Chase Jackson and the Chief of Operations were waiting outside the Director's office when Chase received a text message on his disposable cell phone: "My father, Ivan Ivanchenko, has a message for you. Meet me in front of Starbuck's at Union Station," it said.

"Nice try," he texted back.

Chase was happy to dash the hopes of another agent-in-training: The arch-villain Ivan Ivanchenko was incommunicado in a SuperMax prison in Colorado, and the Agency knew that he had no children.

"What was that?" asked the Chief.

"One of the kids from the probie class," said Chase. "We're doing the Hare and Hounds exercise; he wanted to take a shortcut by having me come to him. Said he had a message for me from Ivanchenko."

"That's a good one—don't they know he's in a SuperMax? So, it's your turn to be the Hare?" asked the Chief.

"Yes," said Chase. "My goal is to make them all fail."

"You enjoy this?" asked the Chief.

"Of course. I love having a whole class of probies tailing me all over town, trying to get close enough to touch me. I enjoy helping separate the wheat from the chaff. Take this last student. He's typical of the kids they hire these days—full of ideas, but overly dependent on the internet and unwilling or unable to do the legwork necessary to be successful. The secret agent business is not about the internet. It's about field work."

"And that's why we still do Hare and Hounds," said the Chief. "They'll either learn to do it right, or they'll spend their career at an analysis desk. I hope you'll make them work for it."

"Oh, they'll work, Chief. And I enjoy seeing what they can come up with!" said Chase. "If I may ask, how did you succeed in catching the Hare, when you were a probie?"

"I found out my target would be getting an assignment in Prague. I flew there ahead of him and got a room in a cheap hotel. I called every hotel in the city with messages for each of his cover names so that I could find out where he was staying and who he was pretending to be. Then I paid a cab driver to give me his cab for the day. I drove it to the hotel's cab stand and paid the other drivers there to go somewhere else. I picked him up and drove him to his destination, and shook his hand and introduced myself when he paid me. He was not pleased."

"Good one! Did they reimburse you for your expenses?"

"No, but they gave me a job."

The Director came out of her office and motioned them inside. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "There's some sort of flap over at the White House Science Office—they want us to look into rumors that seismograph signals have suspicious components that may be artificial. They think the recent quake was deliberately triggered."

"No need to check that out," said Chase.

"What?"

"No need," repeated Chase. "One of the probies—Jake Poundstone—is from Denver. His uncle works at the National Earthquake Information Center as a tour guide. I bet the story was planted."

"How do you know this?"

"I read the personnel files when I was appointed to be the Hare."

"This is about a Hare and Hounds exercise?" asked the Chief.

"I'm sure of it. Remember that case I had, three years ago, where we caught that guy trying to destroy San Francisco by triggering the San Andreas Fault? We did the math after that; it wouldn't have worked—it can't be done. Laws of physics. I bet Jake planted the story to get me away from here. Too bad; I had high hopes for him."

"Thanks; I'll call the White House back, then," said the Director. "I'm glad you have time to train the candidate agents."

"My pleasure, Director."

There was a knock on the office door, and a young woman entered carrying a file folder.

"Excuse the interruption, Director. Mr. Jackson, I have your expense report from Uzbekistan ready. Could you please sign—"

"Fail," said Chase.

The woman pouted. "How did you know?" she asked. "I know you were in Uzbekistan last week!"

"I wasn't. You can't trust the internet. I posted the picture you probably found on Facebook as a diversion. You're Chloe Starr, right? I saw your picture in the files," said Chase. "Also, I don't sign expense reports; the Chief does. And no one ever comes in here without being invited."

"I'll give you points for having the guts to try that, though," said the Director. "Now, please excuse us."

When the door was closed, the Director turned to Chase and the Chief. "She'll learn. But I have a much more pressing matter for you to deal with. Ivan Ivanchenko has escaped."

* * *

Complacency. Complacency and distraction. For a secret agent, those aren't just states to avoid; they're character faults. Chase was livid that he had allowed them to affect his work. He'd been distracted by the Hare and Hounds exercise, and he hadn't personally investigated the Ivanchenko contact when he'd received it. He may have blown the best lead the Agency had in finding that traitor.

Complacency had also resulted in the prison break. Everyone had convinced themselves that it was impossible to break out of a Supermax. It apparently hadn't occurred to anyone that an assault team of 100 combat-hardened mercenaries would try to break in.

Chase paced back and forth in front of the Starbucks in Union Station, praying that whoever had sent him the text message would give him a second chance. Having learned his lesson, he was doubly careful to observe everyone and everything around him. The Starbuck's was less crowded than usual; there were a few people sipping lattes and taking advantage of the free wifi access. None of them looked particularly suspicious. All of them were therefore suspects.

His phone buzzed with a message.

Order an American coffee, light, and take a seat in the back.

Chase went inside, ordered the coffee, and found a seat in the back room. He sipped the coffee and waited.

An old man entered the store, ordered hot chocolate, and made his way back to Chase's table. As he eased himself into a chair, Chase realized that it was Ivanchenko himself, in an excellent disguise.

"You can't possibly think you're going to get away from here," Chase said without preamble.

Ivanchenko drank from his mug.

"You can't believe how much I've missed the taste of American hot chocolate," he said. "And you're right; I took a risk when I came here. I could have disappeared, only to cause more unpleasantness for you and your agency in the future. But I think I have made the right decision. I organized the prison break for one purpose, and one purpose only."

"Which was?"

"To kill you."

"That's not going to happen, Ivan."

"It already has. Your coffee."

Chase suddenly realized that he'd been defeated. He had felt that way only once before in his entire life—and that had also been caused by Ivanchenko, during their very first encounter. That time, he'd managed to turn the situation around. Maybe this time, too. He put on a brave face.

"How long do I have?"

"A few hours at most. It varies."

"Good, then I still have time to take you into custody. Ivan Ivanchenko, you're under arrest for escape and about fifteen other federal felonies. Don't move."

"I won't," Ivan smiled. "Can you?"

Chase couldn't get up. He sat in the chair, feeling stupid. "No," he admitted. His voice sounded strange, and his eyes weren't working very well. The few people in the coffee shop were completely unaware that he was sitting among them, dying.

"Didn't think so. Death may take a few hours, but paralysis happens right away. Now, I must be going. In the time you have left, try to remember all of our battles, and remember who came out on top in the end. I know I will."

Chase saw someone enter the shop and move toward the back room. She looked familiar. He struggled to focus his eyes, but failed. Ivanchenko stood up.

Chase could do nothing to stop him. "My colleagues will hunt you down," he said hoarsely.

"Perhaps. But you won't. And they'll have to find me, first. That could take a long, long time." Ivanchenko turned to leave, and came face to face with Chloe Starr.

"Not as long as you might think," Chloe said, pointing a .40 caliber Glock right between his eyes. She had three other members of the probie class with her, and they wasted no time taking Ivanchenko back into custody.

"Mr. Jackson," Chloe said, "our best guess is that you've been poisoned with Prussian Black—that's a combination of a digestible curare extract and sodium cyanide. Our research indicates that Ivanchenko's agency was particularly fond of it." Chloe took a syringe out of her pocket and injected Chase. "If we're right, you'll feel no more than hung over in about three minutes."

It took two.

"How did you—"

"We ran systematic searches on multiple databases and analyzed the results using code that Jake wrote. Ivanovich was sloppy with his cell phone; that's how we tracked him. We extracted pharmaceutical references from steganographic writings he left in his prison cell. We pretty much solved the case on the internet," Chloe said. "I hope you don't mind?"

Chase looked at her, smiled, and said, "Pass."

I looked at my watch. 18:02. The probie was late.

I silently cursed Stillman for the hundredth time. If he hadn’t been careless in Caracas, I wouldn’t be here. He should have known the potential dangers of 11 attack dogs regaining consciousness simultaneously. Under-medicating the decoy meat was the kind of mistake a probie would make, not a training instructor.

But it had happened and now I was stuck with his new probie. T. Bowman. If T. Bowman didn’t show before the waitress refilled my coffee, the mission would launch without him.

A flash of pink bounced through the diner door as the waitress grabbed the coffee pot. The probie was almost out of time.

“Hi! You must be Chase.”

The fluff of pink had stopped at my booth, blocking the waitress and my coffee.

“And you are?”

“I’m Tiffany Bowman, of course. But you can call me Tiffy. That’s what my friends call me. Oh, and my mom and dad, too. And of course my sister. After all, it would be silly if she called me Tiffany when everybody else calls me Tiffy.”

Tiffy. Of course.

“So, I’m so excited that you’re taking over as my training officer. You’re a legend because you’ve been around, like, forever and you’ve done everything and there isn’t, like, anything that you haven’t done. I was bummed about dear Stilly and that dog thing, but when I found out about you. Well, wow. Just wow.”

Yeah, just wow.

I took a good look at her as she slid into the booth across from me. An overabundance of blonde hair was in constant motion around a face that could only be described as “cute.” Wide blue eyes gave her an air of innocence. A tight white sweater showed off some of her ample assets while an equally tight pink leather mini-skirt barely covered the rest. To top it off, the earrings dangling from her ears looked suspiciously like tiny puppies.

“So, they said we have a mission and I’m so ready to get going. I could barely sleep last night, I was like bouncing off the walls. But don’t worry, I had lots of caffeine this morning, because, I mean, how embarrassing would it be to fall asleep on my first assignment? But I had a triple-shot, extra tall skinny mocha latte with a shot of caramel to make sure I’d be ready. Have you ever tried that? It’s so awesomely - “

“About time you showed up, Bowman. Your watch broken?”

“Oh, please call me Tiffy. If you call me Bowman, I probably won’t answer ”˜cause, you know, nobody calls me that. Why would you ask about my watch? I thought the secret question for today was something about Ferraris...”

Time to take control of the situation.

“Listen up, Tiffy.” Her name stuck in my throat. “I’m your training officer and you will do exactly what I say on this mission. They must think you have some skill.” I paused and gave her the once-over. To her credit she didn’t even blink. “But I’m in charge. Got it?”

She gave me a super-white smile and I half expected her to pull some pom-poms out of her oversized pink and white bag.

“Got it. Whatever you say, Chasey. You’re the boss.”

“Chase. Or Jackson,” I growled. “Call me ”˜Chasey’ again and you’re off this mission.”

Her lower lip quivered a little. “OK, Chase.”

I threw a couple of bucks on the table and stood up. “Come on, we’ve got a busy night ahead of us.”

Fighting off the urge to leave her in the restaurant with a chocolate shake, I led the way to my car.

“Get in.”

“This is your car?” Her disappointment was clear.

“Is there a problem?”

“Umm, no. It’s a perfectly nice car. I just thought you’d drive something a little, you know, nicer. But I guess it’s OK for an older person.”

I clenched my teeth as we climbed into my Jaguar convertible. If we survived this, I was going to have a talk with dear “Stilly.” Better yet, I’d go face-to-face with those dogs myself.

“Listen closely. Tonight we need to get a sample of a toxin that is being developed at a top secret lab. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I will get into the lab by dressing as an HVAC technician. You will stay with the car. You will not leave the car. Do you understand?”

“Do you know where the lab is?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Then it isn’t very top secret, is it?”

“Focus, Tiffy. Do you understand the plan?”

“Yeah, sure. You throw on a badge and they let you into the not-so-top-secret lab where you steal the big, bad toxin. I babysit the car. Sounds kind of boring. In practice training, we - ”

My hands clenched around steering wheel as I listened to story after story about practice missions. Finally, I pulled the Jag onto a dirt road a quarter of a mile from the lab and turned to Bowman one more time.

“Stay. With. The. Car. Do you understand?”

“Sure. I’ll just check my e-mail ”˜til you get back.” She fished in her bag and pulled out a pink-covered iPhone.

Leaving my probie safely in the car, I slipped into the HVAC coveralls I’d brought along, clipped on my badge, grabbed my tools and headed for the lab.

----

“Sorry, no maintenance on second shift,” the guard said for the fourth time.

“Listen buddy, you have a seriously temperature controlled environment in there. If I don’t get that unit fixed tonight, you are going to have a lot of unhappy techies in the morning.”

The guard was proving stubborn. I reached into my toolkit and my hand closed around the Taser. I had hoped to do this the easy way, but that wasn’t looking likely. I froze as I heard the door open behind me. The guard scrambled to his feet.

“Hi, my name’s Biffy Towman and I’m new here. Could you point me to the lab?”

I slowly turned around. There was Tiffy, standing in the lobby flirting with the guard. She’d thrown on a white lab coat and had a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on top of her head. I switched the Taser for a knife; this was going to get messy.

“Sure, let me call one of the lab techs. They’ll make sure you get to the right place.” The guard slipped back behind his desk and picked up the phone.

“New chick...hot...check it out...” Snippets of his conversation drifted over to me.

Within 30 seconds, Tiffy was surrounded by lab techs. She cooed and giggled as they led her towards the secure area. She paused at the doors.

“Guys, I heard there’s problem with the air conditioning, something about it being too cold. I hate being cold, don’t you? After all, you can always take things off when you’re hot. Can we bring that worker-guy over there back with us to fix it?”

As one, the pack of infatuated, desperate nerds looked at me. Then they looked at Tiffy. Fifteen pairs of eyes pictured what she’d take off first.

I was through the door in five seconds flat.

I watched as the gaggle of geeks hovered around Tiffy, whisking her away to their inner sanctum. Unheeded, I slipped into the portion of the lab where the toxin was stored. Ten minutes later I was back in the lobby.

“Thanks guys, I’ll be right back. I can’t believe I was silly enough to trigger the emergency shower.”

Bowman breezed through the door dripping wet, white sweater plastered to her body. Her faithful followers trailed behind in a state of shock. A grudging respect rose in me. Staging the shower scene was an inspired diversion.

As soon as she walked out the door, the techies huddled, comparing notes and arguing over who would have the workstation next to hers. Then the guard started to replay the shower incident and they all crammed around his station. I slipped out the door without anybody noticing.

Tiffy was checking her e-mails by the time I got to the car.

“Did you get it? ”˜Cause, like if you didn’t, I’ll got back in, but I saw you leave and it looked like you had something, but it could have just been a candy bar or something, like maybe you got the munchies and grabbed a snack, but it didn’t really look like a snack, but it was kind of hard to see and I didn’t want to stare - “

The rest of her conversation was lost in the roar of the engine as the Jaguar shot into the night. I had a toxin to deliver, thanks to my plan.

Chase Jackson, Training Instructor Extraordinaire.

“No.” The word was as cold and hard as the man saying it.

Simon wiped his glasses then carefully placed the wire frames back on his face. “I know, but this is different.”

Chase spun away and walked to the window, standing in the shadows. “I don’t take probies on my missions. You know that.”

“It’s not really a probie. Not in the traditional sense. This is a former agent who’s coming out of retirement. The probie title is really just a technicality.”

“How long?”

The clicking of computer keys filled the silence, then the printer hummed to life. Chase grabbed the single sheet of paper it spit out.

“Another embassy job, huh? You’d think they’d have learned.”

Simon laughed. “You’re too good - they still don’t know what happened to them. We need the same discretion this time around. “

“Then don’t give me a probie.”

Simon ignored him. “The meet is at the coffee shop on the corner of 4th and Market at 9:00, wear a green baseball cap. As I said, this is a highly experienced field agent. I would strongly recommend you avoid using the word ”˜probie’ - or you may get a taste of some of that experience.”

“Yeah right, a probie with experience. Talk about an oxymoron,” Chase grumbled. “So help me, if this mission fails...”

“I know, I know, it would ruin your perfect record. Chase Jackson, Flawless Super Agent. We know all about your reputation. You’d better get going or your probie will start without you.”

“Thought it wasn’t a probie,” Chase muttered on his way out the door.

Twenty minutes later he had managed to snag the corner table of the coffee shop. A green baseball cap sat on the small table next to his soy chai. The daily newspaper completed his cover.

Not that he needed it. He wondered if Simon realized it was senior citizens’ day at the shop.

“My grandchild won the award for...”

“...then little Suzy said...”

“The doctor wants me to...”

The conversations swirled around him, making him invisible. He couldn’t compete with medical issues and grandkids.

He was learning more than he wanted to know about Ed’s strange lump when somebody slid into the chair across from him.

“Mom? What are you doing here?”

“Is that a decaf?” she asked. “You know that caffeine keeps you awake at night.”

“It’s a soy chai,” he responded. “What are you doing here?”

“Good. Soy’s good for you, especially at your age. After all, you need to keep yourself in shape. I’m waiting on those grandchildren.”

Chase felt as if he’d fallen down the rabbit hole. He glanced around, looking to see if his mother’s appearance had chased away his probie. All he saw was a sea of white hair. So far, so good.

“Mom, you need to leave. I’m meeting somebody for business and they're going to be here anytime. I’ll call you when I get home tonight.”

“That’s what you always say. Surely you can spare a few minutes for your own mother.”

He reached out and absently patted her hand. “You know I do, mom. Just not right now. Tell you what, I’ll pick you up and we can go out for dinner. My treat.”

“Moving on to bribery. You must be desperate for me to leave.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Do you know this person you’re going to meet?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance.”

“How will you know her?”

“Her?” Chase was momentarily distracted. It hadn’t crossed his mind that his probie might be a woman. He mentally sighed. The way his luck was going, it was going to be a woman.

“I know! I'll bet Simon told her to meet the guy with the green baseball cap.”

Chase slowly turned back to his mom, shock written on his face.

“Mom?”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Nice to know that an old lady can still surprise you.”

“No, it can’t...”

“Why not?”

“Simon said the person I’m meeting is retired. You never worked.”

She chuckled. “Remember those visits to my sister when you were growing up?”

“Aunt Elizabeth? Sure, you’d visit her two or three times a year.”

“I don’t have a sister.”

Reality sunk in.

The probie was his mother.

“Now, are we going to get this mission started or what?” she demanded. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Chase grabbed his soy chai and took a sip, his mind spinning. He could do this. After all, he was Chase Jackson. He could handle any twist. Even his mother.

A short time later, they stood outside the embassy.

“OK, let’s go over the plan again. You’ll pretend to have a heart attack and collapse. When they come out to investigate, I’ll convince them to let me carry you inside. Once we’re in, you regain consciousness and distract them while I find the document. By then, the paramedics should be there. We’ll ride away in the ambulance, free and clear. Got it?”

“Anything you say, honey.” She gave him her brightest smile and his heart sunk. He’d seen that look before. “But let me try something first.”

“No, probies don’t - “

Before he could stop her, she skipped - when did his mother learn to skip? - up to the door and knocked on it.

“May I help you?” The big man who answered the door wasn’t the average butler, judging by his physique and the 9mm tucked into his waistband.

“Natasha Volenskaya, an old friend of the ambassador. Please tell him I am here.” The butler-guard looked past her, at Chase.

“Come,” she called Chase closer and possessively took his arm. “This is Sergei, my traveling companion. He goes with me everywhere.” She winked at the butler-guard. “Now, go tell the ambassador I am here.”

Chase watched as the guard lifted spoke into a small two-way radio. In seconds, he and his mom were being whisked into the ambassador’s private study.

“Natasha! It has been too long!” A hulking man with full, white hair, about his mother’s age, wrapped her in his arms. “You look wonderful!”

“Boris, you are such a flatterer! But you always were. Remember that time in Kiev, when it was raining so hard ...”

Chase stood by helplessly as the situation spun out of control. Who was this woman? She looked like his mother, but his mother didn’t speak with a Russian accent, and she definitely hadn’t spent time in Kiev.

“Ah Boris, those were the days! When men were men! The men today, they are just - “ she waved her hand in Chase’s direction. “ - boys. Ah, for the days!”

“Perhaps, Natasha, you should spend more time with men,” Boris said, his voice dropping. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled coquettishly.

“Natasha - “ Chase tried to his mom’s attention away from the ambassador. They had a mission to complete and her flirting wasn’t doing anything except making him strangely sick.

“Hush, Sergei. You know how much I was looking forward to seeing my friend. Go, find something to do. Boris, do you still have that amazing collection of paintings?”

“Ah, you remembered! Yes, down the hall on the right. Go, entertain yourself.” The ambassador dismissed him with a wave.

Chase slipped out of the room. The halls were quiet, too quiet. There was only one explanation; the ambassador had sent the staff out for lunch so that he could spend time with his “friend.” He needed to find the document quickly before his mom had to make good on her promises.

The empty house made his mission simple and it was only a few minutes before he was back at the study door. But instead of giggling, he was met with silence. Panicking, he threw open the door.

His mom and the ambassador jumped apart like guilty school children. The ambassador’s white hair was slipping slightly to the left. His mother’s face was flushed, her blouse wrinkled.

“Natasha, it is time to go. Your plane is ready,” Chase announced.

The disappointment on his mom’s face looked suspiciously real. “Yes, I must leave.” She stepped forward and gave the ambassador a kiss. “It was nice to see you again, dear Boris. We must do this again sometime.”

Before he could respond she swept out of the embassy, taking Chase with her.

The heavy door had barely closed behind them when his mom touched his arm.

“Now honey, what were you saying about probies?”

Chase walked through the door of the Chief's office.

"What's the big deal?" He dropped into the chair in the corner. "You pulled me out of my Ikebana class, so this had better be important."

"Chase, you need to remember that I'm the boss here. I'll pull you out of whatever class I want to for any reason or no reason at all."

"Sure, Chief. So what is it? The Russians, the Chinese a terrorist network?"

"The British."

"I didn't think we were at war with the Brits."

"We aren't, yet, but they sent one of their fresh recruits over here to observe how we do things."

"Oh no," Chase jumped to his feet, but the hydraulics in the door slammed it shut. He turned back to the Chief. "I work alone, there's no way you're going to saddle me with some wet behind the ears kid."

"Flowers are really hard to come by in Antartica."

"What?"

"Mess this up, and that's where you will be spending the rest of your time until retirement." The Chief pushed the button to release the door. "Your partner is waiting out in the hall."

Chase fled through the door and was met by a young man dressed in sharply pressed trousers and a blazer with a crest on the pocket.

"So, what do I call you?"

"My name is James."

"OK Jimmy, the first thing we need to do is get you some real clothes." Chase walked down the hall to the duty desk.

"What have I drawn, Sam?"

"Surveillance job at the Cricket Club. You'll want to dress snappy, like the kid."

"Cricket Club?"

"I'll explain on the way, sir," James said. Chase glared at him but let him lead the way to the car.

"MI5 is recruiting awfully young these days," Chase said.

"I'm not MI5. MI5 doesn't know I exist."

"So who does know?"
"I'm not sure. I haven't been cleared for that level yet."

Chase rolled his eyes and pulled out into traffic. He had barely gone a block before he noticed that they had picked up a tail.

"Hold on Jim, this could get interesting." Chase began with a sudden right turn and a quick lane change to a left turn. The tail, a large black car followed smoothly. Chase made an illegal left turn onto a one way street and headed for the highway. Cars weaved and honked while the drivers flashed a multitude of rude signs. He pulled out onto the road leading to the ramp and was pleased to see that the black car had vanished.

"You might as well get on the freeway," James said, "We need to head south to the club."

The black car made a reappearance as Chase accelerated up the ramp.

"Blast," he muttered, "these guys know their business." He pushed the gas pedal down and took off with the other car in close pursuit.

"So where's the button for the rocket launchers?"

"What?"

"Rocket launchers, where's the launch button?"

"No rocket launchers."

"What about tail guns?"

"Nope."

"Oil slick?"

"Nope."

"Super-turbo boost?"

"Nope."

"So what can this car do?"

"It gets good gas mileage," Chase said, and slammed on the brakes. "and it stops really fast since I had the brakes done." The black car shot past them and Chase pulled out behind them.

"Shouldn't we shoot them or something?" James had a gun and was lowering the window.

"No, we shouldn't. What could we learn if we kill them?"

The younger man put his gun away and Chase was sure he was pouting. They followed the black car south until they were well out of town. Several time the other car tried to get behind them, but each time Chase would hit the brakes and stay back. The car finally took an exit ramp and began making what appeared to be random turns.

"Good, but not that good." Chase said. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and parked.

"What are you doing?" James said. "You just lost them?"

"No, I let them think that I lost them."

"So you put a GPS tracking button on them?"

"No GPS button," Chase said, "but there are only two ways to get out of that neighbourhood, and I happen to know that the other road is all torn up with construction. You watch, Jimmy, while I catch some shut eye."

"The name is James," the young man said, but Chase pretended he was already asleep and ignored him.

He was rudely awakened by a poke in the ribs.

"Here they come." Jimmy had his gun out again.

"Put that thing away before you shoot yourself, or worse, me."

Chase put the car in gear and, after a few other vehicles were between him and his quarry, pulled out to follow them. The black car drove without any extra turns or other precautions to a warehouse in a run-down neighbourhood.

"Do you have bullets for that pop gun?"

"Of course, and three extra clips."

"You might want to chamber a round then and follow me." Chase led the way along one wall, checking the doors and windows.

"I could climb the pipe up to that ledge and walk along to the open window."

"Why would you want to?" asked Chase.

"So I could get inside."

"The other side of that window is at least forty feet off the floor. Why you think they left it open?"

"That's OK," James said, "I'll use my watch."

"Your watch?'

"Yes, it has a micro-filament climbing wire in it. What does your watch do?"

"It tells time." Chase spotted what he was looking for. "Stay close." He sidled up to the door behind a pile of garbage and pulled out his lock pick.

"You ever done this, Jimmy?" he said, then looked around just in time to see the kid's feet disappear through the window. "Stupid kid," he muttered and picked the lock. He pushed the door open, and as he expected it was almost completely blocked by garbage on the inside. He slipped through the gap and listened.

He could hear the echo of several people walking around in the mostly empty warehouse space. No shouting yet which meant that they hadn't looked up yet. If the kid was lucky they would want to ask questions before they shot him.

Chase made his way through the shadows toward the open window. It was slow going edging around crates and avoiding the trash and less pleasant things between the crates and the wall. Most of the crates looked like they had sat there since Chase's grandfather's time, but one box was bright new wood shining in the sun. The writing on it looked like Parsi, but he couldn't be sure. The faint odour coming from the sun-warmed crate aroused his suspicions.

Before he could investigate further a burst of laughter came from just ahead. Chase lay down and chanced a look past this last crate. Jimmy's fancy watch had let him down, or rather it had failed to. He was gracefully twirling in mid air fifteen feet from the floor while a half dozen men watched. One was running up stairs at the far end to bang on a door. Chase recognized the man who came out. He was a broker who had more aliases than the Agency could list. He bought and sold everything from drugs to weapons to people. Wherever he went misery followed.

Chase didn't like him much.

The broker looked up at Jimmy hanging there and took a gun from one of the men who were standing around. He pointed the gun at the kid.

Chase didn't like the kid much either, but he hadn't done much more than annoy Chase. And there was always Antarctica. He sighed silently and shot the broker. Twice. Once in each arm. The men all scattered and went on high alert trying to track where the shots came from in the echoing building. Chase moved back several crates and found a gap. He slid through and shot a couple more of the men. He heard popping from where Jimmy was hanging. At least the kid was trying. The broker's men were starting to shoot now so it was easy enough to use the noise of gunfire to cover his rapid run to another spot where he could take down a few more men.

In a matter of minutes it was all over. Chase found a bin full of packing and pushed it under Jimmy. The kid dropped into it, then struggled out. Amazingly none of the bullets had hit him. Chase was fairly sure that none of his shots had hit their mark either, so maybe it came out even.

"Why did you shoot him?" James said. "He was just going to tell me everything."

"No, Jimmy, he was going to shoot you. The bad guys only brag in the movies." Chase nudged the broker with a foot. "I'll take him back to the Agency. Then he will tell us everything."

"I had everything under control."

"No, you made a mess of things, Jimmy, you're lucky you're not dead." Chase took a deep breath. "Why don't you just wait here and watch the bad guys."

"My name," said Jimmy through clenched teeth, "is James, James Bond."

"Sure, Jimmy," Chase said. He went over to free the contents of the crate. With an attitude like that, Chase thought, you're not going to go anywhere.

“Good Morning Mr. Jackson,” Q said. “I'm afraid I have bad news: Murdock is at it again.”

“Holding the world for ransom again is he?” Chase yawned.

“Yes, you will find him at his secret hideout as usual. Destroy whatever contraption he created this time, blow up his hideout, and take him into custody,” Q explained.

“As always,” Chase responded.

“Er, Chase, try for three out of three this time will you?”

Chase shrugged. “Two out of three isn't bad.”

“No but if you bring him in we may not have to deal with the first two problems again. Oh, and since this is routine, I am sending you out with a probie.”

Chase made a face. “Do I have to?”

“A young female probie.”

Chase considered. “Well, I guess I can be talked into it. Having someone work their feminine wiles on Murdock couldn't hurt.”

“I suggest you tread very lightly on that subject,” Q suggested diplomatically.

Chase left the office, and went to pick up his equipment and his assistant. Picking up his equipment was easy, picking up his probie on the other hand was anything but.

“Hello, I am Chase,” he said using his usual inviting smile on the beautiful dark-haired young lady dressed in black. “And you would be?”

“Your assistant, Natasha Samuals, and shall we keep this a professional relationship Mr. Jackson?”

“Of course, Ms. Samuals.”

“Good. Now shall we get started?”

“This was going to be a long mission,” Chase thought. “Did Q brief you on this mission Nat... , uh Ms Samuals?”

“Yes, we are going to go after Murdock, and we are going to bring him in this time.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“He is the man who caused my father's death Mr. Jackson. I am looking forward to bringing him to justice.”

They got into Chase's car and started to Murdock's current hideout. Natasha pulled an electronic device out of her purse. “Does Murdock always make his “hideouts” so easy to find?”

“Generally, yes.”

“Then why does your organization always have such problems stopping him?”

Chase didn't have time to answer, they had picked up a tail. He sped up, weaving through traffic. The tail kept up with them. They started up the narrow road to the mountain hideout. The other car pulled along side, and started nudging them toward the railing overlooking the shear drop down the mountain.

“So, are you just going to let him push you off the road?” Natasha asked.

“I don't think that is in the cards,” said Chase through gritted teeth, as he tried to shove the other car into the mountainside on the other side. At that point a tractor-trailer appeared in front of them.

“Oh for pity's sake,” Natasha said, and fiddled with her device. The other car pulled ahead of them, then veered to the right, through the guardrail, and over the cliff. The truck kept bearing down on them.

“This doesn't look good,” Chase said, white-knuckled.

All of a sudden Chase's car sped up, and climbed the side of the mountainside on the left. The truck passed them with inches to spare when the truck driver lost control and it followed the other car over the edge.

Control of the car returned to Chase, and Natasha placed the device back in her purse.

“What just happened?” Chase asked.

“Cars these days have a lot of electronic controls. I took over our car and the tail. The truck driver must have just miscalculated when he missed us.”

“Neat device. Where did you get it?”

“My father was an inventor Mr. Jackson. He created it, I perfected it. He died because he would not work for Murdock. I am here to avenge him.” She pulled out the device again, and showed Chase a picture on the screen. “My father and mother. I never met her, they separated when I was an infant.”

Chase knew that woman. Far ago and long away she had been an agent and his partner. Until... well, he figured this was not the best time to bring that up. Chase nodded as they came in view of the hideout. “We are here. Front door as usual will be locked and bolted. I usually find a second story window is the best method of gaining entry.”

“Aren't you afraid Murdock will catch on to that?”

“He hasn't yet.”

“Well I only see one possible window, and there are a crowd of armed goons behind it.”

She showed Chase the device again, and a crowd of minions armed with machine guns were facing the window from the inside.

“I have locked into Murdock's security system,” Natasha said. She tapped a couple of keys and the front door swung open. “Apparently the whole hideout is automated at this point.”

“Apparently,” Chase agreed. They got out of the car, and made their way stealthy to the front door. Chase peered in, the front hallway was empty. He motioned for Natasha to follow him, they crept silently down that hall.

“Chase,” Natasha whispered, but Chase silenced her with a gesture, then stared into the darkened hallway ahead. There was the hiss of gas, and blackness.

When he awoke he was tied to a chair, and apparently thoroughly searched. All his devices were on a table a couple of feet away and there stood Murdock ”“ and a young woman who looked very much like Natasha in rather more revealing clothes.

“Well, Chase, so happy you could join us,” Murdock leered. “This is Leanna, she holds a grudge against you, something about her mother...”

“Who will be avenged today,” Leanna agreed, “but first I must go and take care of your associate, who seems more clever at hiding himself than you are.”

When Leanna left the room, Chase spoke to Murdock, “It seems we have a mutual problem old man,” he started.

“I think you are the one with the problem Chase... AAIIIEEE!!!” Murdock yelled, then fell convulsing to the floor.

“Tazer,” Natasha said unnecessarily as she untied Chase. “Do you think you can handle him now, I need to go after his minion?”

“Quite,” Chase said, “carry on.”

Natasha left and Murdock staggered to his feet. “What, where, who?”

“As I said, I think we have a problem. Twin problems as a matter of fact. Leanna hates me because I let her mother be killed, and Natasha hates you because you killed her father. Now what do you think is going to happen when they meet up and compare notes?”

Murdock turned white. “I think we better get out of here first.”

“For once we are in agreement.”

“Shall we take my secret escape route?”

“No, too predictable. I say we march out the front door.”

“And grab the oldest vehicle we can find. I have a VW bug in the garage,” Murdock volunteered.

“Perfect, no electronics. Shall we?”

The pair left the hideout, made their way to the car, and tootled down the road at 35 mph. They were soon passed by a hover car that ignored them and blasted a sports car off the road ahead of them.

“Our friends it seems,” Chase said.

Two hours later they were back at headquarters explaining things to a very befuddled Q.

“Let me get this straight, Murdock wants to join us?”

“Yes, as a probie,” Chase said.

“And Natasha?”

“Is probably plotting our demise with her twin sister Leanna.”

“But that is what I am not getting Chase, Natasha was an only child.”

“No, when her mother and father split up...”

“Chase, I knew them both. Natasha was an only child.”

“But I saw them both,” Chase protested.

“At the same time? In the same room?” Q prodded.

It was Chase's turn to be baffled.

The wall mounted TV screen came to life, and Natasha stared out from it. “Well, well, you two learned to work together, and taking that antique car was a nice touch. Hope you two stay on your toes, you may not be so lucky next time. And there will be a next time.” The image morphed into Leanna. “Just the way I like them,” she said. “Cute, but stupid.”

The TV went blank.

Q gazed at the blank screen, then said, “Yes, well, it was nice knowing you guys. Maybe you should take some time off. In a very remote location...”