiction changed again. "As you said, there are no major military or medical research centers in the area of either site that might explain a disease 'escaping' into the community. It also offers no evidence anyone in these towns was involved in any private virus studies or that anyone in either population had recently made trips to the rain forests of South America, Africa or Asia, or where any deadly viruses are known to exist." He switched off the images. "There is no common site I can coordinate where they may have picked it up synchronously."

"So, you're saying, you don't know how this happened," the big ex-Fed answered for him.

Chips shook his head. "No one knows how this happened. The initial investigations are just getting underway. And my resources from the computer can't know any more than the people who are actually working at the sites of the outbreaks in Canada and Belgium."

"Have they compared their data?"

Chips shook his head again. "They don't know about each other yet," he said deactivating the screen. "Thanks to our taps into various mainframes and the accelerated speed and efficiency of our complex, I've intercepted and rerouted all the Intel coming in. We're finding out more information than anyone else will have for hours, or even days."

"But sharing data might help them identify this thing," Brown commented thoughtfully.

"The two agencies have had virtually the same response. Nothing new has been added in the past few hours. And, in addition to the timing and unexplained origin of the virus outbreaks is the fact that these diseases act swiftly, causing death in a matter of hours. The data indicates this is extremely unusual for a virus that occurs in nature. The on-site conclusion is that this virus was developed with human assistance. With all the facts in these cases, the computers have evaluated and extrapolated information to conclude that the most likely scenario is a deliberate exposure of these two communities."

"CBW?" Dupris asked in a grim tone, referring to the abbreviation for chemical and biological warfare.

"Eighty-seven percent probability," the young man confirmed. "The computer's theory is that somebody has a killer virus, and they decided use those two towns as test labs. I concur. From what we have here," he motioned to the table, "it obviously works."

Dupris frowned. A plague like Perry described would be terrifying under any circumstance. "So, if Mettet and Squamisho were test runs, the unknowns may be gearing up for the real thing."

Whatever the virus might be, it had already killed dozens of people and more would almost likely die. If it were true that the virus was manufactured, he doubted quarantine of the victims would prevent the virus from spreading beyond the stricken areas in British Columbia and southern Belgium.

A large, well-organized and ruthless network of terrorists could unleash germ warfare, potentially as dangerous as any nuclear weapon, simultaneously at some hundreds of locations. If the incidents had been deliberately caused by extremists of some sort, the virus could strike again without warning, at the enemy discretion.

"Contact Cook up in Communications. We're going to need all our top strike teams on this," Dupris declared. "I want everybody here at the compound on full alert, which includes Viper and his team."

"Viper and his people are on leave," Perry reminded the ex-Fed.

"I know. It can't be helped. They can take a longer break afterward. This is potentially a monster of a mission, and I'd like to have him here."

"You also don't have approval from the White House, yet."

Brown rose from his chair. "You're getting carried away with the moment, kid," he growled. "Your energy'll be better served if you do what you're told and let me worry about the President."

'CIA, NSA and military intelligence might have already learned about these incidents and come to the same conclusion your computers did,' he thought with annoyance. 'The President may already know about it by now.' "Anyway, it sounds like somebody used their junior chem set to whip up something from a Stephen King novel, and this is just the beginning."

~~~~~~

Brown wasted no time setting his plan into motion. When he put his call through, he learned his contact at the LCDC was on expedition in a deep forest region of Australia. The man's superior informed him he was due to check in within the next two or three hours and he was already slated to help with their team at Squamisho. Brown told the woman, he'd personally fly the next man on their list to them immediately if they let the Estate have the doctor he requested, throwing in unlimited use of the Estate's facilities and personnel and an update on all known Intel on the virus, he finally got her to agree.

The first of Omega team to arrive in the compound was Eriq Massey, code name 'Aces'. Before the man could set his bag down and take a deep breath, the head of Operations had him in the cockpit of an Estate jet copter headed for 'down under'. His orders were to collect the LCDC scientist and pick Avery Priest up from his home near Sydney on his way back.

That made two Omega team members down, four to go.

An hour later, Damien Silver Fox sent word he'd just finished his tribal business, and as soon as he could gas up his truck, he was on his way back to the compound.

Patrick Choate, Joshua Stillman and CJ West were still unaccounted for.

~~~

The door to Booker's domain slid softly open. He turned from the triad of screens just as Brown entered, followed by another man.

Brown towered over most people, so Perry judged this man to be about average height, five eleven at least. He was a change from the pumped up he-men that usually surrounded him. This one had a runner's build, long, slim, wiry.

Not very good in judging age, Chips guessed, from the sprinkling of silver at the man's temples and in the black curls on his head, he was. . .forty-something, maybe. Since he was clean shaven, Perry immediately noticed the dimple in his chin. Suddenly, the stranger turned the full force of his gaze on the young man and the computer expert found himself quickly lost in their amber depths.

"Perry, this is a friend of mine from the Canadian health authorities, Dr. Jean Claude Charron. Jean-Claude, this is one of our top computer experts, Booker Perry."

The men clasped hands briefly. To his horror, the young man felt his face flush under the older man's assessing scrutiny.

"Winn, c'est un bebe. Un morceau délicieux, mais un enfant. [Winn, this a baby. A delicious morsel, but a child.]"

Brown chuckled, which caused Chips to fume. He didn't understand French, but he had a pretty good idea of what two of the words meant -- and that they were directed at him.

"I assure you, Dr. Charron, I can hold my own," he snarled, turning back to his consoles.

Jean-Claude laughed, delightedly. Then, still addressing Brown said, "Bien, mon ami, votre chaton a des griffes." Dr. Charron leaned forward to peer over Booker's shoulder at the screen. "Je n'ai faire du mal, mon petit. Dites-moi, ce qui nous ont jusqu'ici?"

"In English, Jean-Claude," Brown reminded him softly.

"Oh? Quelle honte, s'excuser, cheri.

Booker looked up just in time to see the smile on the scientist's face and know the statement had been directed at him. He frowned again, suddenly feeling like lunch for a tiger.

"My apologies." Jean-Claude repeated as he smile brightened. "I asked, what you had found out so far."

Perry rolled back his chair to distance himself from the man's overwhelming presence. "I have a very long list of what this disease isn't," he replied when he was safely away, "which you can look over if you want, but I don't think it'll tell you anything. I accessed medical data banks of twelve countries and couldn't find any definite identification of this mystery illness. It doesn't really fit any communicable disease on record. Some symptoms do resemble known diseases, but those are noncommunicable chronic diseases that affect the nerves and muscles in a gradual, progressive manner. They don't fit the pattern of most viruses, and none really match the symptoms reported by LCDC or the Belgium Ministry of Public Health. At least not to such an extreme degree."

The scientist pulled out a pair of glasses as he slid into the chair next to Chips' console as he slipped them on. "Hmm. The number of deaths in Squamisho and Mettet is still rising. Almost two hundred in British Columbia and more than 150 in Belgium. Thirty-six hours haven't passed since it started, and nearly everyone who contracted the virus is dead. This damn thing kills in a matter of hours." He took his glasses off and looked over at Brown. "And no one has any idea what this might be?"

The ex-Fed's features were grim. "They don't know what it is, how it started or how to stop it. They don't know why it takes longer to kill some victims than others, or why a number of people at one site appear to be immune.

Jean-Claude slipped his glasses back on and silently read the data on the screens. "My guess, based on information so far, is the virus could be spread in the water supply. The people who are unaffected may not have consumed tap water, or they boiled it first for tea or coffee. Why some victims take longer than others to suffer the crippling conditions and death may be due to how much water they consumed from the contaminated source."

"They've already analyzed the water at both sites and didn't find anything to suggest that's the cause of the virus," Perry informed him smugly.

Jean-Claude turned hot yellow eyes on the younger man. "But maybe they haven't found it because the virus has a limited life span if it doesn't obtain a living host, and whatever was in the water has already died and dissolved. The fact is, we don't know what we're dealing with so we don't know how it might behave."

Just then, the console to their left beeped. Perry pressed a button and the face of Jonathan Usher, code named 'Cook', appeared. "Tell, Brown I have all of Tau, Delta and Beta teams."

Brown leaned forward until his face appeared onscreen. "What about Omega?"

"I finally located Hoss and Viper, they're on their way."

"And Hook?"

"Still unaccounted for, but I'm on it."

"You'd better be." He growled as he punched off. He looked at the two men. "You two get right on this. By the time Omega team's in the camp I want some good news to pass on to them."

~~~~~~

Blair found Justin down by the stream, leaning heavily against a tree, idly tossing rocks into the water.

"See," he said peevishly at the Guide's approach. "I can't even run away right. Any farther and I knew I'd get lost. Then they'd have even more to tease me about."

Blair came up behind him and put an arm around the slim shoulders. "They didn't mean any harm, J.C. It's only part of the 'male bonding ritual'."

Justin dropped the remaining rocks he held to the ground and dusted off his hands. "They didn't tease you."

"Hey, man. I paid my dues. A couple of months ago Jim took me to his brother's racetrack along with the guys from the Bullpen. I caught hell that day, let me tell you."

"Jim didn't stand up for you?" Justin asked, astounded.

"They wanted to learn my secret for picking a winning horse and had me surrounded." Blair smiled at the memory. "I got away and hid behind Jim. "

"So he did protect you," young Evers said confidently. "Paddy was helping Jim back there."

"No. Jim left me to them." At Justin's expression, he clarified. "If he'd thought they were going to hurt me, I know he'd have stopped them. He stood aside, I took their ribbing with some minute style, and now, I'm just one of the guys."

Justin's face lit with comprehension. "So, that's what this was all about? Becoming one of the guys?"

"Pretty much," Blair affirmed.

Justin looked up at his friend and smiled. "I guess I can handle that, then."

"Chief!" Jim's voice broke through the silence sounding anxious.

Blair and Justin had just turned to head back to camp, when a large, black helicopter broke through the treeline and rose over the horizon to hover several feet overhead.

~~~~~~

The two scientists were helped, none too gently, from the interior of the small air craft.

Orr and Hofmann studied their surroundings warily. They were on an island, that much they saw from the air, a large, private paradise in the middle of nowhere.

"Get moving!" the mercenary standing behind them growled as he shoved both captives with the butt of his M-16.

Orr stumbled and would've fallen if his colleague hadn't caught him.

"Gentlemen," Sharma smiled as he came across the beach towards them. "Welcome to my home. I trust your flight was comfortable."

"As comfortable as a hostage ride can be," Hofmann said sarcastically.

Sharma ignored the barb as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Good! Well, let's get you settled in so we can get you to work. We've already ran a test on your virus with outstanding results," he said, his smile radiantly approving.

"Test?" Orr whispered, voice icy with dread. "What kind of test?"

"You didn't use the virus, did you?" Hofmann murmured in horror.

"Just before we loaded you on the plane, we seeded a location--"

"Where?" Hofmann interrupted angrily.

Sharma shrugged as he dismissed their disgust with a casual wave of his hand. "Just two insignificant little towns. No one will notice them gone."

Orr felt faint. "You used the virus on people?"

Sharma blinked at them, the picture of innocence. "Of course I did. Although they're not people anymore." His face changed to something sinister. "They're corpses. Bring them," he barked to the mercenaries as he turned and started walking back to the house.

~~~~~~

In a matter of moments, Sandburg and Ellison found themselves sitting, blindfolded and restrained, in the belly of an Estate helicopter.

"Are we prisoners?" Ellison asked calmly as he tested his bonds.

"No, of course not. The blindfolds and cuffs are just precautions."

The Sentinel snorted disdainfully. "Where are we going?" as he asked the question, he heard Viper's voice a distance away from the main group, at the front of the plane. A second later, he heard another voice, the pilot, he reasoned.

"To a. . .secure facility," answered the voice nearest him.

This response did less than assure Ellison. He understood that statement could mean anything to these men, so he remained silent.

"Why can't you take us home?" Blair asked, moving closer to the reassuring presence of his Sentinel. Jim leaned into the contact giving what comfort he could.

"Viper wanted you to come," explained the unknown voice.

So they weren't exactly uninvited. "Where's Justin?" Sandburg asked suddenly.

"Here," came the soft reply from his right.

Blair reached out with cuffed hands until he touched a knee. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered, halfheartedly. "But, I don't know where Paddy is." The voice sounded lost.

"He's up with the pilot, Justin," Jim said soothingly. "Just hang on. Okay?"

Even the Sentinel had trouble hearing the response.

"Yes."

"When will you tell us what's going on?" Jim asked, noticing the accelerated heartbeats of everyone around him, including the pilot.

"You'll be briefed when we reach the Estate, Detective," came the evasive reply.

~~~

"Nice digs," Blair said as he walked the perimeter of the tastefully furnished room. "You have any idea where we are?"

"Underground," his lover answered succinctly as he flopped down heavily on the couch and leaned back.

"Well, thanks for that enlightening tidbit," the Guide said sarcastically. Whoever had designed this place, did it with comfort in mind. Hopefully, too comfortable to be a cell.

The Sentinel was saying, "Believe it or not, Chief, these walls are Sentinel proof."

Blair came to sit beside him. "You mean, you can't hear anything?"

"Not a peep."

The apprehensive Guide slid into his lover's embrace. "You think they know about you?"

Ellison held him tight as he settled back into the cushions. "That I was in the military, covert ops? Yes. In fact, this," he said, indicating the room, "is ops standard procedure for 'unexpected' guests."

Blair looked around. "Do you know if they're watching us?"

"No. Not at the moment." He tapped his ears. "I can tell that much, at least."

Blair lay his head down on the hard, muscled chest. "Why do you think we're here?"

"Classic case of wrong place, wrong time, babe."

~~~

On another floor, the opposite end of the complex, Justin sat in the center of a big bed and stared at his lover with great, green eyes.

"You look like a lamb for slaughter, dulce," Choate said gently as he dropped their gear in a corner.

"What's going on? Where are we?"

"I don't know. Aces said the briefing's in 30 minutes. We're in my suite at the compound."

"Your 'suite'?" The great eyes got greater. "The compound?"

Choate sat beside him on the edge of the bed. "Reel it in, dulce," the Marine said as he touched his lover's cheek with his fingertips. "It's all right."

"But--"

Choate reached over and gathered the frightened young man onto his lap tucking Justin's head beneath his chin. "No buts." He kissed the furrowed brow smooth. "Trust me?"

Justin clung to the soft shirt material anxiously and remained silent.

"Is that a 'no'?" the Marine whispered against the glossy black, smoke-scented head of hair.

"Yes," the young man said at last, his response muffled against the cloth. "I trust you."

"Then you know it's going to be all right, don't you?"

The reluctant nod was far from reassuring. "Hold me?"

Choate pulled them up and stretched out on the bed, drawing the small, trembling figure tight against his body. "Until they come to take me to the briefing, amante."

The Marine felt the sad nod just before the arms tightened almost painfully around him.

~~~

Brown, Dr. Charron and Chips sat at the large conference table, as did Viper, along with his team's pilot, Aces; Stealth, his pointman and operations; Hoss, his guard and operations; and Clutch, the team's demolitions expert. Agent West was still AWOL.

Charron walked to the table and took an available seat. A moment later, Perry reluctantly slid into the chair next to him. They briefly explained the situation to the others gathered there.

Jim Ellison was also present at the round table because of his military, covert ops training. The Army still showed his rating an R-1 clearance. Although Brown had little use for the Army, his contact at the Pentagon had said he'd vouch for Ellison's integrity.

Blair Sandburg sat next to him, because something in his pedigree had caught Brown's eye and that Viper had supported the young man's presence there, saying the two of them were a hundred percent better together than apart.

Justin remained in Viper's quarters.

Brown began, ominously. "Less than 16 hours ago, the residents of a small township outside Mettet, Belgium and Squamisho, British Columbia fell victim to a mysterious illness.

"Mysterious? How mysterious?" Jim asked.

"Is it contagious?" Viper asked at the same time.

"Mysterious enough that we don't know anything about it," Chips said.
"And highly contagious."

"You ruled out food poisoning?" Blair asked, leaning forward.

Charron nodded. "There doesn't see to be any correlation to support that theory."

"Casualties?" Hoss asked.

"In Belgium, 70 percent. In Squamisho, 47 percent," Chips answered.

"Have they checked the environment for foreign contaminations?" Blair asked.

"Air and water have been cleared by the local health authorities," Charron told him.

"I have to be honest here," Clutch began, "If you need a weapon, or something blown apart, I'm pretty much your guy. If this is chemical, most of the chemical or germ warfare devices I know about are pretty straightforward and simple."

"But, Winn felt the entire team's expertise was still needed. What we have here is a disease that doesn't seem to fit any of the rules of present-day medicine," Charron stated. "It seems to have come from nowhere, hit two tiny towns an ocean apart at virtually the same time--yes," he said when Viper stirred, "both towns are remarkably similar in area and population size, and both are some distance from any larger community."

"You are saying somebody used these towns as experiments," Viper asked. "Tested the virus to see how well it works, with the people living there as human lab rats?"

Brown nodded. "That's what we suspect."

"Do we know probable cause?" the Sentinel asked.

Charron shook his head. "We've run a wide spectrum of case scenarios."

Perry's fingers began flying over the keys. Holographic images came into play on the table in front of them. "I even ran astronomy charts to see if any meteors or other debris from space might have fallen on the target areas."

At the look on the faces at the table, Charron spoke up. "This virus is so strange, so formidable, l'petit and I agreed we had to rule out extraterrestrial."

Clutch was the one who finally asked, "Well, did you?"

Chips nodded. "It would've been better if that it had, though," he remarked. "At least then we could track it, see if there're any more, and if there were, get some idea where it might land so we could evacuate the area."

Brown shifted restlessly in his chair. "The best scenario we've come up with points to terrorists activity. And, if terrorists are doing this as part of a plan, they could strike anywhere without warning."

"There's been no contact?" Stealth asked.

"None," Chips answered. "We're flying blind here."

"Did you get in touch with the President?" Viper asked.

"I spoke with him briefly," Dupris replied. "At the moment, he was. . . preoccupied with plans for reelection. He assured me that he wants to hear more. . .but only after we've had a chance to. . .um, look into the matter in more detail and possibly check with LCDC, NCID, the Health Department and whoever else might know more about this sort of thing than we do."

"What you mean is, he's hoping somebody higher on the food chain will tell him it's no big deal," Viper muttered cynically. "A flu strain that will go away quietly."

"But this has killed people!" Blair exclaimed, the looked around the table nervously. "I pay attention," he said in his defense.

"The flu has killed people, too, Professor," Viper said quietly.

"If we take on a mission that will involve the entire Estate operation, we'll need to get White House approval," Hoss spoke up for the first time.

"Don't worry about that," Dupris reassured the group. "I'll take care of the President. Right now we can't wait for them to get off their asses. We need to get you guys on this mission as fast as possible. Chips."

"Okay," Perry said as he began keying again. "Beta Team is assigned to the site in British Columbia."

"I've called ahead," Charron informed them. "I think we can count on cooperation from the LCDC. They're going to want all the help they can get. And, don't worry. They may be new, but they have some of the best people in the country in this field working for them." The scientist smiled. "Including myself."

"They sure as hell have my sympathy," Stealth said. "Won't the LCDC resent us? Figure we're sticking our noses in where it doesn't belong, getting in the way of their investigation?"

Charron shook his head. "The LCDC is only interested in the virus itself--how it works, where it came from, how to stop it from spreading and develop a vaccine for it, if possible. Your job is to find who's using that virus to kill people. Finding them and stopping them. Just do your job and let the people from NCID do theirs. And we'll all get along fine."

"Fine with me," Clutch remarked. "I was always better with pyrotechnics and explosives than biology, anyway. What's our cover?"

"Officially, you'll be representatives of a special terrorist unit of the Justice Department," Perry explained. "I figure it would be best to use something as close to the truth as possible. Of course, there are several units set up for the purpose of dealing with internal terrorism in the U.S. since the last few major bomb attacks."

"Who will you send to Belgium?" Viper asked.

"Tau team is already in place," Perry informed Omega leader. "The Canadian authorities have their people on this case at Squamisho. The Bureau of Infectious Diseases of the LCDC is investigating, as well as a special section of the Ministry of Public Health trained to deal with emergency situations that involve hazards from infectious disease. They're similar to NCID," he added for the benefit of the unenlightened.

"Everybody is trying to keep this quiet because nobody wants to cause panic," Dr. Charron explained. "The Canadians are maintaining top-secret status on the Squamisho case until they're sure what they're dealing with. We're not really supposed to know what's going on there. LCDC and Public Health experts may not be thrilled with a visit by a group from the U.S. who want to join their team."

"This is no time to delay action because it might bruise some egos," Viper stated. "If the Canadians don't already know what happened in Belgium, we'd better tell them so they'll appreciate why we're interested in the virus outbreak in their country."

"We'll probably get better cooperation that way," Dupris agreed, "but the concerns about security and possible widespread panic are valid. We have to be careful not to expose the Estate or pop the lid on this germ-warfare threat to the public. That could have people running the streets in blind panic and ready to riot against anyone or anything rumored to be responsible for the disease."

"Everybody'll have reason to panic if this thing spreads across the country with the same sort of speed and devastation reported in Squamisho and Mettet," Blair remarked. "Do you have any more details about the symptoms and how the virus behaves compared to other known diseases?"

Perry placed the stack of printout sheets on the table in front of Sandburg.

"Just for you, Professor," he announced as he neatened the pile. "And there's plenty more if you want to access the computer and study what else we've got so far."

"Yeah. Thanks, I might do that," Sandburg said dryly, "but I hope you guys know that I'm not an expert on contagious diseases or biochemical warfare."

"But your eclectic fields of study could give us some fresh insight on how to deal to this," Dupris said. "What you know puts you ahead of the rest of us when it comes to knowledge on the subject of mass panic due to the CBWs. Especially since our psych team and profiler is busy on assignment elsewhere at the moment."

"Then we're in trouble?" Jim asked.

"Sounds like the whole damn world could be in trouble," Aces remarked. The Estate pilot had quietly listened to the discussion until that moment. "I don't mind admitting this stuff scares the hell out of me. A gunfight is the sort of thing I can handle. Sure, you can get killed, but a bullet beats having your muscles slowly rot inside you until your heart finally stops hours later. Makes getting blown out of the sky by a rocket-launcher sound downright pleasant."

"Your optimism is an inspiration for us all," Stealth said dryly. "Does anyone have any idea who might be responsible for this CBW terrorism?"

"Not really," Dupris replied. "We can pretty well rule out organized crime nothing to gain. Unless this turns out to be a blackmail scheme by some group of criminals who stumbled across this virus by accident, this doesn't involve any of the Five Families, Triad, Yakuza, Latin cartels or the Brotherhood."

"So it's more likely to be political extremists," Ellison mused. "Far right to far left, with every fanatic outfit that thinks they have an ax to grind in the middle."

"I know," the big ex-Fed began with disgust. "It doesn't help limit the number of possible suspects."

"We can't rule out the possibility of state-sponsored terrorism," Sandburg added. "The Iraqis come to mind."

"Some other Middle East countries with a history of anti-French sentiments are also possibilities," Dupris added.

"One thing that bothers me is why terrorists would target sites in both the Canada and Belgium," Blair remarked. "Who has a common gripe with both countries?"

"Libya attempted to merge with Chad in 1981," Perry speculated. "When Chad rejected the proposal, Libyan troops moved into the northern portion of that country. Belgium sent in military forces to prevent a takeover by Libya."

"Actually, Muammar al-Qaddafi was supporting a rebel leader named Goukouni in Chad," Sandburg commented absently as he read through the report on his lap, "but I'm sure he figured to eventually turn Chad into an extension of Libya. The two men had a falling out a few years later, and Libya seems to have given up on trying to own Chad."

Brown started at the top of the young man's bowed head for a moment. "Maybe Qaddafi is planning to settle old scores, as well," he said finally. "We think it's unlikely. This is probably an independent terrorist group with some pretty scary technology. We really don't know, of course. You guys will have to find out. Right now, you'd better prepare to deal with whatever they throw at you."

"What about my Team and me?" Viper asked. "Figure we'll do more good here in the States or in Belgium?"

"Here. Aces can coordinate transport and air support, if necessary," Perry explained.

"We'll take care of setting up contacts for all of you both here and in Belgium," Dupris assured the agents. "We'll also maintain communications and share information as we get it." Brown waited. "All right, if there are no more questions, gentlemen," the big ex-Fed went on, "I suggest we adjourn."

The group began to rise from the table.

"Excuse me."

All heads turned. Blair Sandburg, who had been uncharacteristically quiet towards the end of the briefing, was looking at all of them. He took his glasses off and laid them on the table. Pointing at a line item in the report he'd been reading, he said, "I think I've found the difference in the two cities that may prove crucial to the reason for the virus."

~~~~~~

Chips' head bobbed faster and faster as his fingers danced across the computer keyboard. His long black hair swung frantically as his body moved to the pounding rhythms of the music blaring in his ears. Dr. Charron watched the fluid movements of the young man with great interest.

"Are you always this animated?" the Ph.D. called out in a loud voice, aware the technician's ears were filled with rock music from his portable CD player. "L'petit!"

Perry didn't respond. Between his work and the beat of the music, he was oblivious to his surroundings.

Charron glanced around for something to throw at the young man to get his attention. He resisted the urge to sneak up behind him and pinch the softly rounded butt swaying in front of him. He took a pencil from a pocket instead. The projectile landed on the keyboard near Chips' hands.

The young technician glanced over his shoulder, saw the unhappy expression on Jean-Claude's face and quickly slipped the earphones from his head.

"Yes?"

"How can you think with that noise, l'petit?"

"This isn't noise," the young man said in a huff. "Besides, it helps me think."

"You would think the din would frighten thought away." The Canadian shook his head. "That young man's theory about this virus business sounds a little crazy. . ."

Perry interrupted, "We get crazy rolling in here all the time."

"But to design a killer virus keyed to a lack of something in the subject's DNA." The doctor shook his head.

"That does sound a little crazy. What does the LCDC think of this theory?"

"I haven't contacted them yet," Charron answered, "but I ran it through the computer and it evaluated Sandburg's theory as having a sixty-five percent probability. Everything seems to suggest he's right about the virus affecting DNA. Our network indicates this virus was probably artificial. Most forms of modern germ warfare are developed in a lab, usually a common disease that's beefed up to become more lethal. In this case, however, we seem to be looking at a mutation, and a very dramatic alteration at that. It's possible it developed this way naturally. Some expressly strange things go on in nature. I still favor the possibility the virus came from outer space, but it's more likely somebody made it in a lab."

"I'll be a son-of-a-bitch," Perry said to the screen in amazement.

Dr. Charron leaned forward and touched the young man's lips with the tip of his finger. "Trop une jolie bouche pour un tel langage."

The contact drove all thoughts from the young man's mind. "What?"

"Nothing," Charron dismissed that train of thought for another time and removed his hand. "What did you find?"

Chips shook his head to clear it. "Seems the Professor was right on the mark." He pointed to what he'd read on the screen.

Charron leaned in for a closer look at the data on the screen. "Hmmm," he said, studying what scrolled in front of him. "Ingenious. I don't know how we missed it before."

"Maybe because we weren't thinking like crazed maniacs?" Perry said sarcastically.

"Toune," Jean-Claude said fondly as he pinched the young man on the arm. "We can tap into international records on scientists involved in genetics and virology and see what we get."

"Okay," Perry agreed. "This is going to be a major project, and it'll take us a while to get it done."

A buzzer and a flashing light announced that another matter had arrived that demanded their attention. Perry rolled his chair to the horseshoe console where, during his shift, he claimed supreme rule of the cybernetics unit.

"It's Tau Team on-line," he declared. Then, the signal from the Estate's communication center lit up. "Damn, this is going to be a busy day."

~~~

Grimly, Patrick Choate dialed the Councilor's private line. He answered after the third ring.

"Hello?" came the muzzled reply.

"Councilor."

"Paddy!" the voice brightened. "How's the trip so far? Justin behaving himself?"

"Councilor, we had to cut our trip short."

There was a pause. "Is something wrong? Has something happened to Justin?"

"No, Councilor. But you have to listen to me, carefully. Who's with you at the residence?"

Evers answered immediately. "All the staff. Why?"

"I want you to gather everyone together and have them pack enough clothes for a few days. I'm sending transport for you all."

There was a long, pregnant pause this time. "I'm sorry, Paddy. Gather up the staff, have them pack, sending us transport? Why? To where?"

"Please, Councilor, don't ask me why, just do as I say and trust me? He'll be there in an hour. Please be ready."

And the Aide hung up the phone effectively cutting off further communication.

~~~

Choate sat in a chair, Justin sitting on the floor on a cushion between his knees. About an hour ago, Jim and Blair had left for their own quarters.

As soon as they were alone, the two men had taken a long, leisurely shower together, the weight of the day's events assuring that it was only a shower. But Choate had treated Justin to one of his special shampoos.

Now, the Marine and his lover sat naked as he ran a brush through the drying hair in long, languid strokes designed to relax.

Justin had rested his head on his lover's warm, hard thigh, and Choate thought he'd almost fallen asleep.

Instead, Justin wrestled with his inner demons. Actually, one demon in particular. The one usually responsible for his bottom being bright red. Fortunately, this time, a new-formed voice of reason stepped forward.

'If you want to know, ask him,' the voice of reason said.

'Ask?' came the demon's response. 'He's kept you waiting in this room all afternoon while he's been playing spy. You demand an explanation!'

Suddenly, young Evers moved to kiss the flesh just beneath his lover's cheek, then laid his head back down. "When are you going to tell me what's going on, Paddy?" came the very softly spoken question.

'Pussy!' the demon sneered.

'Be careful,' came the voice of reason.

The brush halted a moment. "How much do you want to know?" Choate asked as he started to brush again.

"You've had me cooped up in this room," he said a bit peevishly. The demon was pleased. "I'd like to know what went on."

Choate sighed wearily. "Someone has used a manufactured virus to wipe out the population of two small towns."

"Here in the US?"

"Not yet."

"But we are in danger?"

"Yes."

'Tell him to send somebody else! He doesn't have to go!'

Justin blinked back tears. "And you have to go?"

'If he loved you, he'd stay.'

"Yes."

'You know he loves you,' came the voice of reason. 'Don't try to make him choose.'

"Why?" Evers asked in a small voice.

"Because it's my world, too, dulce."

He sounded so sad, Justin turned his head again, this time to kiss higher on the thigh he lay upon. "Can I go home?"

"No, dulce. I'd rather you stay here. Besides, there's no one there. I sent your father and the staff to another facility."

'See?' said reason. 'He wants to keep you safe. He loves you.'

'By making you stay here? He should keep you with him. I'll bet that Ellison is going.'

"Is law enforcement going with you?"

"Yes."

'See!' the demon crowed triumphantly. 'Everyone but you!'

"Are you taking Blair?"

"No. He's staying here, too."

'You see?' said the voice of reason. 'Don't give in to the demon.'

"I don't want you to go, Paddy," Justin said, trying to make his voice sound demanding instead of pouty.

He felt his lover's thigh tense beneath him. The brush stopped again as well.

"Just come back in one piece, Patrick Choate," he said sternly.

Young Evers held his breath waiting for the big man's response. The brush remained still, but the tension had slowly left the thigh his head rested on. Justin heard his love's harsh whisper, "Sí, mi amor," before he took his pouty mouth in a possessive kiss.

Satisfied, Justin settled back, his head once again on his lover's thigh, and Choate continued brushing.

Several quiet moments later, Perry's voice intruded into their peace, "Viper?"

"Quiet," the Marine hissed into the air.

There was a stunned pause, but when the young agent spoke again, it was in a softer voice. "How come you've turned off visual?"

Pointedly ignoring the question, Viper growled low, "What is it, Chips?" causing Justin to stir. The bigger man quickly resumed his brushing and young Evers settled down.

"Brown needs to see you in his office right away."

Choate's hand paused again, "Why?"

"They thing they've found Hook."

"On my way," he said, laying the brush aside to scoop up the sleeping form.

"Mmm, Paddy," Justin murmured, "Too early to get up."

"That's all right, dulce. You don't have to, I'm putting you to bed." He sat Justin down to pull the covers back, and slid him into bed.

"Mmm," Justin purred as his lover covered him with the bedclothes. "Love you."

"Te amo, tambien," he whispered in reply, placing a kiss to the warm temple before straightening to leave. "Te amo con todo mi corazon."

~~~

"Where is he?" Choate demanded as he burst into the head of Operations' office.

"Sit down, little boy," Brown said sternly. "You need to listen to this." He pressed a button on the panel by his right hand.

"Viper--" Hook's voice came over the comm.

"CJ--"

Brown waved him into silence as the voice continued without pause, breaking up with static. "Charon virus. Washington target. Crop dusters. Bad shit, man. Antony Blake. Red Daggers Inn. Hurry. Paula." Then there was nothing but white noise.

"That's all Cook got," Brown told him regretfully.

"Do you know where he is? DC or Washington state? And, who's Paula?"

The big man shook his head. "We couldn't trace his signal."

"Then he could be anywhere. What about his tracker?"

"Nothing."

"Dammit! He said something about the Charon virus. Do you think he was talking about Dr. Charron?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. The words didn't sound the same."

"Why didn't he tell us where he was?"

"Maybe he couldn't, Viper. He didn't sound right. Maybe he felt what he did tell us was more important and he used his energy for that."

~~~

Vancouver, British Columbia

Remy Villenueve, leader of the Beta team, sat in front of a computer at the headquarters of Canada's Laboratory Centre for Disease Control.

When Perry appeared on the screen Villenueve told him, "We need some information as soon as you can send it. LCDC has some Squamisho survivors here. Everybody is still trying to figure out why they weren't affected by the virus. Julia Moore and her people have been doing tests on these folks hoping to find something in the blood or organs that might be a key to a vaccine. Doesn't look too promising so far."

"They're not having any better luck in Belgium, either," Perry said. "But we think we might have a theory here, far fetched as it might sound."

"I was hoping for more than that. We could use complete information about the survivors and casualties at Mettet. We're especially interested in the former. It may not help anybody come up with a cure, but it may help us figure out what these people have in common."

"There were no survivors at the site in Belgium," Perry informed him somberly. "That's where our theory comes from. I should have sent this to you earlier. We'll give the LCDC a progress report and other data the Belgium Ministry of Health has come up with so far. Don't forget the medical portion of this is really up to the experts in their field. You guys are supposed to be concentrating on finding the terrorists."

"I know. There're no signs of terrorists here, but my team has been keeping an eye open for anybody who seems too curious about events at Squamisho. No luck."

"Maybe our luck is going to change," Perry said quietly.

He gave Villenueve a brief rundown on Sandburg's theory and Hook's transmission.

"I don't know how farfetched that might seem to Dr. Moore," the Beta team leader said. "Doesn't sound that extreme to me. Sometimes to achieve something this wild, you only need a little bit of knowledge and a whole lot of luck."

"At this point we're ready to take any theory seriously," Perry told him. "Whatever else can be said about this virus, it sure seems different enough from anything anyone has come across before to make it plausible."

"If what you're saying is true, it was borne from a whole lot of hate. I've seen what it does," Villenueve said. "I hope I never come across anything like it again. Does anyone know where Hook is?"

"No. But the location's too vague. We're trying to narrow the field. He sounded pretty bad on his transmission. My money's on DC. We haven't got much time. And he mentioned someone named 'Paula'. Cook's running the name now. Let's hope we can wrap this up soon and nobody will ever have to worry about this disease again. I have a lot to do, Bison. Better sign off and I'll get that information to you."

"Wait!" one of the women working in the computer room interrupted. "I'm sorry," she apologized, wringing her hands together nervously. "I couldn't help but hear. My name is Paula Hinkel, I work here in the facility. Did you say, Hook?"

Villenueve turned to look at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"I know someone. . .named CJ. I've heard one of his friends call him Hook."

"You know Hook?" Perry asked her excitedly.

She nodded. "He was here a few days ago, but he's gone now."

"Do you know where he was going?" Perry asked urgently.

Paula blushed. "Visiting me. I was the one who mentioned some suspicious behavior from one of our attendants. CJ said he'd check on it for me. That was two days ago."

"Did he tell you where he was going?" Perry repeated.

"He said he had pressing business in Seattle."

"Did you hear that, Chips?" Villenueve asked.

"I'm on it!"

~~~~~~

Jean-Claude angrily paced back and forth in front of Brown's desk. Viper, Sandburg and Ellison sat in the chairs on either side and watched him act out his agitation.

"Charron virus!" he said in outrage.

"To be honest, Jean-Claude, we think he said Charon," the ex-Fed soothed.

The scientist halted. "Charon? Charon, like Pluto's moon?" he asked in confusion. "Why name a virus after a moon light years away? It was just discover--"

"Actually, doctor," Sandburg interrupted in that breathlessly, excited voice he got when he had a gem of information and couldn't wait to share. "I think he meant, Charon, Styx's ferryman."

"Styx, as in the rock group?" Ellison asked, now equally as confused.

"Styx, as in the river," Blair clarified gently, smiling indulgently at his lover.

His Sentinel frowned.

"Charon, son of Erebus, and Nox, she was goddess of Night, grandson of Chaos. It was his job to ferry the dead across the river Styx into the Underworld."

"And they're saying this virus acts like a ferryman," Viper asked softly frowning, appalled by the thought.

"Guiding souls across into the afterlife," Sandburg finished sadly.

"This is a one sick bastard," the Sentinel murmured.

"One of my people at the LCDC has a theory about the virus being a kind of mutation that attacks and alters DNA to cause a sort of genetic-style illness like Huntington's disease," Charron volunteered.

"Have they been able to isolate the virus from any of the victims?"

The scientist shook his head. "Sadly, once the host has died, the virus dies with it."

Viper's frown deepened. "At least it dies."

"Yes, but until then, the infected are highly contagious. The virus is spread through contact with body fluids. In one victim, they found the. . .Charon virus had formed small bricks in the bronchiole."

"Bricks?" Ellison asked, confused again.

"Packed particles that grow inside cells," he explained. "They crystallize into what could be loosely described as a virus egg sac. In this case, when the victim coughed or sneezed, these particles were carried up the throat and into the air. The good thing is it can only live in the open air for about 10 to 12 hours."

Brown growled out an expletive. "We've got to catch these bastards, now."

"Has Chips found the inn Hook was talking about?"

"Not yet, but he has come up with something else."

~~~~~~

"NCID Center, Arizona," Chips' voice announced over the connection. "This is NCID Center, Arizona. Please respond."

Villenueve flicked the comm on. "Read you, NCID. Over."

"We have a breakthrough. Repeat, good news. Our sick friend seems to be making a full recovery. Over."

"We're talking about," the agent paused for dramatic's sake. "The biomedic brought in last night after he got a tear in his suit? Over."

"No specifics!" Chips snapped. "Over."

"We've had enough false alarms, and hopes have already been raised only to be dashed on the rocks, NCID. Before I call in a chopper to airlift your miracle drug, I want to make sure you really got a cure. Over."

"You don't worry," Chips said with all the confidence of youth. "We got the cure. Over."

"How so fast? Over."

"We altered an experimental rabies vaccine on the principle that would work against this mysterious virus as soon as we discovered it altered DNA. The original idea for this anti-rabies was to increase the Th1/Th2 ratio. It works kinda like gamma interferon with a little bit of DNA polymerase inhibitor thrown in for good measure." Chips took a deep breath. "It seems to work in vitro, it should work on people, too. Over."

"Right now, I'm only concerned with results, not theory," Remy barked impatiently. "If the technician is recovering and you have the key, we're on our way. We need to get this stuff to the labs so they can see about producing it in mass quantities as soon as possible. Now, are you absolutely positive you have the cure? Over."

"We have it, just get your lazy asses down here to Tenth Street Clinic and pick it up. Over and out." He clicked off.

~~~~~~

Gaudy neon flashed the name, "Red Daggers Inn" complete with the lighted outline of a large knife dripping blood.

Viper glanced around the dark cobblestone alley. The tavern had a magnificent view of a brick wall to another building which the patrons found advantageous in its anonymity. It wasn't obvious from the main street, and few visitors found the place, aside from the selected clientele welcome at the establishment. The Marine allowed Hoss and Stealth to approach the entrance ahead of him, the Aussie taking his job as point seriously.

A large man with a broken nose stood by the doorway. "You assholes lost?"

Stealth brought the man down quickly with one sharp blow, breaking his nose yet again. "No, mate. Me asshole's always been on the opposite side o' me wank," he said glibly as he stepped over the prone body.

"That's right, you slob! Leave me your mess to clean up," Hoss growled good naturedly as he quickly dragged the body off behind a dumpster and covered it with trash.

The three Estate commandos walked across the threshold and found it was a fairly small room with a small, plain wooden bar and a row of four stools and its occupants were all black. Only three tables occupied the floor space, one of which was inhabited by two men and a woman. A muscular black man, clad in a sleeveless leather jacket and denim pants, sitting on one bar stool, glanced at the strangers with a hostile expression, and he flexed a massive arm as he raised a shot glass to his lips.

An overweight bartender with a scruffy beard, bloodshot eyes and a filthy apron glared at the trio of strangers who had dared to enter the place and wondered how they'd gotten pass the guard at the door. "Beer or wine?" the man behind the bar asked inhospitably as he opened the drawer at his hip containing his gun.

"I don't suppose you have any bottled water?" Stealth asked, delicately stepping around the debris on the floor. "We don't like drinking out of dirty glasses."

"If you're so worried, why are you here? We have bottled beer," the bartender replied with a shrug. "You want bottled water, you go to the sissy bar down the street. It looks more to your speed, anyway."

"Three beers, please," Viper said as he sat down near the lone bar stool occupant. "And some information about a man, named Anthony Blake."

The man behind the bar frowned and executed an exaggerated shrug. "Don't know. What's he look like?"

"We got a tip that he frequents this establishment." Stealth said, leaning on the bar. "You must've served him."

"Lots of people frequent this bar. I don't catch everyone's name."

"Yeah," Viper commented sarcastically, "we can see how busy this place is, but try very hard."

"Who are you?" the bartender asked suspiciously. "Police?"

"No," Hoss answered. "We have our reasons for wanting to know the man, and we're not interested in what goes on here. That suit you?"

"It'd suit us if you got the hell out of here, boy."

They turned. The muscle-bound black man had made the gruff remark. He slid off his bar stool and glared at Viper. The man was big, almost a head taller than Viper, and sported heavier muscle bulk than the Chief Aide.

"We don't want trouble," Viper remarked. "We just need to find Anthony Blake."

"Why?"

"Are you Anthony?"

"What I am, is your worst nightmare," he said nastily as he cracked the knuckles of his right hand with his left. "And, I think you white boys are way out of your element down here."

Viper kept his attention fixed on the big man in front of him and let his team watch the rest of the room. Both men at the table took notice of what was happening and dismissed the woman, who eagerly headed through a beaded curtain to a back room.

"I really don't give a damn who you are, unless your name is Anthony Blake," Viper calmly told the burly man. "Someone told us we could find him here."

"Well, that someone got a helluva big mouth for a dead man."

That statement altered the look on Viper's face from one of speculative interest to something too deadly to name. "You better pray I don't find out you killed him, blood." The Marine moved with a blur of motion and drove his fist into the man's face so hard his head snapped back like a slingshot. Stealth and Hoss thought their leader had killed him. "Check his pockets," the agent snapped, wiping blood from his hands on a handkerchief from his pocket.

Hoss patted the man down, quickly producing a wallet. Opening it, he read the name on the driver's license.

"Don't tell us," Stealth said, shaking his head. "Anthony Blake."

"In the flesh."

Viper just shook his head as he rose from the stool and walked out of the bar.

Stealth helped Hoss shoulder the unconscious man and followed.

~~~~~~

Antony "Tone" Blake woke slowly to the sensation of his head being an overfilled balloon ready to pop.

Cracking open both eyes, he saw he sat in a chair made from soft metal meshing draped taut across a stiff metal frame.

He was naked, his wrists and ankles secured to the arms and legs of the chair by wide metal cuffs. An equally wide metal band held his head motionless.

What incited the most fear in "Tone" was the metal contraption draped across his lap that held his dick and balls laid out on it like so much luncheon meat.

The door opened and another black man stepped inside.

"Where am I?" Blake demanded.

"In shit up to your eyeballs," came the calm reply.

"And that's supposed to reassure me, man?"

"No. That's the truth."

"Who are you?"

"They call me 'Aces'."

Blake snorted. "Like in -- of Spades?"

"No, like what I did in all my classes through school," he answered smugly.

"Yeah? And you work here?"

Aces nodded.

"What, you housekeeping, or chauffeur?"

The agent laughed. "Actually, I never thought about it, but I guess I'm a little of both.

Blake snorted again. "I thought as much. So they sent you in here, brother-to brother, to get me to talk?"

Aces' smile widened. "Something like that."

"Well, you can tell your. . .massas, it ain't happening."

"Oh?"

"No. And in the new world order, there won't be anymore white oppressor."

Aces crossed his arms over his chest. "Skin color going to change, huh?"

"Powers gonna shift. They'll all be gone."

"And how'll that happen, Blake? The Charon virus?"

The prisoner grew sullen. "Maybe."

"When's the next target, and where?" Aces asked, smile disappearing from his face.

"You think I'd tell you?"

"Better me than somebody else. Somebody else might not ask so nice."

"Go to hell, shine," Blake sneered.

Aces only shrugged. Turning to the mirror that took up the entire wall behind him, the agent said, "I did my best, massa."

The door opened again and Blake saw the man from the bar enter. The one who had hit him.

"That's all right, Aces. I'll take it from here," Viper said softly.

"It's been a thrill, Blake," Aces said at the door. "Let me know how the revolution turns out." As the door closed, the two men in the room heard him add, "shine."

Viper turned to Blake and pressed the button of a small device he carried. The image of Hook appeared in the air between them.

"Recognize him?"

"Sorry, WB, but all you boys all look alike to me."

Viper smiled. "Wrong answer, homes." Deactivating the image, he placed it and the small case he'd brought into the room on a nearby table. Opening the case, Viper slipped on a pair of heavy rubber gloves then extracted a vial of clear liquid. He turned back to Blake.

"Usually, this is a job for Interrogation, but, because of something you said back in the bar, I've taken a personal interest in you."

"What's that?" Blake asked, indicating the bottle.

"This?" Viper raised the small vial to the light. "This is something our boys in the lab are working on." He unscrewed the cap and withdrew a long dropper from the case. Dipping it into the liquid, he squeezed the bulb and filled the body of the dropper. Replacing the cap on the vial, Viper put the vial back in the case and approached Blake. "See for yourself."

The agent ran a thin line of the clear liquid down the top of Blake's smallest finger on his right hand.

Immediately, the flesh of Antony's finger began to pop and sizzle.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" Blake hissed, then he began to scream, pulling desperately at the restraints trying to free himself.

Within seconds, nothing remained of his pinkie finger except a smoldering liquid outline on the armrest. The stub had been cauterized instantly.

Blake blinked back tears, mucus running from his nose, down his lip to mingle with the beads of sweat already there.

"See," Viper said softly. "No muss, no fuss, no bleeding wound to contend with." He leaned down so he could look his prisoner in the eye. "Just a shitload of pain."

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind??!!!" Blake screamed breathlessly.

Viper leaned across the man's body and held the dropper over his other pinkie finger. "Recognize the man I showed you, now?"

Blake hesitated for all of two seconds before screeching, "In Canada, man! I saw him in Canada."

"Where in Canada?"

"I was working in a clinic in Squamisho."

"Doing what?"

Blake hesitated again and again Viper moved forward.

"Inoculations."

Viper straightened. "Inoculations? As in of childhood diseases? HepB?"

Blake nodded.

"That's how you infected the people? In their vaccinations?"

"That, and the water and the IVs and the blood for transfusions. Another team used crop dusters to mist the town with a fine spray loaded with the virus."

"Children, Blake?" Viper snarled. "The old? The sick? The innocent?"

"The white."

"They're people, Blake."

"White people," he said bitterly.

"Who's the bigot, now?"

Blake started, but recovered quickly. "Hey! Fuck you, man."

"And, Hook? What was he? Casualty of your sick little war?"

"The first of many, man. You all deserve to die. His mistake was snooping around our transport trucks. If it hadn't been for that nosy bitch girlfriend of his at the clinic, he never would've known."

"What did you do to him?"

"The guys that saw him, shot at him. He ran. They didn't find his body. We figured he'd got away.

"Too bad you're an only child, Blake."

"What?"

"I'm going to make sure you're the last of your line." The dropper hovered over the captive's genitals.

Blake scrambled back as far as the restraints allowed. "Stop fuckin' around, man! Get that shit away from me."

"Since you want a fight, Blake, I think I'll join in the defense of humankind and you'll be the first casualty of my war."

~~~~~~

The helicopter appeared above the trees of a small park across from the Tenth Street clinic. Stealth and Hoss recognized the gunship. Aces wasn't taking any chances. He'd selected a workhorse chopper that could serve as both transport and weapon. The bird approached the helipad outside the clinic and began to hover just overhead.

"This is it, mate," Stealth announced as he started the engine of the car.

Hoss glance at the gun on the floor by his feet. Another compact semi automatic sat on the seat between them as backup. He held a plastic cooler on his lap, similar to the type used to carry beer or soft drinks to a picnic with the exception of the three-ring biohazard symbol warning label on the outside.

As the car cruised from the parking area and headed towards the helipad, both men scanned the area for any signs of the enemy. If there was anyone waiting for the pair, he remained invisible.

"Figure it's a no-show?" Hoss asked, shifting restlessly in his seat.

"If it is, I, for one, am retiring to the tropics. Brown pulled out all the stops on this one," Stealth said, eying the surroundings.

The growl of twin engines erupted from the park across the street. Two figures on motorcycles appeared on the lawn as wheels tore into the manicured grass and spewed clumps of dirt in all directions. The riders wore black leather jackets, denim pants, boots and helmets. Stealth brought the car to a halt as he watched the cycles approach.

Hoss opened the car door and slid outside. He reluctantly left the Uzi and SMG and carried only the plastic cooler, relying on his partners to back him up. As he walked towards the helicopter, strong air currents whipped his hair and the lab coat he wore. He moved towards the pad in the center of the lawn. The two motorcyclists stopped their bikes and waited.

"What the hell is this?" Hoss shouted over the noise of the 'copter. "Who called for an escort?"

One of the cyclists dismounted and drew a pistol from a saddlebag. He pointed the gun at Hoss as the other rider climbed from his bike and reached into a bag for his weapon.

"Put it down!" the gunman ordered, his voice muffled by his helmet.

The guy's face was hidden by the visor. Hoss didn't have to see his expression to know the man was deadly serious. He raised the cooler to chest level, making certain the gunman could see the biohazard symbol.

"You mean this?" Hoss asked.

"Put it down, asshole!" the gunman screamed. "Get cute with us and you're dead!"

The second cyclist had produced a weapon with a short barrel and an extended magazine at the butt well. The weapon had been picked for a quick kill at close range and Hoss didn't feel confident looking at the muzzle of it. His bulletproof vest seemed pretty feeble protection at the moment.

"You hit this thing with a bullet, and you could smash the bottles inside," he warned, jiggling his cargo slightly. "The cooler will damn sure leak, and that means the temperature will drop really fast. This stuff has to stay packed in ice, and if it gets warm--even a few degrees warmer--the vaccine will be useless."

"¡Coño!" the guy with the weapon growled. "¡No me friegues!"

Once again, the huge man thanked his leader's perpetual habit of lapsing into his native tongue. "I'm not trying to screw you around."

Suddenly, the second cyclist threw himself to the ground. Hoss tossed the cooler away and broke his fall with one hand.

"Heads up, mate!" Stealth shouted as he tossed a Beretta towards his friend with one hand and drew his own weapon with the other.

Hoss deftly caught it from the air, flicked the safety off, and started firing.

A flurry of automatic weapon's fire erupted before he could aim. The enemy with the weapon staggered and twitched violently as bullets from Stealth's gun slammed into his body, giving Hoss time needed to acclimate himself.

From his vantage point, Hoss saw small rips appear in the man's leather jacket, the impact knocking him to the ground.

Stealth quickly took aim at the remaining enemy. The man's helmeted head had turned towards his partner as Stealth took him out. The enemy gunner swung his weapon toward the Aussie, and Hoss tag-teamed him with his own gun.

The first round hit center chest, staggering the man back two steps, but he still kept his grip on his weapon. Cursing the waste, a second high-velocity round hit the guy's visor. The corpse toppled to the lawn, its unfired handgun clenched in its gloved fist.

"Stealth! Hoss!" Viper's voice spoke over their comms. "Either of you hit?"

"Naw," Stealth's replied. "But I don't think we've got a live one here."

"Damn it!" Viper hissed. "I really needed one!"

"What about Blake?"

"A small piece of the puzzle, he only handled the staging the Seattle hit. He didn't know where the product came from or who was in charge and where to find him. I need another ace in the hole. Someone who can lead us home. Let's step it up, gentlemen! The clock is ticking!"

"Head for the park!" Aces' voice echoed in their ears. "I'll bet good money those cycles came from the back of a delivery van or truck."

"Close the exits!" Viper ordered. "Clear out civilians and don't let that vehicle through!"

Hoss got to his feet and started to jog towards the car. Stealth had already gotten behind the wheel and started her up. The large man had grabbed the handle and yanked open the door when a burst of full-auto fire cut loose from behind him.

"Shit!" He exclaimed as he dove inside the car's bullet-resistant interior.

He landed in the seat next to Stealth and yanked the door shut. Stealing a glance over the dashboard, Hoss saw the leather-clad figure at the helipad. The gunman pointed his Ingram at the car and sprayed another burst. Bullets ranked the hood.

"You said they were both dead," Hoss accused through clenched teeth.

"Hey! What do you want? I was half-right," Stealth replied, both hands locked into fists on the steering wheel. "The SOB must've had a vest on under his jacket."

"Either that, or he's a fuckin' Terminator," Hoss muttered, as his partner stomped on the gas pedal.

The car bolted forward as the gunman fired the last round from his MAC-10 and reached for a fresh clip under his jacket. Stealth turned the wheel sharply and steered the speeding vehicle for the startled gunman. The nose of the car clipped the man before he could jump from its path.

The gunman screamed as his body was thrown into the air by the grazing impact. Hoss and Stealth saw the blur of the hurtling form a moment before they heard it strike the roof. Glancing through the rearview mirror, the Aussie saw the still, crushed body on the lawn. His neck had been broken so completely that the head had literally been turned around.

Stealth glanced up and pointed at a wet, crimson stain at the top of the windshield. "Looks more like blood than machine oil. Guess he was human after all."

Hoss smacked the back of his partner's head.

"Hey! What!" Stealth rubbed his neck. "What'cha go and do that for?"

"'Cuz we had a live one and you broke him! Dammit, Stealth, I can't take you anywhere!"

"I only tapped him! Can I help it if the car is heavier than it looks?"

"You tell Viper we had one kicking and you killed him with the car. He's gonna roast you--"

"Me??!! You coulda shot yours in the leg."

"The man had a 'cop killer'."

Stealth made a rude noise. "Then you coulda shot it out of his hand."

"You've been watchin' too many spy movies."

"Gentlemen," an impatient voice came through their comms.

"On our way, Viper!" Stealth threw the car into gear and sped off.

When they arrived at the entrance to the small park, they heard Aces' voice over their comms.

"You in the van! You're surrounded and you can't escape! Stop your vehicle, throw out your weapons and surrender! Now!" The voice echoed over the 'copter's loudspeaker.

There was no response.

"Repeat it in Spanish," Hoss told him.

"Spanish? Hell, my Spanish is only good enough to order liquor and food. Viper?"

The big Marine's voice boomed from the hovering 'copter, "¡Atención en la furgoneta! ¡Le rodean y no puedes escaparse! ¡Pare su vehículo, láncelo fuera de sus armas y entregúese! ¡Ahora! "

Arriving at the scene moments later, the two men in the car found the van speeding down a street that had been cut off by a small fleet of dark, unmarked sedans. "These guys have to know they're in trouble," Hoss said. "They've got to see they're surrounded by agents."

Hoss and Stealth opened the doors and throwing themselves behind it as a barrier, just as Viper's helicopter settled on the ground a few feet away.

The door to the back of the van slid upward, and three armed figures jumped out. Two carried submachine guns and the third held an AK-47-style assault rifle.

"They're going to try to shoot their way through the roadblock," Viper called over the comm links. "Keep them from using the van for a battering ram!"

As he spoke, two of the men on foot attempted to jump into the back of the vehicle to make their escape.

Realizing their desperate move, Viper rushed forward. "You stupid--" he growled, pulling his Desert Eagle.

One of the thugs opened fire on Hoss and Stealth who were using the car as a shield. Ricochets whined against metal, and stray rounds sizzled in the air about their heads. As the other men began to fire on the closing agents, shotguns and rifles returned fire. Viper and his team saw their hope of capturing one or more terrorists alive dwindle.

Suddenly, an object streaked from the sky. A large steel hook attached to a heavy cable plunged from the hull of the copter. During the firefight, Aces had once again taken to the air and released the sky crane. The hook slammed into the hood of the van, assisted by distance and gravity, to deliver a powerful blow to the vehicle. The hood folded at the center and opened like the bloom of a metal flower.

A gunman raised his weapon, about to fire on the agent in the chopper. Viper immediately took aim. The bullet sent the man crashing to the pavement. Another enemy swung his SMG toward Viper. Hoss and Stealth fired simultaneously nailing him to the side of the crippled van.

Bullets hammered the car again as Hoss ducked for cover. He leaned around the edge of the vehicle. "You okay?" he called to his partner.

"Having a ball, you fruit loop! How do you think I'm doing?" Chancing a glance over the hood of the car, the Aussie spotted his lone opponent. Aiming carefully, he squeezed off a quick round burst, aiming for the man's lower limbs.

The man screamed in agony and dropped to the ground, his legs cut from under him by the Aussie's bullets.

"Hold your fire!" Viper ordered.

Silence soon settled over the area. Whimpering pleas and curses from the wounded terrorist mingled with the ringing in their ears from the gun battle. Seconds seemed to crawl before the van's driver's door opened. A man emerged slowly from the vehicle, both hands raised in surrender.

"I repeat, hold your fire!" Viper ordered again. "We got survivors!"

~~~~~~

Stealth lived up to his name as he slipped up behind the younger man. "What's up, mate?"

Justin jumped guiltily and spun to face him. "I. . .I--"

"Was spying?"

The younger man frowned. "They've been in there for hours since they got back," he complained.

"And likely'll be in there for hours more. Interrogations got a lot out of the men they brought back. They're planning strategies." He put his arm around the slender shoulders. "You shouldn't be hanging around out here."

Justin sighed. "He's been so busy the past few days. I just wanted to see him."

"If he knew you were hanging outside the war room, he'd have your hide."

Evers nodded. "You're right," he said dejectedly. "I'll go back to the suite."

Stealth watched the forlorn figure move off. "Wait a minute, C.D. You're right. They have been in there a long time. Who's to say we can't take them refreshments. It's probably time for a little break."

"You want me to play waiter to that group?" the young man asked indignantly.

Stealth raised an eyebrow at Justin's tone. "You want to see Viper?"

~~~

Justin carried in the heavily laden tray and slid it into place on the large conference table. Ducking his head at the look Choate and Brown gave him, he picked up the pot of coffee.

"Who called for room service?" Brown demanded.

"Oh!" Charron said, eying Justin. "De dessert? And I love them when they are this size. My compliments, Dupris."

Justin blushed. Everyone missed the glare Chips threw their way as Choate watched them quietly.

"Why are you here?" Brown asked sternly.

"Oh, shhh, Winn. Everything's planned and we needed a break to clear our heads." Charron held out his cup. "S'il vous plaît, cher."

Justin poured the coffee with only slightly shaky hands.

"And, who are you?" the scientist asked before taking a sip from his coffee cup.

"I'm just a visitor," Justin answered in a quiet voice.

Charron smiled. "I didn't know Dupris did tourists. You must be very special."

"He isn't even supposed to be here," Chips said under his breath.

"We're all tired and hungry, and we have a big day ahead of us. What say we grab some food and try to get a little rest?" The big ex-Fed said, rising from his seat.

Grateful for the distraction, Justin replaced the pot back on the tray and moved to Paddy's side.

The Marine eyed the scientist triumphantly.

"Ah," the man said, understanding dawning. "Félicitations! Vous avez le bon goût, mon ami."

Choate looked across the table where Booker watched them with narrow eyes. "Toi aussi," he replied.

Charron followed the big man's gaze.

Caught, Booker looked down and quickly away. Gathering his papers, he fled the room.

"Merci," Charron said, and got up to follow.

"Your team leaves at 0600, Viper," Brown said as he exited the door.

Choate waved his hand at the big man, then turned to Justin. "You, little boy, come with me."

"Viper, I--" Stealth said, as his team leader walked past him on his way out.

"You sit in the back of the bird tomorrow," Viper told him as he walked out, Justin following closely.

~~~

Charron caught up with Booker just before he reached the sanctuary of his computer room.

"L'petit--"

The young man turned on him angrily. "My name is Booker."

"Such a harsh name," he said softly as he traced the outline of the Chip's jaw.

"You're a flirt," he said accusingly.

Charron smiled. "And what, l'petit, are you?"

He drew himself up to his full height and said with conviction, "Not interested."

Now the scientist laughed out loud.

Booker wilted a little as he glared daggers at him.

Jean-Claude ignored the look and he placed his hands on the wall in front of him effectively pinning Perry against it. He waited for the young man to gasp his outrage before swooping down to capture the protest with a kiss.

Booker struggled, bucking up against the heavy body pressed against him.

Charron used his weight to hold him immobile and used the young man's struggles to deepen his kiss. He continued his tender assault until he felt him weakening.

Suddenly, Booker's arm encircled his waist, his hands clutching fist fulls of the larger man's clothes.

When the Canadian released him, he sagged slightly. "Oh," was all he could manage.

Charron placed his forehead against the hot one of his prize. "Say, 'Jean Claude, faire l'amour avec moi," he whispered close to Booker's ear.

The poor man couldn't think much less understand what was being asked of him. Repeating the sentence was out of the question. Gazing into the hungry eyes of his captor, Perry hazarded a soft, "S'il vous plaît," hoping it was the correct response.

Charron's smile became radiant. "Très bon, l'petit. Mon plaisir." The older man released him. "Where are your quarters?"

"My. . ."

"Your quarters, cher." Jean-Claude smiled. "That is, unless you wish me to take you in the hall."

The young man's eyes grew larger as he squeaked, "Take me?"

And Jean-Claude's smile became more indulgent. "You wish it, no?"

Perry's face colored red as he shook his head.

"You wish then to take me?"

The blush deepened so dark that Jean-Claude was afraid the young man would pass out.

He shook his head again.

The scientist leaned down to seal their mouths with a hard kiss. His lips pressed, prying the younger man's mouth open wide as he invaded the cavern with his tongue.

Shyly, almost hesitantly, Booker's tongue snaked out to meet the assault.

Jean-Claude kissed his captive breathless. Catching up the body that sagged against his, he laughed. "I just wanted to make certain you still had a tongue, cher." After another quick kiss he pushed back, making certain the little computer expert could maintain his feet. "Your room?"

Perry nodded, then started away on shaky legs.

Once there, the door slid into place behind them and Jean-Claude keyed the lock.

He took a step towards the obviously frightened young man. "Quoi, l'petit? "

The concern filtered through the older man's voice, even if the words remained a mystery. "I'm all right."

Jean-Claude caressed a cheek. "The truth, l'petit. Even I can tell the difference." He leaned in closer. "I thought you were interested. I was mistaken?"

The feeble movement of the head beneath his hands might have been a negative.

"Then, why, cher? Talk to me."

The dark eyes staring at him were huge. Jean-Claude kissed him again. There was no hesitation in the kiss returned. The fingers tangled desperately in his shirtfront were trying to pull him closer, not push him away.

Jean-Claude clutched the high, rounded asscheeks in both hands, squeezed and lifted. Booker sobbed and tensed.

"What is it, cher?" The older man repeated. "Tell me."

"Afraid," the computer wizard finally whispered faintly, his face buried in Charron's neck.

"Of me?" the scientist asked dismayed.

Booker shook his head.

Charron lifted the young man hard against him. "Afraid of what?"

What skin of the younger man Charron could see colored again.

The Canadian squeezed the flesh in his hands again. "Of this?"

Booker burrowed his face deeper into the warm neck.

"You have never--"

This time the head shake was frantic.

"Ah, l'innocent." The older man murmured in awe, then laughed. "I do not have time right now to woo you properly, mon vierge." He kissed his forehead. "But when this is over, I promise I will make love to you gently and deeply and all night. Tres bien?" He pried the smaller man from his body and began slowly peeling his clothes away. When Jean-Claude had him nude he stood back, whistling in admiration. "Exquis."

The predatory glint in Charron's eyes made Perry's flesh grow hot. The young man watched with shy interest as the scientist undressed himself.

"I--"

"Shhh, l'petit." Charron pulled the smaller man into the circle of his arms. "It will be all right." He pressed his erection into Perry's stomach. Looking down. "Hmmm." He took the tight ass in his hands again and lifted until he could align their cocks together.

Perry hissed at the contact and threw his head back. Charron immediately closed his mouth around the pulse pounding in the offered neck and nipped sharply, causing the smaller man to moan.

Slowly, nursing his prize with his mouth, he began backing the younger man towards the bed.

Once there, Jean-Claude released his grip with one hand and gently began lowering them to the mattress. Once Perry's back rested on the padded surface, the older man began to move, pressing down hard, rotating his hips for maximum friction, their pre-cum slicking the way.

Poor Perry clung to the sweat slick back of the hot presence that covered him, that manipulated him so intensely that he could only moan and whimper as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him.

Jean-Claude looked down at the beautiful face beneath him, the eyes tightly closed, the mouth slightly open panting for breath, and increased his ministrations.

Suddenly, Perry made a helpless sound of concession, arched his back in a bow, his hands clutching fistfuls of the covers, and howled out his ecstasy.

When the younger man came back to his senses, he was staring into hot, amber eyes.

"Ca c'est bien?"

Perry frowned at his lover's self-satisfied tone.

Summoning what little strength he had remaining, he pushed Jean-Claude on his back, lowered his head to the hard cock that jutted from the dark nest of hair low on his body, and wiped the smug look from the scientist's face.

~~~~~~

Chips groaned and stirred restlessly. He didn't want to wake up. He was warm and oh, so comfortable. But there was a buzzing that wouldn't stop.

Suddenly, the bed dipped and shifted, and he heard an angry, "Oui?"

Pushing hair from his eyes, Perry looked over at the naked back of Dr. Charron as he talked on the comm.

'Oh, no,' Perry thought in anguish. 'Who's he talking to on my line?'

"Merde!" the scientist exclaimed. "How many?"

Perry almost asked what happened, but held his tongue. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't good news.

"I'll be there immediately. Tell Ben to have a suit in my size ready. . . I don't know what the hell we can do, but we have to do something."

He hung up, his face turned from Perry for four or five seconds before he finally looked up at him and spoke in a voice taut with emotion.

"The patients under observation at LCDC," he began, "the survivors from the virus at Squamisho. . .they've started to show symptoms of the Charon."

"Shit," Perry whispered. "How bad is it?"

"They're dying," he replied. "Every one of them. Men, women and children. They're already having trouble breathing. Some of them might be dead by the time I get there. Merde, I've got to go! I don't know what I can do. Go watch them die? We don't have any treatment! We don't know where to start looking for a cure! I feel so. . .helpless!"

"Jean-Claude," Perry said, moving closer. "I'm going to call Brown and tell him. Then we have to get in touch with our teams and their contacts. They've probably started to drop their guard because they thought they were safe."

"Safe?" Charron hissed. "Nobody is safe from this, are they? So much for this being some sort of whites-only disease. The virus is now a. . .how do you say it, equal opportunity destroyer."

Silently, the smaller man took the scientist into his arms and offered what comfort he could.

~~~~~~

"You are not covert ops anymore!" Blair all but screamed as he paced the length of their assigned rooms, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I know that, Chief," Jim said softly, trying to catch his mate as he pounded by. He missed.

"Then, why?"

"Because they asked me. Because they need me."

"Well, I'm asking you not to. And I need you."

Jim succeeded in snagging the Guide on his next fly-by. "I know you do, babe," he said holding him close, pressing his lips to Blair's throat. "But this is important."

"Then, I'm going with you," he said stubbornly.

"No."

Blair struggled in his lover's arms until Jim released him. "No?" he asked looking straight into his Sentinel's eyes. "What do you mean, no? What if you have a zone?" The hands became animated. "You could get killed!"

"Viper will be there, and the rest of the guys."

"What do they know about bringing you out of a zone?"

"I'll be careful, Chief. On assignments like this no one goes in alone. If they don't know what to do, they'll improvise."

Defeat crept into Blair's voice as he tried one last time to sway his Sentinel. "I want to go with you."

Jim shook his head. "Stay here and keep Justin company."

"But, Jim--"

Ellison drew him close again and finally told his Guide the whole truth. "I want to go, Chief."

Whatever reply Blair would have made was swallowed by a kiss that registered level 8 on the brain-fry-odometer.

'This isn't over, Sentinel.' The Guide thought as he surrendered to the passion.

~~

Choate turned to his lover as soon as the doors closed behind him. "Tell me exactly what you thought you were doing back there?" he demanded. Turning back to face the room, he caught Justin's expression. "Plotting your escape, little boy?"

Justin twisted the hem of his shirt and looked guilty.

"You wouldn't get very far." Choate reached out his hand. "Come here."

The younger man stepped forward, curling his fingers into the large palm. Choate reeled him in close. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," young Evers whispered.

"You didn't," the Marine said softly as he turned Justin around facing away from him.

"Are you mad?" he asked, his hands behind him, clasping the Marine's hipbones for balance.

"No."

Justin felt fingers in his hair as his lover worked the braid loose.

Choate lifted up the heavy hair and kissed the wild pulse fluttering in the golden neck until the smaller man groaned aloud.

"Viper," Chips' voice interrupted their play. "We need you in briefing room seven."

The young man in his arms, and the one on the other end of the comm, jumped at the force and word the agent used.

"In five!" he growled. Turning his little love around, Choate lifted him up hard against his chest, buried one hand in the dark, rich mass of hair, cupped the roundness of Justin's bottom with the other, and sealed their lips in a climax inducing kiss.

~~~

Someone was signalling for entrance.

Justin started not to answer the door. "Come," he said finally.

It slid open and Blair walked in. "I thought you could use the company."

The other man lay back on the bed, clutching the pillow tighter. "No."

"You can't sit here and sulk."

"Watch me," the smaller man said sullenly.

Blair sat on the bed. "Let's do something. Play cards, chess, talk."

"Leave me to my misery, man. Okay?"

"It's my misery, too," Blair said softly.

Justin turned and looked up at his friend. "That was a low blow, Sandburg."

"It isn't going to do either of us any good to brood. I'm worried, too."

"But your law enforcement isn't in this kind of danger when he's on the job."

"Listen to yourself, Evers," Blair told him sternly. "Any level of danger can get you killed."

Justin tossed the pillow aside and swung his legs up and over the edge of the bed. "You're right." He sighed again. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I know they won't let us wander around the facility."

Justin was silent a moment before he heaved another sigh. "You play poker?"

"Yeah."

"If I can find a deck of cards, we can play."

"I don't have a lot of money, Justin."

"We can play strip poker."

"What?"

"Just to make it interesting," Justin teased, the smile he gave Blair was pure impishness and more like Justin.

~~~~~~

Two hours later, half-way across the globe, Omega Team plus one sat inside the transport as Aces brought them under the radar, closer to Sharma's island.

"What have you got, Chips?" Viper asked the tech who was back at the Estate, but monitoring the island through a transport comm link almost two miles out to sea.

"They're headed for the labs," Jim announced grimly. "My bet's Sharma's storing the Charon virus there."

"What makes you so sure?" Viper asked him.

"He's right," Booker said to Brown, pointing to the screen. "See those orange lines? Those are hot water pipes. You'll see more of them in the plumbing system throughout the compound. They're part of the shower unit for the first level before going into a biohaz lab. And this red square? That's the ultraviolet light for the decon chamber."

Jim didn't tell the man he could also see the UV.

"I thought UV had a deep blue light? How's it being picked up by the sensors?"

"The heat," the little tech said. "They must have them running 24 hours a day, so the chamber's pretty warm."

"A little beyond that's the freezer?" Jim asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Perry said, nodding even though the team couldn't see. "It's a safe bet they store the virus there."

"The guys headed for the lab are being herded together," Jim said.

"Can you tell how many?" Paddy asked, as nonchalantly as he could with what he suspected about Ellison.

"No," both Jim and Booker said in unison.

"But," the younger man said indignantly, "from the size of the heat pattern, there must be four or five."

"Maybe it's the scientists being escorted to the lab," Viper said, thoughtfully.

Jim settled back. "Kinda late to be working, isn't it? Sharma is either a slave driver or --"

"Or he has a reason to put them to work at this hour," Viper finished for him.

"Maybe they do their work at this hour to avoid heat of the day," Hoss said.

Viper shook his head. "They're in a controlled environment, working in decon suits. The heat outside wouldn't be a factor."

"We need to figure out how to get in there," Ellison replied thoughtfully.

"Chips?"

"Give me another minute. I'm workin' on it."

"Viper?" a new voice sounded in his ear. It was Cook. "Interrogation wanted me to tell you thanks to the intel they got from Antony Blake, the two terrorists hauling the virus to DC were stopped cold." There was a chuckle. "Actually, they were stopped hot. Aces fried them with an air-to-land missile from his copter."

"Way to go, Aces," Hoss said.

"Then, that makes this the final target," the computer tech said.

"Chips--" Viper said, the annoyance coming through in his voice.

"Okay. Heat sensors show the fence surrounding the property to be hot. It also shows what appears to be motion detectors planted all along the beaches."

"You're telling me there's no way in?" the Marine asked.

There was a pause. "Wait a. . .here, the devices are set at every side of the island except by the pier."

"Probably because waves move the boats and they'd make the detectors go off all the time," Ellison offered as a suggestion.

"Okay, the obvious choice then is by the pier," Viper said.

"How about the fence? Think we can take it without setting off alarms?" asked Stealth.

"Or getting fried on the wire?" Clutch said.

"Ch--" Jim began. "Viper."

The Marine turned to the Sentinel.

"There's a vessel heading away from the island."

"Chips?" the agent spoke into his comm.

"Damn! There it is, heading south. Must be loaded with another shipment of the Charon virus."

"He's right, Viper," Ellison said. "It's not much, but there's some onboard."

"They don't need much to breed more. A vial, a petri dish, about 20 grams is enough to start a major plague. From there the disease can do the rest."

"Where's Aces?" Viper asked through his comm. "Cook?"

"Still here, Viper. I got it."

A few minutes passed, then, suddenly Ellison shielded his eyes and turned away from the horizon just as it lit up with a brilliant burst of yellow light.

"Aces reports target eliminated," Cook's solemn voice came over the comm.

"Tell him fancy shooting."

"He says all in a day's work. You owe him a beer."

"Tell him I'll give him a case of my good stuff when we get back."

"Will do."

"I just hope the virus doesn't latch on to the fish, plankton, shrimp or whatnot," Jean-Claude said. "It might seep into those animal cells, find no DNA it can use and crystalize in a dormant state. If somebody catches some of the infected marine life and some how transfers the virus, say through a cut on their hand or by consuming it raw --"

"Thanks, Doc," Hoss' voice came over Jean-Claude's set. "As if we don't have enough to worry about already."

"Just a speculation. We don't know that much about this virus, so we don't know what it might do."

"Don't start Brown, Doctor," Viper said gruffly. "He'll have us nuking the entire area. Let's just do the job in front of us and worry about other possibilities in the future. We have to get ready. Call you back when it's done."

"Bonne chance, mon ami."

"Watch your ass," Brown's voice came over the earpiece. "All of you."

"Brown," Viper hesitated. "Tell Justin--"

"Tell him yourself when you get back," the older man interrupted gruffly. And the transmission was severed.

"All right. Choose your weapons, gentlemen. For tonight's mission I want everyone in Second Chance kevs."

"Aww, Viper," Hoss groaned. "They weigh a ton and make me feel like a bear."

"That's 'cuz you are a bear, you dingo," Stealth mumbled just loud enough for those closest to him to hear, including Hoss.

"Use it anyway, Hoss. The enemy has too much firepower. I'm not losing anymore of my team to this damn mission if I can help it."

"That extra weight won't help us underwater," Ellison said. "Of course, there're sea sleds onboard. If we use them, we'll have to take off most of this hardware, stuff it into waterproof bags and put it back on when we reach shore."

"Then, let's do it," Viper replied. "The plane can land on water. We'll get off about 500 yards from the island and go in by sled."

"Won't they detect us on radar?" Hoss asked.

"With all the activity, I'm banking if a radar operator sees a plane go down and take off a few seconds later, he'll figure it was probably a glitch. If they expect to be attacked, they'll be watching for a larger assault force. They won't figure anybody would hit the island with only a few guys."

"Of course not," Stealth added with a smile. "Who would be crazy enough to do that?"

"We already know the answer to that," Ellison replied with a wry smile.

"So, let's show them just how crazy Omega team can be."

~~~

The two scientists emerged from the UV chamber and walked to the room used to store the decon suits. A merc accompanied the trio, all of them dressed in green scrubs. He headed for his suit and quickly pulled it on. The man glanced back at Orr and Hofmann. The captives had said little to him since he roused them from their bed at two this morning.

The mercenary knew Lla had decided to flee after they sent out the next shipments of the virus. He hadn't been told the scientists would be killed, but suspected Sharma wouldn't be hauling the pair through some tropical rain forest in South America with them.

The mercenary escort greeted the guard stationed at the air unit. Already suited up, the second man simply nodded his helmeted head in acknowledgement. They were soon joined by a third merc who quickly slid into his own suit.

The first merc started to don a suit and glanced at the solemn expressions on the faces of the two older men. Orr looked away and folded both arms over his stomach and doubled over groaning pitifully. Hofmann stepped next to him and put a hand on his comrade's shoulder.

"What the hell's wrong with him," the first merc demanded.

"I think it's his stomach."

"Get him suited up," the second merc snapped. "If he pukes in it'll be his own tough luck. Hurry up! We don't have all night!"

The man then fitted his helmet over his head and plugged his air hose into a socket in the machine. Hofmann reached for a suit and gently pulled Orr closer.

The second merc shook his head before he donned his own helmet. Orr glanced up at the man and watched him attach his air hose to the unit, as well.

Orr slipped a hand under the green fabric of his scrub's shirt and withdrew a slender test tube. He had smuggled it from the lab earlier, hiding the tube, with great personal discomfort by lodging it inside his rectum. He had brought it through the decon levels to the scrub section, before removing the tube and hiding it under his shirt. The biochemist had been terrified during the transport, and was even more frightened as he extracted it and pried loose the plastic cork.

Hofmann made a big show of the suit he held. As the guard and the merc turned towards him, Orr took advantage of the distraction and lunged forward thrusting the test tube inside the intake vent of the air unit. Once he had the glass wedged inside he pushed down on it, cracking the glass, then stepped away and let the prussic acid pour into the artificial atmosphere.

The three men already attached to the unit by lifelines didn't know what happened at first. The first suddenly raised gloved hands to his helmet, an expression of horror on his face. The other two mercs appeared baffled, having no clue as to what had happened, but grew suspicious when Orr and Hofmann moved out of reach.

One merc stepped forward, stopped suddenly gasped and staggered off balance. The first one affected fell to all fours. The remaining two mercenaries struggled to stay on their feet, but soon surcame to the toxic fumes, as well. They twitched violently, encased in their own personal gas chambers, as the air pumps fed them enough cyanide gas to kill a hundred men.

Soon the trio lay still on the floor at the scientists' feet.

"What've I done?" Orr wailed.

"You saved us," Hofmann said simply.

"I killed them," Orr said, refusing to be consoled.

Hofmann took him by the shoulder and gave him a hard shake. "You don't think they wouldn't've killed us sooner or later? Let's go to the laboratory and get this over with."

~~~

The sentry was bored. A brain-dead monkey could do this job. He puffed a cigarette as he stared out at the dark ocean. Earlier he thought he'd glimpsed lightning by the horizon and even thought he'd heard thunder. He convinced himself it had only been his imagination.

The merc tugged at the shoulder strap of his rifle. After two hours of guard duty, the damn thing weighed a ton. He stepped to the edge of the pier, aimed the cigarette butt between two docked boats and let it fly.

"Those things'll kill ya," a voice whispered.

Startled, the man turned. He caught the glimpse of a mammoth fist hurtling towards his face just seconds before his consciousness shattered into a thousand points of light and pain that taunted him before they winked to darkness.

Hoss then handed the body off down the human chain; the last man sliding the unconscious guard into the water.

"Two guards are stationed by the front gate," Jim said in a low voice to Viper at his side. "And, at least one is moving along the grounds."

"I don't understand why you even need me on surveillance," Jim was the only one who heard Chips' soft complaint over his comm.

"Ellison and I will take the gate," Viper said. "The rest of you will have to make an entrance. Take out anyone in your way and move into position as previously decided."

They prepared for battle. The commandos took turns standing watch and donning their weapons, armor and other gear. Each man put on a kevlar vest, black fatigue jacket and their shoulder leather and belts loaded with pistols, knives and ammo pouches.

Jim gave a quick smile to Viper as he smeared camouflage paint on his face that said, 'Feels like old times.'

The agent took the paint pot from Ellison and smiled back his affirmation.

Quickly pulling on paratrooper boots, Clutch strapped a quiver to his left thigh which contained bolts for his crossbow. An improved version of the ancient weapon, this one had a nightsight, safety catch, power-cocking mechanism and double-bolt action.

"Well," he announced with a wolfish grin, "ready to rock and roll."

The small group approached the enemy's stronghold. Jim and Viper crawled to position roughly seventy yards from the front gate.

Stealth moved to the fence at the west side of the compound. Hoss accompanied him, a silencer attached to the stubby barrel of his Uzi. Clutch remained a distance from the fence, crossbow held ready. The Aussie knelt near his partner as he screwed a silencer to the threaded barrel of his weapon.

Clutch opened his pack of explosives and got to work; but before he finished placing the charge, there was movement in the enemy compound. A roving guard strolled from the corner of the house, stopping abruptly when he spotted Stealth and Hoss outside the fence. The guard unslung his rifle and opened his mouth to shout an alarm. But the only sound was a sudden 'hiss' and a dull thud. Ten centimeters of a fiberglass shaft with a steel head and black and silver feathered arrows jutted from his mouth like a tack in an insect specimen. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Hoss dropped low and spun towards the fallen guard.

Stealth sighed with relief. "Thanks, mate," he whispered.

Clutch gave him the 'thumbs up' sign.

"You about finished?" Hoss asked the demo expert.

"Give me a minute," he replied.

Clutch inserted a special blasting cap with a timer-detonator and set the dial for twenty seconds. Hoss was relieved to see the nod to indicate he was finished. The pair hurried from the fence and sprinted to the small knoll where Stealth now waited.

A shout of alarm erupted from the compound, and boots pounded the ground fast and hard. Two mercenary guards appeared from shadows by the house and rushed towards the fence. They had to have glimpsed movement outside the base, but failed to see well enough to be certain if they had been a genuine threat or a couple of their own comrades taking a jog around the perimeter.

When the explosives went, the blast wasn't thunderous, but the blazing-white light on the metal fence startled and blinded the two mercenaries. The three men quickly took advantage of the situation and opened fire.

Smoke drifted from the metal and parts of the wire links still glowed from the intense heat caused by the subdued blast. When both men kicked the fence in unison, a large section popped loose and fell into the compound.

"Nice work, Clutch," Stealth whispered.

"Praise me later. Let's go."

~~

The five men met up at the concourse. They had discussed strategy before they left the compound, so Viper didn't bother with words and simply pointed at Hoss and Stealth, then pointed at the house. The two men headed in that direction and made their way to the rear of the building. The Marine didn't want any terrorists escaping from a back door. The rest of the group turned their attention to the billets where the majority of Lla's troops were located.

They used the building's shadow for cover. The demo expert opened his bag once more. He removed four packages of C4, each prepared with a special blasting cap and a timer-detonator.

Ellison pointed to his own chest and thrust a thumb at the billets he planned to target. Viper nodded. He signalled Clutch to follow Ellison.

Jim and Clutch made their way to the barracks, keeping their bodies as close to the ground as possible.

Stopping at the corner of the building, Jim signalled for Clutch to echo his movements. Seconds later, there was the sound of a foot step that stopped abruptly. One hand on his gun, Jim cautiously peeked around the edge of the building.

A merc stood near a screen door, preoccupied with something in his hands. Jim retreated back to his crouch by Clutch and held up one finger. Clutch reached inside his vest to extract his knife. Jim quickly took it from his hands and signalled for him to set his charges.

The Sentinel slipped silently from his hiding place and crept up behind the unsuspecting man.

Slipping one hand over the man's mouth, he delivered a sharp clip with the heavy butt of the weapon to the base of the man's skull.

The Sentinel dragged the body around the corner and lowered it to the ground. Clutch signalled to him that the charges were set before gathering up their gear. The two men then moved to the side of the house to brace themselves for the explosion.

The first two blasts roared in unison. Both barracks seemed to tilt off center, rocked by the thunderous punch of the C-4. The next explosions occurred less than three seconds later. Aluminum walls and the wooden framework within collapsed, sending the rooftops crashing into the wreckage.

Both men spun at the sound of someone behind them, Ellison stilling Clutch's hands as he recognized the approaching figure.

"Viper wants you back with him," Hoss said. "He sent me to replace you. We're to remain here and take out any survivors."

Once Jim returned to the site, he crouched down with the main body of the strike force.

"Didn't want you to miss the main event," Viper said as they began to position themselves around the front of the house.

Stealth pulled the pin of a frag grenade, counted and lobbed it into the house. The entire team dove for cover as the explosion rocked the structure.

"Showtime," Stealth said softly, as he lead the charge up the front stairs and through the doorway.

~~~

Two mercenaries bolted from the rear door of the house. One carried an assault rifle, the other a weapon that resembled a shotgun.

Hoss and Clutch spotted them from their corner of the building and opened fire quickly taking them down.

A screen window burst from its frame near Hoss, and he turned as a figure leaped outside, a pistol in hand. The big commando quickly whipped the barrel and frame of his gun across the attacker's forearm and wrist to knock the pistol from his grasp. The merc's reflexes proved exceptional as he grabbed the frame of the Omega commando's Uzi with his other hand.

Hoss shoved the rifle's muzzle into his opponent's torso, but the guy managed to grab it with both hands and tried to wrench it away. Suddenly, his opponent jerked, doubled over and crumbled at his feet.

The big man looked up at Clutch standing there holding a bloody combat knife. "Dance on your own time," he snapped.

Suddenly, the big man raised his rifle and fired point blank at the Native American. Clutch covered his head with his arms and hit the ground, half expecting to find himself mortally wounded. After a few seconds, he looked up.

"Can we go now?" Hoss asked him quietly.

Clutch looked behind him at the body of the merc that Hoss had shot. The demo expert made a rude noise as he straightened, pulled the pin from an M-26 fragger and tossed the grenade through the window. Debris spewed into the compound, and the torn and bloodied form of yet another terrorist tumbled from the threshold. "There goes the neighborhood," he quipped as he drew his rifle and returned the knife to its sheath.

"If word of this gets out it could hurt the tourist trade," Hoss added. He dropped the clip from the assault rifle and rammed home a fresh one.

"Sharma doesn't need to worry about tourism. When we're done, that bastard won't even be able to sell this hunk of rock as a parking lot."

Lla Sharma marched through the halls of the house, followed by Eugene Goldacker and the leader of his mercenary army. Both Sharma and the merc leader were armed with submachine guns and fragmentation grenades. The soldier had refused to give the lab tech anything deadlier than a knife.

The rest of the men were rushing around frantically as the sounds of explosions and gunfire surrounded them. The house trembled as explosions erupted at both ends of the building.

"How the hell did this happen?"the merc leader rasped.

"It happened, and how doesn't matter right now," Sharma replied. "Your men are running around like panicked sheep. Get them under control and get them out there fighting, Helmut."

The German terrorist muttered something, but stopped two mercs in the hall to issue orders. Sharma and Eugene headed for the lab. The three scientists should have returned with the virus in the cold boxes, Sharma realized. Maybe they were afraid to come out due to the sounds of battle, but the mercenary guards should have forced them to do so.

The Cuban mastermind walked to the thick display window and stared into the laboratory. He saw Paul Orr by the steel freezer unit, vainly punching numbers into the combination lock in a desperate attempt to open it. Dennis Hofmann hammered a plastic stool against the Plexiglas window to the chemical cabinet, trying to smash it to get to the contents inside. Both scientists wore surgical scrub suits, not the protective blue suits.

"I don't fucking believe how this night is turning out!" Sharma roared in English.

"What is it?" Eugene asked as he looked into the lab.

"The bodyguards are missing, and those two payasos aren't wearing suits. They must have gotten the better of their guards. We have to get in there, stop those two and get the virus."

"We have to go into the laboratory?" Goldacker asked, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. "I've never been in that place, and, to tell the truth, I don't want to get any closer to that virus."

"We don't have a choice, Eugene," Sharma insisted.

"Setting foot in there is too risky."

"Those two bastards are in there without protective gear," Sharma snapped. "As long as the Charon virus is on ice, it's no threat to anyone. There's no time to waste. Come on!"

Reluctantly the young scientist followed Sharma into the first decon chamber just as Helmut caught up to them. They passed through the scrub area and entered the ultraviolet section. The Cuban drew his Browning pistol as they walked towards the deep blue light.

"Wait!" Goldacker cried. He stopped long enough to throw the switch and turn the UV off. "You don't want to get cancer from this," he told the two impatient men.

Knowing Helmut wouldn't give him a gun, and feeling stupid with only the little knife, Eugene put it in his boot and disconnected the metal bar from a ring stand and hefted it as a weapon.

They found the bodies of three mercenaries at the decon chamber. Sharma gazed at them and shook his head. The corpses were encased in the blue suits, the hoses plugged into the artificial-atmosphere system. Eugene turned to the racks of extra suits, probably looking for one large enough to fit.

"Forget it," Sharma told him. "Orr and Hofmann sabotaged the air unit somehow. The damn suits aren't safe to use now."

Goldacker was obviously unhappy about entering the lab without protective clothing, but he left the suits, prepared to follow Sharma to the final section. The Cuban paused by the dead men and Sharma spit on the clear plastic visor.

"Good," he declared. "White trash piece of shit. . ."

He kicked the corpse in a final act of contempt. Eugene stared at him with surprise. Sharma shrugged and canted his head towards the laboratory to urge the man to follow him. Which he did after a reluctant pause.

~~~

Viper launched a frag shell into the corridor where the communications section was located. He doubted the radio operator remained on duty at his post, but someone might be lurking there or in other room nearby. The 40 mm grenade exploded, the blast spewing flame, plaster dust and assorted debris into the air.

Movement by a doorway drew Ellison's attention. He whirled and opened fire with his bullets ripping an enemy gunner from stomach to throat. The man collapsed to the floor, and the detective fired another load through the doorway to keep any unseen foes at bay. Viper tossed in a grenade for good measure, and both men rushed clear of the room before it exploded.

Two figures sprinted towards them from the hallway. Ellison and Viper opened fire simultaneously, the force of their bullets' impact dropping mercenaries to the floor. From a position further down the hall they heard additional gunfire.
Viper loaded his last shell into the breech of his rocket launcher. He swung the weapon out as far as he dared and squeezed the trigger. The two men crammed into a corner and covered their heads an instant before the shell exploded. The blast shook the building.

"Figure Sharma has insurance on this place?" the detective remarked.

"Not enough," Viper replied.

They didn't want to give any survivors time to recover from the explosion. The pair charged the hallway and opened fire with their assault rifles.

"I'll never get used to this," Jim whispered.

Viper nodded in solemn agreement.

Ellison's sight suddenly caught a faint movement from one of the bodies littering the floor. A third arm slither from under the pile. The dead man lay on top of another mercenary who stirred beneath the corpse.

Jim signalled the Viper.

As Jim glimpsed a blur of movement from the corner of an eye and turned to confront the possible threat. A hard object slammed into the barrel and frame of his M-16, the blow jarring the rifle from Jim's grasp. Turning, the Sentinel saw Helmut had used a chair as an improvised weapon. He realized that the man had been hiding behind the large table that had protected him from the most punishing effects of the explosion.

The German terrorist yanked his weapon from a hip holster. Jim closed the distance in one long stride and swung a hard kick to the merc's gun hand. His fist popped open and the weapon spun from numb fingers. Jim whirled with the momentum of the kick to lash out a spinning backfist at the merc's face.

He missed.

Helmut had ducked under the attack and suddenly thrust a fist into Jim's chest. The Kevlar vest prevented the punch from causing any real punishment, but the blow still pushed the Sentinel back two steps. The enemy lunged forward and quickly grabbed his adversary's right wrist and followed through with a judo shoulder throw.

Jim didn't attempt to resist the throw, aware that the move might break his arm. Instead, he spread his legs and bent his knees as he sailed over the merc's bowed head. The Sentinel shoved his left hand onto his opponent's arched back to help direct his body with the motion of the judo throw, cartwheeling off the mercenary.

He then landed catlike on his feet in front of the astonished terrorist. The man still held Jim's arm, but the ex-ops snap-kicked him in the groin and swung a left hook to the side of the merc's jaw. He easily broke free of his grasp and thrust a heel-of-the-palm stroke to the man's mouth. The combination of punishing blows knocked the terrorist to the floor.

Helmut looked up at Jim as he lay on his side, an elbow propped on the floor to push his upper body higher. Blood trickled from a split lip, and a dark bruise formed on his jaw. He didn't appear eager to get up and try another round of martial arts with the tough ex-ops, but, as he glanced around, the merc and saw the subgun less than half a yard away. He decided it was his best chance for survival and quickly scrambled for the weapon. Jim drew his weapon and took aim as the merc reached the subgun. The Sentinel fired two rounds. The body slumped to the floor.

Viper leaned against the door jam. "Finished now?"

The Sentinel nodded and picked up the subgun the merc had reached for. They moved past the blood-splattered battle scene and discovered a large metal door with warning signs written in English, French and Spanish posted on the panel. The interlocked circles that symbolized a biohazard were a more vivid warning than any words.

"Jackpot," Ellison stated. "The lab and the virus are in there. I guess this is what we came here for."

"Yeah," the ex-Marine. "You stay in here. "

"Why?"

The other man turned on him and raised an eyebrow. "This virus is more partial to gringo, my friend."

"You can still contract it."

"Not as quickly as you," Viper replied. "Plus, I want you out here in case something goes wrong. Watching my back." He smiled a sad smile. "And, in case something goes wrong, you may have to lob some of Clutch's white phosphorous bombs into this chamber. Better to burn the lab and the virus than Aces have to shell the island before you and the guys can get off."

"You could just burn it right now."

"Orr and Hofmann may be in there," Viper said. "We can't burn it until we know for sure. Can't have them running around loose with that kind of knowledge in their heads."

"Dammit, Viper!" Jim growled with frustration.

"Nothing about this is easy, Ellison. I know you don't want to wait here, and I sure as hell don't want to go in there. Still, that's the way it's going to be."

The Marine marched to the door, opened it, and entered the scrub section. He glanced at the showers, sinks and chemical-disinfectant dispensers. No one hid by the stalls or lockers. The agent moved on to the next room and discovered the intense blue light of the UV had been switched off. He tried to dismiss his sense of dread. A lethal microscopic virus was no more visible than a bullet in flight. The Charon disease was a weapon, and those who wielded it were flesh and blood. The enemy he had come for remained human, despite the devices of death and destruction they used.

Outside in the hall, Ellison tracked the Marine's progress by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and slow as he moved from room to room.

In the anteroom, the Marine encountered three corpses in blue suits. He didn't know what happened, but the fact that the dead men had air hoses attached to the breathing unit warned him not to suit up in gear. The 'lifelines' to the air unit clearly spelled death. They weren't Orr or Hofmann, so Viper had to continue to the lab.

Muffled voices announced he didn't have far to go. He approached a pair of sliding metal doors. A pressurized air lock, he realized as he reached for the control button.

Viper felt as if he had his finger on the detonator to a hydrogen bomb, and he had to push it although he knew the dangers involved. He drew a tense breath and pushed the button. The doors opened on command, and he stepped into a narrow gray chamber. A single light in a wire shield burned from the ceiling, otherwise it resembled a blank and solemn tomb. The Marine didn't dwell on that and moved to the next set of sliding doors. He hit the button and the barrier rolled open.

The agent stared into the laboratory. Immaculate white walls reflected the ceiling lights. Counters held microscopes, test tubes, beakers and other objects Viper didn't recognize. A freezer unit dominated one corner, the big steel door open. Two men in surgical scrub outfits stood facing a display window, their arms raised high, palms flat on the thick Plexiglass pane. The warrior couldn't see their faces, but they appeared to be middle-aged and he guessed they were Orr and Hofmann.

A third man, standing at a big table, glared back at Viper. Three portable coolers were on the tabletop, as well as a row of small petri dishes. Lla Sharma's face twisted with surprise and rage when he saw Viper. He took a step back to the end of the table as he raised his arm, a Browning pistol in his fist.

"Bastard!" he shouted, and pulled the trigger.

Viper ducked back around the doorway to the chamber as the round sparked along the floor, ricocheted into the other set of sliding doors and bounced into a wall. The agent prepared to return fire, but remembered he hadn't altered the mode of the Desert Eagle from 3-round burst to semi-auto. He cursed briefly, angered by his mistake, and thumbed the selector switch.

The sound of feet shuffling on floor tile, fabric rustling and men grunting with frustration told Viper the situation in the lab had changed. He peered around the corner and saw that Orr and Hofmann had jumped Sharma from behind. The youngest scientist had grabbed Sharma's wrist above the Browning and tried to wrench the pistol from the Cuban's grasp. Orr held the terrorist's other arm.

The pair showed great courage by this action, but Viper knew they wouldn't be able to hold their adversary long. The scientists were too civilized and out of shape to take on an enemy like Sharma. The Marine entered the lab to go their aid.

He didn't see Eugene until the man attacked. The young scientist had hidden by the frame of the sliding doors, out of sight until Viper crossed the threshold. A piece of pipe struck the warrior's forearm with enough force to jar the gun from his hand. Goldacker's other fist swooped for Viper's chest with knife held ready, the point aimed for the warrior's heart.

Viper pulled away from the attack, reflexes powering his muscles without his conscious thought. The blade slashed his field jacket, the tip raking the Kelvar vest beneath. The warrior's left hand shot forward and snared Eugene's knife hand. Fingers dug into the base of his adversary's thumb while Viper's thumb pressed into the back of his opponent's fist. He pulled, increasing the man's motion to keep him off balance. Then the Marine slapped his right palm over his own thumb and stepped forward with the thrust. Goldacker's wrist was bent backward, with Viper's weight and momentum behind the martial arts technique, and he was forced to go with the motion. Suddenly, the young man fell backward, the pressure on his hand and wrist also making him drop the knife.

Viper kicked the blade and sent it sliding across the floor beyond Goldacker's reach. The furious would-be terrorist suddenly lashed out a kick from the floor. His boot caught Viper at the kidney level, but once again the vest kept the kick from causing injury to the organ. Nonetheless, Viper was knocked forward by the blow. The younger man thrust himself from the floor and attacked, his brawny arm swooping to the back of Viper's neck. He wrapped the limb around the warrior's neck and clasped his hands together to secure the headlock. Goldacker grunted with satisfaction, stupidity giving him the false confidence that he could apply enough pressure to crush the agent's neck.

The Marine dug the fingers of one hand into the crook of the younger man's elbow to ease the pressure of the lethal hold. Viper swung his other hand overhead, then shoved the forearm under Eugene's chin. He pushed his opponent's head back and continued to tug at the crook of the elbow. Once more, toppling off balance, landing on the tiles with Viper on top.

The terrorist's head rapped against the floor, and his fingers slipped apart. Viper was then able to break free of the headlock. He didn't give Eugene time to recover. Viper bent his elbow and chopped it into the point of the fallen man's jaw. A final blow caught Goldacker in the windpipe with crushing impact, and a glob of blood spewed from the his lips.

Lla Sharma had seen little of the death match between Viper and Goldacker. He had been busy dealing with the two scientists who tried to subdue him. Hofmann proved to be less civilized than he would have guessed, clamping his teeth on Sharma' hand and biting hard enough to force the Cuban to drop the pistol. The Browning was kicked aside by the shuffling feet of the struggling trio.

Enraged, Sharma responded with a brutal tactic of his own. He stomped a boot into the side of Hofmann's knee. Bone and cartilage gave way, and the scientist cried out in pain, his leg crippled. The Cuban ripped his hand free and promptly drove his fist into Orr's face. The senior man's head recoiled violently from the punch, and his fingers slipped from Sharma's left arm.

Freed, the terrorist grabbed Hofmann's head with both hands and forced it downward to meet a powerful knee-lift. The blow smashed the biochemist's nose and dumped him senseless on the floor. Orr staggered towards Sharma, dazed by the punch he had already received. The Cuban barely glanced over a shoulder at the man and whipped a fist to his gasping mouth. The older man landed on his backside and slumped against the freezer.

Sharma headed towards Viper and Goldacker, but the agent jumped to his feet, the Desert Eagle filling his hand as if by magic.

The terrorist leader reached for the table and grabbed a petri dish. Viper's gun pointed at the Cuban, yet Sharma smiled as if daring him to shoot.

"Stop right there and drop that gun!" Sharma called.

"Not happening," Viper replied. "It's over."

"Not until you're all dead! If I drop this little dish that's what will happen. I have enough virus in my hand to kill a million gringos like you, so put down the gun."

"The Charon virus doesn't kill only whites, Sharma," Viper told him. "The disease killed every person in both cities you infected. Whites died faster, but the virus became active in the others a few days later. Regardless of race or ethnic background, that thing you have in your hands just kills people. The levels of melanin in the host body slows the virus attack down, Sharma, but it doesn't stop it."

"¡Mentiroso!" Sharma hissed. "This is my revenge against you people! It kills only whites. Los blancos, me oye? (Whites, do you hear me?)"

"You can teach a person to be a bigot, but not a virus. It doesn't care about skin color, nationality, or so-called race. If nothing else, this virus proves one thing, people are just people. Simple as that."

Sharma glared at Viper. "What the hell do you know about bigotry, gringo?"

"No me crea si le dije, ese," Viper told him in perfectly accented Spanish. He raised the Desert Eagle and squeezed the trigger. The impact of the bullet shattered the bridge of Lla Sharma's nose and punched upward to blow open the top of his skull. Dead on his feet, Sharma toppled backward.

Viper lunged as the corpse began to fall, the fingers relaxing their grip on the petri dish. The small container filled with the Charon virus spun in the air twice before it plunged for the tiles. Two set of hands wrapped around the dish scant inches from the floor.

Amazed, brown eyes looked up into a set of sky-blue ones.

"I thought told you to wait."

"Hoss signalled he had everything under control." Ellison told him with a smile. "I figured you could use a little help."

They rose to their feet.

Viper placing the virus on the table with several other petri dishes. "There's enough here to kill millions," he whispered. "Come on, let's gather up our scientist and charbroil this place."

Jim put his arm around his friend as he nodded across the room. "You know, not that I don't have faith in your teams' destructive capabilities, but I'd feel a helluva a lot better if we stick this stuff in the autoclave over there and fire it up. Then we can blow the island just to make sure."

Choate smiled. "I like the way your mind works."

~~~

Outside the lab, Omega team waited for their leader. Jim supported Orr, while Viper had Hofmann.

"About time," Stealth groused. "We were getting worried."

"For a few moments there, I was getting worried," Viper groused right back at him. "Hoss, here, take Dr. Hofmann to the dock for pick-up and see what you can do for him. Orr's still out cold."

The big man took the scientist from his leader's arms. Stealth helped Jim with Orr.

"While you're up there, send up a flare so Aces knows to pick us up before he roasts the island."

"Right," Stealth said laughing. "Come on, doc. Let's go hail a cab."

"Well, Ellison. Want to help me set up the pyros?" Viper asked when they were alone.

"It'll be my pleasure," Jim huffed, leaning heavily against a wall.

"Maybe next time, our mad scientists'll pick something else to experiment with." Viper picked up the satchel containing the pyrotechnics and headed for the inner lab rooms.

Jim chuckled as he followed. "Speaking of something else, think Justin'll want to resume our camping trip when this is all over?"

The Marine laughed out loud. "I don't think even Omega team could get my brat back out in the woods."

~~~

From the plane the Team watched as the island was ignited in a fireball that lit up the night sky.

"Let's go home, guys," Viper said wearily.

"That was great work back there," Hoss told Ellison.

"Yeah, man," Stealth affirmed. "You've done this before."

The Sentinel nodded. "It's been a while."

"Kinda like riding a bicycle, mate."

The Sentinel leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "It was exciting. I don't know if I'd want to do it all the time."

While Hoss leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and said, excitedly. "The way he swooped down on the bad guys back there, he reminded me of an eagle."

"He's got he eyes and ears of an eagle, that's for sure," Stealth added in an amused voice.

Aces half-turned in the pilot's seat to remark, "No, not an eagle. Swift and quiet like a shadow."

Jim opened his eyes to watch the team members around him having their discussion. "What are you guys doing?"he asked, puzzled by the way their antics seemed almost a ritual.

"Shhh," Viper said, stopping his further questions with a touch to the Sentinel's forearm. "Just listen."

"No, mate. Like a hawk."

"A hawk?" Hoss scoffed. "That little bitty bird? How can you look at that man and see a hawk?"

"Hey, all hawks aren't little," Stealth replied, defending his assessment.

"They're not as big as an eagle," Aces chipped in.

"Who asked you?" Hoss snapped, turning towards the pilot. "You thought of shadow. Shadow's a dog's name!"

"Wait a minute, isn't that Bates in Delta?" Stealth said.

"Like I said, dog," Hoss answered smugly.

Aces laughed. "That was cold, man."

"What about ShadowHawk," Hoss said, smiling at his brilliant idea.

"Man, why can't things be simple with you?" Aces said over his shoulder, his eyes on the sky.

Stealth challenged him with, "Then you admit hawks aren't little."

"How 'bout I just throw you out the bird?" Hoss threatened.

"You and what army?" the smaller man snarled, leaning in closer.

"I am my own army," Hoss replied softly, which should've been his partner's cue to back off.

"Dingo," the Aussie snapped, "that's what you are."

"What was that all about?" Ellison asked Omega team leader.

"They're naming you," Viper said simply.

The Sentinel tucked his chin to his chest and scowled. "Excuse me?"

"Yep." The Aussie smiled at him triumphantly. "Hawk."

"ShadowHawk," Hoss snarled in correction.

Stealth threw both arms up in the air. "One name! What's wrong with one name? Everyone else in Omega Team has one name! If they'd let you pick names Viper'd probably be Big Two-legged Anaconda."

"That's three names," Hoss said with a look of innocence.

Stealth's mouth closed with a snap as he stared at his team mate as if he'd just grown another head. "Why do I bother with you, you big fruitloop?"

"Cat."

Both men stopped at their leader's softly spoken word. He very seldom gave input in things like this.

"He reminds me of a cat."

"Like a tiger?" Hoss asked.

The Aussie asked. "A leopard?"

Even Aces had to put in, "Puma?"

"No," Viper said, quietly as he lounged back in the seat, watching them. "Jaguar."

"Like C.D.'s car?" Hoss asked, surprised.

Viper laughed, "Yes. I suppose so."

"You can't name a man after a car," the Aussie told them.

"The car was named after the cat,"Viper said.

"You've got nerve," Hoss fussed. "You wanted to name him after some itty-bitty bird."

"Hawk! It's a hawk. A great hunter! A fine bird of prey! Why do I stay partners with you?" Stealth grouched.

Hoss smiled at him. "Cuz your code name should've been Masochist."

"Say what?"

"At least that's what Sparrow from Section two says."

"She didn't!"

"And Black from Alpha."

"Neither did he!"

"Tres from--" Hoss' next statement was interrupted by Stealth's body impacting his.

Viper sat back, smiling, and let them tussle. After all, they had just saved the world.

~~~~~~

Viper, Hoss, Stealth, Aces and Clutch stepped out of the bar into the fading daylight. Each man wore a full dress uniform, as they had, once again, been commemorating the passing of another member of the team.

"He fought the good fight," Clutch was saying as he leaned heavily on Hoss.

"That he did," Hoss said as he caught the falling man.

"It was good the Marines buried him with full military honors," Stealth commented.

"He's a hero. We wouldn't let them do anything less," Viper said.

"Need a ride, boss?" Aces asked, pulling his keys from his pocket. This time, it was his turn to be 'designated driver'.

"No. I have a ride."

As if on cue, a sleek black and chrome motorcycle slid to the curb in front of them.

It's driver had on soft, worn, faded denims tucked into calf-high boots and a dazzling white T-shirt with a pair of red lips in the center that read, "Secret Agents never kiss and tell,' under a black leather jacket that definitely didn't belong to him. The thick rope of his braid trailed from under the helmet, down his back.

Justin glanced at the group through mirrored sunglasses. He smiled a predatory smile at Viper that blatantly said, 'fuck me'. "Hey, sailor. Fleet just come in?"

"Sailors're pussies! We're Marines!" Clutch told him, still leaning heavily on Hoss.

The small man's smile widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I can definitely see you're not pussies."

Hoss peered at him drunkenly. "C.D.?" He blinked obviously trying to comprehend what was happening. "You play-acting with Viper again?"

Stealth nudged his partner hard enough to stagger him.

"Oww, are you crazy? That hurt!"

"Can't you get a clue, you dingo?" the Aussie hissed.

"What I say?" poor Hoss asked.

"That's all right, guys," Viper said as he swung up behind his lover and took the helmet offered to him. "Catch you later."

~~~

Blair slid into the double-wide sleeping bag and snuggled up against the heated length of his lover, turning over so he could gaze up at the stars. "This is great!"

Jim pulled him even closer as they stared at the sky together through the transparent roof of the tent Choate had loaned them. "It's what I call camping."

"Think they're okay?"

Jim chuckled. "I think they're more than okay," he said glancing towards the small inn not 100 yards away.

~~

Choate leaned back in the heated frothy water of the jacuzzi and stared up at the stars through the skylight wondering where his little love had gone, once again. "Justin!" he called. "If you order from room service one more time--"

"But, I'm hungry," the smaller man interrupted as he popped through the door carrying a large silver platter.

He placed it on the floor by the rim of the tub and gingerly slid into the hot water.

The Marine surveyed the contents of the tray. "Little boy, there's enough food here for six people."

"I thought we'd need to keep up our strength."

Choate picked up the container of lube. "And this?" he asked softly.

Justin slid closer, taking the tube from his lover's hand. "To help with why we need to keep up our strength." The smaller man whispered as he crawled up into the cradle of his lover's lap and kissed him.

~fin~