Covert Reunion

Prologue

Chapter 1

Nicholas Black pulled his BMW into the parking space in front of his apartment and turned off the engine.  He took off his glasses, sighed, and rubbed his eyes.  He was so tired.  After more than a week out of the country on a tough mission and an intense team debriefing, all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl into bed.

He unlocked the apartment door, tossed his keys and coat onto a nearby table, and started upstairs.  He glanced toward the telephone and saw the unmistakable blink of his answering machine.

He smiled wryly.  No surprise there.  Probably just your gamut of routine messages, he mused.  Appointment reminders and the like.  They could wait until later.

He ascended three steps, stopped, and glanced toward the phone again.  For some reason, curiosity got the better of him.  He walked over to the blinking machine and pushed the button.

Only three messages?  Must be some kind of record, he thought.  The first two were nothing out of the ordinary.  Then the third message began to play.

"Nicholas?  It's Keisha."

The dark-haired agent smiled, and a tiny thrill creeped up his spine as he recognized the familiar voice.  He had met the attractive FBI agent a few months ago while on a mission to rescue the Secretary's daughter.  They'd talked on the phone a time or two since then, but despite the best of intentions had never managed to reconnect in person.

The voice continued.  "I was hoping to catch you, but I guess you guys are out somewhere saving the world."

Nicholas smiled at her choice of words, more sincere than sarcastic.  That certain dry humor was one of the many things he'd liked about her from the beginning.

But then Nicholas heard a heavy sigh, and he snapped back to attention.

"Anyway, I called you because I...I think I might be in some trouble," she continued, and Nicholas felt his breath shut off in his chest for a moment as he listened further.  "I saw some things at work that I wasn't supposed to, and some people aren't happy about it."

Keisha paused for a few seconds, and Nicholas thought his heart would jump out while he waited for her to continue.

"I...I'm going to send you something in the mail."  The sentence was rushed, as if she'd just thought of it.  "Please look at it, and you'll understand.  I don't know when you'll be back, but if for some reason you can't reach me..." Her voice trailed off momentarily, and when she resumed speaking Nicholas had to strain to hear her.  "...do me a favor, will you?  Make sure they don't get away with it."

Nicholas was frightened now, his breath coming in heavy gasps.  "I'm sorry to bother you, handsome.  I just didn't know who else I could trust.  I'll see you soon."  Then the connection was broken.

Nicholas stood there, staring at the machine, for several seconds.  Then a sudden sense of urgency hit him, and he grabbed the receiver and frantically dialed Keisha's number, praying to get an answer.

He was not really surprised when he didn't get one.

He checked the date on the answering machine.  The message had been left three days ago.  Would the mail have had time to run by now?

Realizing he hadn't stopped to check the mail, Nicholas fumbled for the key and practically sprinted out to his mailbox, his hand shaking as he stuck in the key and turned it to the right.

The box was full - a consequence of being out of the country for the past week.  Each time he returned from a mission, it occurred to Nicholas that he could always have the postal service hold his mail until he returned. But he had to leave so often that it hardly seemed worth the extra effort.  Still, he thought, the mailman must wonder about the tenant in number thirty-three.

Nicholas ignored the white business sized envelopes and concentrated on the letter-sized manila envelope nestled among them.  There was no return address, but he recognized the postmark.  Leaving the rest of the mail in the box, he hastily tore open the flap while still standing at the mailbox and looked inside.

What he saw made all the color drain from his face.

Both the shower and the nap forgotten, he hurried back inside, picked up the phone, and dialed a more familiar number.

"Jim," he said tensely.  "I need to talk to you.  Now."

Chapter 2

Jim startled slightly when Nicholas tore through the parking lot and whipped his BMW into the space beside his SUV.  He'd been on edge since their conversation a few minutes earlier, and the fact that he'd never seen Nicholas' car move that fast before did little to lessen his anxiety.

He met Nicholas at the door.

"Jim, you've got to see this," Nicholas said urgently.  He hurried past his leader and hastily spread the contents of a manila envelope onto the table in the briefing room.

Jim's eyes focused on a series of photographs which had been enlarged to 8x10 size.  The first four or five appeared to depict two men exchanging money for drugs.  The drug supplier looked vaguely familiar.

"That's Ron Gibson," Nicholas exclaimed excitedly, before Jim could say a word.  "Head of the DEA."

Jim stared at the photographs in disbelief.  "Surely there's some mistake," he murmured.

"There's more," Nicholas responded, showing Jim the final photograph in the stack.  It depicted Gibson shaking hands with another familiar figure.

"Tom Martin?"  Jim asked incredulously.

Nicholas nodded.  "Head of the FBI, and Keisha's boss.  He's in on it, too, Jim.  Keisha found them out, and now I can't reach her."

He paused, his worried brown eyes meeting Jim's.  "We have to take this mission, Jim," he pleaded urgently.  "The leaders of two federal agencies are part of a huge drug ring.  And Keisha is in real danger."

Jim calmly held up his hand.  "Now, hold on, Nicholas," he said soothingly.    "We have to be careful before we just rush in making accusations, especially where federal officials are concerned."

"But, Jim, the photographs."

"There may be more to this than meets the eye," replied his leader.  "We need to do some research, see what IMF intelligence has to say."

Nicholas picked up a stack of typewritten papers and held them out as if offering them to Jim.  "Keisha has done her own research, Jim.  She's been deep undercover for two months. And now that they know she knows, she's gone missing."

"You don't know that, Nicholas," Jim challenged softly.

"Listen to this," the dark-haired agent replied.  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the cassette tape he'd taken from his answering machine.  He quickly walked over to Jim's machine, replaced the tape, and hit play.

As Nicholas listened to her message a second time, he felt his heart come up in his throat once again.  He cast a nervous eye toward Jim, who appeared unfazed.

"Well?"  Nicholas prompted impatiently, as he ejected the tape and put it back into his pocket.

Jim sighed and held up his hand.  "Hold on a minute, my friend.  You and Keisha may both have this all wrong.  Suppose Gibson and Martin are both in on this undercover operation, and they forced her into hiding so she wouldn't jeopardize their plans."

It was Nicholas' turn to be unconvinced.  "That doesn't make any sense, Jim, and you know it."

"Neither does the head of the FBI and the DEA being involved in an illegal drug operation."

Jim could see the worry shining in the agent's eyes, and he laid his hand on his teammate's shoulder in sympathy.  "Look, we can't just jump to conclusions without having some additional information as to what's going on," he said softly.

But his warm touch and gentle words did little to soften the glare on Nicholas' face, which was now a curious mixture of pain and anger.  "So you're not calling in the rest of the team?"  he asked quietly, straining to keep his voice calm.

"We just got back from a mission," Jim responded.  "Give us a day or two to rest, then Grant and I will do some research.  If this is what it appears to be, we'll see what the Secretary wants us to do."

"And by then it may be too late for Keisha," Nicholas observed quietly.  Without another word, he shook off Jim's touch, gathered up the photographs and Keisha's notes, and stuffed them back into the manila envelope.

"Nicholas," Jim said pleadingly, knowing his agent was upset with him.  But when Nicholas met his gaze, his brown eyes, normally soft and warm, were the opposite.

"You know where to reach me," he whispered, picking up the envelope and starting toward the door.

"Nicholas, wait," Jim called after him. But it was too late.  In a flash, Nicholas had tossed the envelope into the passenger seat of his BMW, backed out of the space, and torn out of the parking lot as quickly as he'd come in.

Chapter 3

Jim's telephone rang early the next morning.  For a split second, he hoped it might be Nicholas.  He had tried to call his friend several times the night before.  Nicholas had never picked up the phone, even after it had gotten very late , and Jim had not been able to leave a message.  Either Nicholas wasn't home or was still angry enough to ignore Jim's attempts at contact, and he clearly hadn't replaced the audio tape in his answering machine because he'd wanted to save Keisha's message.

When Jim picked up the phone, however, it wasn't his agent. He listened wordlessly as the voice on the other end of the line instructed him where to find information on the next mission  - apologetically, knowing that he and his team had just returned from one the day before.

Jim got into his SUV and took the long way to the ice hockey rink - the path that took him right by Nicholas' apartment.  He frowned.  He was still frowning as he pulled into the parking lot and went inside.

Despite the heaviness of his red cardigan, Jim shivered slightly as he entered the rink.  He stood silently on the other side of the metal bar, watching as the red and blue teams battled for control of the puck.  After a few moments, there was a cheap shot, the sound of the referee's whistle, and then one of the blue players slid across the ice to the penalty box.

This was his cue.

As the player entered the time out area, Jim approached the coach of the blue team.

"You guys are short a player," he observed aloud, nodding toward the man in the penalty box.  "Can't you send someone else in?"

"Not for the next five minutes," the coach replied.  "Hockey rules won't allow substitutions.  The red team is in a power play."

"So this increases their chances of scoring a goal?"  Jim asked, using the second code phrase.

Just then, the hockey puck slid by the blue goaltender as if on cue.  "That's right," replied the coach with an air of frustration.  "You can read more about ice hockey rules in my office."  He pointed.  "It's right through the blue door."

Jim nodded his thanks and walked to the coach's office, pausing to lock the door behind him.  He was pleased to see that the window blinds were already drawn.  As he pulled out the coach's chair, Jim saw the familiar black box.  He placed it on the desk and sat down.  Then he scanned his thumbprint, typed in the three digit code, slid the tiny disc in the slot, and watched as it began to play.

"Good morning, Jim," began the familiar voice, as the video opened to stock footage of various Colorado landmarks.  "In the last six months,  the number of deaths in the Denver area has increased by nearly thirty percent, and the number of arrests has increased by just over twenty percent, thanks to the rise of the largest drug ring to hit the Midwest in forty years."

The video faded, and a still photograph of a Latino male with long, curly hair appeared on the screen.  Jim did a double take.  He'd seen the face before.

"We believe that this man, Salvador Martinez, recently paroled for other drug crimes, is responsible for the distribution of these drugs, and that he's been recruiting other street dealers to help him.  What we don't know is where he's getting his supply.

"Normally, this would be a job for the DEA," the voice continued, as video footage of the Drug Enforcement Administration played on the screen, "but despite their best efforts, the ring has continued to flourish and expand.  Approximately two months ago, the Feds enlisted the help of the FBI, and one of their undercover agents successfully infiltrated the ring."

Again, the video faded, and the image of an attractive dark-skinned woman with dark, curly hair appeared on the screen.  Jim sucked in his breath - he'd seen her before, too - and barely heard the recording's next words.

"However, that agent has not filed a field report in nearly a week, and it is presumed that her cover has been blown.  Your team, Jim, is our last hope for shutting down this operation."

Jim listened in dumbfounded silence as the voice continued.

"Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it, is to identify Martinez' supplier and bring them both to justice, thus putting an end to their devastating network.

"As always, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of.your actions.  This disc will self destruct in five seconds.  Good luck, Jim."

Jim barely snapped back to reality in time to close the black box before the disc erupted in a plume of white smoke.  He rose from the chair and walked out the door in a daze, not even noticing the coldness of the hockey rink as he found his car and drove away.

Chapter 4

A few hours later, Max pulled into the parking lot of the condominium that doubled as the team's headquarters. He exited the vehicle, then waited as Shannon got out of the passenger side. He slung an arm around her shoulders as they entered the briefing room.

Jim was standing near the large screen, a haunted look on his face that Max and Shannon chalked up to exhaustion. They were all still tired from less than twenty-four hours' rest since returning from the previous mission. But Jim had assured them that this one was of utmost importance, that he wouldn't be calling them out again so soon otherwise.

Grant was already seated at his customary spot, the same look on his face, as Max and Shannon took their places on the sofa on the other side of the room.

"Thank you for coming in so soon," Jim reiterated quietly. "I know you haven't had much rest."

As he pushed the button on his remote control to start the briefing, Max interrupted him.

"Aren't we going to wait for Nicholas?" he asked, realizing for the first time how uncharacteristic it was for his dark-haired teammate to be the last to arrive.

Jim sighed heavily but did not answer at first, his words failing him.

"Or has he gone on ahead?" Shannon offered. She knew that sometimes Jim would send one or more agents in before the others arrived, especially if deep cover was necessary. At the same time, she wondered how that was possible so soon after they had returned home.

"In a matter of speaking, Shannon," Jim finally responded, his voice barely audible. "I think that's exactly where Nicholas is. But I didn't send him."

Jim nodded toward the giant screen, and the four of them looked upon the image of a woman with mocha-colored skin and dark, curly hair. Shannon's face registered recognition.

"Isn't that the undercover FBI agent who helped us find the Secretary's daughter a few missions ago? Nicholas' friend?"

"Yeah, Kiki," Max recalled, smiling slightly at the memory before his smile faded at the look on Jim's face.

"Keisha Roberts," Jim confirmed, with a slight nod.

"Is she involved with our mission?" Shannon wanted to know.

Again, Jim nodded, this time almost imperceptibly. "Four days ago, she left a phone message for Nicholas, and mailed him some information from her undercover surveillance," he informed them.

"Nicholas showed it to me yesterday. He was afraid for her safety, and he wanted us to take on the mission. But Keisha made some pretty heavy duty accusations, and we had just gotten back home. I told him I needed time to check into her story before calling you out. He was upset and angry when he left here."

Jim paused and sighed heavily, and when he continued speaking his voice was sad. "I tried calling him all evening but I couldn't get him. When I went to get the mission this morning, I drove by his apartment but his car wasn't there."

"You think he went after Keisha on his own?" Max asked, his tone an unreadable mixture of emotions.

"I think that's exactly what he's done, Max," Jim answered, "and now I'm afraid Keisha is not the only one in danger."

"What kind of information did she have?" questioned Shannon, her own voice reflecting her concern for her teammate.

Jim pushed a button on his keyboard and nodded almost imperceptibly at Grant. Max and Shannon had been so caught up in their exchange with Jim that they hadn't paid attention to how quiet Grant had been. So when he spoke, his voice startled them slightly.

"You're looking at Salvador Martinez," he said, his voice low and reflecting his worry, as the image of the long-haired man appeared on the screen. "He and his recruits are directly responsible for distributing millions of dollars in drugs throughout Denver, Colorado, and surrounding areas. The DEA has been largely ineffective in its efforts to stop Martinez, so a couple of months ago the FBI was called in."

"And Keisha went undercover," Max reasoned.

Jim nodded. "She went in as a dealer and worked her way into the inner circle, where she managed to snap a photograph of a drug deal between Martinez and Ron Gibson."

It took only a second for Shannon to recognize the name. "The head of the DEA?" she cried incredulously.

"No wonder they weren't getting anywhere in their investigation," Max quipped. "Did she tell anyone?"

Grant nodded. "According to the paperwork she sent Nicholas, Tom Martin dismissed her concerns and ordered her off the case, but she continued to do off-the-record surveillance. Jim saw a photo that was taken later of Gibson and Martin shaking hands, with Martinez in the background."

"So the head of the FBI is in on it, too?"

"It sure looks that way, Max," replied Jim sadly. "And it's been four days since Keisha left that message for Nicholas."

Max whistled. "This is major league stuff, Jim. Does the IMF have any other information?"

"They have not been able to identify Martinez' supplier," Jim answered. "If Keisha is right, and Gibson is the mastermind, it will be up to us to put him out of business."

"And hopefully find Keisha and Nicholas in the process," said Shannon optimistically.

"Yes," replied Jim, sadness in his ice blue eyes, "hopefully, indeed."

Chapter 5

Nicholas awoke with a start as the plane touched down in Denver, Colorado.  So deep was his exhaustion that he had slept through the entire flight.  After all, it was just this morning that they'd gotten back from their last mission.  The logical part of Nicholas' mind knew that he should have waited - if not for Jim and Grant to decide whether to call out the team, then at least for daybreak, after he'd had a good night's rest.

But in this case, worry trumped logic, and he'd been determined to catch a flight out as soon as possible.  Besides, as concerned as he was about Keisha, he doubted he would have rested well at home anyway.

As Nicholas picked up his luggage, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks that he'd gotten a flight on such short notice.  He was still bone tired, but he wasn't going to let a little fatigue distract him from his goal.

Luggage in hand, Nicholas stepped out of the airport into the crisp Denver breeze, and came to a sudden realization.  He had no car, no place to sleep tonight, and no idea how to get around the city at all, much less where to start looking for Keisha.

His years of experience running missions for the IMF had taught him not to be stupid.  It was nearly midnight, for heaven's sake.  He knew he should have taken a cab straight to a hotel, gotten a good night's sleep, and started off fresh in the morning.  But he was deeply worried about his friend, and once again worry trumped logic.

Nicholas suddenly remembered seeing a car rental business inside the airport, and if he wasn't mistaken it was still open.  He turned and went back inside, where he successfully rented an inconspicuous black sedan and obtained a map of the city.  Then he piled his luggage inside the trunk and drove off toward Denver's outskirts.

He drove for an untold amount of time, so tired that it took all of his energy to focus on his task.  He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by feelings right now, couldn't worry about what his teammates might be doing or even whether Keisha was all right.  He was singularly focused on finding Denver's drug community; he was sure that's where he'd find his friend.

Eventually, as he left the hustle and bustle of the big city, he started to notice things begin to change.  It was darker there, because were fewer street lights.  The nicer houses with their brick or vinyl exteriors were replaced by run down public housing apartments.  The two or three convenience stores Nicholas passed had bars on the windows.  The people he saw were all dressed in black; most of them held cigarettes in their hands.  And the faces of the few people he got close enough to see held the telltale signs of substance use.

Nicholas' experience told him that he had found what he was looking for.  He parked the sedan in an out of the way place and then set about making himself blend in with the crowd.

By the time he emerged from the car, he doubted if even his teammates would have recognized him.  Normally impeccably dressed and well put-together, Nicholas now looked disheveled.  His hair was mussed, and he had applied makeup to his face to give himself the illusion of sunken cheeks.  His shirttail was hanging half in and half out of his pants.  He didn't like this look at all, and he certainly didn't feel like himself.  But he hoped it would be enough to infiltrate the community as his friend had done.

He climbed out of the car and shuffled toward a small group of people gathered around a 55-gallon barrel, warming in the glow of the fire that emanated from it.  It could have easily been just a group of homeless people, but Nicholas' sixth sense told him otherwise.

He trudged up to the barrel, wiggling himself into an open spot.  He simulated a slight shiver as he held his shaking hands out for warmth.  Out of the corner of his eye, he observed a young girl of no more than twenty, with blonde hair that was long and straight but unkempt sticking out from beneath her black toboggan.  She was watching him intently but didn't say a word.

On an impulse, he looked up and shot her a half-smile.  "It's cold tonight," he said, gruffly but without emotion.

"Yeah," she answered, in the same flat tone.

"I could use something to warm me up," he remarked, slurring his speech slightly on purpose.  He hadn't been around many drug addicts, but had done enough research for his acting roles that he knew what the withdrawal symptoms were.  It would take all of his acting talent to convince this group of people that he was one of them.

"There's a warehouse around the corner," the girl offered.  "No heat, but you can get out of the wind."

Nicholas met her eyes.  "That wasn't what I had in mind," he answered, still with that air of detachment.  He closed his eyes and shivered, allowing a wince to cross his face as if he were in pain.

The woman nodded, understanding.  "Follow me," she mumbled.  She moved swiftly down a dark, secluded alley, barely stopping to make sure Nicholas was still shuffling behind her.

Halfway down the corridor, she stopped.  When Nicholas caught up with her, she quickly and with expert precision ran her hands down his sides and down both legs. She'd obviously done this before.

"Sorry," she murmured, realizing she'd taken him by surprise.  "Have to make sure you're not a cop."  Nicholas nodded stiffly, his instincts not doubting for a moment that there were unseen men lurking in the shadows, waiting to leave no trace of him if she'd found a weapon.

Satisfied, the girl kept walking until she stopped in front of an old store that had clearly not been open in years.  The door was even boarded up, as were the windows.  The girl knocked twice, sharply, and once  again Nicholas was surprised when what looked like securely nailed boards swung open.

As he stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat.

Chapter 6

The room was extremely dim.  There were no overhead lights, just a single lamp without a shade.  The light bulb so sharply contrasted the rest of the room that it stung Nicholas' eyes as it illuminated a small table.  Spread across it was a smorgasbord of nearly every type of drug one could imagine.

The blonde girl pushed Nicholas past the guard who'd opened the door and toward the corner of the room.  A figure sat behind the table, but in the shadow of the single bulb Nicholas could not discern its features.

"What's your pleasure?" asked the figure.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes, instinctively trying to pin down the characteristics of the figure's voice.  It was low, deep, presumably male... but he could swear he heard a hint of femininity there.

He chose a drug, the figure named a price, and the deal was settled within a minute.  As the figure pressed the capped syringe into his hand, Nicholas perceived that a piece of paper was wrapped tightly around it.  But he barely had a chance to notice it, much less read it, even if he'd dared to, for the blonde girl who'd escorted him in immediately ushered him out again.  He shoved it into his pocket and followed her. Before he knew it, he was back standing at the barrel, with little comprehension about how to get back down the alley to the dark little room again.

He stayed at the barrel for one more long moment, then shuffled his way back to his car. Immediately he extracted the syringe from his pocket and unwrapped the paper around it, hardly daring to breathe as he read the words.

"Nicholas,

I knew you'd come.  I'd know those eyes anywhere.

I'm okay, but it is better if people think I'm dead.  I couldn't risk blowing my cover.

My shift will be over at 10 in the morning.  There's a little coffee shop on South Broadway; if you'll meet me there about 10:30, I'll explain things.

See you soon, handsome.

Keisha."

Nicholas willed his heart to stop pounding.  He was extremely relieved that Keisha seemed all right, but troubled that it still would be several hours before he would be able to talk to her.

As the adrenaline rush of uncertainty wore off, Nicholas' rational mind kicked in.  It was too cold to sleep in the car tonight, he reasoned, so he turned the car around and followed the road back to the city.  He would find the little coffee shop Keisha had mentioned, and choose a nearby hotel to crash for the rest of the night.

Nicholas' exhaustion increased the more he relaxed, but his mind continued to race.  For the first time since he'd boarded the plane, he allowed himself to think about his team back in San Francisco.  He had been furious at Jim for dismissing his concerns - still was, if the truth be told - but at the same time he could appreciate Jim's desire to proceed cautiously.  He knew he should have let someone know he was leaving town. The decision had been an impulsive one, borne out of fear and completely out of character for him.  He knew that any of his team members would have tried to talk him out of it, which was probably a big reason he hadn't taken his communicator, either.

Perhaps tomorrow, after he'd talked to Keisha, he would have more information to share with his team. Perhaps then he'd be able to convince them to come.  He certainly wasn't confident that he and Keisha could bring down a powerful drug lord and the heads of two federal agencies by themselves.

For tonight, Nicholas pulled into a seedy-looking hotel two blocks from the coffee shop.  He almost registered under his own name, knowing that Grant could find him if he decided to check, but at the last moment thought it best to use an assumed name and pay in cash.  Keisha was clearly worried about blowing her cover, so maybe it was better to play it safe.

Once inside his room, the dark-haired agent only spent a few moments anticipating his meeting with his friend, for sleep claimed him almost as soon as he fell into bed.

Chapter 7

“So, what's our plan, Jim?"  Max wanted to know.

"Well, Max, if there is an alliance between the two federal agencies and Martinez, we're going to have to find a way to break it apart," he responded.  "If Gibson is using his position at the DEA to supply Martinez with drugs, then Martin at the FBI is almost certainly the weakest link."

"So somebody needs to get in there and find out how much he knows," reasoned Grant.

Jim nodded.  "That will be your job, Grant."  At Grant's nod, he turned to Max and Shannon.  "The two of you are going to organize a sting operation on the DEA itself," he advised them.  "We're going to find out exactly what Ron Gibson does with the drugs that are confiscated during a bust."

"And we'll all keep an eye out for Nicholas and Keisha," Shannon vowed.

"Do we know for sure that he went to Denver?"  Max questioned.

"According to what I've been able to find out, Nicholas bought a one-way ticket to Denver with his credit card late yesterday afternoon," Grant said quietly, as he punched some buttons on his keyboard.  "And I found a manifest that lists a Nicholas Black as a passenger on a flight that left for Colorado at nine forty-five last night."

Grant looked up at his three team members, his face grim and his jaw set.  "The plane would have landed around midnight."

"Any evidence he's checked into a hotel anywhere?"  Jim asked, and Grant shook his head slowly.

"Have you tried his communicator?"  Shannon questioned.

Grant punched a few more buttons on his keyboard.  "I'm not picking up a signal from it, so he doesn't have it on," he observed.  "And according to the internal tracking device it isn't moving."

"We'll check his apartment before we fly out," advised Jim, "but I'm pretty sure we'll find that he's left it here."

Max and Shannon exchanged worried glances, but said nothing.  If Nicholas left his team without talking to anyone and plunged headlong into an unknown situation without even taking his communicator, he must have been extremely rattled.

As they looked back into the faces of their leader and their other teammate, they both realized that Jim and Grant were thinking the very same thing.

"Can you guys be ready to take off in four hours?"  Jim asked, somewhat apologetically.  "There's a flight leaving out at four this afternoon."

"We'll be ready, Jim," answered Shannon on everyone's behalf.  It didn't matter how tired they were; if they wanted to find their friend and teammate, she knew they didn't have a choice.

*******

Nearly seven hours later, the four teammates picked up their luggage at the Denver airport and rented a couple of cars from the same rental company Nicholas had used the day before.  As they sat outside the airport in their newly rented vehicles - Grant and Max in the sedan, and Jim and Shannon in the SUV - Grant turned on his laptop and once again ran Nicholas' information to see if he'd used his credit card while he'd been in Denver.  He shook his head sadly and keyed his communicator.

"Still nothing, Jim," he reported.  "Apparently, he's been using cash since he got here, but he's bound to run out eventually.  I put a monitor on his credit card.  If he uses it anywhere, we'll know."

Jim nodded his support, though the young Black agent couldn't see him.  "Well, we might as well find ourselves a hotel.  And since we're not sure where Nicholas is staying, I don't suppose it matters which one."

Grant and Max followed Jim and Shannon to a secluded hotel on the outskirts of the city, and soon the four of them were settled into their respective rooms.  After a brief strategy session, each of them fell asleep with the same thought:  tomorrow, they would start the mission, and hopefully be reunited with their missing teammate.

Chapter 8

At a little after ten the next morning, Nicholas entered the coffee shop.  He was dressed in a heavy collared beige sweatshirt and blue jeans - more casual than he typically dressed, but not wishing to draw the sort of attention that his usual wardrobe might attract.  He ordered a cup of Irish tea and chose a spot in the corner, somewhat secluded but with a clear view of the front door.

A few minutes later, a tall figure opened the door and walked inside.  Dressed in black leather pants, boots, and a denim jacket, with stringy short auburn hair sticking out from under a baseball cap, only the figure's face and hands were not concealed by clothing.  From a distance, it was impossible to discern the figure's gender.  It certainly looked nothing like the woman Nicholas was waiting for.

The figure approached Nicholas' table and sat down, and for a split second Nicholas was about to claim mistaken identity.  But then he saw two bright, mocha-colored eyes peering out from beneath the stringy auburn bangs, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest.

"Hello, handsome," she smiled, her voice low.

"Keisha," he whispered breathlessly, returning her smile.  So relieved he was to see her that he longed to pull her close to him.  Instead, he followed his friend's discretion.  He reached across the table for her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it gently.

"I'm glad you came," she said quietly, squeezing his hand.

"I'm glad you're all right," he returned, matching her tone.  "You had me worried."

"Sorry about that," she said sincerely.  She quickly glanced around her.  "I assume the rest of your posse is here somewhere?"  she asked, a mischievous smile returning to her lips even as Nicholas' own smile faded.

He shook his head sadly.  "They didn't come," he replied.  Keisha raised her eyebrows questioningly.  "They wanted to gather more information," he elaborated, trying not to make the words sound bitter but failing somewhat.

Something between anger and frustration flashed briefly in Keisha's eyes, but she quickly stifled it.  She'd only met the team once, and then just briefly, so she didn't feel that she was qualified to pass judgment. Instead, she squeezed his hand again.

"But you're here."  She forced a smile.

Nicholas sighed.  "Yes," he replied.  "We just got back in town yesterday, and I got your message."

"Obviously, you also checked the mail," Keisha added, her voice low.

"I did," he confirmed.  "I tried to call you back."  His dark eyes met hers.  "It frightened me when I couldn't reach you."

He left the obvious question unasked, but Keisha took a deep breath and answered anyway.

"Well, I'm sure you saw the photograph I took of Ron Gibson and my boss making nice with the drug dealer."  She paused, and at Nicholas' nod she continued.  "I was disobeying orders when I took that picture, and they spotted me.  They chased me, but I got away.  I knew it wasn't safe to stay at my house, but I  needed to stop by just long enough to grab some things and leave that message for you."

Nicholas saw Keisha's hand begin to tremble, and he grasped it again and held on.

"I didn't realize that I had been followed," she continued quietly.  "I was headed for a hotel in the city when my brakes went out."  She saw the flash of panic that crossed her friend's face, and she smiled slightly.  "It's okay, handsome.  I jumped.  I was lucky.  The car, not so much."

She paused again, shuddering slightly at the memory of the car exploding right in front of her, and Nicholas ached to comfort her in his arms.  Instead, he waited patiently for her to continue.

"I managed to save the camera, but I knew it would be hard to keep up with.  So I hitched a ride back to the city, had the photos developed and sent them to you for safekeeping.  Then I threw together this disguise and passed myself off as one of the many dealers I recruited, and waited for you to track me down.  I'm pretty sure Tom and the others think Keisha Roberts blew up in that crash."

Nicholas could barely maintain his composure.  "Keisha, you can't go back there," he urged tensely.  "You can't risk blowing your cover again.  Come with me.  Let me take you somewhere safe."

But to his surprise, Keisha was shaking her head.  She reached across the table for his hand once again.  "I'd love to, Nicholas, but I can't.  I've spent two months of my life trying to shut these guys down, and I've taken too many risks not to see it through.  Besides, someone needs to be on the inside."

"But how?"  protested Nicholas.  "How can we possibly hope to shut them down?  My team isn't coming.  It's just the two of us, and you said yourself that there's nobody we can trust."

Suddenly, the front door flew open, and a tall, musclebound man dressed in black entered the coffee shop.  He was headed straight for Keisha.

Chapter 9

"Company," Nicholas whispered,  quickly withdrawing his hand from hers.  There was nowhere for him to hide.

Keisha saw the fear in his eyes.  "Nicholas, do you trust me?"  she asked urgently.

"Absolutely."

Keisha nodded, as the man walked up alongside her.

"Hey, Darlene," he greeted gruffly.  He nodded stiffly toward Nicholas. "Who's he?  New recruit?"

Keisha nodded.  "Heroin junkie," she drawled.  "Wants to be a dealer."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a business card.  It contained only an address crudely handwritten in blue pen.  He tossed it onto the table in front of Nicholas.

"Meet me here tonight.  Midnight," the man growled.  "We'll show you the business."  He looked back at Keisha.  "Come on, toots."

"Just let me grab some coffee to go, Mack," she stalled.  Mack shrugged his shoulders and headed outside as Keisha got up and walked toward the coffee bar.

Once the door had closed behind him, Keisha turned back toward Nicholas and winked.  "See you tonight, handsome," she smiled.

"Be careful," Nicholas urged.

Keisha responded with a brief smile as she ordered a coffee and then disappeared through the front door.

*******

Shortly before midnight, Nicholas parked his car about a block from the address written on the business card that Mack had given him at the coffee shop.  He was once again dressed in casual clothing and had made an effort to look more disheveled than he had appeared earlier.  If he was going to masquerade as a heroin addict, he would have to look the part.

As he approached the address, the door swung open and a strong hand gripped his wrist hard and jerked him inside.  Nicholas found himself being thrown hard onto a straight back chair and then frisked for weapons as the blonde had done the day before.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Keisha, wearing the disguise he'd seen on her earlier in the day.

"What's your name, mister?"  Mack sneered.

"Jenkins," Nicholas replied, a bit breathlessly, using the assumed name under which he'd rented his hotel room.  "Raymond Jenkins."

"Welcome to the business, Jenkins," Mack answered with contempt.  "Listen closely, because I'm only going to explain this once.  Every night at eleven you come here to see me.  I'll start you out with five hundred dollars' worth of heroin.  The next night, I expect you to bring the money or return the drugs.  If any of it is missing-"

At this point, Mack stopped speaking, pulled back his fist, and thrust it into Nicholas' stomach.  He cried out in pain and doubled over in the chair.

"Once you've sold your supply, you'll receive payment in your drug of choice.  If you need cash, you'll just have to sell your own to get some.  If you need more supply for your own habit, you'll have to sell more drugs for us. And one more thing."

Mack stared at Nicholas. "If you give anyone this address, if you tell anyone what you're doing, or if we have any reason to suspect that you're a snitch-"

Mack swiftly dealt Nicholas a right hook that sent him nearly sprawling out of the chair.  Then he bent down and peered into his eyes.  "I'll kill you myself.  Do you understand?"

Nicholas, wincing in pain, nodded weakly.  Satisfied, Mack turned to Keisha.  "He seems to be a good little recruit," he muttered.  "Listens well.  But he looks like he could use a fix.  Hook him up and send him on his way.  I've got some other business to finish up."

With that, Mack walked through the door and disappeared into the night, leaving the two of them alone. Immediately, she rushed over to the dark-haired agent and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"  she asked quietly.

"You could have warned me," he gasped in response, his tone somewhere between anger and surprise, as he put his hand to his cheek.

"There wasn't time," she countered softly.  "He'd already spotted you.  It was either that or he'd have killed you on the spot."

"I don't doubt that," Nicholas murmured, as he allowed her to help him to his feet.  He looked at her, longing to pull her close.  She recognized the look in his eyes but discreetly nodded toward a corner of the room.  "Cameras," she said simply.

Still holding onto Nicholas' hand, she thrust a handful of needles into it, then closed his fingers over top of them and squeezed.

"What do I do with these?" he asked, knowing she knew he was no drug dealer.

"I don't know," Keisha replied somberly, "but if you're not back here tonight with money for at least some of them, we're both dead."

"I have to try to reach my team," Nicholas whispered.  "This is much bigger than both of us."  At Keisha's nod, he raised an eyebrow.  "Are you going to be okay?"

"Long as I don't do anything stupid, I'll be fine," she assured him, smiling slightly.  Then she tilted her head toward the security camera.  "You'd  better go."

Nicholas held her gaze for one more long moment, then reluctantly, he shoved the needles into his pocket and went out into the night.