The Inheritance

Prologue

The telephone rang at the McKinley National Bank.  A blonde teller in her mid-twenties scooped up the receiver.

"McKinley National Bank.  This is Serena," she said breezily.  "How can I help you?"

"Hi, Serena, this is Catherine Wainwright," the caller responded.   "I put a substantial amount of cash into a safety deposit box yesterday, and I was just calling to make sure that everything was in order."

"Yes, ma'am, let me just check on that for you," the teller said by way of formality, as she pushed a few buttons on her computer.  "What did you say your name was again?"

"Catherine Wainwright."

"That's what I thought you said," Serena frowned, as her face clouded.  "Do you have your box number, or your Social?"

The caller provided both pieces of requested information, and the teller punched a few more buttons.   After a longer-than-usual silence she spoke once again. "I'm sorry, Ms. Wainwright," she said regretfully, "but you must have the wrong bank.  We have no record of you in our database.  And box number one fifty-nine is completely empty and not being used."

"That's impossible!" cried Catherine, her voice trembling at the implication of what she was hearing.  "I was just there yesterday!  I spoke with Barbara!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Wainwright," Serena said again, "but we do not have a Barbara on staff here. Perhaps you visited another branch and just dialed the wrong number?"

"You've lost my entire inheritance!" the caller exclaimed.  "Over three million dollars!"  And before the teller could respond, Catherine Wainwright hung up the phone and burst into tears.

"My brother is behind this," she sobbed to herself.  "I don't know how, but that's got to be the answer." Catherine cried softly for another moment or two, then resolutely she picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Yes. This is Catherine Wainwright.  Greg Wainwright's daughter.  I wish to speak with the Secretary."

Chapter 1

Jim Phelps glanced at his watch, then made his way to the large fenced-in pasture.  A male zookeeper was using a large hose to wash out the water trough before refilling it.  A few yards away, a zebra mare was cleaning her newborn foal, who was already trying to stand on its own.

Jim walked up to a section of fence close to the keeper, then crossed his arms and propped on a fencepost.  The keeper looked over at Jim, who nodded toward the zebras.

"Big baby," he smiled.

The keeper nodded as he weilded the hose.  "Newborn foals can weigh between fifty-five and ninety pounds," he confirmed.

"And no trouble keeping up with the adults, either, isn't that right?"

The keeper recognized the second part of the codespeak.  "Nope," he smiled.  "They can run with the rest of the herd just a few hours after birth.". He glanced at the foal, who was scampering around his mother, his legs still slightly unsteady.  "There's more information just on the other side of that wall."

Jim nodded his thanks and walked around to where the keeper had pointed.  There was a small space, out of sight of the other guests, and a small black rectangular box lay on a square hay bale. 

Jim glanced around instinctively to make sure he was alone, then he scanned his thumbprint, entered the code, and inserted the tiny disk.  He watched as it began to play.

"Good morning, Jim.  Four years ago, an IMF team led by Greg Wainwright successfully shut down a ring of international drug dealers." Jim gazed at the screen as the familiar image of Greg Wainwright, a graying man in his mid-fifties, appeared on the video. 

The voice continued: "Among those captured was Greg's own son, Phillip, who had secured his position in the organization using the inheritance from his late mother."

As the photograph of Phillip Wainwright flashed up on the screen, Jim found himself instinctively studying it, trying to memorize its features. "Greg resigned from the IMF shortly afterward, and Phillip spent the past four years in federal prison.

"On the fourteenth of this month, Greg Wainwright's daughter, and Phillip's sister, Catherine, turned twenty-one and received her share of the inheritance - just over three million dollars.  That money is now missing, and we believe that the recently paroled Phillip has taken it in order to resume his drug trafficking activities.  This could have dire consequences for the people of the United States and around the world."

Jim gazed at the attractive young blonde as the voice continued. "Your mission, Jim, should you decide to accept it, is to find out what happened to Catherine's inheritance, and to make sure Phillip Wainwright does not return to his wicked ways.

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

As the disk self-destructed, Jim closed the black box and quietly left the zoo.

Chapter 2

"This is Catherine Wainwright," Jim began, as the video screen displayed the image of a slender, blond-haired socialite, dressed impeccably, who appeared to be in her early twenties.  "Her father, Greg, was an IMF agent for many years."

"She doesn't look like much of a threat," Max muttered, with a twinkle in his eye - earning himself a wry grin from Grant, who was sitting on the couch beside him.

Jim smirked slightly.  "Actually, she isn't a threat at all." The four young team members looked at one another in confusion. 

"I don't understand, Jim," said Nicholas, his eyebrows. furrowed.

"It is not Catherine Wainwright that concerns us," advised Jim.  "It's her money.  Money that we suspect has fallen into the wrong hands." Jim pushed a button on the keyboard, and the screen displayed a photograph of what looked like a happy family - a young couple, with a young boy and a baby girl.

"Catherine's mother was a self-made millionaire businesswoman  who died when Catherine was a young child," Jim explained.    "Her money was placed in a trust for Catherine and her brother Philip, to be kept there until each of them turned twenty-one."

The photograph faded out and was replaced by one of an adult male, about twenty-five years of age.  "Philip is six years older, so he received his inheritance first," Jim continued.  "He could have used his money along with his knowledge of business and finance to follow in his mother's footsteps.  Instead, he quickly became involved with illegal activities, including drug trafficking."

"Greg Wainwright was part of an IMF team that shut down a ring of international drug dealers four years ago," Grant offered.  "He was very upset to discover that his own son was part of the package - so upset that he resigned from the IMF shortly thereafter."

Jim nodded at Grant, then resumed the story.  "Catherine turned twenty-one two weeks ago.  She never trusted her brother and his knowledge of bank operations, but he was incarcerated at the time, so she saw no harm in putting her inheritance in a safe deposit box rather than a conventional bank account."

"Except he was released," Grant said flatly.

"And now her money is missing," Shannon deduced.  At Jim's nod, she continued.  "But how did Philip Wainwright get to it?"

"That's what we've got to find out," answered Jim.  "Since his release, he's been lying low.  IMF research has been unable to find his base of operations.  He's not made contact with any of our undercover agents here or abroad, and because of his charges he's been blackballed from any U.S. banking establishments."

"Plus, I've been looking at computerized data from the bank Catherine Wainwright swears she used," added Grant.  "Not only is the money not in Catherine's account, it's not anywhere.  There's no evidence that a deposit was ever even made."

"Which means that someone had to delete the deposit and physically walk the money out of the bank," deduced Nicholas.

"An inside job," Max said flatly.

"That's the only explanation," agreed Jim, "so we need someone inside the bank to find out who that is.  Nicholas, that'll be you." Nicholas nodded.

"If Philip Wainwright is back into smuggling drugs, I'm sure he'll need more than his sister's money to fund his activities," Jim continued.  He winked at Shannon.  "Since one wealthy heiress caught his eye, we figured we'd send another."

Shannon grinned.  "And hopefully the mystery accomplice will take the bait."

"And lead us to his headquarters," finished Max.

"What about you, Jim?" asked Shannon.

Jim smiled knowingly.  "Once we find Philip Wainwright, I'll be making him an offer he and his drug smuggling operation can't refuse."

Chapter 3

Nicholas parked his BMW, grabbed his briefcase, and went inside McKinley National Bank, where he was greeted immediately by an impeccably-dressed, blonde-haired woman.

"You must be our new accounts manager," she smiled, her pearly white teeth sparkling.  "Welcome to McKinley."

"Nick Foster, at your service," he said warmly, extending his hand and returning her smile.  "It's good to be here."

"I'm Christina Robinson.  I'm the manager here," she added.  "Come, let me show you to your office."

Nicholas followed a step behind her as she walked, her long black stilettos clicking resolutely against the grey tile floor.  "I'm looking forward to working here," he told her.

Christina stopped at a locked door.  She unlocked it with a key on a fob around her wrist, then reached into the pocket of her blazer and handed him a loose key.

"This is your office," she announced.  "Here's your key.  Make yourself at home.  I'm a couple doors down if you need anything."

"Thank you," said Nicholas sincerely.

Christina just smiled, and then she disappeared down the hallway. Once she was gone, Nicholas closed the door and locked it.  Then he picked up the telephone on his desk and dialed a number.

A few miles away, the phone rang at headquarters.  Grant, who had just entered the room, noted the incoming phone number displayed on the screen. 

"That's gotta be Nicholas," he remarked, as he hit the speaker button. 

"Hey, pal."

"I'm in position," Nicholas said simply.

"Okay, good," Jim responded.

"I'm all tapped into the bank's telephone and computer networks," Grant advised with a sigh, "but as we suspected, their security cameras are closed-circuit.  It'll be up to you to tap into them from inside."

"Right."

Once the dark-haired agent hung up, Jim looked at Grant.  "See what you can find out about the people who work at McKinley."

Grant punched a few buttons on his computer while Jim waited.  A few moments later,  Grant looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Four full-time tellers.  Manager's name is Christina Robinson.  Nothing unusual about their bios."

"Which means Nicholas will have to keep his eyes and ears open,"  Jim reasoned.  "Is Shannon all set?"

"Ready when you give the word, Jim."

"As soon as Nicholas accesses the cameras," Jim advised, "we'll send her in."

*******

A few moments later, Nicholas emerged from his office and started back down the hallway, pausing at a nearby office door where the woman who had greeted him was tapping away at her computer.  Not wishing to startle her, Nicholas cleared his throat slightly, and she looked up and flashed him a smile.

"All settled in?" she asked.

"Yes," Nicholas answered, returning her smile.  "I just thought it would be nice if you could show me around." He nodded toward the computer.  "When you're not so busy, of course."

Christina sighed and scooted her chair away from the computer.  "I'm afraid there will always be numbers to crunch," she answered.  "It's the nature of the business.  We can do it now."

"I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's no trouble," she assured him, though her smile seemed forced.

Nicholas followed her from room to room, feigning interest in what she was saying with an occasional "yes" and "I see," while his eyes scanned each room for cameras or other things worth noting.  He watched her as she passed one locked room without comment. 

"What's in there?" he asked casually.

"That room belongs to Corporate," Christina replied smoothly.  "None of us even have a key to it."

At last they reached the security room, and Nicholas was immediately taken aback.  There were sixteen large screens, though there did not appear to be a camera in the room itself. 

Nicholas whistled softly.  "That's quite a setup."

"You'll find we have the latest in surveillance equipment here, Mister Foster," Christina said, with satisfaction in her voice.  "Every room in this facility is monitored.  Except the restroom, of course."

And Corporate's room, Nicholas thought to himself.  "Very impressive," he said aloud, as he reached into his jacket and clicked what appeared to be a ballpoint pen.  "Do they have sound?"

"That's the signal," Grant announced, as he picked up the phone and dialed the bank's number. 

Christina's smile faded slightly.  "No sound on these models," she admitted, "but we have plans to upgrade them soon."

Just then, one of the tellers appeared at the security room door, knocking lightly to announce her presence.

"Telephone for you," she advised.  "Someone from Corporate."

"I have to take this," Christina told Nicholas apologetically.  "I'll only be a moment."

Nicholas nodded.  As soon as Christina left the room, he reached into his pocket and took out a special adapter, with a long metal jack on one end and a sleeve on the other.  He quickly felt along the back of the video recorder for the central connector.  Finding it, he unplugged it, and all sixteen screens went offline.  He inserted the metal end of the connector into his adapter, then plugged the adapter into the original hole.  Then he sighed in relief as the surveillance videos came back on.

There was no time to spare, for a moment later he heard the sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

"I'm sorry," she remarked.  "That was just Corporate, wanting to know if you'd settled in yet.  Are you ready to look around some more?"

"Yes," Nicholas grinned.  "Let's go."

Chapter 4

Nicholas finished the tour just as the teller from earlier approached the bank manager.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Robinson, but you have a visitor in the lobby."

Christina smiled slightly.  "It's okay, Andrea.  We're all done." 

The manager looked squarely at Nicholas, who took her gaze as his cue to return to his office.  As he walked down the hallway, he could feel Christina's eyes boring a hole in his back.  He was almost to his door when he heard her stiletto heels clicking resolutely against the floor.

******

Christina Robinson pasted on a smile as she rounded the corner, pausing for a moment to take in the scene before her.  A sophisticated-looking woman sat in a chair, her legs tightly crossed, her tight blue dress creeping up her thighs even higher than it would normally rest.  Her dark hair was tightly coiffed underneath her wide-brimmed silk hat.

Beside her sat a broad-shouldered, blond-haired gentleman in a white suit. Christina took an extra second to marvel appreciatively at how attractive the gentleman was, then she walked forward with her hand extended.

"Hello," she greeted breezily,  as she introduced herself.  "I'm the manager here."

"My name is Francesca," Shannon greeted, sounding as elegant as she looked, as she reached out a white-gloved hand to clasp Christina's.  "I wanted to talk to you about setting up an account here.  I'm just not sure what kind of account would be best."

"Why don't you tell me what you need, and I'll do what I can to help," Christina offered, as she sat down across from her guests.

"Well," Shannon sighed, "I'm looking to set up a trust fund.  I have half a million dollars as an initial deposit, and one hundred thousand dollars will be deposited every month hereafter."

Christina could barely contain her excitement.  "I think I know just the account for your situation."

Christina had Shannon fill out some paperwork, then she took out a key and disappeared into the locked room nearby.  After a few moments, she emerged, with an account number in hand.

"Give this number to your attorney," Christina urged her, "and he can see that your money is direct deposited to your account each month."

"Thank you for your help," Shannon said sincerely, as she rose from her chair and allowed Max to drape her shawl across her shoulders.

"Your money is safe here," the bank manager assured her.

"I believe you," Shannon smiled, giving the manager a final handshake, and she and Max exited the bank.

*********

"How'd it go, Shannon?" Grant asked, once she and Max were finished at the bank and securely back inside their vehicle. 

"It went fine, Grant," Shannon answered, "but I thought the bank manager's name was Robinson."

"That's right."

"This lady introduced herself as Barbara Boone," Max advised. 

"That is strange," Grant agreed.   "So where did she take the money?  I could see her on the cameras for a bit, and then she disappeared."

"She went to a locked room," Shannon answered.  "She had a key."

"I wonder if that's the room that she told Nicholas belonged to Corporate," Jim mused.  "She told him nobody there had a key to it."

"I think this bank manager - whoever she is - just shot to number one on our suspect list," said Shannon.

"I agree," nodded Jim.  "Stay there and keep an eye out for her.  When she leaves the bank, I want to know where she goes."

"Will do, Jim," answered Max.

*******

Christina Robinson escorted her new customer - and her handsome companion -  to the door and watched them enter their vehicle.  She waved at them, then she returned to the locked room.

Meanwhile, Jim dialed the number to Nicholas' office.

"Nick Foster," he greeted.

"Shannon and Max just left the bank," Jim advised, and told Nicholas about Christina Robinson's assumed name.  "And she lied to you about not having a key to that room."

"She was in there?"

"She was," Jim affirmed.  "Matter of fact, none of the cameras are picking her up at the moment, so she may be in there right now."

"Sounds like she may be our mole, all right," Nicholas mused. 

"We've got to find out what's in that room." Jim glanced at his watch.  The bank would be closing in less than an hour. 

"Shannon and Max are still in the parking lot, ready to follow her when she leaves," Jim informed him.  "It may look suspicious if you hang around after closing time, but you can come pick up Grant and the two of you can go back there and check it out."

"Sounds like a plan," Nicholas agreed.  "I'll see you soon."

"Be careful," Jim urged before breaking the connection.

Chapter 5

About thirty minutes later, Nicholas heard a knock at his office door.  He looked up in mild surprise.

"Come in."

The door opened slightly, and the bank manager poked her head inside.  "Mister Foster," she began, "I've found a problem."

"Problem?" Nicholas repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"One of the safety deposit boxes appears to be damaged.  Could you come take a look?"

"Of course," the agent answered, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Nicholas rose from his seat and followed the teller to the other side of the building. 

The vault door stood ajar.  Robinson, a few steps ahead, opened it wider.

"This way," she told him.  "Number two forty-three."

As she stood at the vault door, she extended her hand, palm outward, inviting Nicholas to go inside first.  He did so, with Christina a step behind him.

"It looks to me like the lock's been scraped," she told him.  "What do you think?"

Nicholas moved in for a closer look, then was suddenly seized by a burst of apprehension.  Christina Robinson was still behind him.  He whirled around just in time to see the vault door slam in his face.

He'd been set up.

Nicholas cursed loudly and beat the heavy steel door with his fists, knowing it was futile.  He whipped out his communicator and yelled for Jim, knowing that that, too, was useless. 

He flashed back briefly to a previous mission, where Jim and Shannon had been trapped in a makeshift Egyptian tomb, unable to signal out or to get fresh air in.  Nicholas knew that his teammates would have died if Grant hadn't gotten there in time to save them.  Desperately he realized he was now in the same situation, and all he could do was pray that somehow his team would figure out where he was before it was too late.

*******

"Now, now, Mister Foster," Christina Robinson sneered to herself.  "I can't have you messing up a good thing." She made sure the locked room was secure.  Then she exited the bank, using her key to lock the doors behind her.

*******

As the blonde-haired woman tugged on the front door once to make sure the lock was secure and then started toward her vehicle, Max and Shannon spotted her from their surveillance position in the parking lot.  Shannon keyed her communicator.

"Jim," she began, "the bank manager just locked up and is leaving."

"Is Nicholas with her?" Jim asked quickly.

"No sign of him," Shannon replied.

"That's odd," Grant told his team leader quizzically.  "If Nicholas is still inside, why would she lock up?"

"He was supposed to leave when she did, and come back here to pick you up," Jim recalled.  "Wonder what he's doing?"

"I don't like this," growled Max.

Grant scooped up the receiver and dialed Nicholas' office number.  It rang several times, but there was no answer.

"Try his communicator," Jim urged.  "Maybe he's not in the office."

While Jim stayed in contact with the others, Grant tried desperately to reach their teammate.

"Nicholas?  Nicholas, do you read me?"

There was nothing but silence in the other end. "It's like the signal's not even getting through," Grant said anxiously.

"Can you see him anywhere?" Shannon demanded.

Grant's fingers flew over the keyboard, then he muttered a curse.  "The security cameras have been disconnected," he said tensely.

"Something's not right," Max warned, as he opened the car door and climbed out.  "Nicholas is in trouble."

Shannon cast a wary glance toward Christina Robinson, who was climbing into a white sedan.  "Shouldn't someone follow her?" she asked, torn between the mission and concern for her missing teammate.

"Take care of it," Max ordered, as he reached into the backseat to grab one of Grant's devices.  "I'll find Nicholas."

Shannon slid into the driver's seat and started after the white sedan, filling Grant and Jim in on the slight change of plans. 

Max hurried to the bank's front entrance.  Making sure no one was watching, he used Grant's device to unlock the glass door.

"I'm inside," he whispered into his communicator. 

Quickly he scanned every open area of the bank and searched every office, all the while calling his friend's name.  But there was no sign of Nicholas.

"I can't find him anywhere," Max panted after a couple of minutes.  Then his eyes fell on the large steel door, and his heart came up in his throat. 

"Oh, God," he moaned.  "The vault."

*******

Nicholas's first instinct was to search for a way out of his airtight trap, but he quickly gave up on that quest.  He now sat on the floor and leaned up against the wall.  His head felt fuzzy, and his extremities felt heavy as lead. He knew that he was almost out of air, and dejectedly he resigned himself to his fate. 

His last conscious thought was of his team - how much he had cared about each of them and enjoyed working with them through the years.  Then the unforgiving darkness consumed him.

Chapter 6

Max leapt to the vault door and tried desperately to turn the handle.  It didn't budge.  Instinctively, he pounded on the door and yelled for his friend, even knowing that not only was it futile but Nicholas couldn't hear him even if he was still conscious.

Or still alive.

Max shook his head reflexively to dismiss the thought.  His blue eyes blinked rapidly as he gripped his communicator.

"Grant," he cried desperately, "can you get it open?"

Grant's fingers worked feverishly as he pushed a series of buttons, while Jim nervously looked on.  "If I can just...find...the right frequency..." he muttered.

"Come on, come on," Max pleaded.

After what seemed like an eternity, Max heard a clicking sound coming from the vault door.  Instantly, he reached for the handle.  It turned.

"You did it!" Max cried out.  Then he threw down the communicator, gripped the handle with both hands, and turned it as quickly as he could.

When the heavy door opened, Max spotted a dark figure slumped against a wall.  A pang of fear shot through his stomach as he pushed harder.  As soon as there was enough room for his body to slip through the opening, Max rushed inside the vault.

The blond agent wasted no time.  He scooped up his lifeless friend and slung him over his shoulder, then darted out of the steel room as quickly as he could, lest the door close on them both. 

Once they were back in the fresh air, Max gently laid Nicholas down and hastily checked him over. Max's fingers trembled as he laid them aside the dark-haired agent's neck.  He was relieved to find a weak pulse. 

Max shifted his hand to Nicholas' chest.  At first, there was no evidence of respiration.  But just as Max was getting into position to begin rescue breathing, Nicholas took a shaky breath on his own, roused slightly by Max's touch.

Releasing his own breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Max left Nicholas' side long enough to locate the thermostat and flip the cool air on.  Immediately, it began to blow down from a vent located directly above where Nicholas was lying.  Max then picked up his communicator and pushed the button as he knelt back down beside his friend.

"Guys, I found Nicholas.  He's alive," Max reported.

His three friends each breathed heavy sighs of relief. 

"Good work, Max," Jim praised.  "How's he doing?"

Just then, Nicholas began to moan and stir slightly. 

"He's coming around now," Max replied.  "Give us a few minutes."

He laid down his communicator and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder as he continued to stir. 

"Take it easy, pal," Max soothed, as Nicholas' eyes fluttered open and settled on the blond agent. 

Nicholas smiled slightly. "You found me," he said, his voice quiet.

Max returned his smile.  "You're safe now, Nicholas.  Just relax for a bit, and breathe deeply."

Nicholas allowed his eyes to close again while he heeded his friend's instructions.  Max kept a steadying hand on his shoulder until his eyes opened once more.

"How are you feeling?" Max asked quickly, as he helped Nicholas to sit up.

"I'm okay," Nicholas assured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Max, I'll be fine," Nicholas promised, his voice gathering strength.  "I just want to finish the mission." Then, suddenly remembering, he said urgently, "What about Christina?"

"Shannon's tailing her," Max told him, "hopefully to Philip Wainwright's hideout."

"I never should have gone into the vault," Nicholas chided himself, as Max helped him to his feet.  "She set me up."  He suddenly looked at his blond friend.  "How did you get in?" he asked.

"Grant found the frequency to open the lock," Max answered.

"Remind me to thank him later," Nicholas smiled.  "And thank you, too, of course."

Max thumped Nicholas' back fondly.  "Anytime, pal," he grinned.  "Now, let's get out of here."

"Not yet." Nicholas shook his head. "First, we need to find out what's in that secret room."

Max laid a hand on his teammate's arm in gentle restraint.  "I need to get you back to headquarters so you can rest," he countered softly.   "Grant and I can come back here and snoop around."

"No, Max," the dark-haired agent disagreed, his voice slightly elevated.  "This is the only chance we have.   We can't be here when she comes back, and we don't know how long that will be."

"Shannon is watching Christina," Max reassured him.  "If nothing else, she can create a diversion long enough for Grant and me to get back here."

Max gazed at his friend.  His brown eyes, normally bright and full of life, held an element of weakness.  His face was pale, some hair still glued to his forehead from the thin sheen of perspiration on his brow.  His breath was coming in heavy, irregular gasps, his body desperate to suck in the oxygen of which he'd been deprived for who knew how long.

"Look, buddy," said Max, struggling to keep his voice calm, giving Nicholas' arm a gentle squeeze.  "You're in no shape to do this right now."

"We don't have a choice!" Nicholas snapped.  "Now, look, I'd like for you to help me, but I can do this with or without you."

Nicholas wrenched his arm from Max's grasp and walked over to where Max had dropped the unlocking device he'd used to get inside the bank.  He bent to pick it up, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that swept over him, and stormed off toward the locked room, stumbling slightly as he went.

Max sighed heavily and took out his communicator.  "Jim," he began, "Nicholas wants to check out the secret room."

"He needs to rest," Jim returned.  "You and Grant can handle it."

"I tried to tell him," Max shrugged.  "He's stubborn."

It was Jim's turn to sigh.  "Keep an eye on him," he cautioned, "and get back here as fast as you can.  I'll keep you posted about Shannon."

"Will do," Max answered, and doggedly took off after his teammate.

Chapter 7

By the time Max reached his partner, Nicholas had unlocked the door to the secret room.  The door stood ajar, but the dark-haired agent hadn't gone inside.  He was just standing there, propping on the doorknob to steady himself. 

Max could see his shoulders heaving, and his stomach lurched.  He quickened his stride, laying a hand on Nicholas' shoulder.  He started to ask about his friend's well-being, but bit his tongue.

Nicholas felt Max's reassuring touch as he willed his lungs to work again.  He was comforted, both by his teammate's presence and by the fact that Max chose to remain quiet.  The truth was, Max was right.  He was still slightly dizzy and his chest felt as if it were on fire.  But he knew this would probably be their last opportunity to get inside the bank.  He had to see this through, and he was glad that Max had not continued to give him hell about it. With renewed resolve, he entered the tiny office, Max one step behind with his hand still firmly in place.

The first thing they noticed was that the room had its own monitors, which were apparently hooked to security cameras.

"I guess she wanted to keep an eye on everything, even when she was in here," mused Max.

"And these look like much higher quality," Nicholas observed.  "The monitors are color, rather than black and white or greyscale like most surveillance systems."

He looked behind the system at the video recorder, and noticed that the connections were different from the ones in the security room. "Grant couldn't have tapped into these," he told Max quietly.  "The adapter wouldn't have worked."

Nicholas returned his attention to the pictures on the screens.  Suddenly, something familiar caught his attention. 

"Wait.  That looks like my office,"  he said, as Max leaned in for a closer look.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Nicholas affirmed.  "There's my jacket, hanging on the back of the chair.".

Nicholas looked at Max again.  "Christina had to have some reason for thinking I was a threat to her.  But I was careful; every time I talked to Jim or Grant I used the telephone in my office."

"Unless these cameras have sound," Max suggested.

Nicholas cursed softly.  "You may be right," he conceded.  "One of us should go in there and make some noise, while the other one listens."

Max's lips drew into a tight line, and he bit his lower lip thoughtfully.  He didn't want Nicholas walking all the way across the building to his office - not in the shape he was in.  But he also wasn't crazy about leaving his friend, even for a few moments.

"Better idea," Max countered, and keyed his communicator.  "Jim, call Nicholas' office phone."

"What's up, Max?"

"Just a hunch."

"Stand by."

A few moments later, the ringing of the office telephone could clearly be heard on the monitor.  Nicholas and Max looked at one another.

"There's cameras in the locked room, too," Max told Jim.  "And they have sound."

"She heard me talking to you guys," Nicholas muttered, his voice tense, clearly upset with himself for letting his guard down.

Max patted his shoulder reassuringly.  "You couldn't have predicted this, Nicholas.  Or prevented it.  I'm just glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you," Nicholas smiled slightly.  "Let's see what else we can find in here."

On a desk across from the monitors, the two men spotted a small desktop computer.  It was smaller than the ones everyone else in the building used,  Lying beside it was a stack of papers. 

Max picked up one and looked at it.  "It's a blank account form, just like the one she gave to Shannon earlier."

"She's definitely entering the accounts on this computer," Nicholas agreed, peering over Max's shoulder.  "I wonder if Grant has access."

Max pushed a button on his communicator.  "Grant," he called, "Robinson has a computer in the secret room."

Grant pushed a few buttons on his keyboard and gazed at his monitor quizzically, as Jim looked on. "It's not part of the bank's network," Grant advised.

"Can you get in?"

Grant flashed a pearly white smile, even though Max couldn't see it.  "Give me a couple of numbers off the back of the machine and I'll make it happen."

"I'll get them," Nicholas offered, and before his teammate could stop him, he leaned over the table, bending slightly to read the serial numbers printed on the back of the tower.  Damn the small print, he thought to himself - and trying to read it without his glasses! He painstakingly read the requested information into Max's communicator, then it emitted a telltale beep.

"Guys, she just pulled in and went inside," reported Shannon.  "I'm about to set the listening device."

"All right, Shannon, be careful," answered Jim.  To Max he said, "You guys better finish up and get back here, pronto."

"I think we're done, Jim," Max responded.  "We're on our way."

Nicholas straightened up, and Max saw the color once again drain from his face.  Nicholas quickly looked away for a moment, hoping Max hadn't noticed.

But Max had noticed.

The blond agent held out his hand, palm upward.  "Give me your keys."

Nicholas gazed at his friend, seeing the worry still heavy on the blond's face.  "Max," he smiled reassuringly, "I appreciate your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of driving us back."

"Humor me," quipped Max.

Nicholas sighed, realizing he wasn't giving up.  "Fine," he conceded.  He reached into his pocket and brought out the keys, placing them in Max's still-outstretched hand.  "But be gentle with my car."

"Don't worry, buddy," Max assured him, his eyes twinkling.

"'Don't worry,' he says," Nicholas muttered, rolling his eyes, as he got into the passenger seat and they headed for headquarters.

Chapter 8

Shannon was three cars behind Christina Robinson when she turned onto a gravel road.  Luckily, there were several houses on the same road, so when Christina whipped into a driveway, Shannon turned into an adjacent one.

She watched as the blonde manager exited her car and went inside.  Then she used her communicator to call Jim, and afterward discreetly placed Grant's bug on the outside of the house Christina had entered.

Once the listening device picked up the conversation, Grant set his communicator so that his other teammates could listen in.

"Half a million dollars, eh?" came a male voice, which the team assumed belonged to Phillip Wainwright.

"With a hundred thousand coming each month," Christina affirmed, a note of satisfaction in her voice.

"Not bad, not bad.  Even half of that is a good payday, isn't it, doll?" Wainwright asked.  Christina didn't answer, and a few seconds later he spoke again.  "Did you have any problems?"

A brief hesitation.  "Not really."

"'Not really?'" he repeated, raising his voice.  "What the hell does that mean?  Did you have a problem or not?"

"Just one," Christina replied quietly.  "But I took care of it."

"What happened?" Wainwright demanded.

"Corporate sent us a new employee," she explained.  "Somehow he got suspicious.  So I locked him in the vault."

"You did what?" Wainwright demanded.  "Is he dead?"

"He has to be," she answered.  "He's still in there."

The team members flinched as they heard a slapping sound. "What the hell were you thinking, you stupid bitch, taking that kind of chance?  What if somebody finds him?  They'll eventually figure out it was you.  Then they'll come after me!"

Christina whimpered slightly, but otherwise remained quiet, and Wainwright spoke again.  "I want you to go back to that bank now and get rid of the body.  Do you understand?"

"What am I supposed to do with it?" she asked timidly.

"I don't really care, long as it's gone!  Now get out of here!"

*******

Shannon ducked down in her car and keyed her communicator.  "Jim, she's getting in the car," she advised.  "What do you want me to do?"

"We can't let her back to the bank and realize that Nicholas isn't there," Grant said hastily, looking up at his team leader.

A slow smile spread across Jim's face.  "On the contrary,' he disagreed.  "That's exactly what we should do.  Max, how close are you guys?"

*******

Max had been listening so intently to the interaction between Christina Robinson and Phillip Wainwright that he hadn't noticed until now how quiet Nicholas had gotten.  He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at his passenger.  The dark-haired agent was leaning against the locked door, motionless, eyes closed.

For a moment, Max's heart came up in his throat.  He took his right hand off the steering wheel to check on his friend.  Nicholas' pulse was steady, his breathing even. Max smiled slightly in relief as he picked up his communicator. 

"We're about ten minutes away, Jim.  Nicholas is okay, but he's sound asleep."

Jim sighed slightly.  "Go ahead and bring him back here to rest, Max.  Shannon, you come on in as well. Grant and I will take care of this."

"Will do."

Ten minutes later, Jim and Grant had changed clothes and were on their way to the bank.  From the timeframe Shannon had given them earlier, they would beat the bank manager there by less than five minutes.

*******

Christina Robinson approached the bank.  She had thought about it for the entire half-hour drive, but still had no idea how she was going to dispose of Nick Foster's body.  At least it was dusk, and the parking lot would be empty, so she shouldn't have to worry about witnesses.

Or so she thought.

She was already in the parking lot when she spotted the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front of the building.  A tall, slender figure in a blue police uniform stood at the door.

"Oh, no," Christina said to herself.  She turned the car around hastily and attempted to rush back out of the parking lot, but Grant pulled his car in front of hers and blocked the way.

"Not so fast, lady," Grant said as he exited his car and grabbed the blonde manager before she could take off on foot. 

By the time he subdued her, Jim had reached them.  Dutifully, he popped his handcuffs on Christina's wrists, which Grant was holding behind her back.

"We know you killed Nick Foster by trapping him in the bank vault," Jim told her.  "His body is on its way to the county morgue.  And you're on your way downtown."

"It will go a lot easier for you if you're honest with us," chimed in Grant.  Then he whipped out a spray can and sprayed the knockout gas in her face.  Jim caught her as she collapsed, and together he and Grant stuffed her into the back of the car and headed toward headquarters.

Chapter 9

An hour later, Grant was sitting in front of his computer, Jim at his side, processing the information his teammates had gathered from the bank's secret room.  Max had returned to headquarters some time before and had helped Nicholas inside.  The dark-haired agent was now resting comfortably in the adjacent room, along with Christina Robinson, and Max was standing next to Shannon, peering over Grant's right shoulder.

"Let's see what's hiding in this computer," mused Grant.  He was silent for a few moments while he pushed some buttons on the keyboard.  "Well, this is interesting." He looked up at his teammates, who were eyeing him curiously.

"There's a dummy program on this computer.  Looks identical to the one on all the other bank computers.  Works with all the standard banking forms.  You can put in any numbers you want, and create an account with any amount of money you desire, on paper."

"But it never actually gets deposited," guessed Shannon.

"Exactly," confirmed Grant.  "As soon as the customer gets the paperwork, the account is simply deleted.  And like any other document, if it wasn't ever saved, it can't be traced."

"Like Catherine Wainwright's account," smiled Max.

"Right, Max.  And, of course, when she called another bank employee to check on her account, there was no record of it - or the employee who opened it - anywhere," reasoned Jim.  "Robinson used the alias Barbara Boone - the same one she used with Shannon."

"And, if you'll notice," finished Grant, holding up two pieces of paper, "neither the account form nor the cash receipt have the name of the bank on them."

"Clever," smiled Max.

"Devious," countered Shannon.  "What about the account number she gave me to use for direct deposit?  Is it a dummy, too?"

"Let's find out," Grant answered.  He entered the numbers into the computer, then paused, his eyebrows furrowing.  Then he smiled broadly.

"Looks like our Miss Robinson got greedy, Shannon," he replied.  "Apparently she was so excited about the prospect of a hundred thousand bucks a month that she gave you her actual account information." Grant hit a button, and a list of transactions appeared on the screen.  "Every deposit, withdrawal, and funds transfer that's associated with her account is right here."

"Good," nodded Jim.  "Let's all get some rest tonight, and tomorrow we'll lay out our strategy."

*******

Nicholas awoke to the distinctive smell of coffee perking close by.  He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. He hadn't expected the sun to be shining brightly; the last thing he remembered was Max helping him inside when they'd reached headquarters just before six-thirty in the evening - after he'd nearly suffocated in the bank vault. 

Had he really slept all night?

Once his eyes were accustomed to the brightness, he exited the bedroom and walked toward the team's common room.  On the way, he was mildly surprised to see Christina Robinson sleeping on a cot in the hallway.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted Max, who looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, buddy.  How are you feeling?" he asked, as he grabbed a mug and poured a cup of coffee for his friend.

"Much better," Nicholas smiled, then he blew across the top of the mug and took a careful sip.  "How long did I sleep?"

"About thirteen hours," the blond agent answered, pouring his own cup of coffee and sitting down across from his friend.  "I checked on you a few times last night, just to make sure you were okay.  You slept right through."

"Thanks, Max," Nicholas said warmly.  "So, what did I miss?"

Max briefly filled him in on what they'd learned from Robinson's encounter with Wainwright, as well as the computer in the secret room.  By the time he'd finished, the others were awake and had joined them in the common area.

Shannon was the first to enter the room, and she quickly wrapped Nicholas in a gentle hug.  "Thank God you're all right."

Nicholas smiled at her, keeping his left arm wrapped around her waist and extending his right hand as Grant approached him seconds later. "Glad you're feeling better, pal," he grinned, with a warm handshake.  "You had us all worried."

"I didn't get to thank you for finding the frequency to the vault last night," the dark-haired agent said appreciatively.

"I'm happy I could help," Grant answered.

"Welcome back, Nicholas," smiled Jim, as he came into sight and gave his teammate a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

"It's good to be here," he returned.  "Max filled me in on everything I missed yesterday.  So what's our plan?"

Jim's smile faded slightly.  "Feeling up to it?"

"I'm fine, Jim."

"Good.  We're about to play both sides against one another, and make each one think the other has betrayed them." Then, skillfully, Jim outlined his plan, and they set to work.

Chapter 10

Christina Robinson awoke with a start, and immediately became aware that her hands were cuffed behind her.  She was lying on a hard cot, in an almost-empty room with greenish-grey walls.  A tall man in a dark blue uniform stood over her, his white hair peeking out from underneath his cap.  She recognized him as one of the two policemen she'd encountered earlier at the bank.

"Ah, Miss Robinson, you're awake," Jim smiled.   "Now perhaps you're ready to answer our questions."

"I'm not telling you anything," she huffed, struggling to sit up, having a difficult time of it with both hands tied behind her but getting no help from her companion.

Jim shrugged.  "Suit yourself," he responded apathetically.  "Our informant has already told us all we need to know about you.  And now we've got the evidence to back things up."

"'Informant'?" the bank manager echoed.

"That's right," said Grant, with a grin, as he entered the tiny room and stood beside Jim.  "One hot tip led to a dead body in a bank vault and a trail of stolen money."  Grant leaned in closer to Robinson's face, sneering.  "With your fingerprints all over everything."

"Wonder how much time murder and embezzlement carries these days?". Jim questioned Grant, and the two men shared a laugh.

Meanwhile, Christina Robinson's mind was racing.  There could be only one person who knew about Nick Foster, and who had enough information to make it look as though taking the money had been her idea alone.  Damn him!  She might be in trouble, but she wasn't going down by herself!

She scoffed aloud.  "You fools!  Don't you realize who your 'informant' is?  None other than Phillip Wainwright, one of the dirtiest drug smugglers in the country."

Jim and Grant looked at one another, feigning surprise that Robinson had figured out the tipster's identity.

"That's right," she continued, more confidently.  "Just got out on parole and already back to his old tricks.  Where do you think the other half of the missing money is?  Financing his international drug business, that's where!"

Jim plopped down beside Robinson, appearing extremely interested.  "What do you know about Phillip Wainwright?"

"I know he's a much bigger fish than I am," she replied sardonically.  "If you want information from me, we're going to have to make a deal."

"What kind of information?" asked Grant.

"Since his release, he's been lying low, but I know where he is," she answered.  "I know how to access his money, and I have a list of his drug trafficking clients.  I can hand you all of it."

"In exchange for what?" questioned Jim.

"No more than ten years in prison," she offered.  "Out in seven."

Grant and Jim exchanged glances. This is all the information they would need to finish the mission.  And since."Nick Foster" wasn't really dead, Robinson probably wouldn't even see close to ten years behind bars.  The proposal was reasonable - and doable.

"You've got a deal," smiled Jim.  "Write us a statement, and we'll sign."

Grant retrieved pen and paper as Jim carefully undid the handcuffs from Robinson's wrists - keeping his dart gun carefully trained on the woman so she wouldn't try to get away. A few moments later, Robinson finished the statement and signed her name with a flourish.  As she handed the paper to Grant, she never saw or heard the knockout dart that escaped Jim's weapon and struck her in the side of the neck.

"She won't remember any of this," Grant assured Jim, and the pair joined their teammates in the common room, statement in hand.

*********

"According to Robinson's statement, Phillip Wainwright had his sister's place bugged," Jim informed the others as he read over the handwritten document.  "She must have mentioned McKinley, so Wainwright and his goons beat her there and made Robinson an offer she couldn't refuse."

"Half a million dollars in exchange for a little deception," Shannon continued, reading over Jim's shoulder.  "At first, it was just a means to get his hands on Catherine's inheritance.   But once he saw how easy it was, Wainwright saw a way to maintain a steady flow of cash for his illegal operations.  And he offered Robinson fifty percent of the take thereafter for her troubles."

"So where's his money now?". Nicholas wanted to know.

"There's a safe in the basement of his compound," answered Jim.

"Which is sure to be heavily guarded," mused Max.

Jim nodded, the slightest hint of concern in his eyes.  "So you and Grant will have to be careful," he advised.

"What about that list of clients Robinson mentioned?" recalled Grant.

"Apparently Wainwright wanted Robinson to keep an extra copy, so he wouldn't have to rebuild his business from scratch if he got busted again."  The corner of Jim's lips turned up slightly.  "It's on her computer, in a hidden drive."

"What?". Grant cried incredulously.  "Let me see that." He looked at the information written on the statement, punched a few buttons, and then a wide grin spread across his face. 

"Our bank manager's pretty tech savvy," he complimented, as the document popped up on the screen and he hit the print button.  "I'm not sure I would have ever found it."

Jim took the paper from Grant's printer and nodded in satisfaction.  "Let's make sure this is one day Mister Wainwright will never forget."

Chapter 11

Shannon drove the small black sedan back to the grey cinderblock structure where she'd followed Christina Robinson the day before.  Once Phillip Wainwright's compound was about to come into sight, she keyed her communicator and signaled the navy blue SUV behind her.

"It's just over this hill," she advised.

"Copy that, Shannon," responded Nicholas.  "We're hanging back."

Shannon pulled the car nose first into a small grove of trees which all but obstructed it from view.  Then she turned to her right, her gaze landing on both Grant, in the passenger seat, and Max, in the back.

"All right, guys," she said, forcing a sigh, "here we are.  Be careful, both of you." Grant squeezed her shoulder in reply, and he and Max set out.

Grant's first task was to tap into Wainwright's telephone line - a job Max was supposed to complete the day before, but instead had hung back to rescue Nicholas.  Stealthily, the two men crept through the thick weeds until Grant reached the pole and located the box.  Max remained close by, lying on his stomach in the tall grass, dart gun cocked and ready in case one of Wainwright's guards became a threat. 

Shannon, too, was using her field glasses to peer out through the windshield of the sedan, poised to alert Max in case someone emerged from beyond his field of vision. Suddenly, she caught sight of a figure approaching Max from behind.  Quickly, she keyed her communicator.

"Max, six o'clock!" she warned.

Instantly, Max raised up and to his right, stretching out his right arm at the same time, and picked off the guard before he became a threat.  "Thanks, Shannon," he grunted into his communicator as he settled back into position.

A few moments later, Grant keyed his own device.  "All right, Jim, you're in," he said tensely.  "Wainwright's number should be coming up now."

Jim and Nicholas eyed the digital display screen that Nicholas was holding.  Presently, a series of numbers popped up. 

"Got it, Grant," confirmed Jim.  "I'll wait for your signal."

Grant closed the box, and he and Max quietly approached the rear of the compound and quickly located the basement door.  Grant used his unlocking device to make short work of the deadbolt, and both men drew their dart guns in anticipation of coming face to face with several additional guards. Fortunately, there were only three, and since the teammates held the element of surprise they hastily subdued them and located the large grey steel safe.

Grant quickly shed his backpack and took out his latest invention - a square box with two metallic leads attached.  He clipped one lead onto the metallic frame of the safe, and the other onto the locking mechanism.

"When the dial reaches the right number," Grant hissed, "we'll hear a tiny beep and the tumblers will stop."

Carefully, Grant spun the mechanism clockwise, then counter-clockwise, then clockwise again.  Just after the third beep, the safe popped open.  Grant and Max exchanged a triumphant glance, then Grant stuck his device back into his backpack and he and Max began stuffing the stacks of cash in on top of it. Once the last stack of bills was inside, Grant zipped up his backpack. 

"Let's go," Max urged, as he slapped Grant's shoulder and they dashed out of the basement. They didn't expect one last guard to be lingering outside the door. Initially shocked, the guard recovered fast, quickly drew his weapon, and aimed it at Max's face.

"Look out!" Grant yelled, shoving his teammate out of the way while hitting the ground at the same time. 

A shot was fired.  Max landed on his stomach; in one smooth motion he rolled over on his back and fired his dart gun, felling his assailant. Grateful that the guard had used a silencer and the gunshot hadn't caused any disturbance, Max and Grant hastily sought cover in a small thicket while they caught their breath. 

Max looked over at his friend and was immediately concerned to see a small pool of blood appearing atop Grant's left shoulder.

"You've been shot!"  Max hissed.

"Just grazed," Grant assured him, though his teeth were clenched and his voice tense.  "I'm all right.  Tell Jim we're all clear and let's get to the car."

Max nodded and whipped out his communicator, talking as he and Grant made their way to the black sedan.  "Jim, we've got the cash and we're on our way to the car."

"Any problems?"

"Five guards,"  Max panted.  "One of them got a shot off.  Grazed Grant's shoulder but he says he's okay."

"All right," Jim replied, mildly concerned about his friend but pushing it aside for the moment.  He knew that Max would take care of Grant.  Right now, he had a job to do.

Chapter 12

Phillip Wainwright stared at the ringing telephone, briefly wondering who was on the other end before he scooped up the receiver. 

"Hello?"

"Hello, there, Mister Wainwright, how do you do?" came Jim's overly pleasant voice.

He didn't recognize the caller.  "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, "and how did you know my name?"

"Well, I'm about to become your best friend," Jim smiled.  "My name is Dawson.  I was there when your partner Christina Robinson got arrested for killing that fellow at the bank."

A twinge of anxiety coursed through Wainwright's body at the thought that his business arrangement might have been discovered.  "I don't know any Christina Robinson," he said defensively.

"Are you sure?  Because she sure knows a lot about you.  She told me all about how you were back in the drug trafficking business, and how she helped you steal money from wealthy bank customers to finance it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mister Dawson.  Have a nice day." Wainwright lowered the receiver, but before he could hang up, he heard a female voice in the background and quickly put it back to his ear again.

"Since his release, he's been lying low, but I know where he is.  I know how to access his money, and I have a list of his drug trafficking clients.  I can hand you all of it."

No!  This can't be happening!  Wainwright thought to himself, as Jim switched off the tiny voice recorder.  "What do you want from me?"

"Well, I already told you," Jim smiled.  "I want to be your friend.  Pick up where she left off, so to speak.  I want to be your new business partner.  Hell, I'll even help you out of that jam you're in right now."

Wainwright sighed impatiently.  "And what 'jam' would that be?"

"Why, the fact that you don't have any money, of course," Jim replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Wainwright burst out laughing.  "Is that what you think, Mister Dawson?"

"Oh, you had money.  But you don't now.  It's been stolen."

Wainwright's heart came up in his throat briefly, then he dismissed the notion.  The compound was guarded like a fortress.  There's no way that could be true. 

"That's ridiculous."

"Oh, feel free to check if you don't believe me.  I'll wait."

There was an air of certainty in the caller's voice that made Phillip Wainwright jump up from his chair and rush down the steps, two at a time, to the basement below.  The sight before him took his breath away.  His safe door was standing wide open.  His safe stood  empty.  Three guards, unconscious on the floor.

"No!" he screamed aloud, raising both hands to his cheeks.  He scurried back upstairs and scooped up the receiver.  "You did this, didn't you?"

"Now, now, Mister Wainwright, settle down," Jim soothed.  "I told you, I want to help you.  I know you need money for your little transaction later this afternoon, and I'd be more than happy to hook you up.  Do you have anything you can sell me?"

Wainwright stuttered for a moment.  "Well, I do have some cocaine.  A little heroin.  Maybe a few other things."

"I'll take it all," Jim insisted.  "How much would you say you have?"

Defeated now, Wainwright did some quick calculations in his head.  "Maybe half a million dollars' worth," he whimpered.

"Very well.  Give me an hour to gather some cash, and I'll meet you at your place.  Don't worry; I know where it is.". Then Jim broke the connection, leaving his reluctant associate staring silently at the dead receiver.

*******

As soon as the connection was broken, Nicholas took the mobile phone from Jim and dialed another number.  He was connected to the local branch of the DEA.

"Yes, my name is Nick Foster," he said, using the same alias as he'd used earlier in the mission.  "I'm a detective with the local police department.  We've located Phillip Wainwright, and he's violating the conditions of his parole.  In less than one hour, at two o'clock, he will be selling half a million dollars' worth of drugs to one of our undercover detectives.  I thought you'd want to know."

There was a slight pause, then Nicholas rattled off the address of the Wainwright compound.  Then he hung up the phone and grinned at Jim.

"It's all set," he reported.  "Now, we wait."

Chapter 13

"Oh, my God, Grant!" Shannon exclaimed when Grant and Max reached the car.  "You're hurt!"

Grant waved his hand.  "It looks worse than it is," he said dismissively.

Max ushered his teammate into the backseat, then slid in beside him and peered at his shoulder wound. 

"It's still bleeding," he said quietly.  "I need to work on it.  We're going to be here for a while yet."

"Max, it's fine," Grant protested, a bit of impatience in his voice.

"C'mon, let me see," Max insisted, and his voice was so soft that Grant's resistance melted away.  He said nothing, nor did he fight the blond agent's gentle touch.  "There are two layers I have to peel off," he cautioned.  "This may hurt a little."

Grant just nodded in acquiescence and steadied himself for the pain, sucking in his breath slightly as Max carefully took off Grant's jacket -  thankfully a light one - and then his T-shirt.  Finally, the bare skin on the top of his shoulder was revealed.

"You okay?" Max asked quickly.

"Yeah," Grant answered.  "It just burns a little."

"I know.  But it doesn't look all that bad."

Max turned to Shannon, who up until now had been silently watching the two men.  "Do we have any first aid supplies at all?" he asked her.

Shannon smiled.  "It just so happens I always keep a small first aid kit in my purse," she told him, reaching for it.  "It never hurts to be prepared."

A moment later, she took out a small blue box, opened it, and handed it to Max, who smiled back at her.

"You're an angel," he said.

"Girl Scout," she corrected with a grin.  "But thank you."

Max couldn't resist a jab.  "You got the kitchen sink in there, too?" he quipped, and Shannon gave him a playful shoulder swat. Then Max turned serious again as he took out some gauze, some ointment, and some tape.  In a few moments, he had dressed Grant's wound. 

"That'll do till we get back to headquarters."

"Thanks, Max," Grant said sincerely.

"No, thank you," Max responded, his voice low.  "If you hadn't pushed me out of the way, I'd have caught a bullet to the face."

Grant reached over to slap Max's arm affectionately with his right hand, but said nothing.  Max smiled again at his friend, then gathered up Grant's jacket. 

"Here, you'd better put this back on.  It's a little chilly," Max insisted.

Grant rolled his eyes.  "Okay, Mom," he quipped, then sighed as he fingered the hole in the fabric that the bullet had made when it snagged him. 

"Oh, man, this was my favorite jacket!" he said, then his mouth spread into a lazy grin and the three teammates settled down to wait for the final confrontation.

*******

At one fifty, a van containing six agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration approached the top of the hill where Nicholas and Jim were waiting for them.  Nicholas identified himself as the man who had tipped them off, and Jim as the undercover detective who was about to make the purchase.  The DEA officials planned to storm Wainwright's headquarters at exactly two o'clock.

With the plan confirmed, Jim drove the navy blue SUV to the front of the compound.  The dark-haired agent stayed inside the vehicle, while Jim walked up to the door and knocked loudly.  It was one fifty-seven.

Wainwright answered.  "You Dawson?"

"That's me," Jim answered with a wide grin.  "You got the merchandise?"

Wainwright nodded.  "You got the cash?"

Jim raised his right arm slightly to indicate the briefcase.  "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Wainwright sighed heavily, then reached behind a recliner and retrieved a grey duffel bag.  He unzipped it and peeled back the top flap.  At the same time, Jim opened his briefcase, which appeared to be stuffed with cash.

Then all hell broke loose.

Within seconds, the DEA agents stormed the compound and took Phillip Wainwright into custody.  Jim smirked to himself as the drug dealer was handcuffed and stuffed into the van, hurling epithets at the team leader.

"I guess what goes around, comes around," he quipped to Nicholas.  Then he climbed into the SUV and fell in behind Shannon, and the two vehicles drove away.

******

Epilogue

The following day, the five team members gathered at Jim's condo for an official debriefing.  Grant's shoulder wound was much better, and everyone was relieved.

"So what's going to happen to Wainwright now?" Shannon asked Jim.

"Well, he was caught in the act, as it were, plus he violated the conditions of his parole," answered the elder team member.  "I think this time he's in for a much longer prison sentence."

"What about Christina Robinson?" wondered Nicholas, his expression unreadable as he thought back to how he'd nearly met his Maker at her hands.

"She's guilty of embezzlement and collusion," stated Grant, "but will almost certainly turn state's evidence against Wainwright.  So the ten years she was hoping for is probably realistic."

"Especially since you decided not to press charges for attempted murder," Max grunted, clearly still displeased at what had happened to his friend.  Ignoring the glare Nicholas sent his way, he turned toward Jim.  "Hey, Jim, did Catherine ever get her money back?"

Jim glanced at his watch, smiled slightly, and walked toward the front door as the others stared after him.  He reached it just as the doorbell rang.  Then he opened the door, and a pretty blonde entered.

"Everyone, say hello to Catherine Wainwright," announced Jim, before introducing her to the four junior agents in turn.  "I invited her here because I wanted her to meet all of you."

Jim walked over to his desk and picked up a white envelope.  "I think this belongs to you."

She opened the loose top flap with trembling fingers and pulled out the cashier's check.  She smiled, and tiny tears peeked out of the corner of her eyes.

"I thought I'd never see this money again," she said sadly.  "I don't know how to thank you."

"You already have," Jim reassured her.  "Besides, it's the least I could do for Greg Wainwright's little girl." He patted her shoulder fondly.  "Tell your father if he ever decides to come out of retirement, I'd love to work with him again."

Catherine's smile grew broader and she gave Jim a sideways hug.  "Well, I guess I'd better go and get this deposited," she said breezily.  "It's not exactly comfortable carrying a three million dollar check around."

"I'm sure you'll be more careful about where you'll put it this time," commented Grant.

"Definitely," Catherine agreed.  "From now on, I'm sticking to overseas accounts."  A pause.  "Thank you guys again." And after exchanging warm handshakes all around, she said goodbye to the team and drove away.

The End

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