THE  FIRST  RULE

Malone saw the telltale frown on Tina Backus' forehead as she held out the document.

"The Baldoni trial, sir. Looks like the sentence will be next week." She hesitated, obviously waiting for some comment, but he simply nodded briefly.

"Fine. Make me some reservations for Mr. Curtis and Mr. Keel, would you? I want them in Mombasa as soon as possible."

She stared at him, now, and he knew she was going to react.

"You're sending Curtis and Keel on that job in Kenya? But what about…" She stopped short and he waited a second.

"What about what, exactly, Miss Backus?" Malone asked, when the rest wasn't forthcoming.

"Well… the trial. You always said Keel could go over to the States for the sentence, but now you're sending them both to Mombasa? And what about Curtis… I mean…"

"The sentence, as you said, is scheduled for next week. I promised Mr. Keel that he would be allowed leave when Baldoni was sentenced, yes, and I have no intention of going back on my word. However, there is plenty of time for them to be in and out of Kenya by then. As for Mr. Curtis, I would remind you that he goes where he is needed. And he knows that area well enough to be useful there."

"But sir…"

Malone waved her away, and then relented a little.

"Mr. Curtis did an excellent job last time he was in Africa, if you remember."

She nodded, reluctantly.

"That wasn't the same, though. I mean that was Cape Town. This is a lot closer to Tanzania, so..."

She still didn't move. Malone sighed.

"I understand your concern, Miss Backus, and have noted it. Send Mr. Keel in to see me in fifteen minutes, and then I'll send for Mr. Curtis to join him once we've discussed this." He pointed to the document again. "Now, those reservations, please."

"Yes, sir."

Was the woman ever going to go? Malone peered up at her over his glasses, seeing her still standing there.

"What is it now?"

"About Curtis. These last few weeks."

Increasingly irritated now, he raised his eyebrows.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Miss Backus, rather than provide me with a few cryptic remarks?"

"Since Chris was laid up with that broken leg, Sam's been… well…"

Malone refused to prompt her any more, and she gave an abrupt sigh.

"He's been driving himself hard, non-stop. Sure, he's got results, but I wonder… sending him back to that part of Africa right now, when…"

"Do you ever finish your sentences these days, Miss Backus?" Malone's tone was sharp. "And do I presume this is a personal opinion?"

"Well yes, sir, but…" she pulled herself up. "What I mean is he's not happy."

"Happy?" Malone's voice rose a fraction. "I am trying to run a highly specialised organisation here, not a holiday camp. Perhaps you would leave the psychological analysis to the experts and go and make those reservations?"

*

Malone picked up Curtis' latest report and skimmed through it. Precise and to the point as usual, it recorded what had come to be something of a habit. Job done, case filed, and loose ends neatly tied up.

He sighed, picturing Curtis as he'd returned from a recent job. Happy certainly wouldn't describe the look on the man's face, he agreed. Nor had he missed the rings of fatigue around dull-looking eyes.

Malone remembered that day with even more precision, suddenly. He'd been standing at Spencer's desk, and had heard the murmured comment from one of the others as Curtis showed up on the video cameras at the entrance to HQ.

"The iceman cometh."

He'd mentally stored that one away, knowing full well what lay beyond Curtis' attitude. He'd hoped that the aftermath of the Tanzanian job was all over, but it was beginning to look like it wasn't. After Backus' comments, and seeing a few things for himself, he had started to wonder if Curtis wasn't quite as much in control as he'd persuaded everyone from the psychologists to Malone he was.

Tina Backus, of course, was no fool, and although she wasn't aware of it, she wasn't alone in her concerns. The young Canadian had been protective of Curtis ever since she and Malone had brought him back that damned job with the Medevac team. Keel hadn't been around then, but she'd adopted him as well once the two were partnered.

She'd also seemed certain that nobody had noticed the affection she felt for the two young men, but she was wrong, Malone noted to himself. She'd betrayed that, and not for the first time, when the pair of them had gone missing on the flight out of Cape Town, and when Malone had been forced to issue a cold reminder about CI5's principles. Even so, he'd shared in their relief, and had momentarily thrown his own detachment to the winds when they'd come out of it thanks to Curtis' sheer determination to save his partner and Keel's own stubborn refusal to give in.

But then, the problems had started.

Since Curtis had started working alone until Keel's broken leg healed, he had retreated into himself once again, often demonstrating downright recklessness when it came to his own safety. Malone had hesitated to assign him a temporary partner, knowing Curtis and his history too well to think that this would be a solution.

Had Curtis ever spoken of the Tanzanian job to Keel? And had Keel opened up about his wife's death to his partner? Of that, he had no idea but guessed that they had not.

Both of them were so vulnerable in their own way, and yet they were just about the best he had when they were working together, the impetuous American and the controlled Englishman bringing their skills and personalities together to make far more than the sum of two separate parts.

Damn the first rule, damn Africa and what it had done to Curtis, and damn the bastard who'd gunned Keel's wife and family down and had only just been brought to trial several years later, Malone sighed.

Sometimes his staff would be surprised to know just how much it took to be an unfeeling bastard. Or just how hard it was to disguise how much he cared about them. He knew he made a good job of it all the same.

Keel, he hoped, would finally find some sort of closure by seeing Baldoni go down. And if he was prevented from attending it because of the job, he was perfectly capable of walking out of CI5 for good: something else Malone wanted to avoid.

But what about Curtis? Would he continue to function, icy and reckless, his feelings carefully barricaded from the outside world? Would he go on like that, if he survived enough bullets, to finally become another Malone, powerful yet lonely? Or would he shatter when he came face to face with his own demons?

Malone sighed, forcing himself to carry his analysis through to its conclusion once again, to justify his actions to himself.

If Curtis did break, or if Keel reacted badly to what might well be coming, then the other half of the partnership might bounce back, or might not. That was another aspect that had occurred to him and gave him cause for concern given the growing bond between the two men.

He knew full well that psychologists had said that for Curtis, further confrontation with his aggressors could make him or destroy him, so Malone needed to know which it would be for the sake of all concerned. Just as he needed to know whether Keel could finally put his wife's death behind him.

And now both opportunities had arisen, although their coinciding was something he had not foreseen. David Mtanga had finally got back to him, as he'd always known the intelligent Kenyan officer would. Favours, in this business, sometimes had to be returned.

So, Malone told himself, rubbing his fingers across a suddenly tense brow, he'd damn well have to send Curtis and Keel out there, and hope they could pull it off in time for Keel to get to America. There was simply no choice.

Yes, it was harsh. And as usual, he'd retain his own icy calm - Sam Curtis wasn't the only one who could neatly close off his feelings.

Idly, he wondered what they called him when his back was turned?

Cursing himself for even taking the trouble to think about such trivia, Malone glanced down at the sheet of paper Backus had given him and prepared to do battle with Chris Keel.

*

Tina Backus attempted a grin at the American as he bounced his way towards Malone's office, exuding energy and contentment. At least he looked happy, she decided - or would do until Malone announced his next assignment at the same time as the rapidly approaching sentence he'd been waiting for so long.

She wasn't disappointed, at least. The voices in Malone's office soon raised to the point where one or two eyebrows rose along with them, but it was hardly anything they hadn't heard before.

Sam Curtis was standing beside her desk, suddenly, and she jumped. Why couldn't the man clear his throat, or something? Did he always have to move so damned silently?

"Hi, Backup. Is that Chris in there?"

"Sure is," she nodded. "He just rolled in and Malone wanted to see him. They had a couple of things to discuss before you're to go in."

Did Sam know about the trial? She doubted it. The whole matter was highly confidential, and it was up to Keel to decide who he told - at least as long as he kept his voice down.

"Sounds more like a full-scale screaming match than a discussion to me. What's he done now? Not even back on duty yet and already in trouble…" Curtis grinned slightly, which in itself was a welcome change from the expressionless face she'd been seeing lately.

"You know Chris. You didn't see him yet?"

"No - he'd gone by the time I got in last night. Thought I'd leave the happy reunion until I'd caught up on some sleep."

Happy. That word again. And Sam looked like he had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Was it her imagination, or had he lost weight?

Mentally, she shook herself.

First rule, Tina.

Fuck the first rule. She cared about both of them, the idiots. She just hoped Keel didn't get himself fired or decide to quit before he and Sam got back together again. Over the months they'd been working together, Curtis' cool efficiency usually had a calming effect on the hot-headed American, and the laid-back, light-hearted banter from Keel had started to melt a little of that ice.

Not knowing she was echoing Malone's own thoughts just a few steps away, she took another look at Curtis and decided that if anyone was going to help him survive this job, it was probably Keel.

"So presuming Chris gets out alive, what's Malone got in store for us? Something nice and cushy to break him back in?" Curtis asked her, perching on her desk.

"Wait and see. Doesn't sound too tricky, but he'll tell you himself."

Backus tried hard not to betray her own misgivings, and tried hard to apply herself to the keyboard.

"Can't wait."

Curtis, obviously anxious to get moving, wandered silently over to Spencer's desk, purposely making him jump.

"Tina, can't you put a bell around his neck?" Spencer growled.

Curtis actually chuckled.

*

Chris Keel tried a half-hearted grin as his partner swung the holdall and jacket into the boot.

"Remember your malaria pills?"

"Yeah."

Great. Wonderful. Okay, so the guy was tired, but these monosyllables were starting to wear him down. He'd been looking forward to this day; the long weeks of plaster, physiotherapy and general boredom had been frustrating to the extreme.

Then Malone had dropped the bombshell about the trial, and he'd nearly found himself joining the ranks of the unemployed when he'd protested about this stupid assignment at the other end of the world from the States. All it needed now was for Sam to keep up this radio silence mode much longer, and the day would be perfect.

The journey from Curtis' flat to Heathrow seemed twice as long as usual, but he bore the silence with unusual patience, still mentally calculating the days until he could see that bastard go down. Preferably to the electric chair. Not that they'd got Baldoni for the murders at the wedding as they couldn't pin that one on him. Even so, there was little doubt in most people's minds - including his own - that he'd been behind that job as well as the assassination he was being tried for.

He'd tried to rationalise this need to be there. To persuade himself that it really wouldn't make any difference, but that in some way, it would be the end of it all. Maybe it would even help with the nightmares that still crept up on him.

Malone had promised him, right from Baldoni's arrest, that he would be given leave to hear the sentence passed, and the time for that had finally come after months in the courtroom. Trust Malone to find the information, the date, that he'd been unable to obtain with any certainty. That was another irritation.

And now he had to go off to Africa and find some stupid politician's daughter in the middle of the bush.

So the big shot in Kenya was calling in a favour from CI5. But couldn't Malone have found somebody else to play escort? What happened if they were still chasing around looking for the stupid woman when he should be in San Francisco?

Sammy boy, he addressed his partner mentally, this is gonna be the fastest-moving job you've ever been on.

Malone had assured him that the whole affair in Kenya shouldn't take more than a couple of days, but then Malone would. Malone didn't have feelings. And it was beginning to look like Sam was in one of his closed-off periods, too.

They'd studied the files together, and he'd studied Sam at the same time, wondering what had brought the shutters so firmly down.

Was this the guy who'd carried him miles across the South African veldt? The guy who could wax lyrical about frogs' legs and fine wines for hours on end? Right now, he looked like shit, and not very communicative shit, either.

OK, Sam. So you're not happy about this job either for some reason or other. Except you have to be anal about it, just for a change. Let's try again.

"Hey, Sam. Think we've got time to eat before we fly?"

"Whatever."

Gee. Three syllables.

Keel wasn't going to give up that easily.

"You gonna tell me why you're pissed, Sam, or leave me to guess?"

"Pissed off. Pissed is drunk. I've told you that before. And who said I was pissed off?"

"My remarkable powers of deduction. Been working on thought-reading to pass the time these last few weeks, as well."

Curtis glanced across at him sharply, and then sighed.

And he's jumpy. Maybe not the moment to ask him what he's thinking about.

"Sorry, Chris. Bit tired. I'll get some sleep on the plane."

"Sure. Not been following your own advice?"

"What advice?"

"The 'pace yourself' stuff you're always preaching."

"Maybe."

Curtis slid back into silence.

*

Sleep wasn't coming, Curtis soon realised. He'd got used to dropping into bed exhausted, partly to keep the nightmares at bay, and now he was simply tired. Tired of being an efficient machine, of keeping control, and of keeping Malone happy and himself too anaesthetised to let his mind wander to places too painful to handle.

He'd looked forward to working with Keel again - that had been the one bright spot on what seemed to be a more and more monotonous horizon. He'd not even seen his partner much over the last few weeks, as most of those had been spent in Birmingham, then Algeria, and more recently Brussels. He hated Brussels, and had seen enough chips to last him a lifetime. Keel, he reflected briefly, would have loved at least that side of it.

Join CI5 and see the world, he thought bitterly. Right now he'd had a bellyful of it, and particularly once Malone had announced their destination.

If he'd been honest, the idea of a decent meal, Keel's company and some sleep - not necessarily in that order - would normally have been fairly attractive propositions. Africa, however, and starting with Mombasa, was not.

Another major question mark was the fury he'd seen on his partner's face when Backup had finally motioned him towards Malone's office.

Keel didn't want this job, he'd realised. Did he know about the African job last year? Surely not. The files on that one were not accessible to many people besides Malone.

He pushed the subject aside, not wanting to go there. As soon as Malone had mentioned the location, he'd made a conscious decision to avoid even thinking of that. It was all a question of control.

Then another thought had struck him. Maybe Chris didn't want his partner back. Maybe that's what the argument had been about.

No, now he was being irrational. But Keel was jumpy as well, and he looked distinctly unhappy about the assignment.

Damn.

Curtis had been more than tempted to ask his partner what the argument with Malone had been about while they'd gone through the files, but didn't, wondering if he'd like the answer. Honesty was one of Keel's striking qualities.

Am I such a bastard? And a coward as well, when it comes to personal stuff?

Curtis decided not to go there, either. Even so, he was quite aware of the glances that had been going around HQ lately, between the endless shuttles to and from his various assignments. Backus had even been suggesting - subtly enough, he admitted - that he might like to rejoin the planet now and again.

He hadn't wanted to join in what passed for social life at CI5. Hadn't felt like it. He'd been over to Keel's place a few times soon after they'd returned from Cape Town, but then work had called in a big way, which had meant virtually no spare time. He'd planned to go over there when he'd had more than a few hours away from the job, which wasn't often, and then it was suddenly several weeks since he'd even managed a rapid phone call.

The iceman, they called him. Moving silently wasn't always an advantage when you heard things you'd rather not know.

*

The blast of humid air hit Chris Keel like a ton of bricks as they tramped down the steps from the plane, although it was only ten in the morning. The wafts of kerosene, mixed with something unidentifiable, were almost tangible in the shimmering heat, and he felt the trickle of sweat down his back before even getting to the terminal. He couldn't resist a comment.

"You see that runway? Shit… it's got more holes in it than Swiss cheese."

"Yeah. But at least it was a runway."

Keel chose to take that as a joke, considering his own landing on that flight from Cape Town.

Curtis was sweating, too, Keel noticed, scowling in the bright sunshine, but maybe the cold shoulder was starting to disappear a little. Maybe the guy just needed some sleep. Backup had said he'd come in exhausted from the last job.

Seeing the hive of activity in the arrival hall, he grimaced until a uniformed official approached them and whisked them into an air-conditioned Mercedes, bypassing customs completely.

Keel found himself staring out of the window as they left the airport. Extreme poverty and broken-down housing rubbed shoulders with wild, flamboyant tumbles of bougainvillaea. Crowds of kids in school uniform seemed to be clustering in rubbish-strewn yards and spilling out onto the pavement, and then there was the endless flow of traffic. Hand-drawn carts, beaten-up Peugeots and tourist buses vied with women on foot, balancing cartons, packages and even piles of clothing on their head with practised ease.

His partner, however, had the file open again.

Their car swerved suddenly and then moved steadily onwards again, the driver cursing softly in Swahili. A brightly painted minibus of sorts charged ahead, its horn blaring, music throbbing from every window and a seemingly impossible number of bodies crammed into every available square inch of space.

"Matatu…" Curtis muttered, softly, looking up. "Bloody menace."

The driver nodded.

"You've been here before then, Mr. Curtis."

"Yes." Sam didn't enlarge on the subject, and the driver was polite enough not to push.

Chris looked across at him.

"You didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask."

Keel had almost left it at that, still fascinated by the sea of movement outside, but couldn't.

"So those things are Matu… Muta…"

"Matatus. Sort of collective taxis. Death traps."

"Sounds fun."

"Not fun at all. No suspension, either."

"You took a ride in one, then?"

"A long ride," Curtis sighed.

"So you know Mombasa well?" Keel was interested.

"Look, Chris, it was a long time ago, and I was on my way somewhere else. I just remembered those bloody things. I'm not a tourist guide."

Keel stared at him, surprised at the sudden sharpness in his partner's voice. But then Curtis seemed to realise he'd gone a little far.

"Sorry. Not great memories. Just forget it."

"Sure."

At least Curtis was slightly more amenable after that, even smiling at the girl at the hotel's reception desk and downing some sort of punch they'd offered him. So maybe all was not lost.

The place was idyllic, in fact. A completely different world from the bustling streets and all-invasive dust of the city. The vegetation was lush, the atmosphere hushed and tranquil, and faint wafts of frangipani reached his nostrils as they walked towards their bungalow. At first, Keel decided to sleep for a few hours more before they met with General Mtanga, but then he'd gone outside onto the balcony and seen the glitter of the water outside.

"Hey, willya look at this?" Keel was already on the terrace, hammering on the closed shutters in Curtis' half of the bungalow. "Open up, Sam. Come take a look."

Curtis didn't react immediately, so his partner skipped around to the other door, walked over and threw Curtis' shutters open, letting in a gust of hot, humid air.

Curtis sighed. "Chris…"

"The Indian Ocean. Gotta go check it out."

Curtis spared it a perfunctory glance, still unpacking stuff and placing it in neat piles. Keel had seen all this before. Where did the guy learn to fold his clothes like that? Okay, he'd done all that in the navy, but there was nobody to check his kit any longer. Being a slob was much more fun, whatever Curtis seemed to think.

"You did bring your swimming stuff?"

Curtis sighed, and then seemed to relent a little.

"No. But I suppose you did."

"You betcha. C'mon, Sam. We don't meet the guy for another four hours. It's hot…"

"First, close the shutters again. Shutters keep the heat out, and the air conditioning in."

"You don't say."

"Second, we have to call Backus."

"That takes care of all of thirty seconds. Then we're gonna get you kitted out."

*

It was like bath water, Curtis decided, and the sand was so hot it had burned his feet and he'd ended up running into the water's edge like some daft kid. Then there were the swimming trunks to contend with.

Predictably, the whole exercise of buying-swimming-trunks-for-Sam had entertained the crazy Yank no end.

No, Curtis said firmly. He was not going for the tight Speedo model in scarlet. And no, he was not expecting to find Armani swimwear in a hotel boutique. And the fluorescent yellow ones were out, too.

The girl at the counter had come over to help, after a few minutes, and he'd felt himself stiffen, cursing himself inwardly for doing so.

Don't be stupid. She's just a girl selling stuff in a smart hotel.

Keel, by that time, was suggesting that he go for commando and give the other guests a treat, all the time exploring the plastic water wings with an evil look on his face. At least he wasn't studying his partner too closely.

I have to hide it better than that.

He'd grabbed for the first dark coloured pair of trunks he found, rather than prolong the whole business any more than was necessary.

The problem was that they were too big, to his immense chagrin and a fact that Keel pointed out with glee. Curtis had given him an icy stare that did nothing to quash the American's good humour.

"I can't believe you bought those," Keel had said, seeing them on the wearer a little later.

"I can't believe you dragged me in there in the first place."

"I knew it. Only Armani is good enough for the suave, sophisticated Mr. Keel."

There was no answer to that one. Please god tightening the cord would be enough. To lose the bloody things in the water would be the last straw.

Chris had splashed happily out into the sea, and he had followed.

Where did the guy get all that enthusiasm? What made him so instantly full of life when something fired him up?

"C'mon, Sam. Race you to the platform."

It was difficult to refuse. Then, instinct took over and they were both competing, swimming strongly, and the water felt cooler as they moved further out.

It obviously gave Keel a great deal of satisfaction when he finally made it to the ladder just a couple of strokes ahead of his partner.

"Nice." The American grinned. "Was just warming up there… I'll take you on the way back, as well."

"Don't count on it."

They sat for a while, looking out onto Mombasa island.

"Looks pretty, from here," Keel said idly.

"Appearances can be deceptive. You saw what it looked like from the car."

"Yeah. A lot like some of the other places I've seen in Africa. But probably more traffic and even more dirt."

"There are worse places," Curtis said, without thinking, and regretted it. Fortunately, Keel didn't pick up on that one, as he was watching the water.

"Lots of fish in here. We should have picked up some snorkelling gear…"

Snorkelling, now? Curtis rolled his eyes.

"This isn't a holiday, Chris."

"Well it sure feels like one. A little play doesn't hurt anyone."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like I said. That's your problem, Sam. You don't play. Or you haven't been doing lately."

"No time."

"Make time. C'mon, let's go for the boat over there."

This time, Curtis worked harder, and they reached the wooden boat neck and neck. An elderly Kenyan grinned at them.

"Jambo. I take you to the coral?"

Curtis groaned as Keel gave this some thought and obviously liked the idea.

"You got flippers and masks?"

"I got everything. Two hundred shillings."

"We're not carrying money…" Curtis started, and Keel suddenly looked disappointed.

"Hakuna matata. No problem. You go today, pay tomorrow. I know you stay there…" he pointed at the hotel. "You always find me here."

"Just a minute," Curtis frowned. "That's too much, anyway. Far too much."

The African grinned at him. "Honest price, sah. Besides, I give you credit. Glass bottom boats for other tourists far more."

"No way. Eighty. No more." Curtis started to turn away, and that did the trick.

"Hundred and fifty. With the equipment."

Keel looked at him, still grinning, and Curtis realised his partner was loving every minute of this.

"Still eighty. Just because my friend's an American doesn't mean he's stupid. Besides, he wanted to go on the glass-bottom boat." Curtis pointedly flicked a glance over to Keel, daring him to comment. Keel knew better when Sam was in control mode.

"Hundred." The gap-toothed grin expressed his approval of this tourist who knew how to bargain.

"Okay. But we have to be back here in two hours…."

What the hell made him do that? Keel was climbing into the catamaran before his partner could change his mind, anyway. For God's sake, they were at work here. Not fooling around like stupid holidaymakers.

Slowly, the elderly Kenyan unfurled a tatty sail, and the boat lurched into life, skimming out towards the reef with remarkable lightness.

*

"You see," Keel grinned as Curtis emerged onto the balcony, showered and looking distinctly more human. "Playtime. Doesn't hurt anybody."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. And I'm sure Captain Abdullah was deeply impressed by your stories of naval warships."

"Sure he was. And you bailed so convincingly…"

"It was taking on water like a sieve."

"Well, we got back here, didn't we? Admit you enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed it."

"See? That didn't hurt."

Curtis sighed.

"No, I suppose it didn't. You look a bit pink. You'll be peeling by tomorrow."

Keel was spared from coming up with a suitable answer to that one when the telephone in the room rang.

Curtis picked it up, and listened, answering with a few short syllables.

Finally, he replaced it, grimacing.

"Guess what. The good General is tied up. Instead of sending a car at five tonight, he's sending one at nine tomorrow morning. Sounds like he's not that desperate to see his daughter again after all."

Keel didn't even register the irony in his partner's voice, suddenly realising that they'd lost nearly an entire day.

"Fuck…."

Curtis raised an eyebrow.

"So what's biting you? I thought you were having a ball?"

Keel gritted his teeth, cursing the General, the country, and Malone.

"Yeah. Maybe. But Malone knows I need to get to the States for next week…"

Sam continued to look at him, frowning. "To the States?"

"Some personal stuff I have to take care of." It came brusquely. "I'll let Malone know it's been postponed."

"Yeah, you do that." Curtis said, still staring at him. "Nothing wrong, is there?"

"No. Look, Sam…"

"Okay." Curtis shook his head as if irritated. "Just wondered if you needed any help."

The voice was gentle, suddenly, like it had been when Sam had walked in on one of those nightmares.

It occurred to Keel that it would be good to tell his partner what it was all about, but how would he explain this weird pilgrimage to him? Most of the time, Curtis filed all his emotions away on the highest shelf possible, well out of sight, but then at others - and particularly with his partner - he'd dust them off and bring them out. And when he did, they were the genuine article. Maybe he should just come out with it.

For a moment or two, Keel hesitated, then decided against it for a reason he couldn't really identify - except that Curtis was probably not at his most receptive.

"Yeah… well not this time, buddy."

*

Curtis lay down on the bed, turned the air conditioning up yet another notch, and picked up the file again. Christ, he could just about quote it by heart.

He picked up the thick information file on the hotel and surroundings and read that, too. That finished, he ignored the bible and the telephone book and closed his eyes again.

Sleep. He needed sleep, and it hadn't come on the plane. The exercise, the sun and the remarkable tranquillity of floating around amid the coral had made him feel good, though - more alive than he'd done for a long time. And Keel's enthusiasm - as ever - had become infectious.

He'd been looking forward to working with the American again, simply because he liked and respected the guy. Malone had told him, before he partnered them, that the ex-Navy SEAL was competent and worthy of trust - one of Malone's rare, oblique references to Curtis' first and only other partner within CI5. He'd been right, as well. It occasionally made Sam wonder what Malone had told Keel, in turn. An anal-retentive ex-MI6 guy who was - usually - good in a crisis? Who always put the job first?

Not only was Chris Keel all Malone had said, Curtis decided, still wishing sleep would come, but he was a whole lot of other things as well. Stubborn, hot-headed, impulsive, but resourceful as well. And tough. And a better swimmer than he was, if he admitted it.

One thing he could also be, however, was secretive now and then. Like about his marriage, and about the nightmares.

"There's a lot about me you don't know, Curtis," Keel had said the day Curtis had witnessed the tortured, dream-filled sleep. To try and help, he'd told Keel that his own life was an open book.

Sure it was, with a couple of paragraphs neatly cut out.

And, of course, Keel was hardly aware of his own nightmares lurking not so very far from the surface now he was back in Africa.

He sighed, still thinking about Chris and the blonde girl in the photograph. Something in the American's voice had prevented him from bringing that one up again. But then there was the time he'd caught his partner at the computer, just before the South African job, bringing up on information on criminal trials. He'd closed the window abruptly as Curtis had appeared.

And what was the "personal stuff" he had to get back for?

Well, Keel was entitled to his private life, and it wasn't his partner's business, he rationalised. He was not going to get paranoid about whether Keel was asking for a transfer back to the States, either. It was quite enough to be paranoid about African women, but he'd promised himself he wouldn't go there. He would not lose the tight control, although he'd very nearly done so in the shop.

The air conditioning unit suddenly coughed and died, and the tiny green light on the command unit went out. Sighing, he sat up and reached for the light switch.

Nothing. Outside, he heard a generator starting up and throbbing its way gently to a steady pace, and the light reappeared. But not the air conditioning.

He jabbed it impatiently, but nothing happened. Then he saw the neatly printed notice.

"Guests are kindly advised that in the case of power cuts, we are unable to guarantee air conditioning. Please be reassured that our generator can nevertheless fulfil all the essential power requirements of the hotel."

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Ten minutes later, the room already felt like a sauna. He slid the balcony door open, and peered towards Keel's window.

Empty.

Well, the American had said he was hungry after the swim, so he'd probably gone off to investigate any possible sources of food. In any case, after discovering the delay to the assignment, he'd stalked off into his room, and Curtis had decided to do the same.

The main restaurant, when Curtis finally fled from the heat in his room and found it amid more clouds of bougainvillaea, was open as of seven, and it was barely five. A hive of uniformed waiters were rushing in and out of it, carrying flower arrangements and creating something like an arch of plaited palm leaves. Some sort of a band was there too, its members fiddling with cables and instruments.

Just across the courtyard, however, there were tables and chairs set out under a huge awning. Sitting at one of them was Chris Keel, staring at a beer.

"Join you?" Curtis said, softly.

"Sure." Keel was smiling again, at least. "It's not Bud, but it's not bad, either. You finally hungry? They do a mean hamburger."

"You have to be kidding. Hamburgers in Africa?"

"I," Keel said, taking another mouthful of the beer and making Curtis feel more thirsty by the second, "have eaten hamburgers all over the world."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me? I hope for your sake they'll do pizza tonight, then, and your satisfaction would be complete."

"I wouldn't complain…" Keel started, as the band started to play. African drums met with synthesisers, and the effect was shattering. Curtis rolled his eyes, desperately trying to catch the eye of a passing waiter.

Finally, the beer came. Trying to ignore the music, Curtis idly traced patterns among the condensation of the glass standing atop a mat advertising "Tusker - brewed to go with the good times" and stared out to sea.

Keel seemed to be enjoying the cacophony at least, nodding in time to a seriously over-amplified bass and waving for another beer.

Then, it stopped.

Silence reigned for a couple of minutes, the speakers crackled, and an elderly recording of some sort of classical music took its place.

Curtis, mystified, was about to make some sort of comment about the contrast in styles when he saw Keel staring out towards the pool. A bride and groom - a petite blonde on the arm of a taller figure, were followed by a small procession of guests, and all of them were slowly moving towards another series of flower-decorated tables under the trees.

Before Curtis could say a word, his partner was on his feet, muttering something unintelligible.

"Where are you going, Chris? You haven't even…"

But the American was already striding away.

"Chris? The air-conditioning's off…" Curtis called after him.

Too late. What was biting him now?

Curtis sighed, making a start on the second beer and enjoying the faint breeze floating off the sea. The trouble with Keel was that he could never stay in one place for long. What project did he have in mind now? Had he been reading the "daily highlights" in the room as well? Maybe he'd felt a sudden urge to enter them both for the "climb the coconut palm" competition. Or the Swahili lesson. Or game fishing. Knowing his irrepressible partner, anything was possible.

Keel didn't appear by the time he'd finished appreciating the finesse of Kenya's breweries, so he sat and watched the kids in the pool for a while, where mothers were fussing and applying liberal quantities of sun cream.

Gradually, the fierce heat of the sun was weakening, and the first signs of twilight were in the sky. It reminded him of sitting in Mavoy's Mercedes, a couple of months ago, being grateful for the rapid sunsets in Africa.

"I love this country," he'd said, surprising himself even as he did so. In fact, he hated Africa - or at least the parts he'd seen so far. He hadn't liked the idea of going back there on that ivory job, but Cape Town hadn't been as hard to deal with as he'd feared. And with Chris around, Kenya was going to be bearable as well. Had to be.

The insistent shrill of his telephone cut short any more musings on that subject.

"Hi, Sam. Just wanted to tell you that General Mtanga has officially apologised about the delay - something about urgent affairs of state."

"Yeah. Well tell that to Chris. He was bloody furious. Until he dragged me off into the sea."

"He did?" Backus sounded pleased. "And how's Kenya, anyway?"

"Hot," Curtis told her, mildly surprised at the chatty tone. "Oh, and apparently they make decent burgers."

"I'm not going to ask," she said. "Seriously, Sam. Is everything OK? Is Chris with you?"

"No, he's not. And you're playing mother hen."

She was silent for a minute. "Sorry, Sam."

"No worries… I'm fine."

Without warning, the band struck up again, a few of its members trailing guitars and cables towards the wedding group, and he groaned.

"You at some sort of party?"

"No…" Curtis was forced to bellow. "There's a wedding going on…"

"A wedding?" He could hear the surprise in her voice even above the cacophony. "You said a wedding?"

"Sure. They do happen…romantic setting, sunset over the sea - you know the type of thing."

"Sam, where's Chris?" She cut him off abruptly.

"Around. He was here a bit back, then he rushed off for something. Hang on, Backup, can't hear myself think. Look, I'll call you back."

"No. Sam, don't hang up. Do NOT hang up, you hear?"

Curtis got up and moved a way a little, puzzled at the urgency in her voice, suddenly.

"That's better. What's up?"

"Is Chris okay?"

"Sure - he's probably finding more things to do to keep me happy. Why shouldn't he be okay?"

Curtis heard her sigh, then had an idea. Wedding. Keel had been married.

"He in the middle of a messy divorce or something? Is that why he's so keen to get back to the States?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, and Curtis wondered if he'd hit the nail on the head.

"You knew he was married?"

"Saw a photo in his flat. But he wasn't saying much."

"Look, Sam. Chris would kill me if he knew I'd told you this. Malone would, too. And I'll kill you, personally, if you tell him I spoke to you about it."

"Backup…"

"Shut up, Sam, and listen before I think better of it. Chris' wife was assassinated at their wedding reception. So were his parents. He's going over to the States because they're about to sentence the guy who probably did it."

This time, it was Curtis' turn to fall silent.

"Sam? You still there?"

"Yeah." He could hardly speak, the horror of it gradually sinking in. Suddenly, the meaning behind the bitter words after that nightmare, about bringing back the dead, leapt out at him. "Oh, Christ, Backup…"

Still silence. He could picture her there, biting her bottom lip as she did when things were really tough.

"I'll find him. Call you back later. And Backup? Thanks." Curtis was already heading back to the room.

"Don't thank me yet, Sam." She sighed again, breaking the connection.

*

Keel felt like he was a spectator at one of his own nightmares. The flowers on the tables, the green lawns, and the happy twitter of the guests. Sunshine reflecting off the glasses. Oh, he'd seen it so often he could describe everything in the most minute detail. Right down to the cake and the two tiny figures atop it, lying broken after the machine gun had shattered both them and his life.

The more he tried to avoid watching it all, the more he felt his eyes being drawn towards the couple. The groom had his arm around her, and she looked up at him for a kiss…

He swallowed, finally finding the strength to tear his gaze away, aware that something inside him was expecting the next sound to be that of a machine gun. But no, the band was still playing.

These days, the scene was only cropping up in nightmares - time had eased the grief as everyone had told him it would. Even the idea of seeing Baldoni in the dock hadn't really shaken him as much as he'd thought it might. But the wedding - the first one he'd seen since - had projected him right back to that sunny day over three years before. One when all he'd wished for was to be dead too.

He pushed open the door to the room, finding it like an inferno in there. Hadn't Curtis said something about the air conditioning being out? Shit. Then, still fighting away the images, he looked out through the window and had an idea. He opened the safe in his room where he'd left his ID, gun and money, found what he was looking for, and headed for the beach.

*

A group of women were still squatting in the shade of one of the trees, chattering and beckoning to him as they'd done when they'd headed for the beach earlier. Keel remembered Curtis' instinctive flicker of what looked like repulsion when he'd seen them, which had intrigued him at the time.

But then his partner had launched himself into a short lecture on the kangas that they were trying to sell to tourists. The brilliantly coloured squares of cloth were commonly used as clothing and headgear by the local women, but the tourist version thereof was displayed over long poles on the beach. An ethnic way of covering up your bikini, Keel had chuckled.

Curtis, being Curtis, had finally sailed past the chattering gaggle of women with disdain, informing his partner that the same stuff, but a little less gaudy, was available from the local market for a fraction of the price. He'd made similar remarks about the other beach stalls, selling everything from woodcarvings to soapstone chess sets.

Obviously, Sam had been there before, but he wasn't saying much about it. So what was new?

Now, Keel waved vaguely at the women and shook his head. If he'd been in the mood, he'd probably have bought Sam one with a lurid hibiscus and "Jambo Kenya - life's a beach" all over it, but he wasn't in the mood for dwelling on the Englishman's repressive nature right now.

But then thinking about Curtis seemed like a better bet than thinking about machine guns, so he let his thoughts run where they wanted to.

Curtis could be a cynical bastard, when he wanted to be, he decided. Judging from recent gossip, he'd made a particularly good job of being just that on his recent assignments, too.

Somewhere, though, inside that cold exterior was a different man. He'd seen that side of Curtis more than once - after the nightmare, or in South Africa. Curtis' ability as a card shark on that job had amazed him, but not as much his sheer willpower soon afterwards, when he'd hoisted a semi-conscious partner on his back and carried him, for miles, under the unforgiving sun.

He'd nearly told his partner about Teresa that first night out in the bush, but hadn't. He'd been halfway sure it was going to be their last night on earth, anyway, so they'd talked about other things instead. Stupid stuff - anecdotes about their past exploits, mostly. Anything to take their minds off the situation.

For a while, as Sam was doggedly moving forward, staggering under his partner's weight, Keel had been vaguely aware of words of encouragement, of a hand on his pulse, but then he'd been out of it. One last blurred memory remained, however, somewhere between sliding into unconsciousness and waking at Mavoy's place. A voice thick with emotion, betraying desperation and exhaustion.

Stay with me, Chris. We'll get there. Stay with me.

He'd been too far gone to answer, but if he had got the words out, he'd have reminded Curtis they'd see each other in hell.

*

Curtis hammered on his partner's door. Then he opened his own and ripped apart the balcony doors to peer inside the room next door, finding it empty.

The hotel wasn't that big, and he'd not seen Keel anywhere in between, so where the hell was he?

That, he supposed, left the beach. Looking out to sea, he couldn't see very far, but it was just about the only other place left to look, unless the idiot had grabbed a taxi and headed for Mombasa itself.

A burly, uniformed hotel guard was leaning on a tree just outside their bungalow.

"Jambo," he offered cheerfully as Curtis approached.

"Jambo," Curtis shot back almost automatically. "Has the guy from this bungalow gone past? Is he down at the beach?"

"Yessah. He done gone went there. I tell him, hotel book says no tourists on the beach after sunset, but he done gone went there anyhow." This obviously grieved the man, since his role - once more according to the same hotel guide - was to peacefully keep order between the beach, which was public, and the hotel, which was of course not. A large wooden truncheon protruded from his belt, obviously an essential part of peacekeeping in these parts.

"Thanks."

"You not gonna go as well? I tell you, Mistah. Beyond the headland there you gon' find all sorts of bad stuff goin' on."

Curtis sighed abruptly.

"You can't remember which way he went?"

"Dunno, sah." Then he grinned broadly. "I would say definitely right or left."

Or straight on for Zanzibar, Curtis thought to himself, reaching the edge of the hotel's neat lawn.

Then he saw Captain Abdullah, pulling his boat out of the water.

"Hey, Abdullah. You seen my friend?"

"Yeah, bwana. He done come pay me. With tip." The toothless smile flashed again. Curtis banished the immediate reflex of mentally chastising the American for his soft-heartedness.

"Where did he go?"

"Walk. He go walk. Up by the headland."

Shit. Trust Chris. Attracting trouble just comes naturally.

"Thanks. Look, if I've missed him and he should come by, tell him I'm looking for him."

"Hakuna matata. You come swim again tomorrow?"

Curtis was already heading up the beach fast, half angry with the stupid Yank and half worried out of his senses about him.

Chris, don't do anything stupid. Please. Stay with me.

The light was fading now, and he found himself jogging along the water's edge, scanning the few remaining figures on the beach. Most of the traders were packing up their wares, now, and a few lanky youths were shuffling around with a football. Lights were slowly coming along from the hotels lining the beach. The headland, however, remained in shadowy half-light.

Where the hell are you, Chris? Why didn't you tell me about it, for Christ's sake? Do I come across as such a heartless bastard?

Rounding the spur of sand flanking the sudden rise of cliffs, the beach looked deserted at first, and then he saw three or four kids running, fast, in the other direction. The rapidly dimming shapes were vague, so he pressed on, and then saw a couple of figures next to an upturned catamaran. One was black and one - one was white, and wearing a white shirt.

Curtis ran, accelerating even more as he saw the bowed head with the spiky hair and the other, unknown figure standing over him. He didn't even realise he'd roared his partner's name until Keel looked up just before he reached them.

Before even taking a proper look, however, Curtis grabbed for the other man and literally threw him backwards.

"Leave him alone, Sam. He's a hero." Keel's voice was quiet, but not without a touch of humour. Curtis finally looked at his partner, realising he was breathless but at least looked intact.

The other figure got to his knees, and he realised it was only a youth, probably not more than sixteen.

"Ali, meet Sam. Sam, apologise."

"I'm sorry," Curtis muttered. "What the hell… you okay?"

"Sure I'm okay. Just out of breath. Little bastards were trying to run off with Ali's shoes, here."

"So you stopped them." All thoughts of the wedding vanished for the moment as Curtis stared at the two figures.

"Ali was doing a pretty good job himself. Just thought I'd even the odds a bit."

Ali, indeed, had a tatty pair of Reeboks slung around his neck by the laces. And he was staring at Curtis, now, obviously fascinated.

"Great. And if they'd had knives?"

"They did. They don't any more. They're in the sea." Keel's look of triumph was unmistakable. "Okay, Ali. Get out of here now, and stay away from trouble, OK?"

"Yeah, man. Was a good fight."

"No fights are good," Keel started, but two skinny, black legs were already pounding back along the beach.

Curtis just stood and looked at his partner.

"So what brought you out here?" Keel grinned, getting to his feet.

What was he going to say?

Curtis improvised, rapidly.

"Felt like a walk myself. And Abdullah said you were heading this way. He seemed happy with the tip, by the way."

"Uh-huh." The American had the grace to look a bit embarrassed.

"Besides, you're always getting into trouble."

"Uh-huh." Keel tucked his shirt back in, and ran a hand through the spiky hair.

"You could have got yourself stabbed. And what would Malone have said about that?"

"Uh-huh. And I supposed you'd have just left them to steal his shoes?"

Curtis didn't know. So he didn't answer.

"Sam?"

"I dunno, Chris." That was the truth.

"No, not about Ali. Something I wanted to tell you."

Curtis glanced across at his partner, feeling his heart contract at what Backus had just told him, the words suddenly back in his mind now he knew that Keel was at least still in one piece.

"I told you I was married. What I didn't tell you was that she was murdered. On our wedding day. So were my parents. Some guy had a contract out on my father, and he took out a few more people as well, with a machine gun. Somehow, they missed me."

Curtis found himself acting instinctively. He stopped, seeing the familiar features twisted in emotion, even in the half-light, heard the shaky sigh, and slung an arm round his partner's shoulders.

"Chris… shit… what can I say to you, mate?"

Certainly not that Backus just told me about it.

Whatever he said was going to sound like a cliché to a man who had been through hell and back. To see Keel so vulnerable, though, and to understand why, was shattering every vestige of his carefully constructed reserve.

"I wish I could help, Chris. Or that I could find the right words. I'm sorry…"

"It's okay, Sam. Nothing much anybody can say. It's faded now. Not gone, but it's not there all the time now, apart from a few nightmares. But I guess I can't quite handle weddings yet."

"I bet." Curtis didn't take the arm away. "And I wish I'd known."

"It's not something you bring out at every possible occasion. Imagine… Hi, my name's Chris Keel. My wife and parents were shot to death on my wedding day."

It should have sounded bitter, but somehow it didn't.

"How the hell did you manage to come to terms with it, Chris?" Curtis asked, softly.

"Dunno. Maybe I just slowly realised that life went on. Shit, that sounds like a cliché…"

"I admire you." The words slipped out, unbidden.

"Hell, Sam. No heroics about it. I just happened to be the one they missed. You're the one with a talent for selflessness and bravery, not me. I just attract trouble - you said it yourself."

Curtis looked at his partner again, but the darkness was almost complete, now, and only the approaching lights of the hotel showed them their way.

If only Keel knew how wrong he was about some things.

"I'm no hero, Chris. I just find it amazing that you can still care about anything or anybody."

"It took a while," the American chuckled. "After six months, I joined the SEALS and got myself something of a reputation for being pretty wild."

"Wilder than saving a pair of Reeboks?" Curtis asked.

"Yeah," Keel chuckled. "A year after that, I was doing the same stuff but starting to get sick of being the guy who was a bit weird because his wife was killed. Then my CO got to know Malone. And the rest, they say…"

"… is history." Curtis finished for him. "You know who was behind it all?"

"Yes and no. My dad was in Naval intelligence, Sam. A lot of people didn't like him."

Curtis nodded, not liking to push further, and Keel had fallen silent, obviously deep in his memories.

How in hell could the guy go to the rescue of a kid and a tatty, filthy pair of shoes when he'd been through all that and then been so brutally reminded of it? Where and how had he got all that compassion back?

"Chris?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You want another beer? I'm sure we can gatecrash the hotel next door. No weddings there."

"To heck with the wedding. I'm OK now. Besides, I'm a creature of habit. And maybe there's pizza for dinner."

"You're a slob."

"You're anal retentive."

"So what's new?"

*

Tina Backus paced the office, ignoring the odd looks Spencer was giving her. What was going on out there in Kenya?

Did Malone really know or care what he was doing to the two men by sending them on this job?

Not that she usually doubted him, but the combination of Keel confronted with a wedding and Sam getting too close for comfort to his own worst nightmares was tearing her apart.

Or was she just being hopelessly sentimental?

Of course she was, she chided herself, knowing that usually, she didn't do such a bad job on hiding her own feelings. Curtis didn't have a monopoly on doing that - or Malone either, for that matter.

It wasn't always much fun knowing what she did about both Curtis and Keel. Apart from Malone, she was the only one to know about Keel's wife, and that was simply because she'd handled his file when he came over to England. It was part of her job.

She'd been shocked, seeing the few terse words about his personal history, and had found it difficult to equate such horror with the ebullient character behind the chirpy manner and easy banter.

Curtis liked him. There, she'd been both surprised and pleased, and been glad to see the easy banter that had developed so quickly. Before long, she'd liked him too.

Keel had no idea she'd been aware of his work on the computer system over the last couple of months. He'd limp into the office, ostensibly just to make himself useful, and call up file after file. She wasn't about to tell him she'd found out, either, and had neatly got rid of the evidence before Spencer picked up on it.

Malone didn't need to know the American was trying to follow the Baldoni file, she'd rationalised, as he'd agreed to Keel's presence at the sentence right from the start and had followed the trial himself.

In the end, it had been Malone - through herself - who had obtained the information about the sentence date that Keel needed. It was hardly surprising, really, that the American had been so angry about ending up at the other side of the world with only a few days to spare.

Malone would pull him out of there in time, though. She trusted him to do so, because it was so vital for Keel's peace of mind. And Malone liked his people to be efficient, even if it meant a little well-disguised compassion at times.

Compassion, she reflected. It wasn't the easiest thing to equate with the work they all did.

Sometimes, when she'd seen Keel after searching for details on the case, she'd seen the blue eyes veiled with sadness afterwards. It had been tempting to reach out to him and to offer some sort of comfort.

But she couldn't. Breaking the first rule to that extent again was out of the question.

Besides, it had hurt far too much the last time she'd let her emotions take control, so she'd just do whatever she could for Keel but remain in the background. Do her job.

Sure, Tina. Just like you did blurting all that out to Curtis just now.

Done was done, she decided, trying to concentrate on her screen but finding herself on her feet again almost without realising it.

She just hoped Keel would bear up, because so far he'd always managed to spring back from those brief periods of self-torture, teasing Curtis and infuriating Malone as always.

Keel needed this closure. Just like Curtis needed his. And both men - at least until recently - had been unaware of the shadows hanging over each other's lives.

Had she done right in telling Curtis about Keel's wife? A cold, withdrawn Curtis who probably didn't need another burden?

But then the two men were close, now. They both needed somebody, and to some extent had found it in each other. She'd been genuinely pleased about that, seeing some of the light come back into Curtis' silver-green eyes after they had been so dull and full of remembered pain. Keel actually made his partner laugh, which was a sound she'd wonder if she would ever hear again.

That, perhaps more than anything else, was what had made her so fond of the American.

What if Keel cracked up beside an already under-par Curtis? A Curtis she felt she hardly knew any more these days, and that hurt more than anybody would ever know, too.

Christ, there were times when she hated this job.

Should she go and knock on Malone's door and say something? But what?

"Backup, sit down, willya? You're making me nervous. You really want me to bugger up this whole series of downloads?"

"Sorry, Spence." She wasn't doing such a good job on the usual impassive stakes, then. Just like she'd blown it when they were in South Africa. Damn.

She sat down, heavily.

"What's bugging you, anyway?"

"Nothing. Just doing some thinking."

"So do it in one place. You've been like a cat on hot bricks ever since the iceman and Chris went off. I thought it was just some sort of glorified escort job?"

She nodded, absently, then jumped as the phone rang.

"Chris! Hi!"

Spencer shook his head, and she consciously dampened the enthusiasm, then frowned and grabbed a pen.

"Sure. 43 European. White. Red laces. Got it. Everything okay your end? Really? That's great, Chris. And Sam? Swimming? Wonderful. Hotel okay?"

Now, Spencer's eyes were wide with pure astonishment.

She paused for a moment, nodding and then letting out a huge sigh, grinning broadly and not caring who saw it.

"Dancing, huh? I'll need photographic evidence of that to believe it. Okay, I'll get onto the other stuff. Talk to you tomorrow. Take care, Chris."

She broke the connection, frowning at the piece of paper.

"Spence, you know if that sports shop near the wine bar stocks Nike?"

Spencer continued to stare, fingers stilled over the keyboard.

"What's that got to do with dancing?"

"Forget it, Spence. You don't wanna know."

Who but Chris Keel would be calling to ask for a pair of trainers to be sent to a P.O. box in Mombasa for the attention of one Ali Nawenge? And who but the crazy Yank was about to persuade his partner to take part in an African dance session before dinner?

Things were looking up, she decided, humming to herself as she pulled up a few more files for Spencer to deal with.

Spencer stared a bit more at this most unusual burst of merriment, then went back to work.

*

General Mtanga was so black he was nearly blue, Keel noted with interest. And his wife was white - a white that would indicate she wasn't a sun worshipper, either. The file said the man was in his late fifties, and was said to be one of Kenya's leading reformers. An Oxford degree in economics had been followed by a Harvard doctorate, and he'd finally gone home to Mombasa with an English wife in tow. Indeed, the room they were in was a highly eclectic mixture of chintz, china and African sculptures.

Now, the General was stationed on the coast, responsible for Kenya's international relations - a euphemism for restoring the country's increasingly shaky image on the world tourism scene. In addition to that, he still acted as one of the President's personal advisors.

Sheila Mtanga, looking cool and remarkably ladylike, was a tiny figure beside the powerfully-built General, but her air was one of calm efficiency.

"Won't you sit down, gentlemen? Daniel, they're not on parade, for heaven's sake."

Curtis managed to hide the grin, but Keel didn't.

"So you're a former military man yourself, Mr. Keel?" the general boomed. "Or so Harry says."

"The US Navy, sir," Keel informed him, sinking into an extremely soft chair and trying to continue looking sufficiently military to impress. "Before CI5, anyway."

"And according to what I hear, you two are the best. I'd like to thank you for coming."

As if they had the choice, Keel thought. But he wished Malone had been there to hear that one.

"Yesterday, I had to postpone our meeting," the General continued, perching on the edge of a table. And not for some idle rubbish that African politics is so good at generating. You are aware of the rioting in the north, of course?"

They nodded. The background Backup and Spencer had prepared had been up to its usual standard.

"Terrible business, but then we're fairly talented at public unrest. What bothers me most of all is that my daughter has not only run off, she's in the middle of it. I was in Nairobi yesterday, talking to the President. As Myriam's father, I was obviously tempted to use my authority to pull in some troops and make sure she is safe. As one of our country's advisors on military strategy, however, this would have been somewhat badly interpreted."

"I see," Curtis nodded. "So as we see it, you want us to bring her back, and we stand a better chance of doing so than if you send your own people in."

"Very nicely put," Mtanga nodded. "And you probably think it's an old man's whim, I'm sure."

Keel forced himself not to nod. Curtis, he noted, was looking as impassive as ever, looking around the room.

"It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid. These riots are being started in and around our national parks for several purposes. To focus on the claims of our ethnic minorities, to protect our wildlife… every Tom, Dick and Harry is coming up with reasons for it all. All of them are bullshit."

Curtis' eyebrows raised a little at that.

"Don't look so surprised, Mr. Curtis. I'm quite sure that CI5 knows that we have problems on the Tanzanian border, bandits from Somalia messing up the north, not to mention a whole lot more. All this added to huge-scale corruption, gross incompetence and an economy that is slowly but surely going to pieces."

"Look, sir…" Curtis looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Bear with me, Mr. Curtis. I'm only lecturing you on my country because I am a patriot, and I am heartily sick of those who are trying to pull it to pieces and to sell us out. And no, I didn't approach Harry Malone to help us put it back together again, but simply to pull my daughter out of a mess. She is treading dangerous ground out there, and I need her at my side later this week. Our own intelligence forces are very busy trying to straighten some of the political issues with our neighbours. If she falls into the hands of those behind some of the uglier fighting…"

He paused for a moment, and then continued.

"Myriam is a headstrong fool, and an idealist, but she's also our daughter. Jonathan Hall is a British ethnologist who is working for us, and he and my daughter have become… involved. We have no problem with that, in principle. But by his work, Jonathan is also on very thin ice. Neither of us wanted Myriam to go out there, but she left after a disagreement about her role here. We desperately we need her back here, safe, before certain steps are taken to… to deal with some of the problems. And also because we love her very much."

"I think I understand," Keel said, seeing the emotion carefully hidden behind the cool exterior. "And she doesn't want to come home?"

"Indeed she does not," the General spoke more quietly, now. "If I send in the only people I really trust, she is perfectly capable of refusing point blank. And they would not dare to force her. Also, it would be less than wise to send our people in to the area where they are working."

"And if she refuses point blank to come with us?" Keel enquired mildly, when his partner didn't react to this. Curtis seemed to be staring at one of the carvings.

"According to Harry, you can be most persuasive. Also, you can pass virtually unnoticed when visiting her - your cover, as you know, is to be journalists in search of an interview from Hall. I am counting on your skills not only to bring her home, but to keep her - and that idealist she is with - safe until she comes home. I wish I could have sent you in yesterday, but that was simply not possible. She has one of my men with her - who will be your driver. However, I asked Harry for some help and he has generously offered it."

"I understand, sir," Keel nodded again.

"Thank you, Mr. Keel. I do realise I am asking a lot in return for a small favour I extended to your organisation last year, and hope you will be indulgent with me."

"Mr. Malone likes to return favours," Keel lied, for want of anything better to say. Knowing Malone, he'd not been happy about the idea at all, and as he'd thought before, had sent the two of them to break them in gently as a pair again.

"Indeed, I never expected to need his help," the General was continuing. "In fact, his actions in Tanzania were of considerable assistance to our own government. All I did was provide transport facilities and a little help crossing the borders, in both directions. However, we have been acquaintances for many years and I admire Harry Malone a great deal."

Curtis was still silent, when Keel glanced over there, and in fact there was a set to his jaw that was difficult to analyse at the same moment that they were supposed to be getting down to some serious instructions. Keel suppressed the irritation and asked for a few more details of their coming mission rather than offering the General his own appreciation of their beloved leader.

Mtanga explained the transport and logistics, and Keel listened. Curtis seemed miles away, still, staring at a carving.

When Keel stood to leave, Curtis glanced up at him as if in surprise.

"If we pick our things up from the hotel, I guess we can be at the airport in about half an hour?" Keel glanced over to his partner, realising this was rapidly becoming a one-man show. Usually, Sam was the one who asked dozens of questions, keeping the whole case neatly organised in his mind.

"Indeed." The General was back to booming volume again. "Ben will meet you at the airstrip. Feel free to contact me at any moment, as long as I can be reached."

"We'll be in touch, General."

"I am quite sure you will, gentlemen."

*

Keel, predictably, had slid into the co-pilot's seat, but Curtis was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to make comments on flying, landings or anything else, although he vaguely realised his partner was expecting it of him.

He'd promised himself to keep his mind off Tanzania, and CI5's operation there. What he hadn't expected was the General to have been the brains behind the border crossings. Nor had he expected the carving at the Mtangas' place to throw him to that extent.

The tree of life, they called it. A single piece of ebony, carved out like a delicate piece lace, showing scenes of everyday life. And there had been one just like it in the half-destroyed house. He closed his eyes, trying to shut it out, and failed.

Shit, Malone. Mtanga was involved in that case. Did you get a kick of sending me back here? You crazy bastard. And for a while, after that job, I thought you even cared about your people.

"… Sam?"

Keel was talking to him, and he was still not reacting. Time to pull the mask down a little more firmly, and get back into control.

"Sorry?"

"Sam, you on this planet? I said there are thousands of some sort of deer down there, all walking in line."

"Yeah."

Look interested, for Christ's sake. Snap out of it.

He did, with an effort.

"They're migrating wildebeest. They'll cross the river and some will drown. Others get eaten by crocodiles, then the vultures move in and pick the carcasses bare. I suppose they're a bit like lemmings on four hooves."

"Thanks, Professor." Keel grinned. "Knew you'd be an expert."

"Naturally." Curtis managed a grin. "There are millions of them, moving all across the Serengeti like they do every year. Hard to believe that next door, people are starving."

"And a wildebeest steak would help. Couldn't they spare a few?"

Curtis shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, Chris. We're not here to deal with that."

Keel nodded, absently, watching the long, winding line of animals, mere pinpricks, moving slowly over the African plain.

"Yeah. You're right. Just makes you think."

Curtis had been thinking, and thinking about a great many things, which did not include resolving a famine situation, but he nodded. This guy cared about everybody. Beach bums, starving people. Probably even the wildebeest. So why didn't he, Sam Curtis give a damn about most of them?

Keel had been so open the previous evening that he'd been half tempted to talk about the Tanzanian job. But what use would that be? To admit his own hang-ups when Keel had done such a remarkable job of coming to terms with his own?

No, that case was best buried and forgotten. Neither Malone, nor this job, nor anybody else was going to make him lose control. He was back with Keel, despite the long break, and his own descent into working blindly and without purpose was over, or at least he hoped so. He was going to make sure it did, because Keel's friendship was one of the few things he did give a damn about.

Okay, so he'd refused the African dancing lesson before dinner the previous night, but Keel hadn't made a fuss, only using the word "repressed" once. They'd eaten at a leisurely pace, and then they'd joined in the applause when the generator finally ceased to throb and, with an energetic flicker, power was restored in full. By the time they'd walked back to the bungalow, the lack of sleep from the flight the previous night plus the long swim were taking their toll.

In the delightfully cool room - kept that way with the generous help of Mombasa's main power supply - Sam Curtis had slept better than he had done for a long time. Until the nightmares came again.

*

Keel assessed Ben, waiting for them as promised, and decided that despite the three-day beard and the faded, frayed khakis of a registered safari guide, the man moved like a soldier. He looked fit, fast, yet spoke little as he picked them up. They hoisted themselves into the elderly jeep, which the Kenyan soon proved he could master with consummate skill.

"Where's the pilot going?" Curtis asked, frowning, seeing the pilot picking up his kit. "We may need him again soon."

Ben waved an R/T.

"He's going to a big camp. Real beds. Proper bar. People from there will pick him up. When you want him, he's here in ten minutes."

"And we don't get a proper bar?" Keel asked, glumly, aching for a beer.

"No bar, but beer in the fridge. No real beds either."

Wonderful. Well, he'd seen worse. Anyway, they weren't staying overnight.

"They're camping over there," Ben told them, after half an hour of bucking along rough ground, barely discerned tracks and unexpected craters. "Mr. Hall and the others. They know you're coming - the General sent a message from one of your big magazines. I took it to him yesterday night."

"Yeah." Keel knew that. He and Sam were even carrying press cards to say so, but he was glad to know the channels had worked well enough to get a message out here. Suddenly, though, Ben was coming up with some information.

"Hall, he's not happy. Says you're welcome, but if you mess up his work, he'll kick you out. You'd better be pretty clever."

"Oh, he's the clever one," Keel nodded towards Curtis, staring out at the endless grasslands and the ever-present, snaking procession of wildebeest. "I'm just the muscles."

Curtis didn't react, just for a change.

Ben grunted, fighting with the wheel as they encountered an outcrop of rocks.

"He says he's busy tonight - got a meeting with some of the Masai elders and morani - the warriors - coming in from other villages. And the General says you're to stay. Get them out after. Tomorrow, sometime. But you don't even try until then, OK?"

Keel shook his head in despair.

"That wasn't the idea. We were to get them out by tonight."

"General says he knows that, but this meeting is real important. He says you should call him when you get back to the airfield, unless there's an emergency."

"We'll call him now," Curtis snapped, suddenly focused again. "Before we get to the camp. Stop here, would you."

"Not possible. He's in conference. The General can't call you right now and, and you can't call him. Too many ears. Trust me - he sent a message to the driver's station an hour back. Says if you're worried, you call your Harry."

Curtis rolled his eyes, and snapped open the sophisticated cellphone. A minute later, he grimaced at Keel.

"Our Harry says get them out tomorrow. Fuck. OK, Ben. drive on."

Keel sighed, mentally calculating the days. If they got back to Mombasa on Thursday, he could leave for the States on Friday or even Saturday and still get there in time. As long as this famous pow-wow with the elders and warriors and witch doctors or whatever they were didn't last forever. Nothing ever went fast in Africa, as he'd already discovered.

Instead of going in there and turning right around to bring the girl back, they were now faced with anything up to 24 hours of pretending to be journalists. Africa, once again, was coming up with a few surprises. But the timing would still work. It had to.

He looked over at Curtis, reluctant to voice his concerns about timing. He'd mentioned his visit to the States the previous evening, but right here and now, there was no point in irritating an already jumpy partner any more. Curtis didn't look happy about staying the night either. Mind, Curtis didn't look happy. Period.

What in hell was bugging Curtis this time? He'd been almost light-hearted during their swim and then supportive and remarkably sensitive the previous evening. The gentle comprehension had gradually made the all-too-familiar ball in his guts slowly disappear, and it had suddenly been good to talk about it to somebody who didn't offer platitudes, but just a presence and a few, genuine words.

But, he reflected, looking over at the tight mask, Curtis was busy with the whole control thing again now. The relaxed mood of the previous day had vanished again once they'd got to the General's place earlier on, and had been replaced by that carefully neutral expression that said so little yet so much.

Was Curtis going to tell him about it, whatever it was? Probably not right there and now, Keel decided, clinging to the framework of the open jeep as they jerked and tilted towards a small settlement of tents a couple of hundred metres from a Masai village. But he'd work on it.

*

Jonathan Hall was tall, blond, and somewhere in this thirties. In dirty khakis, he looked sweaty and clearly angry.

"I told your people this wasn't the best moment."

"Sorry, the message couldn't have got through. We were already on our way," Curtis said politely, eyeing the man up. "Don't worry, though. We won't get in the way."

Keel was putting on his best 'I'm everybody's buddy' smile, Curtis noted.

"Well, you'll just have to make do with what we have, and keep yourselves occupied until tomorrow evening. Go and take some photos. Watch the wildlife. Whatever. Right now, we have some work to do. Your tent's over there. It's basic, but functional. The shower is behind the tarpaulin over there. When Samuel fills the oil drum from the river and lights the fire underneath it, you may even get tepid water. The toilets are over next to the tree. There's beer in the fridge, but don't give any to the kids in the village even if they ask for it. Is that clear?

"Very clear." Curtis kept his reply neutral, with an effort.

"As for food, you're free to come over when it's ready. Don't go wandering out of sight of the camp unless you're in your jeep, especially at night. Your driver can sleep round the back with ours. Any more questions?"

"Not right now." Keel was still smiling. "Mind if we hang around and get to know your team?"

"My team is my assistant and myself, plus our driver. There are two locals who are our support staff, meaning they cook and run errands. And we're all extremely busy. Where's your photographic equipment?"

"We're journalists, Dr. Hall. This isn't just a glossy spread on ethnic traditions," Curtis snapped. "Our photographic crew will be along next week, sometime. To disturb you again, no doubt.

Keel threw him a warning glance at the sharp tone, and Curtis felt immediately guilty. Getting up the man's nose wasn't going to help when the two 'journalists' suddenly turned around and became kidnappers, however politely and diplomatically it was done.

"You do have a camera, though?" Hall asked, frowning.

They did. Keel, Curtis remembered, had thrown one in with the rest of the seemingly haphazard assortment of clothes, swimming trunks, and the rest. Why was the guy capable of preparing survival gear to a degree of perfection, yet totally incapable of folding clothes?

"Yeah," Keel nodded. But just for some initial snaps to give the crew some idea."

Not bad, Curtis admitted. Keel was definitely even more creative than usual.

"I see." Hall looked less than pleased. "Well, ask the locals before you take their photographs, then, and be prepared to pay them for it. A couple of shillings will do. Those who do not wish to be photographed, you should leave alone. And this interview of yours will take just how long?"

"A couple of hours, at least. Probably longer if we're to get an idea of your work here with the Masai and their role in African tribal heritage," Keel told him.

"Fine. We should be able to get this over with tomorrow morning, although not at the crack of dawn, as we may be occupied for most of the night. For now, though, please excuse me."

Hall brushed past, leaving them both standing. Curtis sighed, and picked up his holdall.

"Friendly type, obviously."

"You mean compared to you, or in general?" Keel asked, mildly.

Curtis grimaced. "Okay, smartarse. Get snapping. We can always branch out into wildlife photography when Malone finally kicks us out."

*

If it weren't for the fact that precious time was trickling away, Keel would have been even more fascinated by the place.

The village, surrounded with a fence of thorn tree branches, was one that, according to Ben, tourists would normally have rejected in a quest for authenticity. The mud constructions looked as he supposed they should, as did the inhabitants, to some extent. A few of the kids were in T-shirts and shorts, or just shorts - or even a few cases just T-shirts. Some of the adults mixed the ochre-red of their traditional clothing with an assortment of western paraphernalia, including one elderly man who seemed to be wearing an equally elderly dinner jacket over a roughly-knotted kanga.

What spoiled it for the tourist circuit, however, was probably the roughly built concrete cube used for the school and a similar one that appeared to be some sort of dispensary-cum-office. And then there was the satellite dish sprouting from one of the houses, where a gaggle of villagers sat, half-inside and half-spilling from the door, watching what looked like a re-run of Dallas.

Curtis, as Keel realised, seemed to know a few basics about the Masai. Still taciturn, he did deign to offer a few details on their customs and dress, as well as the fact that in order to become warriors, young men were supposed to kill a lion and use its pelt as part of their dress.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. Apparently it's one of the biggest problems for the rangers. I've even heard of rangers doing deals over lions that died of old age, rather than have any more poached and killed."

Keel nodded, glancing over at his partner.

"All this information didn't come from the files. Homework for another job?"

"Yeah. I had a driver who was a Masai."

"The one that drove the mata… the taxi thing?"

"No, not the matatu, another one. Look Chris…"

"You don't want to talk about it. OK. I hear you."

Curtis looked relieved. Keel wandered on through the village, fishing out shillings and taking photographs, and finally approached the school. A couple of dozen kids were outside it, chanting numbers in English and then French, and there was a ripple of giggles as the two white men approached. The teacher, however - a young man dressed completely to western norms - waved them courteously to a tree trunk.

"Some linguists, these kids are gonna be," Keel grinned. "You think they'll teach them all the languages the tourists speak?"

Curtis shook his head. "Dunno. It's hard enough to get them educated at all - and they deserve better. Now and then, one or two get out and go into further education, but it's not easy. The community needs them - the boys to herd their cattle and the girls to prepare the food. There's no Sainsbury's just round the corner."

Keel glanced over at his partner, seeing him starting intently at the kids, his eyes softer, suddenly, and the set to his jaw a little less… repressed, he admitted to himself. He'd not often seen Curtis with children.

"Never knew you liked kids, Sam."

"Kids in Africa have a tough time." The mask snapped down again for a moment or two, and the reply was a little oblique, but this time the change of mood didn't last very long, and Keel's question was answered just by watching his partner. He noticed the slight upward curve of lips as a tiny girl proudly recited a nursery rhyme, and then the flicker of sympathy in the expressive eyes as an older boy stalled halfway through his own recitation. And his concentration on it all was total.

Hardly the iceman now, Keel reflected. He'd heard the name, too - a broken leg didn't cut off all the communications with the rest of the squad. Not long ago, just before he'd been passed as fit for fieldwork again, he'd even mentioned it to Backus, but she'd only come up with a loyal refusal to say anything except that Curtis had been on some tough jobs recently.

He'd also heard a couple of chance references to Curtis' former partner among the comments, he remembered, idly watching the kids. But the guy had since been kicked out of CI5. He and Curtis had been together for just six months, and it had ended with Taylor's dismissal and a stay in hospital for Curtis after being injured on a job. More than that, nobody was saying. As soon as he'd asked, they'd all neatly skirted the whole issue.

Maybe, Keel wondered, the partnership just hadn't worked, although that wouldn't explain Taylor's sudden demise. He wondered if the guy had ever seen those glimmers of Curtis' inner nature that inched their way through the surface, or if he'd been unable to cope with the cold exterior. Fortunately, Keel admitted to himself, he'd gradually identified the mask to be exactly what it was - somewhere to retreat to. It was Sam's way of dealing with some of the less pleasant aspects of their job, he supposed. But that hiding place couldn't always be a pleasant place to go to, judging from Curtis' tired, drawn expression in unguarded moments over the last couple of days. Africa was making his partner particularly uneasy, but why?

Whatever this job there at some point in his career - whether MI6 or CI5 - had been about, Curtis had learned a lot about this part of the world, and Keel was fairly sure it wasn't limited to native dress, methods of transport and customs.

After a while, the lesson at the school seemed to come to an end, and the kids started to scatter. In their place came a few women, beaded, chattering and staring at the two newcomers as they jostled for place. One of them pointed at Curtis, and Keel saw him stiffen and seem to suppress a shudder before rising abruptly from the improvised seating. Immediately, that same reaction to the women selling kangas on the beach crossed his mind.

"C'mon, Chris. Let's go."

Keel followed him, watching Curtis stride rapidly away towards the camp, away from the village. Then he added a mental note. Whatever his partner's problem was, women had something to do with it as well.

*

Curtis could have kicked himself. Judging from the looks coming his way, Keel's usual nose for trouble of any kind was serving him well, as usual.

Fortunately, Ben had turned up with the jeep, ostensibly suggesting a game drive, and they hadn't refused. The idea was much more to watch for local human activity than wildlife, and three pairs of binoculars, materialising from under the seat of the jeep, had kept them well occupied although with no results to show for several hours of observation. At least, Curtis, decided, that was probably a good thing.

Keel, predictably, had displayed his usual enthusiasm when they'd come across a pride of lions and had watched, under the spell, as they played in the growing dusk. The cubs rolled, bit, chased each other, and were suitably cuffed by the mother lioness, while a couple of others toyed with some bones, oblivious to the jeep and its occupants.

Finally, coated with dust from the heavy plume rising from the jeep, they'd returned to the camp to find it deserted. Curtis had even wondered whether Myriam Mtanga was really there, but Ben had nodded.

"She was there - but in the village, waiting for the others to arrive."

"Arrive how?" Curtis had queried.

"Foot, mostly. Some on buses, then they walk. But they are coming - I have seen them arriving all day. Many communities are sending people. They talk about bandits, about cattle rights, about tourists and about the riots. Hall, he is spending much time on this. He is very afraid bad things are happening."

Ben was well informed, Curtis had to admit, but then he'd probably been suitably briefed by Mtanga.

Keel had stretched, climbing down from the jeep and patting his jacket. Clouds of dust sailed up from it, and he grinned.

"As you know everything, Ben, what time do they light the fire under the oil drum with the water? I could use a tepid shower."

"I'll go and chase him up right away," Ben nodded, then gave them a rare grin. "On safari, there's a saying. First, you wash the inside. Then the outside. Plenty of Tusker in the fridge, but don't…"

"… give it away. No problem," Keel grinned. "C'mon Sam."

Now, after a barely lukewarm trickle of brown water that had nevertheless washed away the worst of it, Keel had that glint in his eyes that meant 'talk to me, Sam.'

Not this time, Chris. You don't want to know.

Once the American had emerged from behind the curtain, frowning and muttering about real beds and real showers, Curtis had decided that the best course of action was to avoid all topics that started with "About that African job," and steer him onto something else. Keel was far too astute, sometimes, but then he'd welcomed the sheer vivacity and openness that made his partner what he was. And so much unlike himself.

The smell of food was suddenly more than attractive, and Keel needed no bidding to head for the campfire, where the camp dogsbodies were grilling meat and laying out baskets of bread.

Happily, the food and talk of the lions they'd seen, plus the cold Tusker in the decrepit, gas-powered fridge, kept some sort of conversation going. The two staff, cooks and general gophers combined, soon moved over to the camp fire with plates of food, filling the night with unhurried, idle chatter about the village, the wildlife, and their own homes. The flames were mesmerising, and the sounds beyond a constant backdrop of muted sounds.

It was so peaceful, Curtis admitted, despite the mess happening in so much of Africa and everything he'd seen of it. Keel didn't have a broken leg this time either, and nobody - at least from what they'd seen - was chasing them. Not yet, anyway.

"This reminds me of 'Out of Africa', Keel mused, after a while, as the others drifted away.

"Yeah. Except they had wine, crystal to drink it from, and Mozart in the background."

"You're just a snob, Sam."

"I appreciate the finer things in life."

"Well, the Tusker is pretty fine by my standards. And the meat wasn't bad."

"It was probably wildebeest." Curtis chuckled, draining the dregs of a last bottle. "I'm going to bed. Send the staff along with the fine linen sheets and tell them to lay my nightshirt out."

"Dream on," Keel grinned back. "You've got a sleeping roll and a mosquito net - what more do you need? Think yourself lucky. Lie back and imagine the sound of jungle drums beating in the night, and just hope some horny old water buffalo doesn't give you a rude awakening. Samuel says they wander in, sometimes."

"Sure. Lucky there's that rusty-looking rifle from World War 1 that Samuel that carries to protect us, not to mention that spear his mate's been waving around, so we can sleep in complete safety," Curtis said, sarcastically.

"You're just picky, you know that? Or would you rather take turns in sitting outside with your pistol at the ready?"

"I'm a realist. And those water buffalo are bloody enormous. Ben says they can be dangerous when roused, as well."

"You're a cynic. So don't rouse them."

Curtis sighed, but not unhappily. Keel's company always improved matters.

What he needed now was some more decent sleep, as long as the nightmares didn't come. He made sure he was at least pretending to be dead to the world by the time Keel got back from the famous toilet curtain.

*

Keel woke, but after a few moments didn't know if it was Curtis moving around restlessly again that did it or the voices that seemed to be coming from the village. There was some sort of music in the background, and even drums.

It was just after 5.30, he realised - dawn wasn't far away, so they'd obviously made a night of it in there.

When he heard the tent zip being pulled up with his partner's usual effort to minimise noise, he decided Curtis was going to take a leak. He didn't return after a while, but finally Keel decided he might as well go and do the same.

Curtis hadn't gone far. He was sitting in front of the tent, staring at the village.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Keel said quietly, moving over to join him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No."

"Too noisy, huh? Or was I snoring?"

"Yeah. And no, you weren't."

Samuel and his rifle and the other half of the two-man army were over by the fire, still, propped up against a table and definitely asleep.

"Sam, are you gonna talk to me about what's bugging you, or do I have to drag it out of you?"

Curtis looked over, and Keel saw the expression of fatigue and what looked like pain on his partner's face.

"I can't, Chris."

"I'm not asking you to tell names and places…"

Curtis literally flinched, and Keel wondered what the hell he'd done to create such a reaction.

"Look, Sam. If I can help…"

Curtis shook his head.

"You sound like me, after you'd had that nightmare about Teresa. Remember what you said? That you can't bring back the dead. Well that's how it is. It's over and finished, Chris, and I really don't want to go there."

"It's running after you, Sam, whatever it is. You look like you're not with me half the time."

"I'm sorry." That sounded genuine.

"It's not so hard to talk, you know. I'm not gonna make you quote the first rule and chew you out for it."

Curtis glanced across, raking a hand through his hair.

"I know you're not, Chris. It's just…"

"… that you have this need to be anal." Keel chuckled softly. "I already knew that. But I think it might help, Sam. You've been there for me, remember? Like last night?"

"That's different."

"That's bullshit."

Silence. Keel tried again, because he had to, now they'd at least got this far.

"Okay, I've already figured it was some job you did in Africa. It involves matatus and women and it's something that gives you nightmares... at least I guess the nightmares are part of it as well."

He felt Curtis stiffen.

"'s okay, Sam. I know all about bad dreams, remember. You had one when we were out in South Africa the night after the crash. Something about you not knowing something and Taylor being a bastard. I couldn't sleep - my leg hurt - but I figured it was just because you were exhausted."

Curtis was still not speaking, but had dropped his head into his hands.

"Then, last night, you said the same thing. That you 'didn't know'."

"I didn't. That was the hell of it." Curtis' voice was muffled, but then he seemed to shake himself and got his head up. "Look, Chris… it was a job that turned sour on me, not long after I joined CI5. Some bad memories, but I'm doing my bloody best to bury them. I've got to. You did."

"It's not easy, though, Sam. I know that."

"They thought it would break me - Malone did, the psychologists did. I thought so myself. Somehow, I coped. Then Malone threw me back in, the bastard. Back to where it all happened, or near enough. To see if I could handle it."

A crack was opening, Keel realised, and let Curtis take it in his own time.

"It was… the closest I got to hell, Chris. I might joke about seeing you in hell, but Christ, you can't imagine … it was …"

Curtis broke off, obviously fighting back emotion again, and Keel echoed the gesture of the night before, slinging an arm round his partner's shoulders.

"It's OK, Sam. It's OK to let it out. This is me, remember?"

"Yeah," Curtis took a long, shaky sigh, then stiffened again. Keel thought, at first, that it was the memories haunting him again, but he was wrong.

Suddenly, Curtis was on his feet, pointing over at what looked like a black cloud drifting slowly along the ground.

Then they heard the noise - faint but constant. Drumming hooves.

The wildebeest were stampeding and heading straight for the camp and the village.

*

Curtis rammed yet another clip into his gun, barely pausing. The animals had barely changed their route, even after he and Keel had raised the alarm by shooting into the air and shouting. Samuel and his friend were on their feet first, taking in the rapidly approaching herd with sheer terror in their eyes.

He was vaguely aware of movement in the village - people running out into the centre and shouting, and then thought he saw Hall and another figure running towards the camp.

They only had minutes - if that. The clouds of dust were approaching fast, and the thrumming was growing louder.

How, in the name of god, did you divert thousands of frantic animals well known for their obsessive, self-destructive instincts? CI5 didn't exactly include that in their training.

Somehow, Keel had reacted in perfect harmony with his partner - but then that was second nature. They'd run towards the animals, shooting off round after round, trying to head them off.

It looked like there were thousands of them, galloping mindlessly forward. The thick dust did nothing to detract from the spectacle, as those in the lead headed forwards, now just a couple of hundred yards from the fragile tents and the village just beyond them.

Curtis took careful aim and felled the animal in front, which fell as it ran, but the others simply trampled it and ran on.

Other figures were beside him - half-shadows of ochre and red - waving spears and running towards the herd, which barely faltered.

Or did it? Had the trajectory changed just a little?

Curtis fired again, feeling hopelessly powerless faced with the sheer volume and the endless beat of the hooves, now coming ever closer. An animal was suddenly at his level, and he could feel, smell the rank odour and sweat on the flanks at it passed him.

There was no way he could shoot them all… no way.

Keel, a few yards to his left, was firing too, yelling and constantly in motion, trying to frighten the panicked animals even more, to force them away from the path of destruction.

Yes, they were suddenly heading further towards the trees - but only the main body of them. Stragglers - but even so several dozen of them - were still in a path that would line them up with the entrance to the village. More shady figures were standing by the rough bush fence now, and more spears were waving, but still the animals ploughed on.

He heard a scream, suddenly, and saw a small woman in shorts running across the path of the wildebeest, heading towards more figures. Tiny figures… several kids were standing there, eyes wide open at the spectacle of it all and totally unaware of the danger.

Curtis ran. He reached the woman before she drew level with the kids, and saw her trying desperately to wave them away, willing them to scatter.

Somehow, most of them got the message and started to scuttle out of the way as a few of the animals crashed into the fence, felling it and charging on. Without thinking, he grabbed the woman's arm and thrust her out of the way, aware that yet another group of heavy, panting animals was coming.

They missed her, but he was focused on two of the kids who were still there. Curtis ran forward, vainly shooting yet more bullets in the direction of the mass of hooves.

Somewhere, he could hear Keel shouting, yelling as hard as his lungs would let him, and then he saw him. The American seemed to be amid a jostling, seething mass of dark brown heads and tails, arms waving and his pistol firing. There were spears in there, too, and blessedly, the wave of terror seemed to be slowing, steering around the village rather than straight for it.

But those kids hadn't moved… they were standing there, terror in their eyes but unable to galvanise their limbs into action.

He flew forward, reaching out to them. To his left, he saw Keel's spiky hair still bobbing in the seething mass, then saw it suddenly disappear amid thundering hooves and close-packed bodies. In the second he pushed at the kids, he felt a blow to his side and staggered. The momentum threw him forward, and he fell, hard.

Keel… Keel had gone down…

Not even feeling the pain, he tried to stand, feeling the fetid breath fly past only inches from his face.

Where were the kids? And Chris?

Then he realised one of the two small children was standing a short distance away, in safety, now, and staring at him. The other one was a tiny, crumpled form lying just a few paces from him, and the young woman he'd pushed away was moving towards it.

He had to get to his feet. Had to get them all away… but then, the liquid, vacant eyes of a wildebeest were staring at his own as they approached, just inches away.

Oh, Chris…

A sharp pain caught his breath, suddenly, in the same moment he realised he couldn't escape this one. It was coming straight for him. That one, together with the three behind him, were all set to trample him.

He half-expected the sharp crack to be a hoof connecting with his skull, but after a second he realised he was still conscious. A wildebeest was lying a bare foot away from him, motionless, and the other animals were wheeling and leaping, slowing to a trot.

And then the dusty ground swayed up towards him.

Chris was down.

*

Keel reached his partner, who was on his knees but gradually slumping sideways. His right arm was holding his side and his head was down. The American had seen the fall in the same second that he'd aimed and fired, and he feared the worst.

"Oh, Christ, Sam… Sam, talk to me, buddy…"

"You went down…" It was a whisper.

"They missed me. I rolled away - better than you did."

The green eyes were barely focusing, but even through the thick, swirling dust the American could see his partner seemed intact. Keel grabbed him.

"I'm here, Sam. It's okay… it's over.

"Oh, yeah?" Curtis leaned into the supporting arm, relief suddenly flooding through his face. "One of the buggers kicked me… and I thought you were underneath all that."

"I saw. And the one that nearly got you'll be feeding half the village tonight. I shot it. C'mon, Sam, how bad?"

"Okay… just close…"

Keel hoisted his partner to his feet, yanking the sweats up and swallowing down his own relief. The angry mark of a hoof just below his ribs would turn into one hell of a bruise, but Sam really was all right, just stunned.

Curtis could move fast, but Keel had never seen him move at that speed. And the beast had been inches from his partner when he'd felled it. His own heart was still pounding from the shock and fear despite the incredible realisation that Curtis wasn't as seriously hurt as he'd feared.

Curtis seemed to pull himself together, too, taking deep breaths and relaxing his grip on the American as they started to walk away.

"You're limping," Curtis said softly, after a few steps.

"Nothing. Twisted my ankle."

"Thought you said they missed you?" Curtis said, softly, and suddenly went rigid.

Keel followed his eyes to where one of the village women was standing, a limp bundle in her arms. She was keening softly, and other women were rushing towards her.

"Oh, God…" Curtis' voice was thick. "No…"

Keel held him back as he started to move forward.

"No, Sam. No use. The kid was right in the line of that last group. You couldn't have reached him."

Curtis swayed again, and Keel held onto him, his own throat constricting as he saw the woman's face and then looked back at his partner's.

He'd seen pain on the man's face before, but never tears.

"Sam, there was nothing you could do."

"Tried…" Curtis got out.

"Yeah, I know. C'mon. You're gonna sit down. You saved the others, y'know. And the woman." Keel gritted his teeth, the sight of Curtis' distress tearing at his own insides.

His partner just shook his head, trying to fight it back. To fight for control, just for a change.

Before they'd gone more than a few steps, another two figures approached.

"He all right?" Hall's tone was clipped, but the expression on his face was far from hostile.

"Yeah. Just shaken."

"We all are." Myriam Mtanga said, gently.

Keel stared at the petite woman, then nodded, steering Curtis back towards the camp.

Somehow, his partner started moving under his own steam again and wiped a furious hand over his face. Keel grimaced at the pain in his ankle, but that was bearable - not even a sprain, he decided.

Ben, Samuel and the spear-carrier were over by the tents, watching the wildebeest slowly start to drift away. Hall swept a glance over the area, and Keel noticed that there was little more damage than a few scattered pots and pans over by the fire.

"How did you know they were coming?" the ethnologist asked, as they came to a halt amid the still-hanging dust.

"We were up early - talking over by the tent," Keel told him.

Hall nodded, waving his team away.

"Well, we were fortunate you were there to see it coming. Even more fortunate you were armed. I suppose we have Myriam's father to thank, too. The tricky old sod at least had the grace to admit to his little game when I called him yesterday evening. Journalists, eh?"

Keel nodded, slowly, knowing they'd been screwed somehow, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. Curtis was staring at Hall, face tight.

"He wants Myriam back, for tonight," Keel said, softly.

"I know. And you're the nursemaids."

"And General Mtanga told you that?" Curtis asked sharply. "So what the hell…"

"Because I talked to her father yesterday, as I said. I called him to explain that all we needed was this meeting with some of the elders, and then we'd go home. He admitted that he was sending someone to bring us."

Keel let out a short, irritated sigh. "And you still let us come out with all the journalist crap?"

"Why not?" For the first time, Hall allowed himself a grin. "I really didn't have time to go into explanations - too much was at stake. The important thing was that you were there to keep an eye on Myriam, which you seem to have done."

"Shit," Keel muttered, and Myriam Mtanga grinned wryly. She really was quite something, he decided, despite the thick coating of dust. Sheila Mtanga's delicate British features and Mtanga's own traits had mixed harmoniously in their daughter, leaving her with a skin like creamy coffee and long, wavy dark hair.

"I'm so sorry. My father is a little like a bulldozer sometimes. Fortunately, my mother keeps him in hand. I really wasn't happy about him calling upon - who was it?"

"CI5," Keel told her, still keeping an eye on Curtis. "Our boss was returning a favour. We're it."

And he'd tell Malone exactly what he thought of him for stringing them along the previous day when both he and the General he knew damn well Hall and his daughter had decided to play the game but hadn't seen fit to tell them.

"I see. Well, what happens now? I know I have to go to this bloody reception of his tonight. It's as important to him as this meeting was to us." She was still half-grinning.

"We go back to Mombasa and take Cinderella to the ball," Curtis said, finally breaking the silence. "And as soon as possible. That stampede wasn't necessarily an accident. "

"That had crossed my mind," Hall grimaced. "It probably didn't take much, either - just a little clever organisation. And goodbye half the elders of the Masai in this part of the region if they'd trampled the village. It isn't going to make them happy, all this."

"And once whoever started it realises it didn't work, they may try something else," Keel agreed. "How soon can you be ready? We should move out soon."

"Let me go and tell them we're leaving," Hall said. "I also need to explain a few things about your presence, and I'd advise you to leave me to it."

"What about the village? If they try something else?" Curtis said, quietly.

"They'll look after themselves. It isn't our job to interfere," Myriam said, quietly. "We're only observers anyway. It's hard, sometimes, but that's the way it is. So give us half an hour or so, then we'll be back."

"And the camp?" Keel asked.

"Oh, I'll be back," Hall said. "In the meantime, the others will look after it. And drink all of the Tusker while I'm gone, no doubt. I don't think anyone's interested in my staff - just Myriam and I."

"And you know who's behind this?" Curtis queried.

Hall nodded.

"I have a very good idea. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, however. That is between General Mtanga and your Mr. Malone."

Keel bet it was. If the two of them - Mtanga and Malone - decided to see who was the most devious, he wondered who would come out on top.

*

Keel was pleased to see that Curtis was less shaky on his legs again by the time they reached the tent, and equally pleased that his own limp had almost disappeared. They'd been lucky.

"I'm gonna kill Malone," he growled, fishing in his holdall for the phone.

"Small pleasures should be shared," Curtis snapped. "So let's start by waking him up at what must be about four in the morning over there."

Keel grinned.

Malone, it seemed, had slept at HQ, which in itself surprised the two men. And he showed no signs of drowsiness.

"Indeed I knew Miss Mtanga was now ready to leave," he informed them, icily, once Keel had brought him up to date with barely-controlled civility. "But the general persuaded me to continue with our strategy - his daughter and Mr. Hall were not to be disturbed yesterday, whatever happened. They would have told you this morning that they would come with you. Your role there was to protect her, keeping a low profile, which apparently you did."

"Against a couple of thousand wildebeest?" Keel said, tightly. "Was that part of the general's strategy as well? Or was it just some sort of sick joke, letting us to go on playing the innocent journalists?"

"Don't be cheeky, Mr. Keel. Word travels fast in Africa, and both the camp staff and the village would probably not have been happy if they had known who you were any earlier than was necessary."

"Well they sure know now," Keel said, bitterly. "Unless they think all journalists run around firing pistols."

"Quite, Mr. Keel. But that could not be helped. The important thing is that you were able to avert a disaster, whether caused intentionally or not. We can only hope that the gratitude of the people concerned will compensate for their aversion to outside meddling."

"Meddling?" Keel started, but Malone cut him off.

"And now, I suggest you get hold of your pilot and get out of there. Oh, and one more thing. You will be attending the general's reception tonight."

"Sir…"

"That's an order, Mr. Keel. Your assignment will be completed by tomorrow morning, all being well, and then you are free to leave for your uncompleted business in the States."

"All being well?" Keel frowned, not missing that last comment. "You mean we're hired help at the reception as well?"

"Not at all, Mr. Keel. You will be the guests of the general and his wife."

Malone broke the connection.

Keel rolled his eyes, glancing over at Curtis.

"You heard that?"

"I heard it."

"The devious old bastard."

"Playing games with another devious old sod," Curtis said, brows drawn down.

"And how what the hell are we supposed to do at the party?" Keel looked down at the dust-streaked sweats they were both wearing. "Turn up in a tux?"

"Improvise," Curtis frowned, reaching for his bag. "C'mon, Chris. Let's get moving."

Keel shook his head, watching Curtis start reaching for the neat piles of his stuff and packing them with his usual swift efficiency.

Grabbing his own bits and pieces strewn haphazardly around the small tent, he watched the dark head moving methodically, realising that Curtis was back in control again.

The conversation outside the tent, so brutally interrupted, had told him precious little. Even so, he'd learned a few more things about this partner from both that and the last couple of days.

Curtis liked kids, for one thing. There was definitely something in his past that had affected him, and badly, for another. And, of course, he kept his head in a crisis - his lightning reactions had saved half a dozen kids and almost certainly Myriam Mtanga as well. His reaction to the child who had lost his life in it all, too, reinforced another certainty - Curtis cared about many things more than he would ever willingly show.

Some time, before this job was over, he needed to get Curtis to talk a little more - to break down a few more barriers between them. There were few others, Keel knew, who he'd ever trust like he trusted Curtis, and he wasn't going to see his partner destroyed by some unknown fear.

He owed Curtis - not just for his life on several occasions - but for the steady, genuine friendship that had developed over the relatively short time since they'd been partners. Malone had been right when he'd said something, before he'd paired them, about Curtis' reliability and fierce commitment. He hadn't really expected those qualities to include an almost big-brother attitude towards an impetuous ex-SEAL like himself, though, even before Curtis had realised just how few people who had ever genuinely cared for Keel were still alive.

Curtis grunted, straightening up, and Keel looked over.

"That bruise is gonna hurt, Sam."

"What d'you mean "gonna". It already does. But Chris…" the green eyes were calmer, now, and filled with gratitude more than shock. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Keel grinned back. "At least wildebeest don't shoot back. And it's your turn next."

"Yeah. It would be."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Hang in there."

Curtis nodded, abruptly, zipping the holdall.

"I always do."

He did, Keel decided. But at the next opportunity, Sam Curtis was ready to talk about whatever was on his mind. He was sure of that.

*

Harry Malone sighed, and rubbed a hand over the stubble. Time to shave and rally the troops, even if it wasn't yet five in the morning.

He didn't like deceiving the two agents like this, but sometimes the situation called for it.

The file on the gangs of terrorists and racketeers in equatorial Africa was still on his desk, along with the one containing details of the job in Tanzania, carried out by Curtis and his former partner. He opened the second one again, reading the terse report from Curtis that had been written once he'd recovered enough to write it. He shook his head as if to clear it, and then flipped open the other folder and took out the blurred photographs.

Mtanga had damned well better be right about all this. The old terrier would get his daughter back safe, of that he had little doubt. But what would the next part of the plan do to Curtis?

If the General was right about one of the guests at this reception of his, Malone would be obliged to take further action. And before then, despite his misgivings, he would have let Keel go over to the States for the sentence.

Harry Malone didn't go back on promises, but he didn't like this at all. The American legal authorities had refused to delay Baldoni's sentence just in order to humour him, although he'd tried. So once again, Curtis would be on his own.

"Miss Backus?" He flipped the intercom over to the rest room. It didn't take his assistant long to respond. She probably hadn't been sleeping either, ever since he'd told her what was to take place the following evening.

"Sir?"

"Make some reservations for Mombasa. You, Spencer and myself, to arrive by tomorrow morning. Wake Spencer up and get him here, fast. Brief the agents in Nairobi to get down there and meet us - send them the complete file on the Tanzania case and give a copy to Spencer. Full briefing for you both at eight-thirty, with the Nairobi office on screen. It's beginning to look very much as though Mtanga's suspicions were correct about both his daughter's safety and about who is behind all this. If Mr. Curtis makes a positive identification, we must be prepared. We should have confirmation from Mr. Keel before the flight leaves."

"Yes, sir. " She sounded relieved at the idea of getting out there, but then that was predictable, too. "You've heard from Curtis and Keel, then?"

"They're bringing Miss Mtanga out now. Having successfully diverted a stampede of wildebeest."

"They did what?"

"You heard me. Find somebody to make coffee. Plenty of it. We have a great deal of work to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Miss Backus?"

"Sir?"

"If it helps, I don't like this any more than you do. But we don't have any choice."

"No, sir." She didn't sound convinced.

Malone leaned back, sighing. He didn't like deceiving either Curtis or Keel, but even if he'd let Keel into the rest of the plans for the assignment earlier he wasn't sure the American could have kept them from his partner. Keel's bond with Curtis was strong enough to make the man throw the rules - especially the first one - to the winds and warn him. And only Curtis could identify a woman who Mtanga strongly suspected of being part of the gang that had wreaked such havoc in Tanzania.

Tina Backus hadn't known about that part of it, either, and when he'd told her the previous evening he'd seen the anger on her face, quickly replaced by concern and finished off with something that looked like resignation.

If Curtis had been aware, in advance, that he might well encounter the object of his nightmares again, they both knew he was capable of doing something foolish, particularly if they were in easy reach and without Keel to hold him back.

Malone still remembered the shaking, bloodied, barely-conscious figure he'd pulled out of that filthy house in Tanzania and the gruesome discoveries the rescue party had found there.

Everyone had their limits, and Malone knew that for a fact. He'd told Curtis so, too, in an effort to calm the pain and sheer horror in those grey-green eyes as the helicopter - Mtanga's helicopter - had carried them out of there.

He'd repeated it to the younger man as gently but insistently as he knew how, both on the evacuation flight and even in the hospital. Curtis, however, had probably never believed him and had been trying to prove he could go beyond those limits ever since.

What drove Curtis these days was a mixture of guilt, determination and that endless desire of his to do a job well. Malone wished he could get rid of the first of that list, but wondered if that was possible.

Mtanga had better be right, Malone decided. The African had sworn that he'd make sure that Curtis would see the woman without her being aware of it. If he was wrong, and if the terrorists identified Curtis and realised CI5 were on their track once again, there could be even more bloodshed than he feared.

Next, he needed a word with Keel in private, and that would have to be soon. He wasn't looking forward to that one little bit.

*

Curtis finally relaxed on the small plane, once the short journey back to the airstrip was over and once both Keel and the pilot had gone through every possible check on the aircraft. Keel, he knew, wasn't going to fly unless everything worked and worked properly. The experience a couple of months back had left its mark.

The pilot, fortunately, seemed to be another of Mtanga's silent army, and was quite happy to oblige. He passed Keel a pair of headphones as they powered up the small four-seater, and watched Ben disappear into the now familiar plume of dust.

The flight went smoothly, and both Myriam Mtanga and Hall were asleep soon after they were in the air.

Just as he was drifting off, too, the exhaustion anaesthetising all the rest as it so often did, Curtis saw his partner on the radio for quite some time, and saw Keel's eyebrows raise and then clamp down in obvious anger. The noise prevented him from hearing much more, but he touched his partner's shoulder.

"Anything wrong?"

Keel shook his head. "Just Malone patching through to say somebody'll meet us at the airport. And some stuff about my flights to the States."

Curtis nodded, then allowed himself to slide into oblivion.

Keel still looked pissed off when the limousine glided alongside the plane at Mombasa's Moi airport, however, and Curtis watched him swing the holdalls out of the tiny hold with abrupt, angry gestures.

"So what bit you?"

"Nothing. They're gonna drop us off at the same hotel as before. Apparently tonight is casual - no tux."

Curtis nodded, thinking that the obvious irritation was not just a case of a missed opportunity for finery - not that the American enjoyed wearing suits in any case. Those, apparently, were for anal retentive people like himself. So what was biting Keel?

Probably the ever-approaching trip to the States, he decided as the car glided through Mombasa, dodging the usual flow of traffic and pedestrians. Then he had an idea, but this wasn't the moment to bring the matter up.

He had plenty of leave due to him, and Keel needed somebody at his side in the States. Malone probably wouldn't like it, but he'd probably amassed enough leave to stay there for weeks if necessary - and if Keel needed him.

Satisfied with his decision, he leaned back into the buttery leather seat and watched the constant movement outside. He'd be out of this damned country by morning, with Chris.

Shaking hands with Hall and Myriam Mtanga outside the family home, the woman leaned forward impulsively and kissed Curtis on the cheek. Keel's eyes widened.

"Thank you, Mr. Curtis. For everything. You too, Mr. Keel."

Curtis, to his own satisfaction, didn't flinch at the gesture, and as they approached the hotel stretched and grinned.

"So. What time's the big rendezvous?" he asked Keel.

"Six." Keel told him, shortly. "Car's arriving at 5.45.

*

Keel didn't even hit the shower before he punched in the number, but he went in there to keep the noise level down. Somehow, he knew he was going to shout.

"What the fuck's going on, Malone? Suddenly it's a whole new ball game and I'm supposed to keep it secret from my partner?"

"Thank you for calling back, Mr. Keel." Malone cut him off icily. "And you should be aware by now that my operatives know what they need to know, and no more. The subterfuge of calling you on the plane was essential, as I explained at the time. Oh, and a little courtesy in your form of address would be appreciated."

"So what's it's all about… Sir?" Keel ground out. "You say Sam's needed to follow up on a job yet you can't tell him why, but you tell me? What am I supposed to do? I'm the one supposed to be leaving here, unless you'd forgotten."

"No, I had not, and you know that I do not go back on my word. What I did not tell you earlier was that there is more to this assignment than you were originally told."

Keel snorted in disgust.

"So was the whole setup with Mtanga's daughter just an excuse to get us here?"

"No, it was not. Although perhaps Miss Mtanga was a little less reluctant to come back than you were led to believe. All the same, your assistance to she and Mr. Hall both confirmed certain suspicious and served its purpose. They were collecting some vital information on the whole affair."

"But basically, you mean the whole damn thing was a lie to get Sam over here for some purpose I wasn't allowed to know?" Keel couldn't contain his anger. "And you have the balls to fill me in on it all now, rather than right from the start?"

"Mr. Keel…"

Keel couldn't stop himself.

"Malone, that's the most low-down, filthy…"

To hell with the sir.

"That's enough, Mr. Keel. I don't wish to have your personal comments on the matter, or do you wish to repeat the first rule to me?"

Keel was on the verge of telling him where he could stuff his first rule, but fortunately for his career Malone continued before he could carry the threat out.

"You are aware of Mr. Curtis' activities in Africa? On a previous assignment?"

"No. Yes. Well - he started to tell me something about it, but we got interrupted by a couple of thousand stampeding animals. And I don't think even you could have set that up as some sort of a diversion."

"Insolence will get you nowhere, Mr. Keel. What exactly did he tell you about Tanzania?"

"Very little so far," Keel admitted, liking this less and less the more he heard. "Listen, sir, we're talking about my partner here. So first rule or no first rule, I guess it's his business and mine if he wants to talk about it to me or not."

"Wrong. Mr. Curtis' personal feelings on the matter are one thing, I agree. The facts are another, and you are required to know them at this point in order to understand. To summarise briefly, he was required to act as a decoy for some people we needed to remove rapidly from Tanzania. Unfortunately, he was captured and injured while doing so. It was a…" Malone paused for a second, "… an unpleasant affair that could have impaired Mr. Curtis' performance on the long term."

"You mean the bastards tortured him?" Keel said, having been gradually coming to this conclusion himself. That would explain a lot of things.

"Yes, Mr. Keel, they did. It was a particularly… unsavoury affair, but suffice to say that Mr. Curtis was able to resist simply because he was not provided with the compromising information in the first place."

"But you think it fucked up his attitude, is that it? Is this some sort of weird way of seeing if he's still capable of functioning? Because I can assure you he is. He saved half a dozen kids and Myriam Mtanga yesterday."

"Your loyalty is appreciated, Mr. Keel, but I would remind you that you and Mr. Curtis have been apart for some weeks. I am aware that on the surface, Mr. Curtis has been working with his usual degree of skill. Recently, however, I have had reason to doubt that he has completely recovered from his ordeal. However, your present assignment should throw some light on that as well as - I hope - wrap up an extremely messy business over there."

"You mean you're throwing him in to see if he survives it," Keel summarised that little diatribe bitterly.

"No, your presence there is not some sort of warped experiment, Mr. Keel. As I have just said, if you had been listening rather than shouting, your presence fulfils two purposes. Mr. Curtis' captors are among a group of highly volatile provocateurs in that part of Africa, but they have never been positively identified, nor photographed well enough even to enhance sufficiently, despite all our efforts. Two of these people, we believe, will be present this evening at the General's reception."

"So why bring Curtis all the way here? Why can't you just take some better photographs and then send a team in?"

"Because, Mr. Keel, identifying whether Mr. Curtis has indeed recovered from his experiences was one aspect of the matter, and one which is of importance for his future within CI5. Identifying the woman we suspect was among his captors is another. In addition, and as I'm sure you agree, to see a person is far better than any other form of photographic identification."

"Don't tell me all blacks look alike. That's just too easy. Sir."

"That's enough, Mr. Keel. These people are highly visible on a social and economical level within Kenya at the moment. We simply cannot afford make a mistake, and move in on them without justification could create an international incident. This assignment has been under discussion with the General and myself for some little time, but came to a head only recently."

"Shit," Keel ran his hand through the spiky, dust-filled hair. "And you really expect Sam to walk in and mingle with the guests? They'll recognise him, for Christ's sake."

"General Mtanga has taken care of that, apparently, and you can believe it - the General can be trusted. What I need you to do is to take care of Mr. Curtis. And by that, I mean make sure that his reactions are not… exaggerated. Miss Backus, Mr. Spencer and myself will be arriving in Mombasa tomorrow morning if the identification is positive, which appears all the more likely after your experiences at the camp. You will inform me the moment it is. And I mean immediately, since we will have a plane to catch. Do I make myself clear?"

Keel didn't answer that one for a second.

"Mr. Keel, I'm waiting."

Let him wait. Keel took a long, steadying breath.

"And you think his reactions might be exaggerated, I guess."

"Yes, that is a possibility."

"So I'm supposed to hold him back when he discovers that you and the General set this up behind his back, with me playing along for the final act. He's gonna love it."

"You will be following orders, Mr. Keel. And your emotional involvement with Mr. Curtis should not preclude that."

Keel wasn't going to bother denying the emotional part.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Malone. For Christ's sake, this partnership works. You've seen that for yourself."

"That, Mr. Keel, is for me to decide. Now, Miss Backus has made reservations for your flight out of Mombasa tomorrow lunchtime, with a stopover in London to pick up some luggage before continuing to San Francisco."

"And Sam? You expect him to continue playing along with you all if you decide to move in on these goons?"

"That depends. Most likely, unless…"

"… his reactions are exaggerated," Keel snapped. "Meaning that it could finally break the poor bastard when he's already…"

Malone didn't speak for a moment, and the enormity of what he'd just unwittingly admitted to the CI5 controller hit Keel in the guts.

"I did wonder if you'd noticed that Mr. Curtis was behaving a little strangely," Malone said, calmly. "And I also had the feeling you would not have told me if I had asked you point blank. I presume you have been trying to get to the bottom of it yourself. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir." There wasn't much point in lying.

"Under the circumstances, it's understandable. But get one thing clear, Mr. Keel. My intention is to get this affair settled and Mr. Curtis back on the right track, not to destroy him."

Keel realised his fist was clenched, and just how much he'd like to sink it into Malone's face.

"Mr. Keel?"

"I heard you, sir."

"Good. For your information - and I am speaking personally here - I would be delighted for Mr. Curtis to cope with all this and return to his normal self. It was an extremely difficult time for him." Malone's voice, just for a moment or two, had lost its ice.

Keel raised his eyebrows at that, glad Malone couldn't see him. Did the man actually sound like he cared there?

"I'm still not happy about it, sir..."

"I've heard a great deal about people being happy or unhappy lately, and I shall tell you what I have told my operatives before and what I shall no doubt tell them again. I do not require you to be happy in your jobs, just to be efficient."

Malone's personal sincerity interlude was definitely over, if the biting emphasis on the word 'happy' was anything to go by.

"So you will accompany Mr. Curtis to this reception, observe his behaviour, and report to me immediately, whether the identification is positive or not. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Keel replied, barely audibly.

"What would make me happy, Mr. Keel - if we're going to use the word - is to complete the assignment and break up some highly unpleasant dealings in that part of Africa. And I shall take the necessary measures, whatever they are, to ensure we succeed."

I bet you would, Malone. Even if those measures destroy my partner. And even if, for a second or two, it sounded as though you cared about that.

Malone broke the connection, leaving Keel staring at his phone.

*

Curtis dragged himself to the shower, feeling the layers of dust start to peel away under the hot water. The hoof mark on his side hurt, was now throbbing steadily and making even the movement of washing painful.

It was nothing, he chided himself. Could have been so much worse. If he remembered, he'd packed some painkillers and some sort of cream for bruising.

He would heal, he decided. He would heal both in mind and body now. The wildebeest hadn't done the damage they could have, although images of the tiny body refused to be completely banished.

Even so, the worst was over. They'd got out of it alive, brought Myriam Mtanga back where she belonged, and once this stupid, unnecessary gesture of attending the reception was over he would be free.

He'd thought of bringing up the subject of going to the States with Keel as they'd approached the bungalow, but Keel was obviously raring for a shower and still looked angry. Well, he'd get around to that topic soon enough, just as he'd get around to talking a bit more about the Tanzanian job at some point.

Yes, he was definitely on the mend as far as that was concerned. Keel was a good listener, and even the short conversation outside the tent had confirmed to him, once again, that his partner was more than a friend he could trust. Chris Keel would never abandon him.

That had been his only fear when Malone decided to pair him off again - to get close to somebody and to be wrong again, as he had before.

The friendship with Keel was different, somehow. It had grown fairly rapidly, both of them sizing each other up and taking strict turns in going in first when danger threatened. Gradually, Curtis had trusted him completely, glad to have somebody watching his back. So much so that when Keel had been away with the broken leg, his absence had whittled away some of the assurance he'd been so proud of when working alone in the past. But in the past, he'd never had that constant, gnawing horror lurking in the back of his mind, ready to pounce.

He'd liked working alone, once, both in MI6, and with CI5 before being partnered with Taylor. During the few short weeks after leaving the hospital, he'd sworn that when he did get back in the field, he'd never accept a partner again. Then Malone had called him in and made the announcement.

He'd known some American had been drafted in from the small CI5 unit in the States, but never dreamed that Malone would suddenly take it into his head to team the two of them. Hadn't he made it quite clear to Malone that he didn't WANT another partner? Not now. Not ever.

Malone, however, had spoken quietly and reasonably, and Curtis had looked into grey eyes that he had seen both hard and remarkably soft, and had agreed to try it, simply because it was the one condition Malone imposed on him for getting back to work at all.

He'd been determined not to like Keel at first, and had been surprised when his coldness didn't seem to bother the American in the least. In fact, Keel would just grin and ignore it. They worked together well, though - the ex-SEAL's competence was second to none, and more than made up for the impetuous streak that tended to land the man - and his partner, Curtis admitted to himself wryly - in trouble.

Together, jobs got done, and one day Curtis had suddenly realised that he was coming closer to enjoying life more than he'd ever thought would be possible again. Suddenly, the partnership had turned into a genuine bond that often surprised him, and he'd found himself wanting to return it, feeling clumsy and incapable of it, but even that didn't frighten the irrepressible character away.

When he'd seen Keel in the throes of a nightmare, he'd desperately wanted to help, knowing all about the horror of those. And then Keel - only 48 hours before - had let him in to his past, and Curtis had regretted his own reserve all the more.

An open book, he'd once called himself?

Christ, Curtis, but you can be such a liar. If Keel knew. Or rather if he knew all of it…

But he didn't. There were parts of that job that weren't for anyone to know except Malone and Backup. Because they'd been there.

Curtis rubbed himself dry, gingerly, and slid onto the bed.

He'd been a fool to let himself become so single-minded while Keel was out of action, but the nightmares had come back with such a force that the only way to thrust them away was to work until he dropped.

The psychologists would have had a field day with him if they'd got to him before Malone had sent him to Africa this time, he mused, and he was probably lucky they hadn't. While he'd been with Keel, the shrinks had more or less left him alone, and he'd been pretty sure they were all patting themselves on the back and reporting to Malone that he was definitely over it. He'd lied about the nightmares, of course.

When working with Keel, he'd actually found himself talked into a drink after work, even a party or two, and had felt alive again. He'd allowed himself some semblance of a social life and even managed a few dates. The nightmares had retreated to some extent, but not so much he'd dare let a woman stay with him all night… except for one small exception.

No, he wasn't going to dwell on that. He couldn't allow himself to. Better to finish sorting this out in his mind without adding more complications.

If only they'd caught the bastards behind it, he'd often thought, he might find some sort of a closure. Just like Keel wanted to see Baldoni go down. Until that day, however, he'd just have to keep going, relying on his own control to overcome the memories. With Keel beside him, it was easier.

Curtis glanced over at the air conditioning, willing it not to cut out. Most of the filth from the dust and the journey seemed to be gone, now, and the Tusker in the mini bar had, as Ben so neatly put it, washed the inside too.

Keel had wanted to sleep, he'd said, but judging from the raised voices through the wall as he'd headed for the shower, something was amiss. Knowing Malone, it would be something from CI5 about writing the report on this job before he left, and knowing Chris, he'd be finding a way out of it - like shoving it all off onto his partner as usual.

Curtis grinned, deciding that the whole matter would be resolved perfectly with a couple of hours on a laptop, probably on the flight over to the States.

*

Keel knocked on his partner's door, to see Curtis looking as cheerful as he'd seen him in a while.

"Come on in. My, I see the crumpled look is going to make its appearance on the Mombasa social scene."

Keel spared a glance at his last clean shirt, and nodded absently.

"You ready?"

"Yeah. What time's the flight tomorrow, Chris? I was wondering if we would take in a couple of hours in Captain Abdullah's catamaran…"

Keel felt sick, and managed to mutter something about checking-out times and still needing confirmation. Curtis gave him a strange look for that.

"Chris, you all right? Ankle bothering you?"

He shook his head. "It's fine. Probably less bother than that bruise. Is it painful? You take something for it?"

You bastard, Keel. Making small talk about a bruise when he's about to be hit with a sledgehammer.

Curtis nodded, picking up his jacket.

"Already did. Now, let's go and do our duty and then we're out of here."

Keel tried hard to keep his calm as they stepped into the limousine, but somehow knew he was failing, as Curtis kept throwing him quizzical looks. Fortunately, the driver's presence seemed to forestall any more questions, and they rode the ten minutes to the General's house in silence.

By the time they reached the drive, however, Keel could feel his fists clenching of their own accord. Worse, Curtis was staring at him openly, now, obviously wondering what was going on.

It was no good. He couldn't betray Sam like this. Just couldn't. When the car swept past the main entrance to stop around the back, he mentally took leave of CI5 and grabbed his partner's arm as they got out of the car.

"I see we get the back door," Curtis started, turning startled eyes on his partner. "Chris… what the…"

"Sam, listen to me. Carefully. Malone has something up his sleeve, and you're not gonna like it. I couldn't stop it… but I wish I could."

Curtis cocked his head, frowning slightly.

"Chris, what the hell are you on about…"

Keel waved away a tall figure approaching them, still speaking urgently.

"Trust me, Sam. I didn't want this. And I'll be with you."

Open-mouthed, Curtis started to ask questions, but the figure hadn't stopped despite his gesture. It was Ben.

Gone were the frayed khaki shorts, shirt, and the three-day beard. They had been replaced by a dress uniform with a large amount of braid on it. Gone was the laid-back attitude of a safari driver referring to "your Harry", too. Ben looked like a professional soldier from his cap to the impeccably polished shoes.

"Mr. Curtis, Mr. Keel. Thank you for coming."

"What's going on?" Curtis looked at him and back to Keel.

"The General asked me to meet you and take you upstairs. Mrs. Mtanga is waiting for you, and the General will be up as soon as he can."

"Upstairs?" Curtis seemed reluctant to even make a move, obviously confused about what was going on.

Keel took a deep breath, and mouthed the words once again. "Trust me."

Curtis would probably knock him unconscious rather than trust him, he decided, in just a few minutes time.

As they walked up a flight of stairs, the murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses met them. Keel swallowed down his emotions, seeing the shutters snap down over Curtis' face.

"What the hell is Malone up to?" he muttered, as they rounded the corner and entered a large, airy room with a balustrade over the brilliantly-lit reception room. Where they were standing, however, was in semi-darkness. A few lamps lit the edges of the room, and Sheila Mtanga walked forward out of the shadows.

Keel couldn't give Curtis the answer he wanted, as it was too late now. Unless - and the hope was tinier with every step he took - Mtanga had been wrong.

"Mr. Curtis, I'd like to ask you a favour on my husband's behalf."

The bastard had sent his wife to do the dirty work. Curtis wouldn't hit her… would he? What the hell would Curtis do?

Curtis, in fact, looked disconcerted by it all, and didn't seem to notice when Ben and two other uniformed, armed soldiers took up position almost shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Mr. Curtis… can I ask you to look over at our guests, and tell me if you recognise the lady in the green and gold and her partner."

This was it. Keel realised he was holding his breath as his partner stepped forward slightly, a strange expression on his face.

Curtis' face was in shadow, but Keel hardly dared watch.

Then, his partner stepped back towards the small group again, and nodded, speaking quietly.

"That's Elizabeth Sivua. And the man with her is her lover. I think his name is Johnny. Is that all you need?"

Keel stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes from Curtis' face. It was a mask, eyes without expression and lips in a thin line.

"Sam, I…"

"I said is that all you need?" Curtis repeated, ignoring his partner and looking Sheila Mtanga in the eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Curtis. Thank you."

"Then perhaps you'll excuse me. We're leaving."

Keel stepped towards his partner, but Curtis brushed him away.

"Can your driver take us back to the hotel, or are we expected to find our own way?"

"My driver will take you," Mtanga's voice, deep and measured, reached them as the General appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Curtis, I apologise for the subterfuge…"

Curtis looked at him, the same expressionless mask still in place.

"I'm sure Mr. Malone has what he wants now, General. If you don't mind, I'd like to leave."

The General nodded and motioned to Ben.

Walking rigidly, Curtis made for the stairs with Keel in tow. The American could see that the control was hanging by a thread, but it was still there.

Ben held the door open for them both, but Curtis didn't even look at him, turning to get into the car and ignoring Keel in the process.

Keel felt as though the five-minute drive took hours, and the weight of the telephone felt like a rock in his pocket. Curtis was still silent.

Outside the hotel, as the limousine disappeared, he finally spoke.

"You're supposed to tell Malone, I suppose."

"Yeah…"

"Well then do it."

Curtis stood, silent and rigid, as Keel pulled his phone out.

"Sam… I'm sorry."

Curtis didn't react for a second, then bolted forward, giving a muffled gasp as he fell to his knees, the bout of violent vomiting followed by spasms of dry retching.

Keel reached him, expecting to be waved away, but Curtis was still down, panting, a hand pressed to his bruised side.

"Easy, Sam…"

Curtis didn't bring his head up, but spoke between clenched teeth.

"Call the bastard. Tell him."

With one eye on the crouched figure, Keel thumbed in the number.

"4.5."

"Keel. Report."

"Identification affirmative, sir, 4.5 out."

"Keel…" Malone started, but Keel cut him off.

"No exaggeration from 3.7, sir, if that's what you wanted to know." Keel spat out the obligatory 'sir'. "He didn't let you down, despite your fucking games. Now leave us alone."

Keel ended the call, and dropped down beside his partner, getting a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Sam."

Two pairs of footsteps were walking past along the drive, and a haughty female voice stopped in mid-sentence.

"God, that's disgusting. I tell you, Richard, some people just come here to drink, and look where it gets them."

Curtis started to try and drag himself to his feet, and Keel slung an arm round him, realising his partner's fury at his own weakness.

"Somebody should tell the hotel. I mean that's just revolting…"

"He's not well, ma'am. Nothing to do with drinking." Keel bit back the fury, not wanting half the hotel to come out there and join in the fun.

"Heavens," the man's voice intervened. "Had a touch of that myself over here… you should get him to see a doctor."

"Sure. I'll take care of him, don't worry."

The woman was turning her head away in disgust.

"Make sure you do, young man. I still think…"

"Count on it," Keel said tightly, steering Curtis towards the bungalow, an arm under his elbow.

*

Keel got him to the chair in the room, and Curtis realised he hadn't the strength to argue. All he wanted to do was to sink into the deepest, darkest oblivion and stay there. Instead, he felt a tooth mug shoved into his hand.

"Drink it, Sam. Slowly. Take it easy…."

Curtis made to wave it away, but Keel wasn't to be put off that easily.

"Don't argue, buddy. Just sip it."

That seemed an impossible task, but the glass was close his lips and Keel's arm went around his shoulders. The fire of the whisky seemed to hit his abused stomach like a bullet, and he half thought it was going to reject it altogether, but he took another sip, aware that the room wasn't entirely in focus.

The General's house had faded away too, as he'd stood there in the darkened room, leaving only the voices. He'd known something was very wrong from Keel's strangled words outside, and from the tension radiating from his partner as they'd entered the room.

When he'd looked over to the crowd of guests, the whole room had narrowed into one tiny point of vision, to those two faces, and it was only Keel's voice behind him that had brought him back to the blurred, greyish hole where he was standing.

Control. He'd fought to keep control, or he'd have drawn his gun and shot them where they stood. If he'd got the chance, that is. Mtanga's uniformed goons would probably have shot him first. Some spark of self-preservation had forced him to get out of there before he tried. Now, though, that spark had fizzled out and died.

"Okay. Now relax." Keel's voice was gentle. "I'll get you some water."

Curtis closed his eyes, feeling Keel's arm slide away and suddenly feeling lost.

"Chris…"

"You can hit me later, when you feel up to it."

"Hit you?" His voice seemed to echo from some unknown place completely detached from his body.

"Yeah. For playing along with Malone's little game. I didn't like it, Sam, but I didn't have much choice."

Curtis nodded, realising his head was throbbing, and then thought better of any sort of movement at all. Opening his eyes, he saw the very real pain on Keel's face and sucked in a deep breath, wishing his voice would belong to him again, just for a second.

"Wouldn't… hit you for doing your job, Chris…"

Damn. The blue eyes were sliding out of focus, and the whole room was swirling like some sort of a blurred tunnel.

Control. It was all about control. He wasn't going to lose it now.

So why were there flies buzzing above his head, and why could he hear kids' voices laughing and see that statue… and the half-demolished walls? And where were those dry, racking sobs coming from?

Oh, Christ. They were coming from him. And Keel's eyes had vanished, replaced by a spinning, rushing wave of flies and then darkness.

*

He came round lying on the bed, eyes blinking open in fear, expecting to be back in that filthy room, hearing the mocking taunts and the laughter. Then, gradually, the familiar face came into focus. Keel had a hand on his pulse.

"I passed out?" he managed, thickly.

"Yeah."

"I never pass out."

"Sure you don't. Hey, don't try and sit up, Sam, for God's sake. You've had one hell of a shock. You were right out of it for a couple of minutes."

"I'm sorry…"

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm surprised you made it this far. That anal-retentive stuff must have something going for it after all. I'd have gone ballistic. Just lie back and take it easy."

The hand squeezed his shoulder, and Curtis saw the genuine concern there.

"You're gonna be okay now, Sam. And I'm probably gonna murder Malone."

Keel. Always compassionate, always there, Curtis realised. So that had been what all the anger and shouting had been about. He rubbed his hands over his face, and forced himself to sit upright.

"So this was all part of Malone's fun and games, eh?"

Better. His voice belonged to him again.

Keel nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't know until we were on the plane yesterday. Sam, I…"

"No worries." Curtis forced his breathing under control. "I know what Malone can be like. He told you… about Tanzania?"

"Not much, and only earlier this afternoon. He said you were captured and injured, and you could identify the people behind it. He's on his way here with Backup and Spence - they'll be here tomorrow morning."

"I bet he is," Curtis said, bitterly. "Oh, shit."

Time to get back in control, big time, Sam. If you can, this time.

"Sam, you don't have to work on this case. He can't make you."

Curtis shook his head, and then the memories slammed into him again. He had to fight this, had to. But the room was starting to spin ominously again.

"You want to talk about it?"

Somehow, his partner's voice and the physical contact of his hand steadied the sickening motion.

"I've heard that before, somewhere."

"Yeah," Keel grinned ruefully. "But as you once told me, it might help."

Curtis got a hold on his breathing again, and nodded silently. Slowly, reluctantly, he started to put all the horror into words.

He told Keel about the women, and how they'd beaten him. How he couldn't fight back because of the bullet in his leg and the fever and the weakness. About the kids they'd lined up and whose throats Elizabeth had cut, one by one. The flies that whirled and settled on the blood. About the man who'd come in and laughed, and lashed out with feet and hands, making him beg for mercy.

He even - nearly - told Keel about what had come next, but that was beyond him.

At one point, he realised that tears were coursing down his cheeks, and felt his body give in to it, not fighting it any more. Keel's hand was still there on his shoulder, a tenuous link with reality and strength and the world beyond that stinking compound.

"They thought I knew where the others had gone - the guys we were playing decoy for. But I didn't, Chris. Malone didn't tell me. They killed all those kids just to make me talk. And I didn't know."

"Sam…" There were tears in Keel's eyes too, suddenly. "Oh, buddy…"

"I didn't know. But I'd have told them if I did. Jesus, Chris, d'you understand that? I would have told them everything I knew, just to make it stop. I wouldn't have let them kill the kids. I begged them. They didn't listen. They just… kept on."

Keel grabbed his shoulder tighter.

"It's okay, Sam. You couldn't do anything else. You're not to blame."

"But I am," Curtis shuddered. "If I hadn't got caught…"

"Shit, Sam… things go wrong."

"They shouldn't have gone wrong. I wasn't fast enough. Wasn't good enough."

"And you've been trying to make up for it ever since." Keel's voice was gentle.

Curtis stared at his partner, the truth of the simple statement sinking in.

"You know what I think, Sam?"

Curtis shook his head, dumbly.

"I think that's a load of crap. You're not superman. Besides, he's not such hot shit anyway. Can't see you wearing those cute tights, and specially not under tight red underpants."

Curtis stared at Keel, registering the weak attempt at a joke and grateful for it.

"Sam, listen to me. You can't go around carrying all this guilt, or it'll destroy you. You know when Teresa died?"

"Chris…"

"Listen to me, Sam, okay? Just for a minute. I spent months feeling like I was responsible for it all. There were five people killed at the wedding, and another ten injured. Some of them will never recover. And I didn't even get a scratch. Nothing. I felt like I should have been dead as well. And I often wished I was."

"Chris… it's not…"

"Sure, it's not the same, I know. But the way I reacted was. I went around acting like a suicidal maniac - oh, not killing myself with my gun or by an overdose, although I thought about that for a while, but by going into the SEALS and volunteering for anything that might let me walk into a bullet. Then it started to hit me that being dead wasn't such a good idea."

Curtis looked at him, frowning. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. And it wasn't the psychologists who got me back on the right track, or my CO, or even the other guys in my squad. It wasn't angels coming through the roof, either, changing things overnight."

Curtis was listening intently now, watching the changing expressions on his partner's face.

"So how, Chris?"

"By realising that I wasn't Superman. Y'see a couple of things made me think. Like a job where we got hostages out, or other times where we played the good guys and people were grateful. I guess I realised, slowly, that there were people around who needed guys like us - like you and me, Sam. Yeah…" he countered Curtis' slight shake of the head with a wry grin. "I know it sounds pretty corny, but listen to me anyway. Malone's little spiel about making the place smell of roses isn't such empty bullshit all the time. Look at the kids you saved this afternoon - they'll be imagining you in the Masai equivalent of a red cape and blue tights for the rest of their days."

From somewhere, Curtis managed a faint chuckle.

Keel reached over to the mini bar, and pulled out another miniature of whisky. Finding a second tooth mug, he poured, not taking his eyes off his partner for long.

"I don't have solutions for you, Sam. And I'm not saying that I can go and watch weddings without getting screwed up… but I'm not trying to destroy myself over it any more."

Curtis swallowed, watching the warmth in the blue eyes.

"I really fucked up, Chris…"

"And you think nobody else ever did? And that standing in the way of a bullet… or a wildebeest, is going to make it better?" Keel was smiling at him. "Because it's not, Sam. Believe me. What's important is to look at other stuff. Like what you do right. Like what you did right today."

Curtis drank, slowly. This time, it stayed down without a fight.

"I'm sorry, Chris."

"Sorry for what?"

Another chuckle dredged itself up from somewhere.

"Should have gone for the tight red Speedos after all, the other day. And some blue tights."

*

Keel swore as his telephone shrilled, grabbing it from under the pillow and reaching the bathroom in two swift strides. Glancing over through the open door connecting his part of the bungalow to Curtis', he realised his partner was still dead to the world.

"Chris?"

"Backup. Don't tell me. Malone wants chew me out for insolence. Or fire me."

"Malone doesn't want to tell you anything. I wanted to see if Sam was okay."

"Don't tell me he got you do that. Or that he gives a shit."

"Chris, shut up and listen. Malone does not know I'm calling. He and Spence do not, I repeat do not follow me into the ladies' toilets in Nairobi airport. And Malone would probably kill me if he knew I was talking to you."

"Okay," Keel relaxed a little. "What's going on?"

"We're between flights, that's what. So are you alone?"

"Sam does not, I repeat not follow me into the bathroom. He's sleeping and yes, he's okay. More or less, anyway."

She let out an abrupt sigh.

"Chris… he told you about it?"

"About Tanzania? Sure he did. Like Malone seems to have told you." Keel couldn't conceal the irritation in his voice.

"I didn't need telling, Chris. I was there. I was in the helicopter with Malone when they picked him up. But believe me, I didn't know until yesterday that Malone was planning to confront him with those people last night."

Keel didn't answer for a second, then chided himself for mentally throwing Backus into the same category as Malone.

"Chris, did you hear me?"

"I heard you, Tina, and I'm sorry. I didn't know… about Tanzania."

"Nobody did except Malone and myself and a couple of others. It was awful, Chris."

Keel suddenly realised Backus' voice was strangled.

"You okay?" he said, gently. "It was bad, huh."

"Chris, it was… it was beyond anything you could imagine. The kids they murdered… and Sam was barely alive when we reached him. He told you about the kids?"

"Yeah. And the beatings. And the fact that he didn't have the information they wanted anyway. Bastards…"

"I couldn't believe they'd got away… the people who did it. We sent people after them, but they'd been warned. So they just left Sam there - probably thought he was dead. I thought we'd lose him all the way back to the army hospital. Malone kept him going somehow…"

"Malone did?" Keel couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

"Malone talked to him all the way, telling him to stay with us," she was fighting to keep her voice steady, now, and Keel felt the tightness hit his guts again. "Then at the hospital, he stayed the whole time - Sam panicked every time he saw one of the locals, so Malone never left him for three days and nights. And waited until Sam was stable enough for the Medevac and came with him."

Keel swallowed down the astonishment.

"So what happened to the first rule?" he asked, but not unkindly.

"Malone threw it to the winds while he was out there. Then he revived it, big time, when we got back." she managed a tearful chuckle. "Quoted it about ten times a day, but used to rush off to the hospital every night."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. And like I said, Chris, if you ever… ever tell Malone…"

"I'm not likely to, and thanks, Tina. I owe you. If I still have a job."

"Oh, you do. Malone hardly batted an eyelid when you told him to leave you alone. He wants Sam to get through this, Chris. You think he can?"

"I think so," Keel said, quietly. "He's tough. He'll get there."

"Yeah." She let out a long sigh. "And he trusts you, which is pretty amazing, after Taylor."

"Taylor?" Keel suddenly realised that in all the hours they'd talked, late into the night, Curtis had never mentioned his former partner, although he had been part of the nightmares.

"Jack Taylor. His partner. You mean he never said?" Backus sounded amazed.

"Said what?" Keel asked, puzzled.

"Taylor was with him. When Sam was shot, the gang was moving in, and he fell out of the jeep. Taylor didn't stop - in fact he ordered the driver to move on, at gunpoint. He and the driver made it, but the driver - one of Mtanga's men - told Malone what he'd done."

"Oh, Christ." Keel leaned against the cold tiling in the bathroom, feeling sick.

"Chris… are you still there?"

"Sure I'm still here. All ready to abandon him again," he said, bitterly.

"He won't see it like that. He knows about Teresa, doesn't he, Chris?"

"Yeah. I told him."

"Then he'll understand. It's good you told him. You know, Sam has feelings too."

"I know that," Keel snapped, then felt guilty. "Sorry, Tina."

"That's okay. Look, Chris… I have to go. I have to repair some damage in here and get back, or Malone'll start spitting nails. We'll be there in a couple of hours, and we'll talk then. I just wanted…"

"I know, Tina. And thanks. You go fix the warpaint, and I'll look my innocent self when Malone gets here."

"'kay. Bye, Chris."

Keel threw his head back in despair, then went back into the bedroom, staring at the figure in the next room. Curtis was sleeping deeply, peacefully - he'd listened for a long time once they'd finally wandered back to the bungalow, wondering if his partner's nightmares would come and knowing, now, why they did. Fortunately, after the whisky, and then the food, his partner had been drowsy and calm, grinning wryly at Keel's concern.

"I'll be fine, Chris," he'd said, some life back in the green eyes after the pain and despair that had been there earlier. "Believe me."

Keel had wanted to, but he'd still left the door open, and Curtis hadn't closed it.

But how the fuck was he supposed to pack his bags and leave? How could he abandon Sam Curtis, leaving him to go chasing after the bastards without a partner? Had Curtis left him after the plane crash? No, he'd damn well carried him halfway across Africa. Had Curtis got away, as he'd told him to, when he'd found himself sitting in a car rigged to explode, when they'd hardly known each other? No, he hadn't.

And Curtis trusted him. Trusted his instincts, and his capacities. Even, he remembered with affection, for dealing with Turks carrying three-foot machetes.

That trust, Keel decided, still watching the dark hair on the pillow, was not something Curtis had given easily, not after what had happened.

Teresa's face crept into his mind, as it so often did when he was alone and letting his thoughts drift. This time, though, they were not drifting at all but focused on one thing. Teresa was never coming back. Nothing could ever change that.

Not even going to the States.

Sam Curtis, however, was alive. And very, very alone.

And, Keel admitted to himself, sinking onto the bed, his decision had been taken seconds after Taylor's name had come up.

He wasn't going anywhere.

*

Curtis jerked awake at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, then looked up to see his partner's cheerful face.

"Time to greet our beloved leader, Sam."

Curtis rolled his eyes, and glanced at the clock with surprise, seeing it was nearly eight.

"He's here?"

"So Backup says. She just called."

"Mmmm. Heard the phone, vaguely." Curtis rolled over to the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Then ignored it."

"So I noticed. And you know what?" Keel was grinning, the eyes twinkling. "He's in the honeymoon suite."

"In the…"

"You heard. Backup and Spence are in the bungalow next door, freshening up, and we've gotta see Malone at nine. Meaning breakfast first. Go get prettied up, I'm starving."

Curtis sighed and headed for the bathroom, then turned back.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?" Keel was throwing open the balcony doors.

"Thanks. For last night."

Keel just shook his head.

"Cut the speeches, Sam. No sweat. Now just go shave or we'll have to face him on an empty stomach."

Curtis looked at himself in the mirror as he shaved, the mechanical gestures different, somehow. He felt lighter, more alive. Was it the thought of finally nailing Elizabeth, or simply the knowledge that he didn't need to keep it all inside him any more?

Or at least not all of it… He paused for a second, watching his own eyes narrow and then purposely thrust those memories away.

Then another thought struck him as the figure on the balcony came into sight in the mirror. Keel would be leaving in a few hours. The lightness faltered a little, but then he mentally shook himself.

He'd be back. After this job. Keel wasn't leaving him to die, like Taylor had done. Maybe they'd get it over with in time for him to follow his partner to the States anyway. The idea brought with it another burst of optimism, and he called out to Keel with a new-found degree of cheerfulness.

"Chris? Shouldn't you be packing, or your approximate equivalent thereof?"

Keel stuck his head back into the room.

"Not now, Sam. Breakfast first."

"You have a one-track mind," Curtis chuckled, remembering his partner's insistence that they eat the previous evening. He'd been certain that it would be impossible, but the grilled fish and South African wine had actually settled the lingering protests of his stomach.

"Sam, CI5 doesn't often come up with 5-star hotels. I like the food here."

"And me who thought you'd never progress beyond hamburgers," Curtis told him. "I might make something of you yet."

"You can try."

Seeing Keel attack a ghastly mixture of pancakes, bacon, syrup and fried eggs made him seriously doubt that there was any hope of that, but the American looked extremely pleased with himself.

"Y'know, Sam, that paw-paw looks great. I'll go get some."

Watching him head back to the buffet once more, Curtis smiled, seeing Backus and Spencer coming over.

"Hey, Sam," Backup grinned at him. "Great to see you. Where's Chris?"

"Just adding a few vitamins to his cholesterol feast. And where's Malone?"

"Room service," she grinned. "He's probably discovering the king-sized bed, twin washbasins and drawing room… Chris told you where he was?"

"Yeah. I wonder if they have mirrors on the ceiling?" Curtis mused. Spencer guffawed and a few heads turned.

"Would you guys cool it? Or d'you really want to blow our cover," Backup scolded.

"Which is?" Curtis queried.

"We're on our honeymoon," Spencer sighed. "Can't you tell?" He put an arm around Backus and she glared at him. Spencer ignored her.

"Come on, darling, don't make me jealous… chatting up the first guy you see in some strange, exotic place."

"Spence…"

"Just wishing we could have got the honeymoon suite," he said, airily, and Curtis found himself trying to suppress his own mirth, seeing Backus' despairing roll of the eyes.

"Let's face it, guys," Backus sighed. "Malone got more clout because he's one of the world's leading ornithologists. At least that's what it says on his latest passport."

This time, Curtis barely managed not to choke into his coffee. "Bird watching? Oh, for God's sake…"

Keel sauntered over, enough fruit to feed most of the hotel piled up on his plate.

"So what's funny? Hi, you two. The honeymooners slumming it with a couple of journalists?"

"Yeah, these holiday friendships… amazing who you run into," Curtis said, still trying to stop himself grinning.

"Get serious, Sam. Malone at nine, then we go to Mtanga's place - separately - afterwards." Backus was in efficiency mode again. Spencer grinned.

"Chris, Sam, I've got some assault gear and ammo for you in the bungalow. Brought yours, Sam. I should manage to find something for Chris."

"Gear for Chris? He's on his way out of here… off the case." Curtis stared at Spencer.

Glances flickered between Backus and her newly-appointed bridegroom, and Spencer groaned.

"Somebody might have told me Sam didn't know."

"I was waiting to see if Malone agreed, which it looks like he has. News for you, Sam. I'm just back on it again." Keel had the grace to look sheepish.

"That's ridiculous," Curtis snapped, seeing Spencer looking distinctly uneasy. "What the hell is going on now."

"I don't need to go over to the States yet, Sam. So I re-enlisted."

"The fuck you did."

"Sam…"

Curtis stared at his partner, half-aware of Backus shifting uneasily and Spencer trying to look as though he wasn't there.

"You get on that plane, Chris, or I'll…"

"Sam, shut up. You're spoiling my breakfast."

Curtis fell silent, gratitude and frustration and downright anger boiling up as Keel attacked a slice of melon with perfect nonchalance and obvious relish.

"Well," Spencer said. "Maybe we'd better go and see if Chris left anything on the buffet. And we don't want to be late for our appointment with the honeymoon suite, now do we. You coming, darling?"

Backup didn't even protest as they scuttled to the buffet, and Keel forestalled Curtis before he'd opened his mouth again.

"Sam, I warned you. Shut up. I asked Backup for the go-ahead when she called earlier. Didn't know whether she'd told Malone yet, or I'd have told you myself."

"You're crazy. Chris, you've been waiting all this time…"

"All this time what? It's just not important any more, Sam. I want to see those bastards put away. Not just for your sake, either, before you start getting ideas, but for a lot of other people as well. Now would you cut out the speeches like I said earlier, and pour me some more coffee?"

*

Malone opened the door to Curtis and Keel looking less than pleased.

"Gentlemen. You're late."

Keel grinned, looking around at the luxurious suite.

"You'd be late if you'd tried fighting the hordes at the buffet with the lesser mortals, sir… Hey, nice place. Seen any interesting birds yet?"

"Don't…"

"… be cheeky. Sorry, sir."

This man was impossible, Malone decided, and not for the first time. But he was grinning from ear to ear, and even Curtis looked remarkably relaxed.

"Mr. Curtis - a word with you for a moment. Mr. Keel, do you think you can let Miss Backup and Mr. Spencer in the event they manage to fight off the hordes before lunchtime?"

Curtis, he saw, was sucking in a deep breath as they went into the room Malone had turned into an office.

"Now, Mr. Curtis. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right, sir. Thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it." Malone nodded, meaning it, and still assessing the younger man. He certainly looked all right, and a great deal better than he had expected.

"I'd like to say I regret the subterfuge involved in last night's little scenario. I'm sure it can't have been easy."

Curtis' eyebrows rose at this apology, but Malone waved him to a seat.

"Sir… I…"

"You were faced with an extremely unpleasant situation, and appear to have dealt with it very well."

"Thank you, sir. Can I ask you a question?"

Malone nodded.

"Why is Keel staying on? I mean…"

"At his own request. Which I have accepted, although not without certain misgivings. Much as I applaud his loyalty to you, I wonder if I should remind you both of the first rule?"

"Hardly, sir. " Curtis half-grinned. "I think you've made your feelings on that fairly clear."

"And you'll ignore them anyway, like Keel seems to be doing. Let me just warn you of the risks you are both running."

"I don't need reminding, sir," Curtis nodded. "And I'm fully aware of the disadvantages. But I wouldn't have got through this without Keel's support."

"I can understand that, and accept it under the circumstances. But please make sure this rapport you have developed will not stop you from doing your job in future. And you are, in your opinion, capable of working?"

"I am, sir. "

Malone looked at the honesty in the man's eyes, and nodded.

"I'm glad to hear it. I don't want to lose you, particularly to bastards like those we're dealing with. And before we let that partner of yours back in, my congratulations, Sam."

"Congratulations?" Curtis registered amazement at both the gesture and the quiet use of his first name, but Malone allowed himself a smile.

"For overcoming what you did. Now, if you'd like to get to business?"

Curtis stood, heading for the door.

"Thank you, sir. Very much."

"You are welcome. But please remember I have a reputation as a heartless bastard to keep."

"Absolutely, sir". Curtis grinned.

Malone shook his head, glared at the pastel curtains for a moment, and then prepared to shrug on his own defences again.

Damn Curtis. Damn them all.

No, that wasn't fair. He didn't want to damn them, but to make sure they survived. And if the only way to do so was to insist on the first rule, he would continue to do so. With those two, though - and even Backus, he acknowledged silently - he was wasting his breath. He'd wanted a good team, so their loyalty to each other, he admitted, was nothing short of inevitable. The intensity of their friendship had surprised him, and particularly that between Curtis and Keel.

Secretly, he'd even envied them.

It would be so much easier to avoid emotional involvement - to work as a cold, efficient machine. But that in itself was hardly ideal either. Once agents lost that streak of humanity that allowed them to come to terms with some aspects of their work, they were downright dangerous to themselves. And despite all the rumours, he had never considered them expendable. In fact, he'd go to considerable lengths to keep them alive.

When he'd realised the satellite was down when Curtis and Keel had crashed their plane in South Africa, he would have pulled every possible string to get to them, but there had been no strings to pull. And when Curtis had called, it had taken him every vestige of self-control not to let out a most uncharacteristic war-whoop of sheer exhilaration.

With the years, he'd become an expert at hiding his feelings - making it almost a consummate art. It was all a question of control - a little like Curtis' own, he mused. But then he, Harry Malone, didn't have a partner to care about him. Or anyone else for that matter. It had been his choice, and he'd gone far. This was no time for regrets, nor for maudlin thoughts of loneliness. He had a job to do, and by God he'd do it.

Why do you do this, Harry Malone? For George Cowley and the faint smell of roses on a tiny, insignificant island?

No, he decided. Not just for a sceptred isle any longer, but to rid the world as a whole of a few people like Elizabeth Sivua, her sister and her lover. To make it safer for other people to go on living normal, human, meaningful lives. And even if he had to be a bastard to do so.

*

Keel frowned at the tight black sweater Spencer had lent him for the raid on Elizabeth Sivua's house.

"I'm gonna look like a cross between Mr. Muscle and an amateur playboy in this."

"Imagine if Backup had lent you one of hers. I already let you have a pair of trousers so you didn't have to look like an Italian gigolo by wearing Spence's - if you could even have fastened them in the first place."

Keel snorted, slipping extra clips into the pockets.

"So when's the lecture about not tearing them or getting them dirty?"

"No lecture. I just send you the bill."

Curtis checked his own pockets once again, pausing for a moment.

"I hope Mtanga's people are as good as he says."

"So do I. But I've worked with UN troops from some pretty weird places, and you'd be surprised."

"I don't like surprises."

"Cynic. C'mon, Sam. There are four of us, and they're just handling the perimeter."

"Yeah."

Curtis stood at the window for a while, watching.

"Sam, you OK with this? I mean really OK?"

"I'm fine, Chris. Just want it to be over. Get back to London, throw you on a plane to the States, and I'll be over to join you as soon as I've got the reports done."

"You'll what?" Keel's eyes widened.

"I said I'll join you. Might even make it on the same flight if I can get it all done on the laptop."

Keel needed a moment to take this in.

"So when did you come up with that idea?"

"Before you came up with your damn stupid idea of staying."

"Sam…" Keel's voice was warning, but not irritated.

"Yeah. So here I am, abandoning repression after your crash course in humanity, and you're still not damn well happy."

Keel studied the humour in the green eyes for a second or two.

"It's just the shock of coping with it all at once, Sam. Gimme a day or two, or just throw a little retentive stuff in there to help me find myself."

"Like whether the locals are going to shoot their own feet off?"

"That sort of thing, sure," Keel chuckled.

"Do my best."

"But as far as the States are concerned, thanks. And I appreciate it."

Keel grinned at his partner, tossing him a headset.

"Hey, Chris?" Curtis stowed it, frowning.

"A pearl of anal wisdom coming up again?"

"Actually, yeah. When we go in, we said two to the top of the house, two to the bottom."

"Which makes four, roughly. I can count. Is that a problem?"

"Not a problem. But I think we should split Backup and Spence."

"In case they shoot their feet off?"

"Chris, get serious for a minute. It's not that. I'm not questioning their skills, just that they're not as experienced. And Malone's cancelled the Nairobi team as they've got another job on their plate, or we'd be six…"

Keel nodded, seeing the logic in it, but choosing to tease Curtis a little more.

"I'll go for that. I suppose you want to take Backup, as well."

"Well, now you mention it…" Curtis grinned.

"You're just jealous of Spence playing the bridegroom."

"Definitely. Oozing from every pore. And wouldn't Malone just love it - a torrid love triangle between Backus, Spencer and I. I can see it now…" Curtis thrust out his chest. "Repeat the first rule, ladies and gentlemen."

Keel chuckled delightedly, deciding that Curtis had come a long way in a short time.

"Well? It's just a suggestion. And no, I don't have a thing about Backus. Backus is Malone's assistant, for Christ's sake. Its.. it would be… like -"

"Like?"

"Cut the crap, Chris. What do you think? About going in?

"Same as you. You ready?"

"Yeah." Curtis glanced at his watch and nodded. "Let's go."

Keel watched him, seeing that spark in his partner - the one that belied the outward reserve and that created the bond between them. Yes, Curtis was definitely ready for this.

They both liked action, or they wouldn't doing this job, he admitted - and this time Curtis was raring to go and hadn't even bothered hiding it for once.

The idea of grabbing the bastards was what he needed, and needed badly, Keel realised.

It was a shame, in a way, that they'd be going in separately. Their instinctive reactions to each other's movements was part of the reason they worked so well together, but Curtis had been right about the logistics of it all, as he usually was.

Heading for the unmarked cars the Kenyans had provided, he watched Curtis exchange a few details with Backus, and once again pondered for a moment about their obvious affection for each other. Sure, they liked each other - in fact she was almost part of their team and Keel liked her too. She was cute, and extraordinarily intelligent, but why did he suddenly have this feeling that with Sam, there was something more?

Probably, Keel decided, because she'd been with him after he'd been tortured and abandoned. Fleeting visions of what it must have been like crowded in, but Keel pushed them aside, deciding it was not the time or place to be thinking thoughts of that sort.

Personally, he mused, thinking of Backup's pert face and figure, he liked them blonde. Like Teresa.

That's enough, Chris. Time to go to work.

*

Tina Backus grinned across at Curtis as he hoisted her to the top of the wall.

"Watch it," she muttered into the headset.

"I was," Curtis murmured, and despite the brisk efficiency of their movements, she felt a tiny giggle bubble up inside.

The huge house was virtually in darkness. Only a few lights from within shone out weakly onto the manicured lawns of Mombasa's rich. The guards had been removed efficiently and quietly, and Mtanga's local force had moved rapidly to take up their positions. It was all going beautifully, she decided, wishing she saw more of this kind of work than she saw of CI5's computer system.

She felt, more than heard, Curtis join her, silently pointing to a top window. According to Mtanga's plans of the house, they were heading for an upstairs reception room, which fortunately was in darkness. From there, they could reach every one of the five other rooms.

"We're in, Chris," she confirmed into the mouthpiece as they slid inside. You ready?"

"I'm ready. See you in hell, guys."

She felt ridiculously pleased by the casual inclusion in the catch phrase so unique to the two, having heard it come floating into her usual world of screens and equipment over a headset many a time.

Inside, there was silence. Three of the five doors were open, and Curtis nodded to her, letting her go into the first one ahead. Appreciating the trust, she took two rapid steps, gun out, and scanned the room rapidly as Curtis followed, crouching. The light shining in from the lamps studding the garden proved the bedroom was empty.

From downstairs, there was also silence, and suddenly she felt the first niggles of doubt creep into her belly. Nobody? No reaction? No domestics around to start shrieking?

The second two rooms were empty, too, and by that time she could see Curtis frowning.

"Backup, Sam?"

She could hear Keel's bitterness even in the three short syllables and moved away from the doors to reply to them, keeping her voice to the barest murmur.

"Go ahead, Chris."

"Nobody around down here. Fucking place is empty. I thought they said these guys had staff?"

"Maybe they gave them the night off. Or they went home or something."

"That's not what Mtanga's people said. I don't like this."

"Me neither. But wait up. We have two more rooms to check. Stay ready to intervene up here."

"Copy that."

The first room was equally empty, although the bedding was rumpled.

This was ridiculous. Mtanga's people had confirmed they were in there. So where in the name of god were they? Two o'clock in the morning and nobody in bed? So they had to be in the last room. All of them?

Backus exchanged looks with Curtis, who acknowledged it was her turn once again. Turning the handle with infinite care, she jumped as a shot was fired.

"Chris? What's going on?" she snapped, hearing Curtis bark out the same question.

"Somebody shooting from outside… I'll handle it."

From outside? Rapidly, she went into the final room, seeing only more tangled sheets on a wide bed and nothing - nothing - anywhere else,

Curtis was already hurtling down the stairs, calling urgently into his headset.

"Spence? Chris? What's going on?"

"Sniper somewhere," Spencer gasped. "What the fuck are Mtanga's people doing… oh, shit…"

Was that sound somebody falling? Looking at Curtis' face, it sounded like he thought so too. But there was no more shooting. And no more voices on her headset.

"Chris?" Backus heard the sharpness in Curtis' tone. "Chris, come in. Spence. Where are you?"

Nothing.

Curtis was racing down the stairs, still calling them, as Backus saw the figure lying on the ground.

"Spence!" she ran forward, hoping Curtis was covering her, and saw him looking around, wildly, still calling his partner.

Spencer, she saw, was stirring, holding a hand to his head.

"Somebody jumped me from behind… Chris too… "

Curtis whirled round to them.

"Where is he, Spence. For Christ's sake WHERE IS HE."

"Somebody hit him… grabbed him. Before we could see where the shots were coming from."

"They shot him?" Backus snapped, realising Curtis was standing rooted to the spot.

"No… dunno. No, they didn't." She pulled the slim agent to his feet, seeing him reach for an already-swelling mark on his temple. "They jumped out, Tina. Two of them… I couldn't stop them. They dragged him off…"

She stooped to pick up Spencer's gun, and then saw Keel's lying there too. She realised, as if she needed telling, that Curtis was virtually mesmerised.

"Okay. We have to get out of here. D'you hear me, Sam? We have to move. Now. And we need you. C'mon, Sam. They could be shooting at us - Mtanga's people blew it."

Curtis nodded, and she caught a glimpse of his face as he straightened. It was a tight mask of emptiness.

"Which way, Spence? Which way did they go?" she snapped.

Spencer was unsteady on his legs, shaking his head, and she felt her stomach tighten in fear. Both men were hardly moving forward.

"Listen up, guys. We have to move. We have to get after Chris and whoever took him."

That got Curtis moving, eventually, and she hooked an arm around Spencer's waist.

"Where did the shot come from? Spence?"

"Outside… we went to look…"

"Diversion," she snapped, furiously, watching Curtis hurtle out into the grounds. Flicking the frequency over to Malone, she hurled out details as she ran after him.

The gardens were eerily quiet, and empty. Curtis covered the distance to the main entrance in a few swift strides and came to an abrupt halt, shoulders sagging.

Spencer was moving faster, now, and she reached Curtis within seconds, hearing Malone's own agitation and trying to take in what he was saying and see what was happening.

"…immediately, Miss Backus."

Somehow finding her wits enough to acknowledge his order, she swallowed down and spoke.

"Two guards are here with their throats cut, sir. I think… I think the others have been killed too."

"Get out of there, Miss Backus. And back to the General's residence. I'll make sure a team goes in to check."

"And Keel?" she breathed, knowing the answer before it came. "We can't find him…"

"If he's alive, he's probably been taken as well. Return here. That's an order. And enter the building discreetly."

She took a long breath to try and steady her increasing fears, and looked over at the two men. Spencer seemed to be more or less all right, now, and Curtis… Curtis was standing there rigidly, staring at the pool of blood.

"Spence, Sam, get a grip. We have to get to the General's place. They've kidnapped his daughter on her way back from an evening with friends."

Curtis didn't move.

"Sam, get the fuck in the car." She pushed him towards it, roughly, and he slid inside, panting as if with exertion.

Shit. This can't be happening.

Tina Backus drove fast, the concentration needed to follow the route preventing her from doing much more than cast the occasional rapid glance towards Curtis, beside her, and Spencer in the back.

"Okay, guys. Myriam Mtanga has been taken as well. We're going to the General's place to work on it with Malone. Spence, you okay?"

"Yeah. Nothing much. They were waiting for us in there. Hiding somewhere by the entrance…" Spencer was biting back with fury and frustration.

"Somebody's in this on the inside. Knew we were going in." Curtis' voice was, she realised with a flood of relief, as calm as ever. " I didn't hear a car go out of there, so my guess is they carried Chris somewhere. Killed the guards, and then just walked on out of there."

"They could just have jumped us all and killed us," Spencer said softly. "But they didn't. And that means…"

"…they need a hostage. Two hostages," Curtis said. "So for the time being, Chris is still alive."

Backus swung the car into the graceful drive, seeing two uniformed guards salute her and swallowed, thinking of the others lying back at the other house - so similar to this one, yet now surrounded by death.

*

"It was definitely a setup, sir", Curtis told Malone, forcing the control to hold. "Somebody knew damn well we were going in there, which should narrow it down."

Mtanga shook his head, the blue-blackness of his face looking grey now.

"My immediate staff knew. The guards knew. It's still too wide, Mr. Curtis. Any one of them could have talked to someone else, and they are no longer alive to tell the tale.

"That's somewhere to start, anyway," Curtis snapped, ignoring Malone's frown. "We need details of the squad you brought in to support us - their friends, relations… cross-check those with who could have known where your daughter would be."

"Indeed," Mtanga nodded. "But this may not get us very far."

"It's all we've got," Curtis said, icily. "I presume you're getting tracer equipment for telephone calls."

Mtanga nodded, slowly.

Ben, so silent most of the time, spoke. There was none of the "your Harry" in his voice now, just quiet authority.

"If one of our team is a traitor, General, Mr. Malone. I will find him, believe me."

Curtis believed him. Ben - if he had a second name at all, was both solid and the sort of guy he'd like to have around in a crisis. Like now.

Malone spoke, finally, after several moments where he had obviously been deep in thought.

"The question is why this abduction was necessary. David, I think you need to brief my team on the background. "

The General's eyes half-closed, and his wife turned to him.

"We'd better get Jonathan in."

Ben, of course, disappeared to fetch him.

Curtis looked over at the Mtangas again, wanting to feel sorry for them but failing. His mind was on Keel, and the utter frustration and pain he'd felt when he realised his partner had gone missing.

The tree of life statue he'd seen the first time they had been in the house almost leapt out of him, as his thoughts stubbornly returned to Elizabeth, her lover and her sister. And what they were going to do to Keel.

Get a grip, Backus had told him, and he had. It was taking every ounce of strength he had, not to mention pulling the barriers down so tight that he was almost shaking. But he didn't. This was no time to shake.

Jonathan Hall entered the room, with Ben, and he forced his attention to the young ethnologist and to Mtanga, knowing that every shred of information might help get his partner back before they turned their very special brand of attention to him.

Hall's head was bandaged, and he looked pale, but he was lucid enough.

He told them about the Masai and their land. About the coastal tribes and theirs. About the wealthy buyers, so ably represented by a certain Elizabeth Sivua. This was land that had been given to the people following Kenya's independence - to people barely able to understand what it meant to own the place where they eked out their existence.

Now, the vultures were moving in to buy it from them. Rich Italian developers had already made inroads into the Malindi area, Mtanga interrupted Hall for a second. They'd opened up vast, luxurious fishing and seaside resorts. Now they wanted more - new areas, rich in potential for their purposes, and didn't care how they got it.

"All this is about Italian buyers?" Spencer asked, incredulously. "Murdering people and kidnapping them?"

"Italian, yes. And more precisely the Mafia." Hall's voice was cold.

Backup was the first to react, frowning.

"The Mafia? In Kenya?"

"Indeed, Miss Backus," the General nodded. They already have a stronghold in Malindi, just up the coast. There are even streets named after Mafiosi. We were aware that they were trying to buy up more land, little by little. I, in turn, have done everything within my power to make sure that our laws prevent them from doing so, and that Kenyans retain control of their land. Sadly, it is a long, hard battle, since many of my fellow countrymen prefer large amounts of cash to voting with their integrity.

"But how can you stop it?" Curtis said, thinking hard and feeling sickened at the idea of it all. "And I presume it is you who could stop it, or they wouldn't have taken your daughter. To prevent you from stepping in."

"Exactly, Mr. Curtis," Hall nodded. "We have been working with the tribes, to inform them of what is going on. To stop them selling off their heritage. The Masai listened to me, as were some of the other tribes. They believe in General Mtanga, and his reforms. They believe in what we are trying to do for this country."

"So why not put a bullet through the General," Curtis snapped, once again ignoring Malone's stare.

"Be logical, Mr. Curtis." This time it was turn for Malone to be icy. "They don't want to turn him into a martyr."

Curtis nodded, chiding himself for his own stupidity.

"If I am right - and I believe I am - these people will want me to withdraw a motion I am putting to parliament on Monday."

Two days, Curtis thought. Two days before they killed Keel and Mtanga's daughter.

"You were called in," Mtanga continued, "to keep an eye on my daughter and to identify Elizabeth Sivua - who is the Italians' contact between the landowners and my people. She is a respected figure, with a great deal of money and influence, and it was only recently we became aware that she might also have been involved with a terrorist group in Tanzania. By proving exactly who she was, we could have removed her and her friends from the entire scene and bought a little time."

"In parallel to the parliamentary motion," Malone added. "Which is aimed at preventing foreign buyers gaining access to some of the more sensitive parts of the country. Areas which the Mafia would benefit greatly from controlling. Ports, border areas…"

"Politics," Curtis spat, despite himself, and Malone glared, so he turned up the control another notch.

"And the wildebeest? What was that all about?

"To frighten us. And to frighten or warn the Masai, who are resisting the Italian efforts to buy them out. Perhaps also to benefit from the confusion to kidnap Myriam there and then, but since you intervened, they failed."

"But if the motion is passed, General," Backus was biting her lip. "What then? You honestly think you can stop people bleeding the country?"

"We can slow it down. And we hoped to publicly condemn the Sivua woman for what she has done to sabotage our economy and our heritage. She is wanted for various atrocities, and that would expose her and her dealings."

Mtanga leaned back, suddenly looking exhausted.

"I have worked for years - many years - to give this country back a little of its pride. But now, I am ready to give it all up just to have my daughter back in one piece."

Malone was steepling his hands, obviously concentrating hard.

"But why," he said, softly, "did they take one of my people?"

"Maybe they don't know that we don't pay ransoms," Curtis said, softly. "Or maybe they think Keel is added insurance that Mtanga will step down and we won't try to intervene."

"But how?" Mtanga was frowning. "Somehow, Sivua knew she had been identified. That is a mystery to me, which is why I shall be cross-examining my staff. Ben, you must work on that immediately."

Ben, sitting unobtrusively by the window, nodded.

"And why specifically Chris?" Spencer spoke quietly. "Because I'm certain they targeted him, rather than the rest of us."

"I don't know," Curtis said. "I just don't know."

*

Tina Backus watched the minutes, then the hours, tick by, observing the Kenyans set up the call tracing equipment.

Mtanga, looking barely in control, called the big man they called Ben over, who disappeared, barking orders somewhere in the hall. Sheila Mtanga squeezed her husband's shoulder and disappeared, her eyes ringed and red.

Why didn't they call, for Christ's sake?

She spent a fair amount of time watching Curtis, too, but he sat as if carved from stone, watching Spencer's fingers fly over his keyboard, looking for information from CI5, from any of their sources of information. At one point, he flung off his headset with a furious sigh of frustration. They were getting nowhere. With Malone, they pored over the General's own files on the whole issue. It made frightening reading. Riots and murders took precedence, but nothing had ever been proved. Her money and influence, as Mtanga said bitterly, were excellent protection in a country where corruption was part of the order of things.

Curtis was holding out, she realised. Offering suggestions and obviously, somehow, finding the resources to think analytically in the single-minded hope that he would get Keel back alive. But what would happen if they found Keel with his throat cut, like those kids? What if they inflicted the same atrocities on him as they had on Curtis?

At one point, the dark head came up and the silver-green eyes met hers. She tried hard to project some of her own reserves into them, but they looked dead, somehow.

The hours passed, and with them endless cups of coffee. Hall and Mtanga provided more details, but it was getting them nowhere. The General made phone calls, woke people up, and every time threw the receiver down in contempt. Nobody knew where Sivua was, nobody had seen this coming, and nobody had any idea. And most of all, nobody knew who had warned them.

At one point, Sheila Mtanga returned and broke down in tears, and it was Spencer who moved over to her. Spencer the eternally gentle, reserved one, she grimaced to herself. The man was probably wallowing in guilt because Keel had been taken, but Curtis showed him no animosity whatsoever. Guilt, he could do, but blame, never. He'd never even dwelt on Taylor's betrayal to any great extent, or so he'd managed to convince the psychologists.

The telephone's ring at ten in the morning, after nearly eight hours of concentrated yet fruitless work, startled them all even though they had all been expecting it.

"Good evening, General."

The voice on the telephone's loudspeaker sounded tinny, but it was clear enough.

"I'm sure you know why I'm calling."

"What do you want, you bastard?" the General thundered, seeming to forget everything they'd told him about stalling for time.

"What we want is immaterial, for the moment. What you want is your daughter, I presume."

"Let me talk to her."

"Now, now, General. Not so fast. You'll be given that opportunity in time. What I wanted to tell you now was to forget about ransoms."

"Forget…"

"We don't want your money, General. Just your unequalled talents at public speaking. If you do what you ask, you may just see her again. Your CI5 friends don't pay ransoms, of course, but I'm sure they told you that. Since they are sure to be listening, tell them that their young friend is additional insurance. If CI5 interfere, there won't be much use in even hoping we might leave him alive. And his death won't be pleasant - as I'm sure he already knows."

Curtis, standing by the General's desk, tensed. Backup touched his elbow slightly, trying to meet his eyes, but he was staring out of the window.

Don't crack up now, Sam.

"Now, gentlemen, at seven this evening we shall call you again. You may talk to your daughter then. And we shall give you more instructions."

The phone clicked off, and Spencer, standing beside the Kenyan operating the equipment, was slowly shaking his head.

"Not long enough."

"Did you recognise the voice?" Malone asked, but Mtanga shook his head.

"I have no idea who it was. None at all."

Malone pursed his lips, then looked across at his three agents.

"Go and get some rest, you two. We all need it. General, I shall stay here with Mr. Spencer. Miss Backus, Mr. Curtis, go back to the hotel for a few hours."

"I'll stay, sir," Curtis said.

"Mr. Curtis, did I not make myself clear? You will only be a few minutes away from here, and I need you in the best possible condition."

Tina Backus wasn't happy, knowing Spencer was in no better shape than they were.

"I'll stay here, sir. Maybe I can help."

"Miss Backus, that is an order. For both of you."

She nodded, reluctantly, then caught Malone's eye as he made a tiny gesture in the direction of the dark, bowed head.

Somebody had to look after Curtis, and maybe she was a better choice for that. Curtis had opened up to her during the time immediately following the Tanzanian job, and more than he had done to anyone else since - or at least until he'd confided in Keel. Knowing Malone, the old bastard had figured out the role she'd played a few months back - he seemed to know everything else.

Somehow, Curtis had dragged himself to the surface to get through the last few hours, but right now he looked as though he was drowning again. She knew that look - the one that said, "you can't reach me." But she also knew how to look a little deeper.

*

Chris Keel was sick of the bouncing, jarring ride in the back of an elderly van. The stench was revolting, and he decided it must have been used to carry pigs or something.

Pigs… he remembered the conversation with Curtis a few months back and sighed. What was he now? Neither a pig or a cop or a legalised thug, but a well-trussed prisoner whose partner would be going ballistic.

They hadn't hurt him much, so he supposed he should be grateful for that, at least. Neither had they said very much. They'd covered his mouth with duct tape within a split second, handcuffed him and bound his feet, and carried him for what had seemed like miles before tossing him into the van.

He'd vaguely been aware of a guard, slumped by the perimeter to the house, and the pool of blood around his head. They'd cut his throat.

Sam had said they'd cut the kids' throats…

Oh, God… what had they done to Sam? And Backus? And Spence?

Bile rose up in his throat, and he turned his head to one side, a tiny part of him glad they'd removed the tape. Suffocating in his own vomit wouldn't have been an ideal way to end it all.

Rationalise, Keel.

Cutting throats wasn't exclusive to the people who'd beaten Sam. And he'd seen it before. He'd even done it before. And Sam had been upstairs with Backus when it had happened. So he was all right. Had to be.

And Spence? Quiet, unassuming, gentle Spence?

Why hadn't they taken him?

Because they'd wanted Keel, obviously. But why?

Spencer had been on the floor when they'd last seen him - but there had been no guns.

But why? Keel couldn't answer that one. But there was one thing he did know.

Sam would find him, if it was humanly possible. But until then he was on his own. In the hands of people who did a lot more besides shedding blood. So he was in deep shit and had to get out of it, fast. Sam or no Sam. Or had they attacked the others as they tried to get out of the house? All three of them?

No. Please, no.

He wasn't going to think about that.

He swallowed down the moment of panic, and looked at the girl again. She was stirring.

"Miss Mtanga? Myriam?"

They'd thrown her into the van some little time after the journey had started, and he was fairly sure it had been somewhere in the city. He'd heard the blaring of car horns, bursts of music and cursing outside, but the windows were painted over.

She didn't look hurt, at least, but they'd knocked her out.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

She stared at him for a few minutes, trying to focus on him, then grimaced.

"Oh, shit…"

"Smells like it, huh? Can you sit up? I'd like to help you but…" he motioned to the handcuffs.

Slowly, she got herself upright.

"The bastards ambushed our car. How the hell did they know how and where … oh, Christ, and Jon…"

"Hall?"

"We were together…then they did the old trick. One car in front, another behind. Jon was armed, but they sprayed something…" She shook her head, grimacing and Keel felt for her. Within a few seconds, though, she was looking into his eyes again, and he saw the determination there.

"What are you doing here?"

"We went for Elizabeth Sivua. Somebody was expecting us."

She tipped her head back in despair.

"This bloody country. I tell you, it makes the cold war look like a children's party, sometimes. Everybody's informing on somebody else - when they're not shooting at each other."

"It's your country, though," Keel said, then regretted it.

"Mr. Keel, I sometimes wonder whose country it is sometimes. It is Mr. Keel, isn't it?"

"Chris. As we're in such intimate surroundings."

She smiled at him, and he admired the delicate features once again. She was definitely no fool, either.

"I suppose this is a good a moment as any to say I'm sorry about all the subterfuge at the camp. My father had his reasons, and we played along."

Keel nodded.

"Our boss had his reasons too, and so did we. He only told us about the rest - about Elizabeth Sivua - when we got back."

"Sounds like my father and your boss make a good pair, then."

"Looks like it," Keel grinned, faintly. "Right now, I'm not feeling particularly fond of either of them."

"My father's a good man, and he's known Harry Malone for years. They're both trying to help Kenya, but sometimes I think they're fighting a losing battle."

Keel didn't comment on that one, still angry about the shambles it was turning into. Then she spoke again, softly.

"Jonathan and I were grateful for what you did at the camp. And for what it's worth, I didn't like what they subjected your friend to either when I heard. This Sivua women is evil - we were collecting information on her ourselves, which is why Mr. Malone sent you to look after us."

"Which we didn't make such a good job of," Keel said bitterly. "Somebody knew exactly what were planning at her house."

"That doesn't surprise me, somehow. As I said, we needed outside help as there aren't many people we can trust any more. Except maybe Ben and a few others."

Keel saw the sorrow on her face, and the anger faded a little.

"Have you any idea where we're going?"

She shook her head, frowning, then bit her lip in a gesture that reminded him of Backus.

"How long have we been on the road?"

Keel grinned wryly.

"If you can see my watch, I'll tell you. Feels like forever."

She shuffled over, and twisted her head.

"It's five in the morning. They got us at about midnight, but they put me in a different van at first. I sort of came round, then they sprayed something again. Bastards."

"And they took me at around two. Meaning about three hours. Does that help?"

She grimaced.

"It's a big country, Mr. Keel. Was there a lot of traffic, earlier? Horns, lots of swerving around?"

Keel thought about it for a moment and shook his head.

"No. At one point it sounded like we were going over a bridge. Sounded kinda hollow. Then I saw some street lights through the gap in the door. Since then, no idea, but the road's getting worse and worse."

"Malindi," she said softly. "That has to be it. And if there was no traffic, it wasn't the Nairobi road - that's crowded even at night.

Malindi, Keel vaguely remembered, was much further up the coast, closer to Somalia.

"So what about Malindi? Why there?"

She scrambled back to the side of the van again, trying to find a comfortable position as the vehicle bucked and jarred on the uneven roads.

"I'll tell you what I know, not that it'll help much."

*

Curtis picked up his keys and headed for the bungalow, hardly even aware that Backus was still at his heels when he went inside.

The door to Keel's half of it was still ajar, and he saw the usual tangle of clothing and everything else strewn around. The stewards, as he'd noticed before, had moved nothing but simply cleaned around it all.

"You should eat something," she said softly, and he turned to look at her.

"For Christ's sake, I don't need a nursemaid."

She continued looking at him, that impassive stare of hers that looked right through him. He grimaced at his own brusque tone.

Control, Sam. You're sounding like you're losing it.

"Sorry, Tina. You sounded like Chris for a minute and I..."

"Sometimes, Chris is right," she said. "And if you want to find him, there's no point in punishing yourself. Go take a shower, and I'll come and get you."

Curtis found himself nodding, slowly, fighting away the images of Chris and the beer at the hotel café, Chris on the beach with the kid and his shoes, and Chris sitting beside him as he'd come round from passing out, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam?" she spoke more softly. "You gonna be OK?"

He turned to her, trying for a grin that didn't work.

"What d'you call OK? The stupid bastard wasn't even supposed to be here, for God's sake. And they had to take him…"

"You wish they'd taken you instead, is that it? More guilt, Sam?"

He couldn't answer that one, knowing that it was absolutely true. Why didn't she just go away and leave him alone?

But then she never did. He'd told her that often enough when he'd first got out of hospital, but she'd kept coming back.

Somehow, she'd seen right through his constant assurances that everything was fine. She'd seen all the reports and analyses they'd subjected him to, he'd realised - the only other person on the squad except Malone who had. She'd known everything they'd done to him in Tanzania, down to the last detail. She hadn't batted an eyelid, from what he could see. And she'd even, he admitted to himself distractedly, taken her own quite unique measures to help him heal.

"You trying amateur psychology again?" he managed, faintly.

"Malone keeps accusing me of the same thing. Maybe I should quit information technology and intelligence while I'm ahead. You want to talk?"

He shook his head, then paused, sighing.

"Talk about what? The fact that Chris is in the hands of somebody who'll…"

They both jumped as the light flickered, the air conditioning unit sighed into capitulation, and the generator coughed into life.

"You don't know that, Sam."

"He's with Sivua, isn't he? And their friends who like perverted games can't be far away."

The vision of the two women standing there, laughing, while he was lying there humiliated and in agony hit him even as he tried to block it out.

"Tina, I didn't tell Chris... what they did. He doesn't know… he has no fucking idea of what they might do."

She grabbed his elbow.

"Sam…"

"Don't tell me to get a grip. Christ, the guy's had enough happen to him in his life, hasn't he? Imagine they decide to have some of that sort of fun with him, as well?"

"You don't know that, Sam. They're not trying to get information out of him, like they were with you."

"We don't know what the bastards want with Chris. And they enjoy fucking with people's heads…"

And their bodies, a voice inside finished it for him.

Curtis felt his throat tighten as she continued to hold his stare, obviously finding it difficult to find the words. He was losing his control - he could feel it sliding away. Trickling through his fingers as he relived the feel of the rough hands on him, saw the heavy coat of lipstick on the women's lips as they watched and taunted him, urging the others on.

Suddenly, he whirled, in blind fury, wanting - needing - to lash out. To defend himself. To hurt back.

His clenched fist hit the housing of the air conditioning control unit sharply, and he didn't even feel the pain as the square of plastic tumbled to the floor.

Then he bit back a gasp, and grabbed Backus' arm as she automatically reached out to stop him doing any more damage to either himself or the room.

She started to pull away, a mixture of fear and incomprehension on her face until she followed his pointing finger. Then her eyes widened as she saw what he was showing her. The tiny listening device was neatly tucked beside the timer switch, doing its duty unseen - until his own temper had revealed it.

Curtis took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Sorry, Tina. You didn't deserve that. Let's go take some air."

"Good idea," she said, reacting with that swift comprehension he admired so much.

"And food."

"Now you sound like Chris."

"Sometimes, Chris is sensible."

"And sometimes, he eats hamburgers."

She grinned, sliding an arm around his waist and he pulled her close, glad of her presence.

Somehow, he was in control again. They had something to go on. Somebody had put that bug there and had heard their preparations to move in on Elizabeth Sivua. And he'd find out who.

*

Keel blinked as the powerful torches shone into the back of the van. He could have been Mars for all he could see.

A pair of hands reached in to pull Myriam Mtanga out first, and then he saw the arm holding the gun. It was white.

Its owner stared at him, and he registered the absolute fury in the brown eyes.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Its… well…" the voice from behind him trailed off.

"I told you to bring me Curtis. Not the bloody yank. For Christ's sake, man, are you blind?"

Silence.

"And don't come that shit about all whites looking alike. This guy looks nothing like Curtis."

"It was dark, bwana. And you said not the girl and not the black guy. Those photos from the hotel weren't so clear, and…"

The barely controlled voice erupted in fury again.

"I just cannot believe the stupidity of you people sometimes. You were told Curtis would be upstairs and the Yank downstairs. But you still get it wrong…"

Keel swallowed. Somebody had known their plans down to the last details. Whoever this was had somebody on the inside, with Mtanga's team. Shit.

"Leave him in there," the man spoke again, his tone icy. "We'll just have to get hold of Curtis later - Elizabeth offered me a bonus for that, and you'll only get your share when we get him. Unless you killed him?"

Keel's stomach twisted, then relaxed as the next words came.

"No, sah. Like you said. Just… well… you sure this isn't Curtis?"

"Get the girl into the van." The voice seethed with fury. "And take her to Elizabeth with Joseph and James. I'm going to look after our Mr. Keel - I can't turn up empty-handed. Edward can stay here with me. You are capable of driving up there and keeping an eye on one small woman, I presume."

"Yes, sah."

"Well then get the fuck out of here. And you don't touch her, all right?"

No, sah." The voice sounded subdued, and Keel heard the van rattle into life and drive off.

Hang in there, Myriam.

"Now, Mr. Keel," the torch flashed back into his eyes. "You're the one whose wife was killed on their wedding day, of course, if my memory serves me well."

How did the bastard know? And despite the fury, the man sounded positively jovial. A dangerous combination.

"All things considered, Curtis will be easy enough to pick up, particularly if he thinks his "mate" as he calls you is going to get some of Elizabeth's treatment. And she might even double the bonus."

The words weren't really directed at his sidekick, but at Keel himself.

Keel didn't trust himself to speak.

"You see, Mr. Keel," the voice spat out, "Elizabeth is not happy that her old friend Mr. Curtis not only rolled up in Kenya, but went and pointed the finger at her. Oh, she knew he was here. Imagine our surprise when we bugged your rooms. We have contacts at the hotel and in all sorts of other places, you see. We knew somebody was coming to Kenya from CI5. Just not who."

So that was it. And without knowing it, Sam had walked right into a trap.

"What she didn't know," his captor continued, "was just what Malone was up to after the little escapade out in the bush. His idea of making poor old Sam identify our lovely Elizabeth, I mean. The bugs fucked up on your little conversations with London - the usual lousy equipment you get over here. If she'd known about that little manoeuvre, she wouldn't have turned up at the reception in the first place."

The figure emerged from behind the torch, finally, and Keel looked at him. Medium height, early thirties, brown eyes, and blondish hair bleached from the sun. There was something about him that looked familiar, but it wouldn't come to him.

"But then, Mr. Keel, I was able to hear that touching little conversation with your partner after the General's party - which came across beautifully. Much better than in your room, fortunately. That made us realise that Mr. Curtis had been neatly set up by our charming Mr. Malone. But I'm sure Malone loved doing that, even though he did sound almost chummy with Curtis the morning after."

So Malone's suite was bugged as well, Keel realised, his heart sinking.

"By the time you'd set up your attack, you see, and we'd taken note, we'd made a few plans of our own. We'd always intended to snatch Myriam, and under CI5's noses at that if you hadn't gone home by then. I personally couldn't have been more delighted to know it was Curtis and his partner the old bugger had sent - almost too good to be true. You see, Elizabeth and Julia and their friends have some unfinished business with the Mr. Curtis and that pretty face of his. And so do I."

Keel stared at him, still trying to figure out who the man was. He knew Malone, but how? Now he remembered. He'd seen him on a photograph somewhere, at CI5. But who was it?

Finally, he didn't have to wait long.

"You see, Mr. Keel - or can I call you Chris since we shared the same partner once - it's all thanks to dear old Sam that I'm here in the first place."

Jack Taylor. Keel felt the sickness in his stomach return with a vengeance.

"Taylor, you bastard." The words came out by themselves, but it was too late to stop them. "You stinking, traitorous bastard."

"Oh, he told you about me, did he? Well, that's an opinion, and it doesn't really surprise me. It can get pretty tiresome working with a robot like Curtis. Always doing the right thing. Always so fucking correct. I knew he'd want to play Malone's little decoy game right to the end when we were in Tanzania last year, even if it meant getting killed for it. So I left him to play the hero. Malone kicked me out of the squad, but there are people who pay very well for our sort of skills.

"You make me sick," Keel ground out, knowing he was being foolish and having that impression confirmed by a vicious jab to his stomach with the rifle.

He didn't cry out.

"CI5 made me sick. Still does. You're sent off to get killed by a tinpot little dictator like Malone, who doesn't give a shit. Then you get partnered with some sort of reject from MI6 with a broom handle stuck up his arse and an obsession for being heroic. No thanks, Keel."

Taylor moved away again, nodding to somebody outside the van.

"OK. We'll take him to my place. I'm quite sure we can tempt Curtis to come and rescue you, Keel. Then we can take both of you to Elizabeth and she can have twice the fun."

*

Malone watched Tina Backus' fingers, which seemed to be virtually attacking the keyboard. Curtis was concentrating furiously on a sheaf of papers brought to him by Ben, and Spencer was still downloading information from HQ.

Their focus, now, had lost that frustration of earlier in the day, and was as sharp and clear as if they had all slept for hours.

"Got something," Curtis had said a little earlier, excitement evident in his voice. "The company that checks the air conditioners was scheduled to come in the day we arrived, like we thought. According to their records, the engineer was ill. I checked, and he was mugged. The hotel, however, confirmed that somebody did turn up. According to the duty manager, he had a pass key, and went to several rooms. And he was white."

Curtis had looked up triumphantly.

"And if the hotel has kept the videos of the staff entrance, we shall have him on camera."

As Ben returned with two videos, the excitement in the room grew even more.

Malone was perfectly aware that a photograph may not get them very far, but it was a start.

He prepared himself for more waiting, expecting Backus and Spencer to capture the photograph and transmit it to London for analysis, but his own 'Good God', as he saw the tall figure on the screen, matched the shocked gasps from Curtis and Backus.

"Somebody enlighten me?" Spencer asked quietly, staring at his three colleagues.

Backus was the first to speak, and Malone saw her eyes immediately flick from the screen to Curtis.

"Its… Jesus..." Her voice rose in sudden realisation.

"Jesus?" Spencer said, frowning. "Jesus Gonzalez? The hit man?"

Curtis, jaw set, shook his head.

"You weren't around at the time, Spence. That was my first partner. Jack Taylor."

Spencer's eyes widened, and he nodded, amazed.

"Got you. Sorry." He avoided looking at Curtis.

"Get a fix on the number plate on that van, Miss Backus, with the help of Mr… Mr… Ben." Malone still hadn't come to terms with the uniformed officer who didn't appear to have a surname.

The big man sketched out a salute and disappeared.

"Mr. Spencer, ask the General to obtain of details of all foreign nationals arriving in Kenya since Mr. Taylor left England. Mr. Curtis, get HQ to check the airlines - to search for Mr. Taylor's movements for the same period."

Three faces stared at him.

"That's a lot of information," Spencer noted, quietly, but didn't argue.

Curtis was already on the telephone.

Malone watched the three of them get to work again, realising as he so often did that he had found excellent people. He'd believed in them all, and rarely been disappointed. And yet never, in his entire career, had he been as downright wrong as he had been about Taylor.

"What was he like, Taylor? I mean apart from choosing the wrong side?" Spencer was waiting for information, and idly typed the name on his screen.

Malone vaguely wondered if Curtis would hit the smaller man, or simply snap his head off. Spencer, the poor devil, had no idea about much of this, except for the basic information on the Tanzanian job that Malone had given him. And he had made no reference to Taylor or his role in it all.

"He was a coward. Left Sam to rot while he turned tail and ran." Backus' voice was almost conversational, and her fingers never left the keyboard.

"Jesus," Spencer echoed Backup's initial reaction.

"No, just Jack Taylor." Curtis' voice was icy with contempt, but with the faintest touch of irony. "Nice guy. Friendly. Let's just say his instincts for self-preservation were higher than his moral fibre."

Malone couldn't have put it better himself.

Spencer digested this, looking at Curtis then back to Malone.

"And he's got Chris. Oh, shit."

"Not for long," Curtis muttered. "I'll find him."

Malone, somehow, was convinced he would.

*

Keel felt the rifle against his back as Taylor's sidekick removed the bonds from his ankles.

"Don't even bother thinking about any funny stuff, Keel. Remember I was trained the same way as you were."

Keel didn't answer, having already come to that conclusion. He watched the burly figure open several padlocks, remove a chain, and roll up a heavy blind. The street was virtually deserted, and of the few lingering figures around, not one of them seemed to find it even remotely interesting that see somebody being shoved into what looked like a shop at gunpoint.

Don't make him mad. Just wait.

The room was virtually empty, with the exception of an elderly office chair, a beaten-up sofa and a rickety table piled up with papers. Keel's eyes registered the telephone, but Taylor laughed as the bonds went back round his ankles.

"Disconnected, in case you were wondering. You can wait here for a few hours - much as I'd like to see Sam rushing here straight away I have a few people to see. Then I'll have a little word with your Mr. Curtis. You see, I still remember his mobile number. Creature of habit, Sam, and I'm sure he hasn't changed it. We can have a nice, friendly chat for old times' sake. He seems to like you, Sam does. But then he liked me, once."

Keel tried not to let the contempt show, but knew he was failing.

"Really interesting, your little heart-to-heart in his room the other night. I'd say you're pretty attached to him, too. Never heard Malone's first rule?"

No, he was not going to react, however much Taylor was hoping he would.

"Knowing Sam, he'll come running when he hears I've got you. And they'll be so busy trying to find Mtanga's daughter I even expect he'll come alone. Even if he doesn't, that pretty little Backus won't give me much trouble. Nor that computer geek you brought with you.

Don't bet on it. They're better than you think.

"Looks like you don't have much luck, Chris. Your wife gets wasted, and now your partner's going to renew a few old acquaintances. And somehow, I can't see Elizabeth and her friends leaving him alive when they've finished with him. But knowing her, that will take a while."

"You bastards. You won't get him here."

Never, Keel promised himself. Somehow, he'd make sure of that. Curtis' job was to find Myriam Mtanga. But nobody would know they'd split them up.

Oh, shit. Sam would come running, and he had to warn him.

"I don't like to play the same games as they do, personally," Taylor added, thoughtfully. "Me, I'm in it for the money. You might be surprised how much they pay for CI5-trained operatives."

Keel still managed to keep his mouth shut, watching the rifle and deciding the odds definitely weren't in his favour.

"Not feeling talkative? Well, we'll have to work on that a little when we call. I may not have Elizabeth's talents, but I'm sure that with Edward here, we'll manage to give Sam the impression you're getting a good taste of her usual stuff. Edward can be quite creative when he chooses."

No, he was not going to react. Not going to let the bastard goad him. But he despised the man even more than he'd thought possible.

"I was surprised when they told me how long Sam held out in Tanzania. When I heard that little confession about how he'd have spilled his guts if he could, it explained a lot. I knew he was tough, but then I know Elizabeth can really be most persuasive. You never got Malone's little lecture on 'everyone has their breaking point'? But of course you have.

Taylor perched on the office chair, a half-smile on his face, obviously enjoying himself now.

" Apparently he managed the beatings pretty well. But then we're trained for that in CI5, aren't we, Chris? When they killed the kids though, or so Johnny says, Sam was crying. Our strong, silent Mr. Curtis. Can you imagine it? Must have been interesting to see. But he still wasn't talking, and they really thought he was still holding out, so Elizabeth tried another of her little tricks."

Keel thought he was going to be sick, feeling his insides roiling threateningly. He tried to keep his face impassive, but knew he was failing miserably.

"Johnny, now - he enjoys telling me about his little escapades - said Sam was screaming his guts out most impressively when that big bugger that hangs around him got his turn. Come to think of it, big bugger describes him pretty well. Frankly, Elizabeth quite admired Sam at the time. She was quite sorry when he passed out and they couldn't bring him round for some more by the time they had to leave. Quite remarkable he lived, really."

Keel tried desperately not to react, to let his disgust show in his eyes as he digested the full horror of what they had done to Sam. What Sam hadn't been able to tell him. Taylor was getting a kick out of this, the bastard, and he still hadn't finished.

"If we take Backus and her buddy as well, we could have lots of fun. Maybe I'll join in then - quite fancied her myself. But most of all, they want Sam, and what they want, they get. Quite a pretty boy, our Sam. Don't fancy his type myself, but I wonder who she'll find for him this time? Or maybe she could get you performing together? "

That did it. Keel hurled himself at Taylor, and the rifle got him in the solar plexus, followed by a knee in the groin. The room spun as the explosion of pain hit him, but as he sank to his knees and the darkness closed in around him, he swore to himself, as seriously as he'd taken his wedding vows.

Oh, Sam. I can't - I won't - let them do this to you again.

*

Curtis felt Backus fighting sleep as she sat beside him, and gently put his arm around her shoulders.

"Ease up, Tina."

She grinned, wryly.

"That's my line. Anyway, what about you?"

"I'll sleep afterwards."

"Too fired up?" As always, she read him like a book.

"Yeah. What if he isn't - they aren't - in Malindi?"

"You think they are. Even Malone thinks they are. Taylor's got an address there, and he's closer to his Mafia buddies. The call was from out of Mombasa - although…"

"Although it could have been Nairobi. Or almost anywhere else."

"Yeah. But the analysis of the voice said it had traces of an accent, probably Italian. And the Italians are in Malindi. C'mon, Sam, it was you who wore Malone down to let us try it."

Curtis nodded, remembering his sheer insistence when they'd come up with an address. At first, Malone had considered waiting until the next phone call, but to everyone's amazement had finally nodded.

"Very well. Go there. Look around. Identify whether they are indeed being held there or find out where they are. But do not move in until you have more resources."

"We have resources in Malindi," Ben rumbled quietly.

"Then mobilise them, Mr… Captain…" He still hadn't got the hang of it. "But until you find out exactly what we are up against, I'll have no heroics, Mr. Curtis. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir", Curtis had said, lying through his teeth.

"Good. We have our team from Nairobi on standby, and Mr. Spencer and I will hold the fort here. Off you go."

Curtis had needed no second bidding. The General had offered Ben as a driver, and he hadn't argued about that. Something about the big Kenyan was reassuring, and he apparently knew Malindi.

Now, the big old car - not Mtanga's official Mercedes but another of the innumerable, beaten-up Peugot 504s on Kenya's roads - was speeding northwards.

They'd crept from Mtanga's mansion, praying that they had not been observed, and slid inside the battered car, crouching under blankets as the car had rolled down the drive. Ben had been coming and going all day, which lent this journey a little credibility, as least. And as far as they knew, they hadn't been followed.

I'm coming, Chris.

Finally, Backus gave in, and her lashes drooped. Curtis felt the warmth of her against him, enjoying the physical contact.

His mind refused to think about anything else but what they would be doing to his partner. He'd been over that in his mind almost constantly ever since that moment when he'd seen Spencer lying there with Keel nowhere in sight.

Why hadn't he told Chris just what they were capable of? Warned him? But even if he had, would it have changed anything?

Hold on, Chris. Please hold on.

Backus shifted slightly and he found himself looking down at her, thinking just how young she looked in sleep. In fact, she was young. Twenty-six years old and one of the most brilliant elements Malone had ever caught in his highly effective fishing net. An outstanding information technology expert, trained in intelligence, assault, and even an excellent shot. Quite something, this one.

What was more she was extraordinarily balanced - calculated and cool when she needed to be, yet bubbling with the joy of living whenever she had the opportunity.

Everybody's Backup. Always there when you needed her. Even Chris, who was picky about women, adored her, despite the merciless teasing the two enjoyed so much.

She would have been so easy to fall in love with, if he'd left himself, and particularly since…

No, he wouldn't think about that.

But his mind refused to be detracted from her, so he forced it to at least be analytical.

Unlike his usual dates, she knew all too well what the job was like. She understood the broken dates and inevitable emergencies - even the enforced stays in hospital.

Oh, she knew all about those, he sighed to himself, watching her instinctively huddle closer into the crook of his arm.

She'd been the most regular visitor of them all when they'd come back from Tanzania. He hadn't wanted to see his father, beyond and initial courtesy visit, and he'd thought Malone was keeping the rest of the squad away.

Malone had come, though, and then there had been the never-ending battery of psychologists. He'd detested them all, retreating behind the mask and telling them he was fine.

Backus, however, had chided him constantly for his refusal to open up to them, frowning and threatening, but he'd ignored her.

He'd come out of hospital and gone into HQ, where Malone had made noises about more convalescence, but he had refused that. So they put him in a desk job, and he'd hated it, constantly insisting he was fit for duty.

Malone had shaken his head every time, pointing at the psychologists' reports. They had decided he wasn't ready, but what did they know? What wasn't he hiding well enough? The nightmares? No, he was doing a good job of that. God, but he hated shrinks. He tried hard to give them all the right answers, but some of their questions were so twisted he couldn't be sure.

He'd been sitting behind a desk for nearly a month the night that Backus and her newly appointed colleague more or less hi-jacked him after work and dragged him to the nearest pub.

Curtis liked the quiet Barbadian a lot, deciding that Spencer and Backup between them could probably run anything, let alone CI5's operations.

He'd had more drinks than he realised by the end of the evening, listening to their chatter about systems and equipment. How could people really get interested in all that? Backus, however, was almost alight with enthusiasm, and the abbreviated mini-skirt rode higher as she expounded on yet another aspect of circuitry.

But he hadn't consciously reacted to either that, or the unusually low-cut blouse, at the time.

Eventually, she'd looked at him and frowned, deciding to drop him off at his flat. He'd protested, but her argument of Malone's reaction to drunken driving finally persuaded him.

Curtis made one last attempt to reject the memories of that evening, and failed. Suddenly, he was back there with her, in his own living room.

"Get me a drink, Sam?"

"Think I've had enough."

"C'mon, it's Sunday tomorrow. We're both off. Relax a little."

So he did. And joined her. Dammit, he was definitely overdoing it here. And what the hell was she doing?

Tina Backus was sitting beside him on the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Feel good?"

"Yeah, but Tina…"

"Ease up, Sam. You're tensed up."

He most certainly was. Women frightened him. Women were black, with purplish, glossed lips who had watched him being brutalised, and laughed. This, though, was nice, and he didn't even argue when she refilled his glass. This woman wasn't going to hurt him.

And she didn't. Slowly, her supple fingers moved down his back and across to his chest, and suddenly her lips brushed his. He didn't flinch, although his mind was on overload.

This was Tina, for God's sake… Backup…

When her hands drifted to the buttons of his shirt, he made a movement to stop her, but she shook her head.

"No, Sam. Let me."

Something in the quiet insistence reached him, and to his own amazement, he felt the first stirrings of arousal.

Was that his hand touching her thigh? And how, suddenly, had they progressed to her breasts?

She was caressing him, now, and stifled the weak protests by taking his head between her hands and kissing him, a slow, sensual kiss that took his breath away.

He tensed again as the slim fingers reached his belt buckle, but she continued to kiss him, soothing him by the very gentleness of it.

When she released him, he was breathing heavily, aware of her hands continuing their gentle exploration and suddenly unable to resist. Or to want to. He closed his eyes, abandoning himself to it.

The skilful hands continued along his stomach, and the line of fire suddenly grew. The movements halted for a second, and he opened his eyes, instantly craving for more. Her clothes were in a jumble on the floor and the slim body was naked in front of him.

Oh, God, what was he doing? What was she doing? Her hands resumed their work, and he felt himself responding… it had been so long…

They slid closer and closer to his hardness and he wanted them there. He wanted this as much as he feared it, and heard himself let out a stifled groan as the fingers slowly reached their target.

She pulled off the rest of his clothes, never stopping the soft, insistent caresses, her hand closing around him and teasing, encouraging. When she used the other to guide his own hand to her belly and beyond, moving closer still to him on the sofa, he didn't resist.

Somehow, she knew not to dominate him, and as she twisted to lie beside him, his hands moved instinctively, almost of their own accord, to do some exploring of their own.

She was increasing the rhythm of her own movements, now, the caresses sending surges of lightning through him, and he knew he had to be inside her even as she pulled him on top of her.

For a second, he almost flinched, but then she was arching up to meet him - to welcome him.

It was fast, he realised in a mixture of guilt and exhilaration. Too fast. But it was so good, so very, very good.

He sobbed as the climax came, and she pulled him closer, holding him fiercely and kissing him, over and over again.

"It's all right, Sam. It's all right now."

And it was.

Malone had finally filed the psychologists' reports the following week and assigned him back to field work, and with a partner. An irrepressible, headstrong Yank.

*

Keel moaned, trying to turn his head away from the patch of vomit. Taylor was leaning nonchalantly against the table, grinning faintly.

The beating had been bad enough, and Edward-the-sidekick certainly had natural talent there. Not that it required much talent to punch and kick somebody bound hand and foot though, he supposed.

Sam, of course, would have got him out off the handcuffs, because Sam was good at that. But he wasn't there.

No, it wasn't the beating that had finally made his tortured guts rebel, but the sight that had met his eyes once he'd got them back into focus.

Edward was standing there, and beside him was a small boy, clad in a filthy T-shirt and skimpy, red shorts. He was probably no more than five or six years old, and his nose was running.

The brown eyes were curious more than fearful as the kid stared at the crumpled figure in the corner.

Keel tried hard not to shudder, not to cry out. This could not be happening. Sam would burst through the door any second. Please, Sam.

Sam doesn't even know where you are. Get real.

"Still don't want to talk to your "buddy"?"

Keel shook his head, much as it hurt, knowing he couldn't speak. Mustn't speak.

Taylor slowly thumbed in Curtis' number.

Please God it's the wrong one. Please…

"Hello, Sam. It's your old mate Jack Taylor."

Keel couldn't hear Curtis' reply, if he gave one. But he could imagine the shock glittering through the grey-green eyes.

"Exactly, old mate. And I've just been getting to know your new partner. You know - the tough guy who doesn't want to talk to you so you won't believe he's here. But you will come, Sam, won't you?" The tone was wheedling.

Silence again as Taylor listened.

"You want to talk to him? Well, you see he really doesn't want to talk, but I'm sure a little persuasion will change his mind."

Taylor chuckled, then, as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"Sure he's not dead, Curtis. Not yet, anyway. Not if you come and fetch him. I might even spare him. Or at least spare him some of the fun you had."

Keel clenched his jaw, hating with more intensity than he'd known since he'd held his dying wife in his arms.

"Just listen, Sam."

Taylor motioned to Edward, who took out a knife. The expression on the child's face was still puzzled, but it turned to fear rapidly as the big man grabbed him under the arms and held him, struggling.

Oh, Christ, he was going to do it. He was going to kill the kid.

Keel felt the scream whistle through his clenched teeth.

"Hear that, Sam? Just a minute while he thinks of something a bit more convincing than that to tell you."

Taylor crossed the room in two swift strides, and grasped Keel's head, pulling it back roughly.

"Talk to him, Keel. You have five seconds."

Keel looked at the child and at the cellphone, faced with the worst decision of his life. If Curtis came after him, he might survive. Might. If he didn't, somebody would find two corpses in that stinking shop, of that he was sure. His and the kid's. Sam would never forgive him for the kid.

His mind raced, and he saw the knife move.

"Sam… Sam…" the heaving sobs were strangling him.

"More, Keel."

"Please, Sam… or they'll kill the kid…"

Taylor released Keel's head with a vicious movement, and smiled triumphantly.

Oh Christ, Sam. What have I done? I had no choice…

"There now, I thought he'd convince you. You have a little drive ahead of you, Sam. And I'd strongly advise you came alone. Unless you want pretty little Miss Backus to join the party? I'm quite sure she would be welcome."

Taylor cocked his head on one side, grinning into the receiver. Keel let his head drop, knowing from the rising waves of nausea that he was going to be sick again. His stomach heaved, and he gave into it, the pain racking through his abused ribs. Edward was still holding the kid, who was crying now, a soft whimpering. A trickle of urine slid down a miniature thigh, and Taylor wrinkled his nose in disgust before smiling into the telephone again.

"Cursing, now, Sam? Gracious me, that's not like you. Now listen - I'll give you the address. Don't bother coming storming in with an entire squad, because that won't work at all. And you can be sure that the General's charming daughter will get her pretty throat cut, too. If she does, you've failed your assignment, and that would never do, would it?

Taylor chuckled at what was obviously another furious reply from the other end.

"Right. It's nearly six - it'll take you at least two hours to drive here. When you reach Malindi, head for the Coastal Paradise shopping centre. There's a coffee house on the corner called the Roaring Reef. Go in there at nine, and someone will be waiting for you. Once I'm quite certain you're alone, they'll bring you here. Once shot from a sniper though, pretty Sam, and I'll throw Keel to the sharks. Those delightful lady sharks you've already met. Clear?"

Keel tried to find his voice, suddenly desperate to talk to his partner. To try and explain he just didn't have a choice. It was a hoarse whisper when it came out.

"Taylor… let me…"

"Just a minute, Sam. Looks like your friend's suddenly come all over chatty. I'm sure you'd love to talk to him."

Taylor held the receiver out, and Keel turned towards it. Instead of giving it to him, though, a shoe caught his side and he couldn't bite back the cry of sheer agony.

"Sadly, though, I think he's probably said enough. Don't be late, Sam."

Taylor broke the connection, and shook his head.

"Just look at this filthy mess in here. Get the kid out, Edward. Then go and find us a couple of beers."

Keel let himself fall, curled up to try and ease the pain in his belly, ribs and kidneys.

His thoughts, inevitably, strayed to his partner and to Teresa.

I couldn't keep you alive, my lovely wife. And I can't help you, Sam. I'm sorry.

*

Backus was rapidly fluctuating between jubilation and concern. The good part was knowing that their guess about Malindi had been right. Instead of over two hours away, it was only twenty minutes or so until they arrived, according to Ben. They had time on their side, at least. And they had an address, not just a coffee house.

Curtis had held up well during the conversation, sounding suitably shocked at the discovery of the voice on the other end. Ben, too, had understood immediately when Curtis' phone had rung and had killed the engine immediately.

Then they'd heard the scream, and the fear had welled up inside her again - fear for both Sam and Chris.

Backus had plugged into Curtis' phone long before, and she felt her insides twist at the agonised cry. Silently, she reached for the suddenly shaking hand next to her and held onto it tightly. Curtis didn't brush it away.

Somehow, Curtis had repeated the instructions, dumbly, and she was aware of the little colour draining out of already pale cheeks. Then there had been that final cry of pain, and she'd felt Curtis shudder.

Now, however, the control was back. Just.

He'd held together while he called Malone with the news, giving rapid instructions for somebody to leave Mtanga's house, in case of observers. She heard him telling Malone to make sure to call after Curtis and yell at him, just to increase the illusion that his agent was in the process of running amok, and she saw the slight nod of satisfaction when Malone's reaction to that idea was favourable. Then he'd broken the connection and sagged back against the torn, faded upholstery.

Ben had glanced in the mirror, then dug in his khakis and pulled out a flask, passing it over. Curtis had shaken his head, smelling the whisky, but she'd gently insisted and he'd even managed a wry comment about her getting him drunk again.

His eyes, however, betrayed his outer calm. They looked haunted, the silver-green darkened with fear and pain.

Could he overcome this?

Many times since she'd opted for her own profession, she'd realised that seeing a colleague injured or killed was the hardest part of all. Now, knowing that Keel was in the hands of people who had so nearly destroyed Curtis was almost beyond her own personal scale of nightmare scenarios.

Sam, you have to get through this. Somehow.

It wasn't just the danger to Keel either, that was behind the terrible expression in those remarkable eyes. It was his own demons coming back to haunt him, just as she'd feared that morning in Malone's office when he'd passed this assignment to the two men.

She'd seen Curtis in innumerable difficult situations by now, and so far he'd taken just about everything CI5 could throw at him. The Tanzanian job had shaken him, and badly, and even then he'd clawed his way back, never expecting to face it all over again. Yet it hadn't all been over, as she'd discovered even when Keel had broken his leg. He hadn't really reached any sort of conclusion, just some sort of tenuous equilibrium.

She'd helped him get over some of his fears, sure, and then Keel had come along and rid him of a few more.

Despite some inevitable friction between the two men at first, they'd become closer more quickly than she'd expected. Sam had - finally - seemed completely whole again. Then, without his partner, the precarious balance had started to topple again.

Somehow, these last few days had made the two of them even closer - probably because of Keel's own admissions about his past. Keel had even abandoned the conclusion to his own recurring nightmares to stay beside Curtis.

That - like their increasingly solid bond - was already flaunting Malone's first rule, she knew, and was bound to come on the table if they got through this assignment unscathed.

This just had to work. She couldn't face seeing Curtis break, because despite all her careful effort to conceal it, she cared, and cared about him way too damn much for her own good.

Ever since their one weekend together, she'd been aware of the careful distance Curtis was constructing between himself and her, and she'd done her damnedest to do likewise.

The warmth between them was carefully hidden, but she knew it was still there and welcomed it.

She'd done what she intended. When she'd left him on the Sunday after that highly memorable Friday night, she'd known that Sam Curtis was definitely not afraid of sex or women any more. That had to be enough.

They'd talked about the whole thing as adults as early as the following morning, and yet she'd seen her original plans for a single, brief encounter turn into nearly an entire weekend. Two whole days, she admitted to herself, where despite their mutual reassurances that it was strictly a one-off phenomenon, they'd abandoned themselves well and truly to a feast of downright lust. The entire weekend had been a blur of lovemaking that ranged from gentle to intense, and from tantalisingly slow to almost frenzied.

Oh, God, it had been magnificent.

Recovered from his injuries, Curtis' body was superb, and he'd enjoyed the lithe, slim lines of her own. Once the initial fears and reticence had passed, he had also proved to be a delightful and expert lover, revelling in giving and receiving pleasure.

That last time, on the Sunday afternoon, she'd sobbed after the achingly exquisite climax, burying her head in his neck and reaching for his face, surprised to feel the wetness from his long lashes on her own fingers.

Stop thinking about it. It's over.

She hadn't wanted it to be over, that was the problem. She'd played with fire - Sam Curtis, when he was making love to her, had nothing to do with ice whatsoever - and she'd been burned. Even just before, as she'd slept in his arms, that familiar trickle of wanting had pulled at her before sleep sucked her in.

You can be such a fool, Tina.

She shook herself, mentally, and glanced over to the figure beside her again.

Curtis was shifting, she realised, his entire body preparing itself to move in.

The lights of Malindi approached, and she felt that familiar flutter to her ribs when action was just around the corner. Curtis was checking his gun, and then reached for Keel's, heaving a small sigh.

"He'll need this."

"You bet."

She smiled at him, and caught Ben's eyes through the mirror, as he spoke quietly on his cellphone again before nodding.

"My people will be waiting."

What if they weren't in the house, though? Backus' guts twisted again as she asked herself the same question for the thousandth time. But they had to be. It was only a couple of streets away from the coffee house, Ben had said.

It had to be right. And they'd go in anyway. She had no illusions about Sam Curtis waiting for Malone's green light to do so.

*

Keel's mind continued to drift from Teresa to Sam for while, but he forced it, unwillingly, to turn to more urgent matters, ignoring the pain from the beating. It had hurt, and still did, but Taylor and the gorilla had left him alone since the phone call.

Shifting slightly and very, very carefully brought him to the conclusion that there were no bones broken, although pain lanced through his side at the slightest movement. Edward's kicks had been vicious, but hadn't been carefully targeted with the exception of the last one.

The trick with the child had been more effective, as Taylor had guessed, so the roughing up was probably just a prelude. They'd let the kid go, snivelling, and had pushed him out of the door into the rapidly growing dusk. Edward had giggled.

Keel felt his stomach roil again, thinking at the half-amused look in Taylor's eyes as Edward had taken out the knife, and the utter detachment in the burly sidekick's eyes. He shuddered, realising that somehow, within a few short hours, he had come up with a plan.

He'd had to do that before, in the SEALS. And when he'd been working with Sam. Even desperate situations had produced a solution somehow, but this time there didn't seem to be one. Despair, however, wasn't going to get him anywhere, but its tentacles reached out for him, pulling him in.

He fought them off, refusing to let them take hold, and started to examine the possibilities. He'd already been through them a thousand times, but it was better than thinking of Teresa's limp body or imagining Sam, broken and bleeding in Tanzania.

Taylor was clever, but then he'd been well trained. He didn't leave room for mistakes. Much as he obviously hated Sam, his mind seemed as disciplined and as orderly as his former partner's.

Except that the man was not only a coward, as Keel already knew, but a traitor and a brute as well. That made him even more dangerous.

Right now, Taylor was flicking through magazines on electronic equipment and Edward was squatting on the floor, watching his prisoner. Like many of the Africans he'd seen, he was perfectly balanced on his haunches, immobile yet perfectly at ease. The man probably didn't move particularly fast - at least judging from his movements - but he was armed with both pistol and knife and wasn't bound hand and foot.

These were lousy odds. Minimum three weapons versus none, and there was no way he was going to get the handcuffs off. No way he could kick out with his feet or legs. Taylor's gun was only inches from his hand, and thanks to his CI5 training, Keel knew full well that this one's reactions would be excellent.

There was a tiny window beside the door to the place - too small for intruders to break in, meaning definitely too small to dive through. The door looked like it would fold back to create an open storefront, like most of the shops he'd seen in Africa outside the big cities. Not much chance of crashing through that and hoping some citizen with a civil conscience would rush over, disarm the others, and call for the police.

There was no back door. No toilet. No fucking nothing.

Having come to the end of yet another survey of his chances, dejection edged closer again, and this time it was harder still to wrestle himself free.

He simply couldn't afford to give in to it. He hadn't allowed himself to give way to utter despair since he'd held Teresa in his arms, seeing her mouth those last words. He'd got close to it, perhaps, during the night out in the bush, after the plane crash. He'd voiced the possibility of not making it almost with resignation, but that had brought a flash of something like sadness mixed with sheer determination in Curtis' eyes. His partner had got him out of there, too, delving into resources of strength and determination that still made the American shake his head in admiration every time he thought of it. That was when he'd heard Taylor's name for the first time. In Curtis' nightmare.

Think, Keel. There is no way you'll let Taylor get to Sam.

Could he manage some sort of assault when they brought Curtis in? Would they even bring him in? Or would they just bundle him in the van and throw Keel in there with him? Shit, this was impossible. Curtis was walking straight into a trap and he could do fuck all to stop it. And he'd lured his partner straight into Taylor's hands.

Stop it. This is getting nowhere.

He needed to think further, then. Beyond them grabbing Sam as they almost certainly would. Why was his partner so willingly offering himself to them? Stupid, heroic bastard. Could he possibly have something up his sleeve?

Don't do it, Sam. Not for me.

Now he was getting positively maudlin. So what next? What could Sam possibly do when they pounced on him at the coffee house? Where would they take them?

The others - the ones with the biblical names - had been taking Myriam Mtanga "up" somewhere. Up where? Would they take he and Sam to the same place? Would they have a moment when he could apologise to his partner for letting him down? At least that.

I'm sorry, Sam. So sorry.

Curtis' face was so vividly in his mind that he consciously shook his head when it floated in front of the window for a brief second.

Couldn't be.

It was.

Keel's heart lurched with wild exhilaration.

How? How had they got there so quickly?

Because Sam had found him, that was why. He'd known where to find Jack Taylor, and he was here.

Forcing his vision to focus on the window, he saw the dark head appear again with 4 fingers held up. Somehow, he managed an almost imperceptible shake of the head. His partner couldn't see the whole room from there, obviously, and needed to know what he was up against.

The fingers went up again at three, and then at two. He nodded.

Curtis smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

Keel braced himself.

The door flew open, and Curtis' Beretta was suddenly pointing straight at Taylor's head. Taylor's hand flew to the gun, but one shot sent it skittering across the table.

Edward had his knife out in one swift movement, but then he crumpled as two more, rapid shots rang out. Tina Backus was behind Sam.

"Hello, Jack," Curtis snapped. "Backup, get Ben in here."

Ben and two other equally large companions materialised in the doorway, and Backus dropped to her knees beside Keel, anxiously scanning him for injuries. Keel managed a weak grin, knowing he was shaking with relief.

"'m okay, Backup."

"Sure. But you're still hurt."

Curtis beckoned Ben over to cover Taylor and joined Backus. Ignoring the acrid odour from the floor, his eyes met his partner's.

For once, there was no mask. Curtis' face was haggard and exhausted, but there was immense relief and real concern in his eyes.

"Key for the handcuffs, Ben," Curtis rapped out, still trying to size up the damage and frowning as Keel bit back pain, trying to sit up. "Chris…It's all right, mate. Take it easy."

"I'm okay. How in hell…"

"Later," Curtis told him gently, catching the tiny key that Ben extracted roughly from Taylor's pocket.

"Where's Myriam?" Ben said, quietly.

"They took her away," Keel said, yelping as his arms were released and pain flooded through them. He shifted and grimaced, and Curtis got a supporting arm around him.

"Was she hurt?" Ben spoke for the first time, tension evident in his voice coupled with the disappointment at not finding them both..

"No, she was fine. The lady has guts," Keel got out between clenched teeth. "I dunno where they were taking her, but they didn't hurt her."

"Thank you," Ben said softly. For a fleeting moment, Keel saw the big Kenyan betray his emotions, but they were quickly tidied away again. The guy had a lot in common with Curtis in that department.

Right now, though, Curtis wasn't bothering to hide his concern. The grey-green eyes were scanning his partner's face and the long, capable fingers were trying to massage out the knotted muscles of his arms after their long and forced immobility.

"C'mon, Chris. Let's get you out of here." Backus had picked up Edward's knife, and sliced through the bonds around his ankles. More cramps joined the rest of the pain.

Curtis got him to his feet, slowly and gently, taking his partner's weight. Keel realised his legs weren't holding him very well, but he took a shaky step, fighting back waves of dizziness that threatened to make them buckle altogether.

"Easy does it, " Curtis murmured, seeing his partner's frustration and tightening his hold. "You gonna pass out?"

"I never pass out."

"Heard that before. Sure you don't. But I'll catch you if you do."

Keel nodded, swallowing it down, glad of the support all the same.

"Ben, Backup, cover us as we go outside. Get those cuffs on Taylor."

Keel felt a tiny chuckle bubble up from somewhere.

"You could have come in here with a whole assault team and grenades, and nobody would have batted an eyelid."

"Maybe," Curtis said. "But we're not taking chances. Ben, Backus will go in the van with you and one of your men. We'll follow you in the car."

Ben nodded, and carefully opened the shop door.

"Where are we going?" Keel muttered, getting a tenuous control over his legs at last.

"Ben's got friends here. Somewhere close by. Then we can have a little talk with Jack, get you some help."

"I'm okay, Sam. I owe you."

"You don't owe me." Curtis grinned at him, then frowned again. "Lean on me, Chris, you look lousy, mate."

"I'm just dandy. Just need to get moving."

"Sure. Be taking you for a late night swim or a run along the beach in half a minute."

"You bring your Speedos?" Keel asked him, forcing one foot in front of the other.

"You bet. And the tights."

Backus was staring at them, suddenly grinning at each other like two kids.

"Get serious, guys…"

"He is serious," Keel told her as Ben opened the door. "Unless he forgot his cape."

Backus rolled her eyes.

"I won't ask. We moving?"

They moved.

*

It wasn't easy to come to terms with this. Curtis knew that when he'd come up with the idea. He'd rejected it immediately at first, vestiges of cold fear fingering his guts. Then he changed his mind.

First, though, he needed a few moments alone with Keel.

His partner followed him into the tiny room next door, and Curtis cursed himself for making his obviously suffering partner move from the comfort of the sofa. Keel's colour was returning, though, and he was a lot less shaky on his legs. Thank God.

Curtis took a deep breath.

"Chris, we have to get Taylor to talk, and I had an idea."

"Feed him his balls?" Keel asked mildly, and Curtis half-grinned despite himself.

"Something like that."

Briefly, he started to explain, faltering just slightly when he got to the why. Before he'd got more than a few words out about that, however, Keel had squeezed his partner's shoulder, compassion on the mobile face.

"It's okay, Sam."

"He told you?"

"Yeah." Keel nodded.

"I thought he would. Taylor has a big mouth," Curtis said, fighting down the self-disgust.

"He's a bastard. Like his friends. Hang in there, Sam."

"Thanks." Curtis managed a faint grin, all the time grateful for the support radiating from his partner.

"You can handle it?" Keel asked softly.

"I have to, Chris. So I will. Tell Backup, would you. She already knew…about…"

"Sure," Keel grinned at him.

Curtis took another long breath, refusing to let the images take hold of him. His partner looked at him in the eyes, speaking more firmly than before.

"Remember on the beach, Sam? You said you admired me, about coping with what they did to Teresa. Same applies here, 'cos you're doing fine. Go for it, buddy."

"Thanks."

"Hey, partner?"

Curtis cocked his head, infinitely grateful for the friendship.

"Was good to see you when you turned up back there. And I do owe you."

"My pleasure, and you don't. Your turn next, though. When you're up to it."

"I'll be up to it tomorrow. Maybe no three-foot machetes, though."

Curtis moved on to Ben. The big Kenyan simply nodded at the terse, dispassionate reasoning behind the idea. There was understanding on the dark face, too.

The man was no fool. He knew Curtis had been in Sivua's hands and somehow, Sam had the feeling that her reputation for the bizarre and gruesome was no news to him.

"He's a bastard, Mr. Curtis, and I have no problem with that. I'll see to it."

"He's a coward, Ben. And you don't have to go through with it. It's a threat, but it has to be a believable one."

"Justice can take many forms. We'll do what it takes."

"Thanks," Curtis said simply.

"I know many things that this woman has done, Mr. Curtis," Ben said, softly. "And she must not do it again. Leave it to me - your man will talk."

Curtis believed him.

A few minutes later, Taylor glared across the table at Curtis and laughed openly as the questioning started.

"Fuck off, Sam."

"I'll repeat it again, Jack. Then I get nasty."

"You?" Taylor scoffed. "C'mon, pretty boy, That I'd like to see."

Curtis slapped him hard across the face. Taylor spat blood, and then got his head up again.

"I'm terrified of you, Sam-mate. Can't you see?"

"You'd better be," Curtis said softly. "I'm giving you a chance to tell me where they're holding Myriam, or I'll force it out of you."

Taylor sneered.

"Forget it."

Curtis nodded to Ben, and the big man came over.

"OK, Ben. Take him out into the yard. Tell your boys to get ready."

"Getting somebody else to do your dirty work for you? Because you always go by the book, Sam. That's your problem."

"Not this time," Curtis' eyes glittered. "I just had a quiet word with Ben, who found a couple of willing volunteers."

A shadow of fear crossed Taylor's face. Curtis' eyes hardened even more.

"Yes, Jack. Those sort of volunteers."

"You wouldn't…"

"He would," Backus said, calmly, crossing her legs.

"You're not serious." Taylor shifted on his seat. "Malone…"

"Malone isn't here," Curtis said. "And I think he and I both know when to throw the book away, Jack. Contrary to what you might think. Oh, they'll beat you a little first. I believe that's the routine, isn't it?"

Taylor stared at Curtis, sheer hate on his face, and then tried a little venom.

"Get off on watching it, will you? Go ahead, then. Might bring back a few memories. You see, Tina, Keel," he spat out, "our pretty boy here developed some weird tastes…"

"His tastes are just fine." Backup's voice cut him off quietly. "I can assure you of that, Taylor."

Curtis' eyes flickered slightly at that, blessing her for the unexpected words but half-wondering what Keel would make of it. The American didn't miss much.

"She's not quite right, Jack. I don't always have good taste," Curtis' tone was conversational. "I had you as a partner once. But we all make mistakes."

"Fuck off, Curtis."

"Sure. I don't need to come and watch the show. You can do without me this time round. I'll stay here and have a beer."

Backup was watching him, approval in her eyes as his confidence grew.

Ben dragged Taylor to his feet, and Backus rose from the table. She grinned over at Keel on the couch, and then at Sam.

"Be good, guys. Save me some of the beer."

Taylor stared at her as Ben started to move him towards the yard.

"For Christ's sake…"

"Why, Jack?" she asked, coldly. "I thought it was all such fun? To watch, anyway. Besides, you can pretend I'm Elizabeth."

Curtis fought back his own amazement at the determined, icy tone.

"Actually," she added. "I'm quite looking forward to it."

Taylor gasped, and his glance sped wildly from Ben to Curtis.

"I won't talk."

"You will," Keel's voice drifted over, soft and confident. "Or, as you reminded me, didn't you ever hear Malone's little speech on breaking points? Maybe I'll come too. See when you reach yours."

Wincing, he sat up.

"Gimme a hand, Backup."

Taylor didn't even get out of the door, and Curtis felt the triumph welling up, at the same time seeing Backus close her eyes in obvious relief.

"She's on Lamu island. House belonging to some German guy. Reichen."

Curtis nodded, and Backus grinned delightedly.

"And when is the General's little performance to be?"

"Monday morning, in Nairobi." Taylor's voice was a bare whisper.

"Are you sure, Jack?"

"Certain."

"Right. And are they intending to release Myriam. Or hurt her?"

"Dunno."

Curtis took a handful of bleached hair and dragged the face close to his.

"I asked you a question, Jack."

"They might release her eventually."

"How and when?"

Taylor tried to turn his head away but Curtis wrenched it back."

"Later… maybe… but not straight away. They're saving her for one of the Mafia bosses who's coming in on Monday."

"Wonderful, Jack. Now get out your cellphone, and I want an Oscar-winning performance. Tell Elizabeth you're bringing us there tomorrow, and you'll call her back before you arrive. And even if I think you're trying to pull a fast one, remember Ben's friends are still waiting."

Taylor punched in the number with shaking hands, and did as he was told.

Smiling, Curtis picked up his own phone and called Malone, who after obvious relief that Keel was alive, also had news. The General was to make his speech withdrawing the parliamentary motion on the Monday morning, in Nairobi. He'd talked to his daughter, too, and had grunted in obvious displeasure at their own news about Myriam Mtanga and the intended visit by a Mafioso.

Malone had a great deal more to say, then, and Curtis nodded, adding a comment here and there.

Finally, he turned to the others.

"OK. We're on. tomorrow night. Right now, our beloved leader says we can rest."

*

Backus chewed her way through a sandwich that tasted like rubber and grimaced, washing it down with more beer.

Keel caught her wrinkled nose and chuckled.

"Tell you what, guys. When we get back from Lamu, we'll go eat at the place we were staying before. Lobster and champagne."

"Not hamburgers?" Curtis raised an eyebrow.

"I tell you, they're good hamburgers. Fries might be a tad soggy…"

Curtis chuckled.

"Thus spoke the connoisseur. Eat your sandwich, or we won't bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow. Ben says there's a French patisserie in town."

Keel's eyes lit up.

"You're kidding. I like those sorta roll things with chocolate in the middle. And the pastries with apricots and almonds."

"He's recovering," Backus said, watching the merriment in both pairs of eyes.

And so are you, Sam.

"He might be," Curtis said, seriously. "But you're gonna be stiff and sore tomorrow, Chris. You might not be up to eating. Or doing much at all."

"Hey," Keel said through a mouthful of food. "After that evil-smelling stuff you two covered me in? Straight from the local witch doctor?"

Backus shook her head.

"A witch doctor. Sure, Chris. We're all ready to send him in to rattle some bones and give you the strength-restoring potion with lizards' eyes, mice tails…"

"… and rat's balls," Curtis finished. "Remember Malone said the decision as to whether you come along tomorrow rests with me. The voice of reason in the partnership."

Keel gave him an evil grin.

"You think I'd miss all the fun?"

"You think I want you flying a plane if you're not in good shape? Look what happened last time."

"I was in good shape last time," Keel retorted indignantly. "It was the plane. Besides, this guy of ours from Nairobi - he's probably a weekend pilot. I did okay in the helicopter."

"Except for nearly passing out before you got it down again."

Backus watched the banter, revelling in it.

Malone hadn't even chewed them out for going in without permission, she grinned to herself, and according to Curtis' brief summary of their conversation had even offered congratulations.

She leaned back onto the cushions, grateful for whatever comforts Ben's hideout had to offer. It was more of a cabin than a house, close to the port and with wafts of fish and some less appetising odours creeping in. It had several mattresses, though, and beer in the fridge - not to mention its location near to a food stand selling tired-looking sandwiches.

In fact, right now, it felt like the Ritz to one very tired Tina Backus.

Ben, never very talkative, had ushered them in, posted his men with Taylor in the tiny adjoining room and pulled out four bottles of Tusker before unearthing an extremely well-stocked first aid box.

None of the CI5 agents had asked any questions about the place, but the big Kenyan had offered one of his rare smiles at Backus' nod of approval as she'd rifled through dressings and medication.

"Got everything you need?"

"Sure have. Thanks, Ben. For everything."

"You're most welcome, Miss Backus."

She'd grinned back at him.

"Tina or Backup. Only our boss has a thing about titles."

"I noticed," Ben let out a rare chuckle. "I'll have to tell him my surname sometime. Or start calling him Harry to his face like Daniel - the General - does."

Backup liked the idea of that. Just as she liked the giant of a man who she instinctively trusted.

Curtis and Keel were still chatting easily, she realised, realising just how much she needed sleep. Two more of Ben's mysterious little army had materialised and were keeping an eye on the place, he'd told them, so she could finally catch up on some desperately-needed rest. If the guys would only just shut up.

And yet, it was so good to see.

Curtis was waving the beer bottle around, expounding about tailoring or something.

Tailoring?

She stared at them.

"What's bugging you guys about clothes when we've not slept for two days?"

"Look what he did to my trousers," Curtis moaned. "They were virtually new."

"Spence's sweater didn't come off much better," she commented, absently.

Keel looked at it glumly. "Well, at least knowing Spence it'll be Marks and Spencers and not Hugo Boss or some such crap."

"Crap?" Curtis sounded outraged. "I tell you, Chris. You get what you pay for. Like hamburgers and lobsters."

"Snob."

"Philistine."

"I'm Protestant," Keel objected.

Curtis' eyes rolled. "And you're illiterate. A philistine…"

"Likes hamburgers, I did know. Just like to hear you pontificating."

"Hey, guys?" Backus chipped in despite increasingly heavy eyelids. "What's all this stuff about the red Speedos you were talking about earlier?"

"You don't wanna know," they chuckled in unison.

"Oh, okay. So how about sleep?"

"Nag, nag, nag" Keel nodded. "Typical woman. She's worse than you."

"She's right, though. Listen to the voice of reason," Curtis agreed.

"I though you were the voice of reason."

"No, I'm anal."

"You said it. And I'm a slob, right?"

"Will you cut it OUT, guys."

"Yes ma'am." Keel grinned lazily at her. "You wanna share my mattress or Sam's?"

"Get real, Chris."

She stalked over to one of the mattresses, seeing Ben already half-asleep on the sofa, and knowing she wasn't doing a great job of looking displeased.

Idiots, she decided, affectionately.

But it was so good to have them back. Both of them.

*

Keel found sleep difficult, despite the fatigue and the relief. From somewhere, he could hear the gentle, singsong murmur of Swahili from outside and decided that at least their guards were still awake.

The pain in his side had dulled, now, and his resolve to go in there for the raid tomorrow was growing. Curtis was better too, the remarkable control firmly back in place, but without that shadow hanging over him so much. And when this was over, he hoped, it would have gone, to return only in nightmares. And as Keel knew, even nightmares petered out eventually.

His partner was finally reaching a badly needed conclusion.

But what about his own? Was it still important? Would he go over to the States and watch Baldoni sentenced, and feel any different afterwards?

Keel didn't know any more. Curtis had offered to go with him, and that fact in itself was important. Maybe they still would, and they could take a few days vacation at the same time. Have some fun, even. Do some more swimming, maybe hike a little. The idea seemed more attractive by the minute. Maybe even pick up a couple of girls.

He grinned at himself, deciding that Curtis wasn't the only one to be getting over his hang-ups if he even felt he could do that now and not betray Teresa. For a long time - long enough, he decided - his relationships had always been a mixture of pure need and guilt, and had never lasted long enough or been serious enough to let that guilt fester.

Teresa wouldn't expect him to live like that - he'd reasoned along those lines many times but he was finally starting to believe it.

Teresa would have liked Sam, he mused idly. She'd always said somebody needed to calm him down and talk sense to him. She'd shaken her head at some of his stunts, even before he'd even dreamed of joining the SEALS, but he'd abandoned that idea when he'd proposed marriage to her. It wasn't a job for a husband - anybody's husband.

So he'd applied and been accepted once the first, all-consuming grief had passed.

It had been a crazy period, and he'd needed it, Keel reflected, flipping over onto his back and letting his thoughts run. He'd fought away from close friendships, though, not even wanting to start building up any sort of a relationship with any of his team, let alone with women. Keel the loner, the semi-suicidal nutcase - and everybody knew why he acted as he did. Word got around the forces fast.

Then he'd started to calm down a bit, not long before the offer from Malone had come up. He thought about it a lot, weighing up the loss of some things and the attraction of the unknown, and had finally accepted. Maybe moving out of the States would be a good idea, away from all the memories.

The day he'd met Curtis, however, he'd wondered what the hell he was getting into. The guy didn't seem to have many feelings or much of a sense of humour, but he got the job done. He didn't talk about MI6 much, or about his private life despite that throwaway comment about his life being an open book.

The very fact of seeing somebody so closed-off had made Keel ask himself a lot of questions, and even provoked him to break down a few of his new partner's barriers out of sheer fascination. He'd been happy to play the joker just to see where it got him, and it had got him a long way, tiny step by tiny step.

The day they'd been guarding Tom Perry in the hospital had been the weirdest of all. Curtis had been light-hearted, almost, on that hostage job in the States just before, and then had treated his partner to a lecture while Perry lay, fighting for life.

Keel, he'd said coldly, was too gung-ho, too hot-headed, and always rushing into trouble. That had stung. Then, of course, Keel had found himself in a rigged car later the same day just to prove him right.

But what had Curtis done? Grabbed onto him and not left him. Later in the day, too, he'd been there when the nightmare had sucked him in, and the offer of help had been absolutely genuine.

Curtis, he'd slowly realised, hid behind a mask, using the cold control to hide his emotions just as he, Keel, liked to fool around to achieve the same effect. Sam had even apologised for the sharp words at the hospital the following day, which had taken guts. And Keel, slowly realising that Curtis' apparent coldness wasn't quite as impenetrable as it seemed, had accepted and forgotten it.

Things had lightened up after that job, and their relationship had gone from strength to strength ever since.

He chewed over various examples of his partner's constant reliability - that part of the lecture had been absolutely true. That was quite something considering Curtis had been paired with a partner who'd left him for dead.

In fact, Curtis had even come after his new partner when he knew what he was risking, and probably flaunting Malone's orders in the process.

Curtis had taken getting him out of trouble as a matter of course, he decided, looking across to the sleeping figure beside him. Like with the land mine. The plane crash. And so many other times.

It was always Sam who came rushing in to pick up the pieces, somehow, with a few less than notable exceptions. Oh, Keel reassured himself, he was competent enough himself. Even good at what he did. But that solid presence beside him was the only reason he was still there to do it.

He owed Sam, though, Keel told himself again. So he needed to get to that island and watch his partner's back. Three-foot machetes or whatever it took.

Eventually, satisfied with the optimism surrounding the coming raid, Keel drifted slowly towards sleep, and woke again with a start. At first, he didn't know why, as everything seemed silent at first. Then he realised what had caused it. Curtis was tossing and murmuring, obviously in the throes of another nightmare.

The American started to shift, absently noting that he was stiff rather than sore, when he saw Backus sitting up from her own mattress, only a foot or so away, and go over Curtis silently.

His partner jerked, gasping, as she put a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning to murmur into his ear. The dark head turned towards her, eyes flying open, confused and frightened, and she reached out, ruffling his hair. The strangely tender gesture somehow didn't surprise Keel a bit, nor did the sight of her grasping Curtis' hand.

Keel froze, not wanting to intrude on the moment of intimacy. From where he was lying, though, it was difficult to ignore, and he found himself watching from half-closed lashes.

The soothing hand moved to his cheek, and Curtis reached up for it, his breathing slowly calming again. Even in the dark, the emotion on his partner's face was evident, and as Backus leaned forward, her silky hair almost - but not quite - hid the kiss.

She pulled away after only a second or two, her own face betraying the depth of feeling there, and again ran her fingers over Curtis' face in a way that spelled both comfort and something a great deal more intense. He reached an arm round her then, hugging her tight, finding a smile from somewhere, and she returned it before gently pushing him back to the mattress, planting a last kiss on his forehead.

Keel saw him mouth a 'thanks', and she shook her head, smiling back before setting back on her own mattress.

Malone would have apoplexy, Keel decided. But Malone wasn't going to know - at least not from him.

The old bastard's first rule was in shreds, and Keel really didn't give a shit. Partnership and friendship had a lot to say for themselves. Curtis and Backus had obviously taken that a bit further, judging from what he'd just seen, but that was their business.

Keel finally felt sleep drawing in again, and grinned to himself. Maybe he wasn't going to entice Curtis to pick up a couple of girls in California after all.

*

Spencer was grinning, and Backus decided he looked extraordinarily cheerful considering he'd been on the road since before dawn. At least he'd apparently had some sleep first.

"So how does it feel to be dead?" he asked, turning towards Curtis and Keel.

Malone and Mtanga had apparently contrived for the Kenyan morning papers to publish an account of a triple killing in Malindi whereby Taylor, Curtis and Keel had managed to shoot each other dead after some sort of a "vengeance killing."

The American wiped the rest of an extremely sticky pastry from his fingers and chuckled.

"Right now? Pretty useful. As long as Sivua really gets wind of it, that is. And believes it."

"She will," Ben rumbled from his corner, his own pastry rapidly becoming a memory. "Not much doubt about that."

Curtis chewed reflectively.

"As long as Taylor doesn't get out of the hold of that boat you put him in until we're ready for him."

"He will not." The Kenyan grinned, as if to himself.

"You personally bribed the guy who owns it, I suppose" Spencer enquired.

"I personally gave him the money and left one of my people there to keep an eye on him. The General, and indirectly the people of Kenya, are on the money end."

"Bribed, then," Keel said.

"If you like." Ben settled back into his seat. "But it worked."

"Shame we have to resurrect him, really," Curtis said, frowning. "I'd quite like to leave him there until he rots."

"And you with all that faith in the British justice system?" Keel asked him.

Curtis snorted.

"Yeah. Sometimes I wonder. They'll get him on kidnapping and GBH and let him out in a couple of years."

"No, they won't," Ben said, quietly. "We can find plenty more to pin on him in Kenya. And our jails are so much more interesting."

Curtis thought about that one for a minute or two.

"I'm beginning to like that idea."

Backus liked the Ben more every time she saw him. Idly, she wondered if Malone would manage to poach him away from Mtanga and get him into their small Kenyan unit. Creativity, in CI5's book, was appreciated.

They continued their attack on what seemed like half the contents of the French bakery and she poured herself more coffee, suddenly looking over at the pile of clothes again.

"What's up, Backup?" Curtis also had sticky fingers, she noticed, and didn't seem much the worse for the nightmare. In fact, he looked distinctly cheerful.

"Just looking at that stuff. Looks like a wardrobe department for some sort of kinky film."

"You'll look gorgeous," Spencer chuckled, and she withered him with a look.

"Not half as gorgeous as you, Spence. But I think I prefer men in pilots' uniforms."

"Lucky me," Keel drawled.

"I didn't say they had to actually be pilots, did I? Never thought I'd see Sam with wings."

"She's just living out her fantasies," Curtis said, airily.

"Never knew you had a thing about men in uniform," Spencer added. "Remind me to get my boy scout stuff out when we get back."

"Get serious, guys. Let's go through it again. We'll have company later."

The Nairobi pair were due shortly, and she knew both Curtis and Keel wanted their whole plan neatly organised before they arrived.

"So who died and appointed you the fearless leader, Backus?" Keel teased her, and she cocked an eyebrow and very deliberately reached out for the last croissant au chocolat.

"I'm the voice of reason, remember. Sam gets to decide whether Chris is fit enough."

"He decided. And I am." Keel's voice was firm, despite the accompanying grin.

"You decided, I just didn't think it was worth arguing with you. But I hope there are parachutes on that plane," Curtis shot back.

Backus sighed, but they all turned to more serious matters.

The buzz of excitement was almost tangible, she realised. She just hoped Ben's mysterious contacts would come up with a floor plan of the house in Lamu by the time they went in. Apparently the land registry there was neither computerised or anything short of chaotic, and too much nosing around was not advisable.

Curtis, she noticed, was both very much in control yet the hardness around those eyes that could be so expressive had given way to a vivacity she remembered well.

Keel, predictably, was positively bouncing. He'd subjected himself to another liberal dose of the witch-doctor cream, swallowed the painkillers virtually without argument, and cheerfully stated he was cured. Judging from the bruising, she doubted that, but he certainly looked far better than she'd dared hope when they'd found him. But then he was tough. Like his partner.

Adrenaline junkies, both of them, she sighed to herself, then caught even Spencer looking a little less collected than usual.

They were all adrenaline junkies.

*

Keel powered up the engine and started running through the checks. He glanced over at Curtis, holding the clipboard, and grinned.

"Well, you look the part at least."

"I have other talents. Piloting a plane just doesn't happen to be one of them."

Keel shook his head, sadly.

"You don't know what you're missing."

Maybe," Curtis said, thoughtfully. "I just hope this thing flies. And you get to use the landing gear. "

Keel glanced over at him.

"It's okay, Sam. They've been over it with a fine toothcomb. Twice."

"I trust you, Chris. Don't worry. Just want to get this over with."

Keel knew that. Both that Curtis trusted him, and that his partner was utterly concentrated on getting the job done and his demons finally buried.

"We're all set." Keel started to roll. "Let's go."

"What, no passenger announcements?"

"Co-pilot's job."

"Well, I guess they'll figure it out soon enough when we take off. I'm on strike." Curtis leaned back, folding his arms.

"Charming."

Keel looked over his shoulder at the passengers and stuck his thumb into the air. Five heads nodded.

It was quite a sight, he decided. Spencer in some sort of a loose robe with what apparently was the matching headgear, Backus swathed in more loose robes with a veil ready to hide the colour of her skin, and the two Nairobi agents dripping gold and playing Kenya's nouveau riche. Then there was Ben, attired in a badly-tailored suit whose buttons were threatening to burst, with a large moustache glued on by Backus' own fair hands.

The small plane leapt from the runway, and Keel watched the coastline with its white sweep of sand come into view. The glamorous hotels and the bright blue patches of their pools were lined up along the shore, and the rest of the town - including the lousy street he'd been taken to - was sprawled around them in a formless huddle of roofs.

Thirty minutes to Lamu, the regular pilot had said as he'd reluctantly surrendered the Cessna to Keel. It was a regular tourist flight, so the American supposed the five original passengers were equally irritated about being bumped. More banknotes would have discreetly appeared in Ben's capable hands, no doubt.

They could have taken the road, but apparently that wasn't such a good idea - it ran fairly close to the border with Somalia and was apparently a favourite spot for raiding parties. Several white tourists using that route regularly found themselves without much more than the clothes they stood in. Considering the plane was carrying a fair amount of sophisticated electronics and weaponry, both Mtanga and Malone had come up with the idea of a regular Safari Air flight, with a modified crew and passengers.

Ben, apparently, had sent three of his people ahead in a jeep, who would take the ferry across to Lamu. If all went well, they would be there and waiting for them. Knowing Ben's people, Keel almost pitied any of Somalia's bandits who decided to jump them en route.

Another flight into Lamu, later in the day, would have the original pilots as passengers, who would then recover their precious property. And if all went well, government helicopters from Mombasa would then move in to take them all home again.

Malone, Mtanga, and Ben had been busy. Malone was flying up to Nairobi in Mtanga's company, on a private jet, ready with the General to either make or withdraw his speech.

Keel wondered what the old man would do if he didn't get his daughter back, or if they'd already killed her, and decided that was not something to think about. If they didn't succeed, they'd either be in body bags or Malone would give them the chewing out of a lifetime or possible suggest alternative employment.

Of course they weren't going to screw up. Keel mentally shook himself. He'd always been an optimist that way, and he was still alive, wasn't he? So why the sudden feeling somebody was walking over his grave?

Probably, he decided, because this time he wanted things to work for more reasons than self-preservation and fleeting satisfaction, although in the past even that hadn't been an absolute necessity. This time it was for Sam, for the partnership, and even for Myriam Mtanga, who he'd instinctively liked for her guts back there in the van to Malindi.

Yes, they'd get it right. Satisfied with the thought, he relaxed again, watching the ribbon of coastline and the mottled blue of the water with the coral banks clearly showing just offshore.

Somehow, it seemed like weeks since he and Curtis had taken Captain Abdullah's boat and played like crazy adolescents in the water. Now, though, he knew Curtis a whole lot better, and the reverse was probably also true. It felt right, somehow - a long way since he'd refused to talk about his nightmares and Curtis had refused to talk about much at all.

"Chris?" Curtis' voice roused him from his thoughts, and he looked across.

"I was just thinking. You've got an instructor's licence, haven't you?"

"Sure. But no, you can't play pilot for real right now, OK?"

"Not now, no." Curtis was grinning, watching his partner check the instruments and make minor adjustments with practised ease before glancing down at the map.

"Good. So what's the idea?"

"Was just thinking. Maybe I should learn."

"Oh yeah? And you think I should do a crash course in French, or Russian or something?"

"Maybe. Just an idea - wondering if you'd take me up sometime, back home."

So Curtis was thinking of life after the job, too, and not just the next assignment either. That in itself was an improvement.

"Sure. You want to start with these little birds or were you thinking of going straight on to the F-18s?"

Curtis chuckled.

"Microlights, probably. But it couldn't do any harm. That way, if you decide to fall out or something, I could at least land the thing."

"Landings, huh? Landings are tricky, if you hadn't noticed. But if you're serious, OK."

"Mmmm." Curtis leaned back in the seat. "I sort of like the idea."

Keel sort of liked it too. Flying was part of him, something that came almost without thinking, and he missed it. He needed the required amount of takeoffs and landings to keep his license up, anyway, so it wouldn't hurt to try and get Curtis interested at the same time.

"Deal. But forget the Russian, OK?"

"Shame," Curtis sighed. "Beautiful language. The poetry is amazing."

"Yeah. I'll let you handle that side of things. I'll just stick with being a slob."

"You're not a slob, Chris." Curtis' voice was serious, suddenly.

"You're not that anal, either, when you try."

Curtis grinned, suddenly.

"Do I get to keep the wings, then?"

"Nope."

"Spoilsport."

" Wings, you earn. Like those little gold stripes on the epaulettes."

Keel slowly turned the plane towards the landing strip.

*

Backus cursed the voluminous bui-bui, as they seemed to call it, and once more twitched the veil into place with a flick of her hand, like the other women she'd seen as they entered the never-ending throng of people in the streets. So far, so good.

Absently, she glanced down at the several layers of artificial tan on hands and feet and once again decided Ben had really thought of everything.

Spencer didn't seem quite as talented with his own disguise, she grinned to herself behind the soft cotton, seeing him hitching the robe awkwardly as he navigated yet another narrow alleyway and another flight of broken steps. At least the veil hid the hilarity that bubbled up as she remembered Keel's final comments before they'd separated.

"Never thought I'd see Spence in a dress."

Well, she was seeing a lot of things she'd never expected to see on this island. First, the donkey population seemed almost on a par with that of the locals. They pulled carts, carried enormous loads, and effectively blocked most of the alleys most of the time, braying nonchalantly and - it seemed - non-stop.

The only solution was to press against the nearest door, and she was getting most familiar with the island's trademark of heavy, carved entrances. They were, according to Spencer, quite an attraction and many of them were centuries old.

The woodworking industry seemed to take the form of a myriad of tiny, dusty workshops. One of them they passed, full of sawdust and wailing music, had three youths in it. All of them were working industriously on a massive table that would have had its place in nothing less than a mansion, using nothing but simple chisels and chalked outlines on the wood. The door, however, sported a brand new sign quoting a website and an e-mail address. She pointed it out to Spencer with a low chuckle.

"Progress," she muttered.

"Yeah. Donkey-powered computers?"

She suppressed a wild giggle, almost letting the veil drop.

Get a feel for the place, Ben had said, so they had, including the smarter villas and the Reichen one in particular. After a good couple or hours in the heat and dust, however, she envied Curtis and Keel who were no doubt behind a beer by now.

Another four-legged obstacle missed her feet by inches, and she glanced at its burden, seeing the bundles of quat in the panniers. The kid at the head of the donkey grinned, holding one out to Spencer and then shrugged at the refusal.

Spence high? Well not now, but that had to be a sight to be seen.

This place had to be a unique paradox, she decided. A small corner of it was given over to glamorous tourism, and the rest was about three centuries behind. It still had open drains - or often no drains at all once you left the main street - yet there were craftsmen with e-mail addresses.

Most of the other shops she'd seen seemed to sell everything from bales of cheap fabrics to plastic bowls. Shaving foam and sacks of unidentifiable herbs often jostled for place with soap powder and aluminium pans. These were places that no self-respecting tourist would have spared a glance. Folklore was one thing, she supposed, but this was too authentic to be of interest to most.

Other places had decided to cater for the fledgling tourist industry and advertised Coca-Cola and blurred postcards. A café near the market claimed to serve "fine European cuisine" on its four Formica tables.

Spencer, she reflected, had turned up that morning with documentation on the island, and she'd noted that it was famous for woodcarving, mangoes and donkeys, and most of all for forty kilometres of fine, white sand. They'd now seen everything but the beach, and a quick dip wearing half a mile of black sheeting didn't seem like much of a possibility.

Gradually, they turned back towards the port, where the activity had slowed down from slow to virtually stop. The tide appeared to be out, and the rubbish-strewn sand was littered with fishing boats in various states of repair, plus a fair number of donkeys. One of them, she noticed, was being given an energetic scrub down with a bowl of soapy water. The Lamu equivalent to the car-washing ritual, she supposed.

The food stalls smelled tempting, and she nudged Spencer, pointing at the tiny skewers of meat and flat loaves.

"I could murder one of those triangular things."

"Problem, Backus."

"Hey, c'mon. Ben says it's good, and it smells wonderful."

"And how do you want to eat a Samosa through that veil?"

She sighed.

"Next time I come here, I'm gonna bring a bikini and drink beer out by the beach. And try one of everything."

"What's the matter with the local colour?"

"Fascinating, but somehow I still like dodging traffic with wheels and horns rather than hooves and bad breath. And this thing…" she flapped her arms, "cramps my style."

"You know your trouble, Tina? You've no imagination."

She snorted.

"More like too much. Just trying to think about tonight."

She was indeed. Ben had obtained a fair amount of information about Reichen's villa, one of a handful with their own access to the beach. No floor plans had been found, but one of Ben's little brigade had taken off to the area with a plastic briefcase and another tight suit, ostensibly to sell alarm systems.

Ben, indeed, thought of everything as a few glossy brochures he'd picked up from somewhere lent credence to the scheme. Two villa owners had even been interested, but Reichen's household had not - probably since the 'salesman' had spotted armed guards.

Other members of Ben's outfit and the two agents from Nairobi had managed to draw up a rough plan of the house, garden and pool as a result of their seemingly aimless wandering around both by land and sea.

Best of all, however, they'd seen Elizabeth Sivua on an upstairs balcony, and a shadowy, female figure behind her. Ben's powerful binoculars from the turret of the mosque had confirmed it was indeed Myriam Mtanga.

Mentally, she ticked the elements off on her fingers. Up to four or five guards, they thought. Elizabeth, Johnny and Myriam Mtanga inside. A couple of permanent staff plus the two men who'd brought Myriam.

Well, in theory it wouldn't be too hard, but that was what they'd thought about the house in Mombasa.

"Tina?" Spencer's voice made her jump.

"About Sam."

"What about Sam?" Thank goodness for the veil. She tried hard to sound casual, at least, but the soft question reminded her all to vividly of her own questions to Malone all those days ago.

"He seems to have loosened up a bit, that's all. Specially after how he's been the last few weeks. It's like that Tanzanian job and the Sivua woman were hanging over him somehow. You know what happened to him there?"

"Yeah, I do," she said, rather more shortly than she intended.

"And it's not for public release, eh?"

"Something like that, Spence. Sorry."

"Fair enough. I just had the feeling that Malone throwing him back into the pond didn't make anybody happy, but it looks like he can swim."

"Sure does," she said. "And when we've finally got Sivua, he'll have buried a few ghosts. But don't ask me anything else, Spence, OK?

"Fair enough, Tina."

Spencer nodded and lapsed into silence, then, and she could almost see the thought processes going through the lively, analytical mind.

"Spence?"

"Mmm?" Spencer was eyeing up some mangoes piled high on the market counters. "Wish I spoke Swahili, sometimes. Sainsbury's mangoes will never seem the same again."

"Too right. Maybe we should have taken some of that weed back."

Spencer chuckled, but her mind had strayed to Curtis and Keel, now, rather than tropical fruit.

"I was just wondering. Was Malone mad because we went in last night? To get Chris?"

"No, that was weird. He always looks relieved when somebody gets out of a bad situation, you know that. But last night he actually looked… well… as though he actually gave a damn. And not about Mtanga and his daughter, either. Sometimes I think the old bugger's got a soft spot for those two." Spencer was frowning with concentration.

"Maybe," she agreed, knowing full well he had and why, but feigning ignorance.

Spencer nodded. "Sure. Y'know I was waiting for the usual lecture on the first rule, and it never came."

"Oh, he'll get around to it."

"You think?" Spencer sighed, throwing a last look at the fruits. "Yeah, you're probably right. Once we're back home."

Would he? Backus wondered. What would it be like, afterwards? Would they all go back to pretending emotions didn't matter? Malone almost certainly would.

The first rule had seemed such a rock to cling to when she'd joined CI5, she remembered, but now it seemed like useless ballast. The longer she did this job, the more she realised that shutting off feelings simply didn't work.

Hiding them, however, did. Except this job was too emotionally charged for any of them to do that, even Malone.

But soon they'd be home and they'd all file it away and continue as before.

Or would they? Remembering the kiss the previous night, she was glad of the veil to hide the colour rushing to her cheeks.

No. That was over. Sam just needed her again for the last chapter in the whole damn business, and then he'd go back to being his usual courteous and distant self. Just like she would.

Time to get this damned veil off, have a beer and get down to business.

*

Curtis murmured into the headset.

"All ready. Tina? Spence? Ben?"

"We're here," Backup's voice confirmed. "Ben's people are ready."

"Josh, Mike?" The other CI5 agents responded, and the team moved.

"Hey, Backup?" Keel's voice was soft but the familiar excitement was there in it.

"See y'in hell."

Curtis glanced over at his partner as he pulled the balaclava up over the spiky hair, and nodded to him.

Was he nervous? No, he admitted to himself. He didn't get nervous, and never had, really. The adrenaline was rising, but they were so close, now. So near to finishing the job.

This time, Keel was beside him, and the American had that air of pent-up energy he'd seen right from their very first job together. Despite the residual stiffness, Keel was moving with his usual efficient fluidity.

"See you in hell too, guys," Backup responded softly, and he'd grinned to himself. As usual, she sounded perfectly serious.

Keel was the one who'd started it - the 'see you in hell' - and somehow it had become their war cry. As if saying it was like a talisman to make sure they came out very much alive.

As he crept silently across the rocks towards the tiny landing stage and the steps up to the house, the exuberance in Keel's voice kept running through his mind along with a twinge of guilt.

He'd told Keel way back - soon after they'd been partnered, in fact - that the ex-SEAL was hot-headed and rushed into trouble, but he'd regretted it ever since. Chris Keel was simply the most capable, efficient operative he'd ever seen and the trouble they'd got into in the past was by sheer chance. It could so easily have been the other way round.

In fact, he summed up as he negotiated the sharp boulders on the edge of the sea, there was absolutely nobody he'd rather work with. Nobody he trusted more, and nobody he'd rather have as a friend.

Well, that was another thing to talk about while they were in the States. It wasn't the sort of thing he found easy to say, but it needed saying.

Right now, however, they had a job to do and hell was the last place he wanted to end up.

The guard by the steps didn't make a sound as Keel took him, neatly removed the rifle and reached for the cuffs and tape.

"Your turn next," the American murmured.

"That was even easier than a machete," Curtis retorted.

Keel grinned.

"They don't count anyway."

"Okay," Curtis grinned at him through the balaclava. "My turn."

Silently, they padded up the steps, seeing the house in darkness.

Backus, Spencer, and the two from Nairobi were to deal with the ground floor, and at the same moment, Ben should be approaching the top floor from the opposite fence with one of his men while the others were keeping watch on the outside.

Keel's hand was already there for Curtis to haul himself up into the elderly mango tree nearest to the upper balconies, and the branch creaked faintly as it took his weight.

It sounded loud, but it wasn't.

Curtis pulled his partner up, and silently swung over, willing the wooden planks not to betray his presence. They didn't, and cat-like, they slid against the wall to the open French windows of the first room - but not the one from which Sivua had been observed. That didn't mean anything, though.

They were in luck, Curtis realised as they went in.

Myriam Mtanga was lying on the bed, handcuffed to it, and fast asleep.

Curtis started to lean over, then pointed to his partner.

Keel understood immediately - she'd probably find his face more familiar after their journey to Malindi. He slid the balaclava down and nodded.

Gently but firmly, he put his hand over her mouth, and her eyes flew open. Even as they did, Curtis was reaching for the cuffs, infinitely grateful as he always was for the many hours of patiently learning the useful talent of opening them with a fine lock pick.

They clicked open, and she sat up, eyes alight with relief, and Curtis realised she was definitely unharmed, although anger was in the dark eyes, too.

He put a finger to his lips, and motioned her to the balcony, mouthing for her to wait, and she nodded.

Keel, in turn, mouthed to him, winking.

"My turn."

They opened the heavy carved door into the corridor, to see complete darkness. Curtis turned back into the room as Keel beckoned a panther-like Ben towards the open door.

"Tina? Go in thirty seconds. Myriam's on her way out, with Ben."

Curtis allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief. The first part of the operation had gone exactly as planned. Ben was already swinging back out onto the tree branch, reaching out for the petite woman. Within a few more seconds, she'd be in a boat and only a few minutes later would be well away from danger.

So far, so good.

Now, he thought, it was both his turn and Sivua's turn.

There was still silence from downstairs, but from now on anything could happen, depending whether Keel's friends from the previous day - and the other staff - were around, armed, or even awake.

Flattened against the wall, Keel nodded to his partner, and Keel flung open the next carved door. This one swung out with a creak and sounded like a siren going off to their ears, but it was too late to stop now. The two of them went in, high and low, guns cocked and the adrenaline pumping faster through Curtis' veins.

The room was silent, and Curtis stepped forward, ready to fire. But there was nothing to fire at.

Keel was already back at the door, and a murmur of voices close by suddenly rose in the stillness. They crouched back inside the room and listened, and Curtis nodded to their right. Somebody was awake.

His turn again. Keel would know that, instinctively.

As he was about to warn Backus that there was movement upstairs, the first shots rang out from below and were answered.

They had to move, and move now.

Keel was automatically reacting, and in a split second they reached opposite sides of the door from where the sounds were coming.

The door flung open, but it wasn't like the other two had been.

This one didn't have a central opening but was one huge mass of intricately carved, heavy wood with massive hinges.

It swung so fast that Curtis hardly saw it coming, but it smashed into him and toppled him away from the wall and backwards even as he desperately tried to dodge around it.

Then he felt himself falling, inexplicably, into nothing, aware of pain and shock and the emptiness below.

The stairs.

He was falling, tumbling downwards. Christ, he was at an angle… he was going to topple through the space between the heavy, horizontal stair rails and into nothingness.

Somehow, his outflung hand caught onto something and stopped him, and he realised his entire weight was suspended over the stairwell, a good three metres down. And it was his right shoulder that had taken the impact of the door… and his arm wasn't going to hold, and God, it hurt…

He let go, hearing shots above, and fell awkwardly, feeling pain lance through his knee, his head crack sharply on something, and more, much more pain wash over his arm and shoulder.

Stupid, stupid, stupid… God, he was stupid.

He had to get back up there to Keel. And he'd dropped his gun. He'd heard it clatter down the steps as he fell. His headset was gone, too.

Footsteps sounded around him, and they could have been armed guards or his own team for all he could see as he fell clumsily to his knees at the bottom of the steps.

Where was the fucking pistol? He got to his feet, somehow, feeling the sharp pain in his shoulder as he tried to haul himself back up the stairs, half-expecting gunfire to slice into his back.

A pair of legs ran past before he'd virtually crawled up the first few steps. Then he saw it - the gun was lying on the stairs. Biting off a sob of relief, he grabbed it with his left hand, nearly losing his balance and falling back again.

He had to get back up there.

MOVE, Curtis.

His right arm wouldn't work, so he stuffed the gun into his belt, needing to hold onto something.

There was a sharp cracking sound above him, and a muffled cry, drowned out immediately by automatic fire from behind him.

What was happening up there?

His legs wouldn't carry him fast enough, dammit, and his head was spinning.

Then there was another, single shot, but his befuddled mind couldn't decide where that one came from.

After that, there was silence, and he was still not at the top of the stairs, because his legs felt like they were wading through glue.

Lights were thrown on, suddenly, and he was dimly aware of voices below him, but that didn't matter. He was nearly there, now.

He reached the door, gun out, and saw Tina Backus fighting desperately with Elizabeth Sivua

Sivua had a knife, and had her opponent into a stranglehold. Backus' gun was on the floor.

He raised the gun, trying to aim, and saw the sneer on the black woman's face. He took in the twisted smile, the moist, purplish lips and the eyes mocking him. The room swayed as the pain in his shoulder blurred his vision.

There was fear in Backus' eyes, and she was struggling with the woman with every ounce of strength she possessed.

He had to get her out of this.

But where was Chris?

Something was running into his eyes, warm and sticky, but he ignored that and tried to aim at Sivua again, and the image of the two women refused to stay still.

Then he saw the gleam of the woman's knife. It was that same knife she'd used on the kids, and it was flashing towards Backus' throat.

"Sam!"

Backus was screaming at him, still fighting the black woman's grip and flailing uselessly.

He had to help her, but where was Chris?

His finger tightened on the trigger, but it was his left hand and the two women were too close. It was madness.

Focus. Aim. You don't have a choice.

He heard the shot as if it came from a long way away. Behind them, he saw the window. He stared at that, not at the women, as his hand slowly dropped back to his side.

It was wide open, and led onto a balcony with a railing and flimsy, latticed woodwork.

Right now, there was a massive gap in it, the wood jagged and splintered. Beyond it, he could see the rocky cliffs below the house.

And then he knew where Chris had gone.

His voice wouldn't work, and he had no idea if his bullet had hit home. The gaping hole in the woodwork was all he could see.

A woman's voice was ebbing and flowing. Whose?

Dimly, he was aware of Elizabeth Sivua's face staring at him once again.

He'd shot somebody, and he didn't know who. It might have been Backus.

And he was in pain, and Keel was dead.

Maybe Backus, too.

Then he didn't feel anything at all.

*

It had to be hell, because Chris was talking to him and Chris was dead.

Did people talk in hell? Obviously they did. Keel was always talking, anyway.

It was wet, too, because there was water on his sweater - cold water - and that didn't seem right at all. And he still hurt, but maybe that was to be expected.

Now, drips were falling onto his face, which was distinctly uncomfortable, and he batted them away, opening his eyes to see Keel's blue ones looking down at him.

It was good to see his partner, somehow, but he was tired, now. So he let his lids drop again.

Keel had been going to give him flying lessons, he remembered absently, but that was probably no longer an option. Damn. But at least the American was there with him, which he was absurdly glad about. They'd ended up in the same hell, then. Or was there only one? He really had no idea.

Funny, he hadn't remembered dying, just hurting and then that sudden, gut-wrenching anguish and everything fading. What had he died of, anyway? Had somebody shot him? Or knifed him? Strangely, only his shoulder really hurt, with a vague stinging over one eye.

Well, it didn't matter, really, he supposed.

The familiar voice was still there. What was so urgent that the American had to tell him? They'd only just got here, hadn't they? And they had all the time in the world. Couldn't it wait?

God, this was stupid. Keel was dead, but even in hell the guy was still nagging at him, although the voice sounded gentle and reassuring.

It was over, the voice said. What was over? Finally, he blinked a bit and realised he was lying propped up on something soft that looked a bit like a torso clad in something black.

Strange cushions they had in hell, he decided, because it somehow reminded him of Tina Backus, although he had no idea how he knew that.

Then he jerked his eyes fully open, this time with anger starting to well up in his jumbled thoughts. He didn't want the cushion to be Backus because the last time he'd seen her she still alive so she didn't belong here. Unless he'd killed her as well. Or Sivua had.

Oh, God, no.

"There you go," Keel's voice said, and a wet hand patted his shoulder. Then there was a chuckle.

"This is the guy who never passes out, Tina. C'mon, Sam. Easy does it - you're hurt."

Hurt? Too damn right he was hurt, and the room was spinning, and hell seemed to look a whole lot like the room he'd burst into.

He took a deep breath, which also hurt, and got his head up, shocked to realise that Backus had her arms around him, and that Keel was kneeling there, soaked to the skin with a hand on his partner's shoulder.

Well, the appointment with hell was one they'd finally kept, then.

Considering he'd shot her, she didn't look particularly angry. He found her eyes, and she smiled back at him, ruffling his hair.

"Nice shooting, Sam."

He swallowed, wondering what he was supposed to say to that.

Suddenly, Ben walked in, flanked by the two agents from Nairobi.

Oh, Christ. All of them.

Frantically, his eyes searched the room, and there was Spencer.

Him too?

Spencer, though, was holding a gun on somebody.

So they had guns in hell as well. That was interesting. Why did people need them? How much more dead could you get?

"He okay, Chris?

Spencer was looking over at the little knot of people in the middle of the room, frowning as he spoke, but then Ben moved aside slightly and he could see where the gun was pointing.

Elizabeth Sivua was standing there, not snarling any more, with blood flowing freely from a wound in her shoulder.

For the first time, he started to wonder if this really could be hell.

But if it wasn't, why wasn't Keel lying smashed against the rocks as he'd seen in his mind? He'd seen the hole in the balcony just as the finger of his left hand had clumsily tightened and he'd pointed the gun...

But Keel wasn't out there. He was beside him, still staring down at his partner with worry clearly evident in the expressive eyes.

"Chris?" It came out hoarsely. "You…"

"Took a swim. Or rather took a dive and a swim."

"Swim…?" Curtis struggled to sit upright, wondering why they were all grinning, suddenly, and then yelled as his shoulder reminded him just how much it hurt.

Backus pushed him down again, and he looked at her, briefly, noting she seemed intact. Then he looked back at Keel, fighting back the waves of pain.

"Christ, Sam," Keel said, concern in his voice. "Stop looking at me like that. You forgot the pool was down there, buddy? So did Backus, at first."

Curtis stared at him, and unbelievably, felt Backus giggling.

"Pool," he echoed, looking at them dumbly.

"Yeah. Pool. As in swimming pool. I took a dive at our friend Johnny, who was waving a gun. She -" Keel jerked a thumb at Sivua, "had a knife. She jumped Tina, apparently, while I was dealing with Johnny down below. Spence fished us out."

Backus was nodding, still smiling.

"You fell in…" Curtis said, incredulous.

"Sort of. But I swim better than Johnny. And you, of course."

Curtis ignored that one, still trying to organise his tumbling thoughts.

"You got him? The others? All of them?"

"Sure did", Keel grinned. "While you were otherwise engaged." Then the voice was quieter, more serious. " Shit, Sam, that door really sent you crashing. How bad?"

Curtis decided that it was not bad. Couldn't be bad, somehow, because they were both alive. No, they were ALL alive.

Automatically, he started to flex his shoulder and grimaced. But it didn't matter a bit, suddenly.

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Backus said, grinning down at him. "More witch doctors needed, I guess. Looks like it's dislocated, and hurts like hell. But I think you'll live."

Oh, he'd live all right. And he was grinning back like some sort of village idiot.

"Hey, Sam… just one thing?" Keel's voice was teasing again now.

"Yeah?"

"You really have a problem."

By this time, Curtis decided he was so deliriously relieved that Keel was definitely still alive and nagging, and that he hadn't shot Backus, that he didn't give a damn about either flying or any other sort of problem at the moment.

But the blue eyes were mocking, so he'd have to answer his partner just to shut him up.

"I do?"

"Next time you decide to float downstairs, try not to forget the Superman cape, huh?"

"What about you?" Curtis retorted, lucidity suddenly returning in leaps and bounds. "Flying out of a fucking window?"

"I already got my wings, remember."

Curtis studied him for a moment or two, wondering if there was any answer to that. Then Keel shifted awkwardly, and he saw the blood on his leg. Keel noticed the frown, and had the grace to look sheepish for a second.

"Our friend Johnny."

"How bad?" Curtis looked him straight in the eyes.

"A graze. No more. Not enough to make me pass out, anyway."

Curtis grimaced, seeing the blood seeping through the soaked clothing.

"I'm sorry, Chris."

"Sorry?" Keel looked amazed, but was interrupted by a head appearing in the doorway to exchange a couple of words with Ben in rapid Swahili. The big man nodded over to Curtis and then addressed the others.

"We're ready when you are. I have people clearing up and your people from Nairobi are staying on to finish off. How bad is Curtis? Can he walk?"

Indignantly, Curtis decided he could answer that one for himself.

"I can move."

Not without help, he couldn't, he realised when he tried. His knee was wrenched, but that was nothing much. His shoulder, however, was agony.

Keel grabbed his good side but Curtis saw his partner bite back pain as he stood.

"Strikes me, " Curtis ground out, "you got your feathers clipped a bit."

Keel snorted as Backus got an arm around him. Ben frowned at Curtis.

"Stretcher, I think."

"Not bloody likely. Just give me a hand."

Somehow, Curtis got out of the house under his own steam. It was all a matter of control.

*

There were two Kenyan army helicopters at the airstrip, and Ben informed them that Myriam Mtanga was already on her way back to Nairobi, and her father, in one of them.

Keel watched Backus on the phone to Malone as he made his now increasingly painful way towards the shack that normally acted as an arrivals, and departures hall to join Curtis.

His partner was hurting, and hurting a lot - Keel had seen that all the way there from the carefully closed expression. Curtis being Curtis, of course, not much showed. Unless, of course, you knew him, and Keel did.

Backus stuck her head round the door to pass on congratulations from Malone, and then out again, busy with Ben as their prisoners were loaded into the larger of the two remaining helicopters. Malone, it seemed, was quite happy for the Kenyans to deal with both Sivua and Johnny as they saw fit. And Backus, Keel saw, was just as happy playing the voice of reason again, tying up loose ends with the Nairobi team and half the Kenyan air force.

Keel saw Curtis' eyes turn to the black woman through the window as she was hustled non too gently inside it and then back to his partner. Everybody else was outside, he realised, and the two men were finally alone.

"I wish I'd killed, her, Chris, " his partner said softly.

"I bet," Keel told him. "But she's not going anywhere fast."

"Yeah."

Keel looked over at the pale figure, huddled awkwardly in the chair, and obviously deep in thought, obviously mulling over the events on the top floor of the house.

Knowing Curtis, he'd be coming up with some awkward questions and any time soon.

They were both interrupted, though, by Ben's arrival in the company of another figure in fatigues. This one was carrying a medical kit and an armband with a red cross.

"Hey, Sam. I think the witch doctor's here."

Indeed, the tall figure beside Ben was carrying a medical kit and a red cross arm band.

"More rat's balls?" Curtis asked, wearily, and Ben pursed his lips.

"I'm sure we could find some. For the time being, though, you'll have to make do with a normal medical doctor."

Keel chuckled as the doctor opened his bag.

"Not a lizard's tail or a rattlesnake's tail in there."

The doctor just grinned.

"You both need attention", Ben said, calmly. "Then we're flying back to Nairobi. You'll be a lot more comfortable with that shoulder put back, Sam, if it's dislocated. "

It didn't take the doctor long to decide it was, and Keel saw Curtis bite back the obvious pain as fingers gently probed after carefully cutting away the sweater.

"This is going to hurt, particularly with all that bruising. You want me to go ahead or fill you up with painkillers and wait until we get to Nairobi?

"Do it now," Curtis said, sweat on his forehead already from the examination.

"You have to relax - Mr. Curtis is it? If you're tense, it won't work."

Curtis nodded, and the doctor took his arm. Curtis stifled a cry at the start of it all, and the doctor hesitated.

"I don't know…"

"Just do it," Curtis got out between clenched teeth. Keel looked over at his partner for a moment, then reached out for his good hand.

"Okay, Sam. Deep breath."

The doctor hesitated a second, then nodded.

Keel saw the brief moment of agony that flashed through the silver eyes as the doctor bent over him, and then Curtis gasped and his eyes closed.

For a second, Keel thought his partner had passed out again.

But no, not this time. Curtis slowly got his head up.

"Oh, Jesus."

"Better?" Keel asked, softly, watching his partner fighting to get his breathing back under control and finally releasing his hand.

"Yeah. Thanks, doc."

"My pleasure." The Kenyan felt Curtis' pulse and nodded, thoughtfully. "You'll do."

"Thanks, Chris," Curtis murmured.

"There y'go." Keel grinned, relieved. "Hey, has Spence seen what they did to Marks & Spencer's best?"

Curtis managed a weak chuckle, grimacing again as the doctor turned to the cut above his eye. He shook his head when the questions started. No, it wasn't a concussion. He'd had enough of those to know that.

The medic agreed with him and produced painkillers before turning to the gash on Keel's leg.

Keel, not being quite such an expert in control, yelled out loud.

"Hurt?" Curtis grinned wryly.

"Nah. Course not," Keel got out between gritted teeth. He looked down at the row of steristrips going neatly into place and the shreds of clothing. "But that's another pair of pants that I won't need to send for cleaning."

Finally, the doctor looked up.

"That should hold for now. Ben says they're just picking up your luggage from the hotel, and I'll send them in with it. So take the painkillers, gentlemen, and you both need another check with a doctor sometime tomorrow."

He disappeared, only to reappear with two bottles of Tusker, tossing them over.

"Not normally advisable to wash painkillers down, but it's all there is."

Keel tilted the bottle of Tusker, then paused to clink it against Curtis' own.

"Cheers."

"Cheers," Curtis echoed, obviously still thoughtful. When his partner took a deep breath, Keel knew the questions were about to begin.

"So what happened up there?"

"I was being a stupid, hot-headed fool. Is that what you're expecting me to say?" Keel's tone was sharper than he intended it to be, but couldn't help it.

Curtis looked as though his partner had slapped him.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"'s okay," Keel said, looking down at the beer. "Look, Sam. I saw you go down… and okay, I went in a second later than I should have done because of it. Johnny fired a shot off - damn near got me as well. So I went for his legs and found myself flying over the fucking balcony. That what you want to know? Just how stupid it was?" Keel's words were no longer defensive, just tired.

"What I did wasn't exactly brilliant either," Curtis said, quietly. "Didn't see the door coming and nearly got both you and Backus killed."

"It just happened that way - and it could have been me. So forget it, wouldya?"

But Curtis wouldn't, if course.

"You didn't know that pool was there, did you, Chris? What sort of a stupid bloody stunt was that?"

"Sivua had a knife. Johnny had a pistol. She jumped me from behind the door and knocked my gun away. I didn't have a whole lot of choice. I was just lucky he wasn't quite a Curtis-level marksman."

"You still didn't answer my question," Curtis said, meeting his partner's eyes, now.

Keel took a deep breath.

"Sam, would you quit nagging about it? There didn't seem any other way. And yes, I was lucky to end up in the pool and not on the rocks."

"So you didn't know it was there?" Curtis' voice shook a little. "Oh, Christ, Chris."

"Didn't I tell you I was good at the crazy stuff?" Keel tried to lighten it, but Curtis was shaking his head.

"Sure you did. And you said you'd got over that. For God's sake…"

"Quit nagging, Sam. It worked out."

Curtis sat for a while, sipping the beer with his good hand.

"I thought you were dead," he said, simply.

"Yeah. I realised that, after. But remember I saw you go flying backwards and down the stairs. That didn't look too healthy, either. Didn't think you were gonna make it back up there in a hurry."

Curtis tipped his head back, obviously not enjoying this.

"I thought I'd hit Tina, then I saw that goddamned hole in the balcony."

"Ease up, willya, Sam?"

"If I'd killed her, Chris…"

"For Christ's sake, Sam, you didn't. And you didn't break that thick skull of yours on the stairs, either, any more than I ended up on the rocks. We were lucky."

"Luck?" Curtis was shaking his head. "We can't rely on luck, Chris…"

"Sam, would you shut up? Keel sighed. "We all got out. No body bags, at least on our side. Malone's happy, and it was okay. You got that? There is no point in 'what if's'. So quit agonising about it or starting in on another lecture about having such an asshole for a partner."

"Asshole?" Curtis stared at him. "Oh, my God, Chris. Is that what you've been thinking?"

Keel couldn't answer.

"Listen to me, Chris. You're the best." Curtis shook his head, face suddenly devoid of any sort of mask. "I mean it, Chris. All that bullshit about you attracting trouble… I should never have said it."

Again, Keel felt himself unable to speak, then, slowly, found the words.

"You're not so bad yourself, Sam. It works, y'know. You and me."

"Yeah. If I could stop being anal, you mean."

"Don't knock it. You had reason to be. We'll work on that when we get back to work."

"Get back from the States, you mean," Curtis told him softly. "Because we can be there by tomorrow night."

"You think?"

"I think. And do we work on you being a slob as well?"

Keel hesitated a moment, then grinned.

"Fair's fair, I guess."

Curtis grinned back before turning serious again, looking straight into his partner's eyes.

"Just one thing, though, Chris. Don't you ever. Dare. Do. Anything. Like. That. Again."

"Wasn't intending to. But you just remember the cape, buddy, and I won't have to."

Curtis stared at him, shaking his head, and, amazingly, laughed.

"And the tights?"

"Even the tight red Speedos if you have to," Keel told him. "Very non-anal, those."

They both fell silent for a moment, then saw more figures approaching out of the darkness with familiar luggage and what looked suspiciously like more beer. Keel decided that the Tusker was one of the few things he was actually going to miss about the place.

"Time to go home, Sam," he said softly. "Let somebody else do the flying for now though, huh?"

"Sure," Curtis half grinned. "And Chris? Good job."

"Same goes for you."

"Yeah," Curtis said. "Oh, and it's your turn next."

"MY turn? What about Johnny and that gun?"

"He missed. And I got Elizabeth after that. Your turn," Curtis said firmly.

"You ready, guys?" Backus materialised. "And what's bugging you now?

Keel smiled up at her.

"Nothing at all. Ready for anything. Aren't we, Sam."

Curtis nodded, smiling genuinely now.

"Specially another beer. The doctor prescribed it."

*

Harry Malone sat in his office and watched them. A crowd of his people, with Curtis, Keel and Backus in their midst.

His two best agents had been back for less than 48 hours, but it was Friday night and they'd produced some Californian wine from somewhere. Their trip, he supposed.

He watched them for a few moments, then tried to concentrate on the file in front of him. A quiet voice disturbed him.

"Sir?"

Tina Backus, of course.

"What is it, Miss Backus?"

"We'd - uh - be glad if you'd join us."

He looked up at her, starting to frown but thinking better of it after a moment or two.

"Join you?"

"Sam and Chris and I. And the others, to celebrate them being back. Oh, and I was wrong, sir. Sending them to Kenya wasn't such a bad idea after all."

He raised one eyebrow, then realised there wasn't the slightest trace of insolence in her voice.

"I'll be with you in a moment, then, Miss Backus. And thank you."

She slid out of the door, not bothering to disguise the smile.

He watched her through the blinds. Watched her walk over to the two men, and saw Curtis pat her on the shoulder with a wink.

Not such a bad idea? Well no, she was probably right. He'd always hoped it would work out well, although he'd had a great many doubts. In fact, however, the entire assignment had been a success. They'd carried it off with nothing less than flying colours. Daniel Mtanga had been overjoyed at the outcome.

CI5's reputation was glowing in that part of the world, and if he discounted their injuries and Keel's leave, things were finally back as they should be.

A favour owed by Daniel Mtanga was also not without its uses, he added silently.

He continued to watch the party for a moment, seeing Curtis guffaw, suddenly, at some comment from his partner. Then he saw Backus look at Curtis with something unidentifiable in her eyes. For a moment, it looked as though there was a little more than simple affection there, but it couldn't be. Surely. Now he was letting his imagination loose a little too much. But he filed it away anyway.

Keel, waving a bottle of beer, was obviously in mid-story about something.

He had to admit it. Both men, plus his highly efficient assistant - and much as he disliked the word - looked happy.

The two men had come back from the States relaxed and looking more like they'd been on a beach than in a courtroom.

Baldoni had gone down, though. They'd made it just in time, and Curtis had been with his partner to see it. When they'd returned, Keel had asked for some more leave until Curtis' shoulder was completely healed and most uncharacteristically, Malone had granted it.

How they'd used their time, he didn't know, and although the grapevine had said something about Curtis taking flying lessons he still had no proof of that. He would, of course, obtain it.

Yes, they'd done well in Kenya, he decided once again, closing the file he was working on. And it was good to see them back.

They'd turned in reports that stated the essentials, and yet far more had happened during those few days than he'd ever know. That much he was old enough and wise enough to know and - when it was appropriate - to ignore.

This time, anyway.

The right thing to do, of course, would be to line them up in front of him and make them all repeat the first rule.

Backus, because she was far too fond of them both for her own good. Did she think he was blind?

Curtis, because from being closed off to the world, he had obviously put that behind him and become extremely close to his partner, with all the dangers that implied.

Keel, finally, because the last traces of self-doubt that few besides Malone had ever noticed had gone, to be replaced by complete confidence both himself and the future thanks to a genuine friendship with Curtis.

Quite a trio, Malone decided.

Were they fools, or had they got it right?

Where would it take them?

For the time being, he decided that was their affair.

So, abandoning his own first rule until it was time to impose it again - and that time would come, of course - Malone rose and went to join them.

*

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