In the Shadow of the Serpent

277

What begins as an escort assignment of a dignitary and his associates lands the partners in the middle of a plot to assassinate the President of the United States.

 

Archivist’s Note: Special thanks to M H E Priest for help with transferring stories to this archive.

Authors’ Disclaimer: The characters and events in this story are purely fictional. Some are the product of the authors’ imaginations and others are the property of others, used here without permission but with no intention of infringement on any copyrights. Any deviations from the Canon of the televised series or historical discrepancies are due to either artistic license or human fallibility (you choose which).

Dedication: This story is a first for both of us, and, as such, we would gratefully like to dedicate it to the memories of those who believed in us even before we believed in ourselves: Margaret’s friend Susan Beasley (20 years wasn’t nearly long enough, Sus!) and Trish’s “Mum.” Thanks for all of your love and support. We miss you both every day!

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Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan…

Starsky came to with a groan, wondering where he was and what had happened to him. One thing he knew immediately, he was not in his bed! He was miserably cold and wet; there were aches and pains of different sizes all over his body and a sick, dizzy feeling in his gut.

His head wasn’t too good either, with a kind of “morning after” fuzziness going on in his brain. Cautiously, he cracked open his eyes to take a look around. He gasped, scared, until he realized that he wasn’t blind after all. It was just dark wherever he was. As he waited for his heart rate to slow down again, his eyes gradually began to adjust to the dim light and he started to be able to make out some of what was around him.

He seemed to be at least partially inside some sort of a shelter–though not much of one as it sure wasn’t doing a whole lot to protect him from the weather! He was sitting down in this cramped, little space with something hard pushed up against his knees and chest so tightly that it was difficult to take a deep breath. Cold rain (or at least, he was assuming it was rain) was falling in his face and running up into his hair. With a shock, he realized he was upside down.

“Well, that explains the dizziness!” he muttered to himself. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper and his throat hurt when he talked, so he quit trying to and listened for a moment instead. Other than his own breathing and the dripping sound of water, it was utterly, eerily silent.

Then, suddenly, a bright flash of lightning split the darkness, temporarily blinding him again, followed almost instantly by the loudest clap of thunder he’d ever heard. It literally rattled the teeth in his head and must have rattled his brain a bit, too, because all at once, in a rush of images that left him reeling a little, his memory returned.

Two days before, he and Hutch had been sitting in the squad room when Dobey had come in and asked for a volunteer to go up to Frisco to meet this minor dignitary from some foreign government or other and his two traveling companions and escort them back to Los Angeles for a big reception the governor was hosting there for the President. Not the kind of assignment that Dobey’s men would normally be asked to take, but things were slow, so he and Hutchinson had said they’d take it.

The captain had agreed, but then he’d told them that, since they were so far behind on their reports, only one of them could go. He and Hutch had flipped a coin for it, and Starsky had lost. But, after an hour or so of Starsky’s pouting, Hutch had decided to be a nice guy and let him go instead. He knew how much his partner hated doing paperwork!

Starsky had gone up by plane that afternoon and taken a cab to the four star hotel where the dignitary and his entourage were staying, only planning to be away overnight. But it turned out that the dignitary was afraid to fly. His aide informed him that they had rented a car so that they could drive back.

The dark-haired detective hadn’t minded much at first-he loved to drive! But then he saw the ugly white sedan the rental agency had waiting for them the next morning. It was big and new and clean enough, but had no personality at all. He tried to talk the dignitary into letting him get something a little classier, but had been coolly informed by the man’s aide that the car they had was adequate for their purposes. So he’d put their few suitcases into the trunk, loaded up his charges and reluctantly gotten behind the wheel for the long trip back to LA.

Looking back on what happened next, Starsky couldn’t pin down exactly when he’d begun to sense that something wasn’t right. Cops who spend as much time as he and Hutch had on the streets soon develop a kind of instinct about such things and, not long into the trip, his had started to make him uneasy. For one thing, the dignitary and his friends hardly spoke at all, and then only to each other in their own language. Starsky soon gave up trying to make small talk with them and had concentrated instead on his driving, beginning to wish he’d let Hutch take this job after all. For another, the dignitary’s aide had repeatedly refused to let him call Dobey to update him on their whereabouts. When Starsky had protested that departmental procedure required him to report in at least once every 24 hours, the aide had gone on to explain that the dignitary had received several death threats, and so the Secret Service had taken authority over security for the trip.

“This has all already been cleared with your captain by them,” the aide had said. “So there will be no more need to contact him until we reach Los Angeles.”

“Great!” Starsky had thought, “Not only do I get to play chauffer to these clowns, I get to be the Secret Service’s errand boy as well!” More and more, he began to feel that Hutch had gotten the better end of this deal.

Now, hanging by his seatbelt in what was left of the wrecked rental car with the cold rain falling in on him through the shattered windshield, Starsky could only feel extremely grateful that his partner wasn’t there!

The foreign dignitary and his aides were really assassins on the way to try to take out the President. Starsky had accidentally overheard them talking when they had stopped to fill up the sedan at a little out-of -the-way gas station just before they’d driven up into the mountains. Thinking Starsky was still in the men’s room, they’d been arguing with each other, lapsing into and out of English. He hadn’t been able to understand much of it, but had picked up enough to know that he was in trouble.

Starsky had circled around the back of the station and gone into the building through the service door on the side away from where the sedan was parked at the pumps. Hunched down behind a rack of dusty maps, he’d tried to get the elderly owner’s attention.

“Psst! Hey, Pops! You have a phone in here?” Starsky whispered, eyes glued to the sedan. Only one of the three men he’d come here with was visible from where he was. Any minute, they were going to start wondering what was taking him so long.

The owner looked up from the magazine he’d been reading with an annoyed glare. “Who are you callin’ ‘Pops’?” he growled.

“You’re right! I’m sorry,” Starsky quickly apologized, desperate to avoid wasting any time arguing with him. “Look, this is an emergency! I’m a police officer and I need to use your phone!”

“You want to make a call, you use the pay phone outside!” the older man said, turning his attention back to his girlie magazine.

“No! You don’t understand! I…” but Starsky didn’t get to finish his explanation as just then one of the assassins came in through the door behind him.

“Is there a problem, Detective?” the man posing as the phony dignitary’s aide asked.

Starsky straightened up and turned around with what he hoped was an innocent expression on his face.

“No problem,” he smiled. ” I was just looking around. Thought I might find a souvenir I could buy for my partner, since he didn’t get to come along with me on this trip.”

“Don’t got no souvenirs!” the elderly station owner groused. “Not enough traffic comes by here to be worth it to me!”

“Are you ready to go then, Detective? The Premier is understandably anxious to be on his way.” You had to hand it to the guy, he was cool, giving no hint that he was anything other the mildly bored aide of an important official.

Starsky’s gun was in his shoulder holster under his jacket. If he’d been alone, he might have risked going for it. But if he did, the station owner might get caught in the crossfire. The old coot was annoying, but that wasn’t enough reason for Starsky to want to risk his being killed or injured. So, Starsky paid for the gas with his credit card and he and the three men got back in the car and drove on.

As Starsky had driven, his mind had been frantically going through his options.

Were they on to him? If not, he still might have the element of surprise. If he were to gradually speed up, then suddenly slam on the brakes perhaps he could get his gun out while the other three men were still rattled.

Glancing at the man in the front seat beside him to make sure he didn’t notice, Starsky reached down beside his seat and found the seat belt. He slid it slowly across his lap and into the buckle, muffling the snap with a loud cough. The man beside him looked at him curiously but by then Starsky had both hands on the wheel again. “‘Scuse me,” he said, and the man turned his attention back to the road.

On the next downgrade, Starsky let the sedan pick up a little speed, then kept inching the speed up as they climbed the next rise, careful not to gun the engine and give away what he was doing. He’d braced himself to make his move, when the man riding beside him happened to glance over at the speedometer and let out what sounded like a curse in his own language. Starsky stood on the brakes hard, fighting with the steering wheel as the car fishtailed on the narrow road. The other man, dazed from having hit the windshield, nevertheless had a grip on the wheel now as well and one of the men in the backseat leaned forward and slid something around his neck.

Starsky continued to fight for control of the car even as the wire around his neck tightened and cut off his air supply. All of the passengers were yelling and cursing at him and each other and suddenly the shoulder on the left side of the road dropped away, leaving only the guardrail between them and a long steep drop down to a wooded ravine. Starsky heard the rear doors open as the two backseat passengers decided to jump for it just as the car went through the guardrail and plunged toward the trees below.

Now, he didn’t know how many hours later, here he was, peering out through the spidery web of cracks in the car’s windshield, but all he could make out in the intermittent flashes of lightning were dark, silent trees.

“I’ve got to get out of here!” he thought. “Somehow, I’ve got to find a way to let Dobey and the Feds know that these guys were phonies. Hutch, old buddy, this would be a good time for that psychic connection thing everyone always says we have to start working! Come on, Hutch! Come find me!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Hutch woke up this time, the room was light. The window was open and the curtains fluttered in the cool morning breeze. Sounds of the tide coming in on the beach below his apartment and the raucous cry of seagulls floated into the room. But it was some other sound, he knew, that had awakened him–a sharp sound, part of a dream which had been haunting him throughout the night, but which drained away each time Hutch woke like water out of a wash-basin. Perhaps a dog had barked. But now everything was quiet and there was only the flash of the sun on the windowpane and the sound of the hungry seagulls down on the beach.

Like the first strokes of a paintbrush on a big sheet of paper when you are still not sure how the picture is going, Hutch knew that something was wrong, wrong with Starsky, and all he could think was:

“No one’s going to believe me, pal, but somehow I know you’re in trouble! If I’m wrong, I’ll never hear the end of it. But if I’m right…!”

And with that Hutch got out of bed and pulled on his pants.

 

Chapter 2: …And Into the Fire.

Dobey looked up from the large stack of reports he was reading as Hutch came into his office. “Isn’t this your day off, Hutchinson?” he asked in a gruff tone, but Hutch knew that the captain was all bark and no bite. “Well, almost no bite,” he amended silently.

“Cap, have you heard anything from Starsky yet?” the blond detective asked as he propped a lean hip on the edge of Dobey’s cluttered desk. The captain was surprised to see the normally meticulous officer dressed today in faded jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. Dark circles under Hutch’s eyes indicated he probably hadn’t slept well.

“No, I haven’t!” Dobey shot back, “and when he does call, he’d better have a damned good excuse for it, too!” The captain’s bluster hid a soft heart and Hutch could tell that Dobey was as worried about his partner as he was.

Still pretending to be annoyed, the captain searched briefly through the papers on his desk, muttering to himself as he did. “Maybe I should call that hotel he was supposed to meet the Premier and his aides at and see if they’ve checked out yet…” Dobey found the number and dialed the phone. Hutch paced nervously as the captain waited for an answer, then leaned over the desk while Dobey spoke to the person on the other end.

“Can you tell me how long ago they checked out? When? I see…Is it possible you could tell me if any of them mentioned which flight they would be taking? They did what? Yes, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Dobey hung up the phone and sat lost in thought until finally Hutch couldn’t stand it any more.

“Well?” he almost shouted.

“Hmm? Oh! The desk clerk at the hotel says they all checked out two days ago. She remembered Starsky well and says he mentioned something about them renting a car and driving back to LA. Seems he invited her along for the ride.”

In spite of his worry, Hutch had to smile at his friend’s antics. “Did she happen to catch which agency they rented the car from?” he asked. Dobey nodded even as he reached for the phone again.

“Matter of fact, she just happened to be on duty when the Premier’s aide called the desk and asked if she knew of an agency nearby. She even put the call through for him.” Dobey finished dialing the phone a second time. “Hello? Yes, this is Captain Dobey of the Los Angeles police department. I need some information about a vehicle you rented two days ago.”

Dobey described Starsky to the rental agent and told her he had been traveling with three other men, then listened to the agent’s reply. Hutch leaned so far over the desk that he was almost in Dobey’s face, but still could not make out the other end of the conversation. Dobey glared and made a shooing gesture at him, so Hutch went back to his pacing until Dobey hung up the phone.

“Seems Starsky made an impression on the rental agent as well. He wasn’t too happy with the car they’d been given and tried to talk her into letting him have something else. She was able to give us the license number and a complete description of the vehicle.

“I think it’s time to be concerned. I’m calling the Embassy to see if they’ve heard anything from their people. Meanwhile, why don’t you post an APB on the car? Here’s the description from the rental agent.” He handed Hutch a small slip of paper. “I hope we’re overreacting, Ken. And God help your partner if it turns out that he’s just out joy riding with his new friends!”

A short while later, Hutch looked up from his desk and saw Dobey standing in the doorway of his office. “Can you come in here, please?” he asked. If Dobey was being polite, then it had to be bad news. Hutch got up and followed the captain into his office closing the door behind him.

“What is it, Cap?” Hutch asked as he perched on the edge of the chair in front of Dobey’s desk.

“I just got off the phone with the Embassy. The Premier and his party have not been heard from in the past 72 hours.” Hutch started to get up to rush out of the room, but Dobey stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “It gets worse, Ken. A guard at San Francisco International found a body this morning in a storage closet. The description matches that of the missing Premier. The coroner says he’s been dead at least three days.”

Hutch sank back into the chair. “Oh, my God!” he breathed. “Then who the Hell is with Starsky?”

“I don’t know, but I think its time the Feds were involved. If our John Doe up in Frisco is the Premier, then this just became a government investigation. I’ll get on the wire to the FBI and the Secret Service and set up things with them. And I’m putting you in charge of the investigation at our end, with finding Starsky being your top priority. Take as many men as you need and good luck, Ken.”

~~~

In an office inside a building across town from Parker Center, a pretty brunette smiled as she finished speaking to Captain Dobey, hung up the phone, then immediately picked it up and dialed out again.

“Sky? This is Rogue Star. Tell the Sultan I just received some news about our missing men…”

~~~

Hutch had been drawing blanks for almost two hours when it suddenly occurred to him to call Starsky’s credit card company and see if there had been any recent charges made on his account. Bingo! His partner’s card had been used two days before at a gas station off Route 101. He got the phone number and called the station’s owner and described Starsky to him.

“Yeah, I remember your partner! He and some foreign types were in here the other day. I remember because your friend kept buggin’ me, wantin’ to use my private phone to make a call. Why don’t you teach your officers better manners?” Hutch hung up on the rest of the tirade. Starsky was alive! Or, at least, he had been as of Saturday morning. A lot can happen in 48 hours.

He grabbed his jacket and was just starting for the door when he ran into Huggy Bear coming in. In all the years they had been friends, he could not remember Huggy ever having come to the station house before. He said it wasn’t good for his image.

“What’s up, Huggy?” he asked.

“Hey, Hutch. Where’s your partner? Something big’s going down and I thought I’d better come and tell you both about it in person.”

“Starsky’s been missing for two days and may be in serious trouble. I was just on my way out to follow up a lead on where he might be.”

“Then don’t let me stop you! I can tell you on the way. Let’s go!”

“Thanks, Huggy. But are you sure you want to come along? The men Starsky was last seen with may already have killed a man.”

“Are you kidding? I can take care of myself, Hutch. And you may need the backup.”

“All right then. Come on.”

~~~

Bright sunlight was shining in his face when Starsky came to this time. He had fallen and hit his head when he’d undone his seat belt and must of passed out again. If the stiffness of his body was any indicator, he must have been out for some time. His head was pounding with every beat of his heart and all the little aches and pains he’d felt the first time he’d come to after the accident had turned into big ones. He squinted, blinking back tears from both the pain and the bright light, and was finally able to get his eyes to focus enough to take a look around.

Things didn’t look any better in the daylight than they had before in the dark. The road they had been traveling on was not heavily trafficked, and so it was really no surprise that no one had come yet to investigate the crash, nor was it likely that anyone would soon. Which meant he was on his own. It was time to take action.

First, he would have to find a way to get out of the car. The roof had partially collapsed as the vehicle had rolled over and over down the steep embankment, leaving him only just enough space to wriggle around a little on his back and the door on his side was jammed against the earth of the hillside. Maybe things were better on the passenger side of the car.

He turned his head to see and found himself almost nose to nose with the corpse of the man who’d been riding beside him in the front seat. He jerked back, startled, then cried out as the movement sent a sharp stab of pain through his right shoulder and arm. Darkness hovered at the edges of his vision and he broke out all over in a cold sweat. If he’d had any doubts left about how serious his situation was, he didn’t any more. Starsky was no doctor, but he knew enough about first aid to realize that he needed medical attention. And soon.

Suddenly, he got angry. He’d never liked this damned car in the first place. He refused to let it become his coffin. Bracing himself against the pain, he slowly managed to work his way around until his feet were toward the front of the car. Then, with a yell, he kicked as hard as he could against the broken windshield until he was finally able to knock it out, allowing him to crawl out of the mangled car. He staggered to his feet and looked up the steep embankment towards the road.

“No way I’m making it back up there!” he muttered to himself. As weak as he felt right now, he doubted he could even walk very far. But he knew he had to try. The sun was shining brightly yet it was still cold enough that his breath hung in clouds in the air. He had to find some sort of shelter and, more importantly, a phone or something not only to call for help but also to call the station and warn them about the assassins.

He turned away from the road and looked off towards the trees. Was it his imagination, or was that a chimney over there? Starsky reached in his pocket and slowly, painfully took out his wallet and removed his badge and dropped it on the ground. If anyone came to check out the wreck, they’d find it and know he had been here. Maybe they’d call Hutch…

Bracing his injured arm tight against his ribs, he limped off in the direction of the house.

~~~

What Huggy had to say had not improved Hutch’s mood any. If the black man’s sources were correct, then something big indeed was going down.

The sale of illegal drugs had been big business in Los Angeles ever since the city’s earliest days. It’s close proximity to both the ocean and the Mexican border had long made it a tempting spot for those who dealt in all types of illicit merchandise to set up shop. He and Starsky routinely dealt with everything from small time addicts selling only enough pot to high school kids to pay for their own next fix to big time drug lords who regularly brought in and distributed millions of dollars worth of heroine and cocaine.

But recently, things had changed. More and more of the small time dealers were disappearing and being replaced with members of an organization unprecedented in the size and scope of its operations. And rumor had it the whole thing was being run by just one man, known on the street only as the Sultan.

“This is one bad dude, Hutch!” Huggy was saying as they wound their way up the narrow mountain road towards the gas station where Starsky had last been seen. “Those dealers who refuse to join his organization soon turn up in the morgue. And their corpses haven’t been pretty. I’ve seen guys I didn’t think were afraid of anything back off if this man’s name gets mentioned.”

“But what does this have to do with Starsky’s disappearance?” Hutch asked, slowing to negotiate a particularly bad curve in the road. The mountain’s bulk loomed close to the left and on the right there was only a low guardrail between them and a steep drop down into a wooded ravine.

“That’s what I was coming to tell you, man! The word on the street is that the Sultan is letting it be known that no one can stand up to him and his foreign backers and not get burned. And there’s been whispers that he might even be planning on trying to take down the President during his visit because of some laws he’s pushed through Congress lately that are making it tough on his South American suppliers.”

“And you think these men posing as the Premier and his aides might be his men?”

“You got it. Hey! Why are we stopping?”

“Look.” Hutch said, nodding to a place in the middle of the turn where the guardrail had recently been broken through. Just the sight of the ragged hole in that frail barrier made Hutch’s blood run cold.

He stopped the car just past the gap in the guardrail and he and Huggy got out, Huggy grumbling a little because of how close the drop was on his side. His complaints died in his throat though when they both spotted the remains of the white car that lay at the bottom of the ravine.

Unmindful of his own safety, Hutch leapt over the guardrail and went sliding and skidding down the sharp muddy grade. Huggy followed at a slightly more cautious pace. Hutch reached the car and felt his heart stop…until a closer look revealed that the corpse lying half through the gap left by the missing windshield wasn’t his partner. He bent and checked for a pulse out of habit, even though the angle of the man’s neck made it plain he was dead. He straightened and looked around as Huggy joined him.

“Oh, man!” Huggy hissed as he looked at the dead man. “Is he…?” Hutch nodded. “And it isn’t…?”

“No, it’s not Starsky,” Hutch answered.

“Well, thank God for that! So, where is he then? This is the car, isn’t it?”

Hutch nodded again. “This is it, all right. The license plate numbers match the ones the rental agent gave us.” Hutch squinted in the bright sunlight, then suddenly pounced on something shiny on the ground nearby.

“What is it?” Huggy asked, crowding in close to look.

“It’s Starsky’s badge! He has to be nearby. Starsk!” he shouted. “Hey, where are you, buddy? It’s Hutch! Come on, answer us Starsky!”

Huggy caught his sleeve and pointed. “Look!” he said. A stone chimney was just visible above the tops of the trees about a quarter of a mile away. “If it was me stuck out here, that’s where I would go!”

“You’re right. Come on!”

~~~

The chimney belonged to a rustic-looking little cabin nestled back in the trees. It was probably someone’s weekend hunting retreat. The door had been locked, but someone had broken in. Drawing his gun, Hutch motioned for Huggy to hang back and slowly crept up to the open door. He burst into the cabin’s one room prepared to defend himself, and almost fell over Starsky, who was passed out cold on the floor just inside the door.

“This is starting to get old!” Starsky thought as he slowly regained consciousness once more. At least this time he wasn’t cold. He opened his eyes and found Hutch’s lighter blue ones smiling down at him.

“Hey, Starsk! How’re you doing?” Hutch asked him softly.

“Better…now. How’d you get here?”

“I traced your credit card to that service station up the road. Huggy’s there now calling for an ambulance, so rest easy, pal. You’re going to be all right.”

Hutch started to get up, but Starsky clutched desperately at his hand. “No! Wait, Hutch! I need to tell you something! Those guys I was with…!”

“Were imposters. We know, buddy. It’s okay. Dobey’s got the Feds working on it. Now rest, will ya’?”

“But…how did you find out?” Starsky asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “I only knew about it because I overheard them talking. They’re working for some guy called the Sultan. And, Hutch…I think they were going to try to assassinate the President.”

Hutch drew in a sharp breath. It had been one thing to hear it from Huggy as a rumor, and another to have Starsky confirm it for a fact.

“I’ll radio Dobey as soon as the ambulance gets here,” he told Starsky. “Now, relax. You don’t look too good.”

“I don’t feel too good!” Starsky agreed with a ghost of a smile, lying back on the cabin’s little cot. Hutch had come for him. Everything would be all right now.

 

Chapter 3: The Sultan Strikes

Huggy Bear sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the emergency room waiting area and watched Hutch pace. Finally, a doctor came out of the examining room where the paramedics had taken Starsky and looked around. Hutch approached him hopefully.

“Detective Hutchinson?” the doctor asked. Hutch nodded and the doctor smiled and offered Hutch his hand as he introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Richards. Your partner’s going to be fine. His right shoulder was dislocated in the accident and he sustained a mild concussion and cracked a couple of ribs. Also, I was concerned about that wound on his neck but, while it looks ugly, no real damage has been done to his larynx. His throat will be sore and he might be hoarse for a few days.

“That’s about it other than some minor scrapes and bruises and a touch of exposure from the night he spent out in the weather. There shouldn’t be any complications, but I want to keep him overnight for observation just to be safe. You should be able to take him home tomorrow.”

Hutch breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Thanks, Doc. Is he awake? Can I see him?”

“He’s been asking for you.” The doctor answered kindly. “Go on in and stay as long as you like. We’ll be moving him up to a private room just as soon as a bed becomes available.”

“Thank you again, Doctor!” Hutch grinned, pumping the doctor’s hand. “Come on, Hug! Let’s go see Starsky!”

Starsky’s right shoulder, neck and chest were swathed in bandages, one eye was black and nearly swollen shut and his dark curly hair was even more unruly than usual. Yet to Hutch he looked absolutely wonderful. Starsky’s eyes lit up as Hutch and Huggy walked into the tiny examining room.

“Hi, partner! How ya’ doin’, Hug?” He greeted them hoarsely but with a huge grin.

“We were just going to ask you the same thing,” Huggy answered with a grin of his own. “Man! You look like you went a round with Sugar Ray Leonard!”

Starsky chuckled. “Feel like it, too!” He looked at Hutch again and grew more serious. “The Feds have anything on those guys yet?” he asked.

Hutch shook his head. “Nothing so far. I called Dobey, though, and he said that an agent from the Secret Service is on his way over to interview you. Some guy by the name of Alan Slater.”

“Good. I’ll be glad to tell him anything I can.”

The three men visited a while then Huggy excused himself, saying he had to get back to The Pits. He’d left the new bartender in charge and thought he’d better go and see how she was doing. “I’ll be by later to check on you, Starsky. Anything you want me to bring you?”

“How ’bout a burger? Or maybe a big bag of tacos?” Starsky asked hopefully.

“You got it, my man!” Huggy promised, laughing.

“You need a ride, Hug?” Hutch asked, remembering that the other man had come with him in his car. “You’re welcome to borrow the LTD. Dobey said it was okay for me to hang around here for a while, being as this was supposed to be my day off.”

“No, thanks, Hutch. I’m good. I’ll just hop a cab. See you tonight!”

Not long after Huggy had gone, another man stuck his head into the room. He was forty-ish and of average height and build, with thinning sandy hair cut in a military style. He was dressed in a dark suit of the type that seemed to be favored by federal agents in all branches. “Detective Sergeants Starsky and Hutchinson? I’m Agent Slater of the Secret Service.”

The three men shook hands. “Sorry I can’t offer you a chair!” Starsky joked. Other than the bed, there was no furniture in the tiny room–nothing else would have fit.

“That’s all right,” Slater smiled, “This shouldn’t take long.”

Slater let Starsky tell the story in his own words, making notes in a small notebook as Starsky talked and only interrupting once or twice to ask a brief question. “I see…” he said, closing his notebook and putting it away when Starsky had finished. “Well, thank you, Detective. I’m sure this will be useful in our investigation.”

“Anything more yet on the men who did this?” Hutch asked.

“Not that I’ve heard, but I’ll let you know as soon as any new information comes my way. Don’t worry, Detective Hutchinson. I’m sure we’ll soon find the men who attacked your partner.”

“What about that John Doe up in Frisco?” Starsky asked. “Any ID on him yet? Was it the Premier?”

Slater nodded. “I’m afraid it was. The Premier did not bring anyone with him from his home country, so two men from the local Embassy were assigned to aide him during his visit. The Embassy’s description of the aides they sent doesn’t jive with that of the ones who rented the hotel room in San Francisco. The real aides have not been seen since they left the Embassy and the secretary who was supposedly in contact with them is now missing as well.

“We now believe that she may have been part of the plan. If so, the real aides have probably also been killed. The men we are dealing with are obviously quite ruthless. I would say that you were lucky to be alive, Detective Starsky.

“It was the men we are looking for who met the Premier at the airport, led him to a remote area and killed him, hiding the body in the storage closet. He was strangled, Detective Starsky, probably with the same wire they tried to use on you! Then at some point between the airport and the hotel, they picked up the third man, who was then checked into the hotel as the Premier. The imposter attended all the functions that the Premier was to attend in San Francisco, and would have done the same here in LA with no one the wiser.” Slater rubbed his hands together and smiled.

“It was actually a rather clever plan! As you know, the Premier was from a tiny country and not well known outside of it. The imposter and his phony aides could have walked right into the Governor’s reception next week and right up to the President. Even if the body in the storage closet had been discovered before then, no one would have ever suspected that the dead man was the real Premier if your Captain at Metro division had not already begun that investigation into your whereabouts, Detective Starsky. So, in a way, you and your department may have saved the President’s life!”

“But why would they make up all that stuff about the Premier being afraid to fly?” Starsky asked. “As you said, they had everyone fooled. So why go to all that trouble?”

“That’s the ironic thing, Detective Starsky. The real Premier was afraid to fly! Time constraints had forced him to agree to take the flight to San Francisco, but he had already called and informed his Embassy that they had best arrange for some other means of transportation to take him the rest of the way. It seems he’d had a premonition once that he would die in an airport.”

“And he did, poor guy,” Starsky murmured, thinking how close he had come to being killed by the same men who had murdered the Premier.

“Yes,” Slater said distractedly, glancing at his watch. “Well, I think that will be all for now, Detective Starsky. I’ll be in contact if we need to ask you any more questions.”

Hutch spoke up as Slater turned to go. “Do you think there’s any chance they might still want to harm Starsky? Maybe we should post a guard or something. At least until he’s out of the hospital.”

Slater shrugged. “I don’t really think that’s necessary, but if it would make you feel better…”

“It would.” Hutch said.

Slater nodded. “I’ll see to it then. Anything else? Then, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned once more to leave.

Just as he reached the door, a pretty brunette nurse came into the room. Slater nodded politely to her as they passed one another in the doorway and she smiled at him slightly in return, a smile that brightened as she spoke to her patient. The nametag on her uniform identified her as Susan Campbell.

“The doctor has ordered a mild sedative for you, Detective Starsky,” she said, producing a loaded hypodermic and a packaged alcohol wipe from the pocket of her uniform. She tore open the wipe and carefully swabbed Starsky’s arm, then removed the cover from the needle and checked the syringe for air bubbles before injecting its contents.

“Ow!” Starsky protested mildly as the needle pierced his skin. The nurse smiled at him apologetically, finished emptying the hypo and patted him gently on his injured shoulder. “There, now! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked.

“Do I get a lollipop?” Starsky grinned. Hutch snorted and covered his eyes and the pretty nurse giggled. “I’ll see what I can do,” she told him with another gentle pat. “Anything else I can get you while I’m at it?”

“Yeah, can I get something to eat? I haven’t had anything since day before yesterday!”

“Dinner will be served in about an hour. And by then you ought to be up in your room. Can you hold on till then?”

“I’ll try…what’s on the menu?”

“Salisbury steak,” she told him. Starsky pulled a face, and she giggled again. “I know what you mean. Perhaps your friend can get you something else? There’s sandwiches and stuff in the cafeteria. There’s even a salad bar.”

Starsky raised his eyebrows at Hutch. “Would you mind, pal?” he asked.

Hutch looked at the nurse. “I really don’t want to leave him alone…”

“I can stay with him until you get back,” the nurse offered. “I was about go on break anyway.”

“Thank you,” Hutch told her gratefully. “I promise I’ll hurry. Be nice, Starsk!” he warned his friend playfully.

Starsky stuck out his tongue and the nurse giggled again. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Hutch left to see if he could find something Starsky would eat.

Less than ten minutes later, he was back, juggling a couple of wrapped sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a can of soda for his partner and a cup of coffee for himself. “Hope turkey and Swiss is okay, Starsk,” he was saying as he entered the room. “That salad bar looks pretty good, too. I might go back once…” He stopped, staring at the empty bed. He went back out of the room and stopped a passing nurse in the hallway.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “Do you know which room they’ve moved Detective Sergeant David Starsky to? I’m his partner.”

The nurse, a matronly black woman with graying hair, smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know, officer. But I can check for you. Come with me.”

Hutch followed her to the nurses’ station where she went behind the counter and rapidly began to shuffle through a rack of charts. “Here he is,” she said, flipping a chart open and scanning it. She frowned. “That’s funny! It says here your partner is still in the ER. Let me see if anyone else knows where he was moved to.”

“Susan Campbell was with him,” Hutch offered helpfully as she started to turn away. “Maybe if you were to page her…?”

The black woman turned back with a strange expression. “Who did you say was with him?” Hutch felt a shiver go down his spine.

“Her name tag said Susan Campbell,” he repeated.

The black nurse shook her head. “Mister, Susan hasn’t worked here in nearly a year! She quit last December to stay home with her new baby.”

Hutch dropped the food onto the counter and grabbed onto it for support. Suddenly, he felt as if the floor had tilted. “Maybe I read her name tag wrong,” he said, though he was positive he hadn’t. “The woman who was with my partner had long, dark hair…pretty, mid-twenties, about 5’6”.

“That doesn’t sound like Susan! Or anyone else working this shift for that matter! We’ve had some students in here the last few days helping out. Maybe she’s one of them. Cora? We got a nursing student on duty today named Susan Campbell?”

Another nurse stuck her head out of a supply room behind the nurse’s station. “Susan Campbell? No, not that I know of. How is Susan anyway? Is the baby walking yet?”

“Excuse me!” Hutch interrupted. “But would a student be allowed to give an injection? The woman who was with him told us the doctor had ordered a sedative for my partner and gave him a shot.”

The black nurse was definitely looking upset now. “There’s no order for a sedative in this chart! And students are certainly not allowed to administer meds! What did you say this woman looked like again? I’m calling security!”

But Hutch was already running down the hall. “How could this happen?” he kept asking himself over and over as he frantically searched the ER for some sign of his missing friend. “I was only gone ten minutes!”

Meanwhile, outside a side entrance to the hospital, two dark-suited men finished loading a shroud-covered body on a stretcher into the back of a black station wagon. A discreet magnetic sign on the door identified it as belonging to Thompson and Sons Funeral Home.

Across the street, Agent Slater lit a cigarette as he watched the men climb into the front of their car and then got into his own, started the engine and followed as the black car left the lot and merged into the afternoon traffic.

 

Chapter 4: Limbo

Hutch stepped into Dobey’s office. “Any word yet, Cap?” he asked for perhaps the fifth time in twenty minutes. But Dobey did not point that out to him.

“Sorry, Hutch. No new leads have come in. No one at the hospital remembers a nurse or nursing student fitting your description being on duty in the ER that shift, and no one saw anything suspicious. I’m still waiting for Slater to return my call. His office says they haven’t heard from him since you saw him last.” The big black man ran a worried eye over the young officer as he sat down in the chair beside the captain’s desk. In the past few hours, it was as if Hutch had aged ten years.

“Damn it,” Hutch cursed softly. “I told Slater we should post a guard!” Dobey placed a comforting hand on Hutch’s shoulder as he slumped forward to rest his head on his arms on the corner of Dobey’s desk. “I never should have left him! If anything’s happened to him…” he began, but left the thought unfinished.

“Listen,” the captain said quietly. “Why don’t you go home for a while? I promise I’ll call as soon as I hear anything.”

Hutch shook his head, sitting up again and rubbing his hands over his face. “Thanks, Cap. But I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.” They both jumped as the phone on desk began to ring. Hutch tried not to get his hopes up as Dobey leaned across to answer it.

“Hello? Slater! Where the Hell have you been?!” Dobey shouted. “What do you mean, what’s the matter! Don’t you ever call your office? Detective Starsky is missing. Yes! Again! Hutch left him in the ER for ten minutes and he simply vanished. Of course my men are investigating…What do you mean, it’s not a Secret Service matter?!” Dobey drew a deep breath, and when he spoke again, he was no longer shouting, yet, somehow, he managed to sound even more menacing.

“Look, Slater, I don’t give a damn about jurisdiction. One of my men is missing and most likely in danger, and you know and I know that he wouldn’t be if not for your department’s screw ups! So, are you and your men going to help us find him or not? I see. Well, don’t think you’ve heard the end of this, Slater.”

Dobey slammed the phone down and stood panting and glaring at it. “I guess that means we can’t expect any help from the Secret Service,” Hutch said softly. Dobey squeezed the younger man’s shoulder sympathetically.

“I’m so sorry, Hutch,” he told him gently. “But I promise you that this department will use whatever resources it takes to get Dave back.” Hutch nodded. Then let his head sink back onto his arms again.

The phone rang again and Dobey snatched it up and snapped, “What?!” He listened a moment then his expression changed. “Yes, he’s right here.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and spoke to Hutch. “Ken? It’s for you. Someone named Paula Hamilton with the FBI. Says she may have some information that could help our investigation.”

Hutch jumped up and grabbed the phone. “Paula? Yeah, this is Ken. What do you have for me? Why can’t you come down here to the station? All right…all right. Do remember The Pits? Yeah, that’s the place. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

“Well?” Dobey asked as Hutch hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and started towards the door. The younger man paused long enough to give Dobey a brief explanation. “Paula’s a…friend. She used to be a cop, back when I was still stationed at City. We worked a few cases together before I was transferred to Metro. I’d heard she left the force to go to work for the Bureau. Seems she’s a Special Agent now.”

“You trust her?” Dobey asked warily. Past incidents involving government types, not to mention the argument he had just had with Slater, made Dobey ready to be suspicious.

Hutch smiled slightly. “I used to. I haven’t seen her in years. But right now she’s the only hint of a lead we’ve got so far.”

“Watch yourself, Hutchinson,” Dobey said gruffly. ” I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment looking for that partner of yours. I don’t need to be worrying about you, too.”

Hutch smiled as he as he finished shrugging on his jacket. “I will, Cap,” he promised.

~~~

Down in the police garage, Starsky’s prized red Torino was still parked next to his own battered LTD, just like it would have been on any other day. But today the sight of that damned striped tomato brought a lump to Hutch’s throat. “Wherever you are, partner, hang on!” he whispered, lightly brushing his fingers along the nearest door. “I’m trying to find you!” He got into his own car and peeled out of the garage without looking back.

In a mansion somewhere in the Hollywood hills:

Slater glared at the guards who had escorted him into the room then ignored them as he crossed to stand behind the tall, dark man who stood before the room’s large picture window, gazing out at the view.

“You need to tell your goons that I’m not like them, to be summoned to your presence like a dog being called by its master!” Slater growled.

“You’re right,” the tall man said without turning around. “Dogs are loyal creatures.”

Slater drew in a sharp hiss of breath and drew back as if he’d been slapped, his face going red at the insult. “You can’t talk to me that way!” he protested.

“Can’t I? I do not see how you can stop me. But I am not in the mood, nor do I have the time to discuss this right now.” He turned and looked past Slater to the two guards who still stood in the doorway. “Is my guest comfortable?”

“We put him in the basement, like you said,” one of the guards answered.

“I don’t understand what you wanted him for anyway,” Slater grumbled. “You’ve put me in a very awkward position. If his partner finds out that I am involved with you…”

“So what if he does?” the tall man asked, focusing his gaze on Slater at last, dark eyebrows arching above cold, black eyes. “I’ve already paid you more than you are worth, Slater. And seen very little in the way of results for my money. I have begun to consider terminating our association.”

“Your men are the ones who blew their covers!” Slater protested. “Do you know how long it took me to set that up? Yet, in spite of their blundering, I may still be able to pull this thing off. But not if Hutchinson or anyone else catches wind of my part in this.”

“Very well, I will give you another chance. What do you require?”

“At the moment, just for you to back off until I contact you. I’m already taking a huge risk, just by being here.”

“All right. I will wait for your call. But do not take too long, Slater. Or you risk more than being tried for treason.”

Slater nodded, shaken slightly by the threat. He turned to leave, but then stopped to ask, “What do you want with Detective Starsky?”

The man known as “the Sultan” smiled slightly. It was not a pleasant expression. “The distraction alone has been worth the effort of bringing him here!” he said. “Dobey has most of his force out looking for him. And the more of this city’s police force we have occupied elsewhere, the less likely it will be that anyone will stumble onto our little scheme until it is too late. Also, he is here to pay a debt he and his partner owe me, not only for past inconveniences, but now for the death of one of my best men as well.

“I neither forgive nor forget those who cross me, Slater,” he added softly. “Remember that!” Slater swallowed, then left without another word. Despite his own problems at the moment, he did not envy either Starsky or Hutchinson.

~~~

Hutch pulled up and parked in his usual place outside Huggy’s place, The Pits. He slammed the door of the LTD and started inside, when a voice calling his name stopped him. Hutch turned around and groaned as he recognized Gary Marshall, a reporter for the Daily News.

“Hey, Ken!” Marshall greeted him as he trotted up to stand beside the blonde detective. “Is it true what they’re saying on the streets?”

“How should I know?” Hutch asked with a tired sigh. “You’re the ace reporter! Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Word is something big is going down. How about you and Starsky filling me in?” Marshall paused and looked around. “Hey? Where is your partner anyway?”

Hutch shook his head. “He’s busy, Marshall. Just like I am, so get lost. As far as I know, there’s not a damned thing happening outside of the usual, run-of-the-mill hold-ups, homicides and drug busts that I came here to get a drink and forget about for a few hours. So why don’t you go annoy someone else? I’m off duty.”

“Aw, come on, Ken!” Marshall protested. “Give me a break! You know how my editor is! Look, I have this source that told me there’s a new drug baron, someone called ‘the Sultan’, running all the small time dealers out of business all up the west coast. Is this true?”

“If this source of yours is so well informed, why don’t you ask him?”

“I would, only…he’s disappeared. We set up a meeting, but he never showed. I even went to where he usually hangs out to look for him. Nothing. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air.” Hutch suppressed a shiver. It was too much like what had happened with Starsky. ” So, I came here, hoping to get some info from Huggy Bear,” Marshall continued, “but he won’t talk to me either.”

“I don’t blame him,” Hutch said, moving to step around the reporter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Marshall caught him by the arm. “You really should treat me nicer, Hutchinson,” he said. “I’m going to get this story! And when I do, I can either make you and your partner heroes, or I could make your whole department look like a bunch of bumbling idiots!”

“Go to hell, Marshall” replied Hutch, jerking his arm away and going on into the bar.

 

Chapter 5: In the Serpent’s Lair

Exhausted and hurting, Starsky lay back down on the rickety cot to stare up at the cracked, water-stained paint of the ceiling. He’d woken up several hours before to find he was no longer in the hospital. At least, he didn’t think this was a hospital.

The room he was in was tiny, only about six by six, with a plain concrete floor, no windows, and no furniture except the cot he was lying on. The bare mattress beneath him was filthy and smelled of sweat and fear and other, less pleasant things. A single dim, bare bulb was the room’s only light source and heavy foam padding covered both the walls and the back of the room’s one door. The door was securely locked from the outside.

In the time since he’d come to, Starsky had worn himself out yelling and pounding on the locked door, without ever getting any response from the outside. Now he lay shivering, despite the room’s warmth. The pain medication he’d been given in the emergency room had long worn off. His head and shoulder both were throbbing and the pain from his cracked ribs made it difficult to take more than shallow breaths. His stomach cramped with hunger.

“Where the Hell am I now?” he wondered to himself out loud.

~~~

Huggy came out from behind the bar as soon as he saw Hutch come in. “Any word on Starsky?” he asked quietly.

Hutch shook his head. “Is Paula here yet?” he asked.

Huggy nodded. “Yeah. I put her in a booth in the back. Who is she?”

“An old friend of mine. She’s with the FBI now and says she might be able to help us out.”

In spite of the situation, Huggy grinned. “Man, how come none of my old friends are that good-lookin’?”

“Huggy, I didn’t know you had any!” Hutch joked as he followed the slender black man to the back of his place.

Paula saw them coming and got up from the booth to greet Hutch. “Huggy’s right!” he thought as he returned her brief hug, “She does look good!” Paula was tall, almost as tall as he was in her heels, with long blonde hair, gray-blue eyes and legs that any woman would kill for. She was dressed at the moment in a professional-looking dark suit jacket and skirt that were tailored to compliment her generous curves, her hair piled up on top of her head.

Hutch glanced at the empty glass in front of her as they both sat down in the booth. “Bring the lady another of whatever she’s having, Hug, and a beer for me,” he asked.

“You got it!” Huggy smiled, and left to get their drinks.

“It’s been a long time,” Paula said then, reaching across the table to brush his hand with her fingers.

“Yes, it has, Paul,” he agreed. “But I didn’t think this was a social call.”

“You’re right. I’m on a case and I need your help.” Paula told him softly. “You’re the only person I know in LA that I can trust!”

“I thought the deal was that you were going to help me!” Hutch protested. “I’m sorry, Paula, but until my partner is found, my caseload is full.” He started to get up, but she stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.

“If I’m right, my case involves your partner as well.”

Hutch sat back down. “I’m listening.”

“What do you know about Alan Slater?” she asked.

“Other than that he’s the Secret Service agent in charge of security for the President’s upcoming visit and a jerk, not much.”

“Well, he’s a lot more than just a jerk, he’s a traitor. He was in on the Premier’s murder, which makes him part of the plot to assassinate the President.”

Hutch blinked, surprised. “Are you sure of that, Paula? That’s a pretty serious charge.”

“I’m sure…but I don’t have enough evidence to prove it. That’s why I’m here. And until I have more information, I can’t be sure who else is in on this. Anyone up to and including my own boss could be involved.”

“If that’s true, then it would explain how the imposters were able to infiltrate the Premier’s staff so easily. But what does this have to do with Starsky? He never knew any of this or he would have told me.”

Paula shrugged. “Maybe Starsky didn’t want to put you in danger.” Hutch shook his head. “Or maybe Slater was afraid he’d heard more than he was telling. I don’t know, Ken. But you’ve got to admit it’s a heck of a coincidence that your partner disappeared right after talking to Slater.”

Huggy arrived with their drinks just then but, sensing the tension between them, set them down without comment and went back to tending his bar. He knew he could get the story out of Hutch later.

Hutch took a long swallow from his beer, then met and held Paula’s gaze. “All right. I believe you. I know you too well to think you would jump at shadows. So why don’t you back up and tell me the whole story.”

She did. “As you know,” she began, “the war in ‘Nam, followed so closely by the Watergate scandal, hurt a lot of people’s faith in this country and our government. Maybe that’s what happened to Slater. He lost his only son in ‘Nam, right before the President decided to pull our troops out. Maybe that’s when he stopped caring. I don’t know. But Slater’s record before then was exemplary. He’s put in over twenty years in the Service and has numerous citations.”

“So what makes you think he’s gone bad?”

“I never would have suspected anything. Until my partner and I were called in to help the Secret Service shut down a big counterfeiting ring last year. Over a million dollars in phony bills and the plates went missing before we could turn them in. And my partner was sure it was Slater who took them.”

“So why didn’t you and your partner nail him then?”

Paula looked down into her glass. “We never got the chance. Derek…my partner was killed in the line of duty right after that. We were out on an anonymous tip to pick up a group of fugitives who’d escaped from a prison down in Texas. Something happened to our backup, they never showed and someone tipped off the fugitives that we were coming. They opened fire on us before we were even all the way out of the car. Derek was hit in the chest and died before an ambulance could get there.”

Paula lifted haunted eyes to meet his. “The fugitives were rounded up and put on a bus back to Texas. On the way, the bus apparently blew a tire and the driver lost control. All the prisoners and the three Texas Rangers on the bus were killed in the crash. It happened in a remote area, so no one ever found out what actually happened. A passerby called in the accident, but by then it was all over.

“Without any evidence to back up Derek’s allegations against him, the investigation of Slater was dropped.” Paula’s voice was tight with barely contained fury. “He came to the funeral, Ken. Said he just wanted to let me know there were no hard feelings about the investigation and that the Bureau had lost a fine man. He was laughing at us, Ken! He set us up, had Derek killed and he was laughing at us!”

Hutch reached across the table and took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Paula. I know how hard losing your partner must have been. But are you sure Slater was involved?”

“Derek was sure, Ken. Slater’s dirty and I will prove it, whether you help me or not.”

“Then I’m with you. But we can’t do this alone. You trusted me enough to come to me with this. Now, do you trust me enough to let me choose our backup?”

Paula nodded. “I trust you. But be darn sure of who you trust!”

Hutch smiled slightly. “Believe me, Paula! I’m not gonna do anything that will put Starsky in any further danger! And my priority is still finding my partner. If we happen to be able to make your case against Slater in the process, I won’t mind. But Starsky comes first!”

Paula nodded. “Understood,” she smiled. “So, where do we start?”

Hutch finished his beer and got up from the table. “First,” he said as he took out his wallet and tossed a few bills for Huggy onto the table to pay for the drinks, “I want to put in a call to my boss. Captain Dobey’s as straight as they come, Paula, and I trust him with my life!

“Then…then I think I know someone who may be able to tell us something more about this Sultan guy. His men were the ones who posed as the Premier’s aides, so, if Slater’s involved, they must be working together. It could explain why the Department’s heard so little about his operation ’til now.”

Hutch put in a quick call to Dobey from Huggy’s pay phone to tell him he was following up on a lead. Then he and Paula left Paula’s car at The Pits and both rode in the LTD to a street corner in a seamy part of town. It was around ten o’clock and all the working girls were out strutting their wares. Many of them disappeared into the shadows as they recognized the battered LTD, but one woman looked up and waved. She glanced around nervously to make sure her pimp wasn’t in sight, then offered Hutch a genuine smile as he pulled up beside her and she leaned in the open driver’s side window.

“You working tonight, Hutch? Or just out showing your new girlfriend the sights?” she asked coyly.

“Hello, Carla,” Hutch greeted her warmly. “When are you going to give this up? You’ve got too much going for you to be wasting it out here on the streets.”

“Thanks, Hutch. But you’re flattering me. I don’t got no skills or education to do nothing else, you know that, and I got to eat! But it’s nice of you to care. Where’s Starsky? Surely this is business and not a date.”

“This is my friend Paula and, yes, this is business. Starsky’s disappeared and we think this new drug boss in town may have had something to do with it. A man called the Sultan. You heard of him?”

Carla shuddered and looked around again before opening the car door and getting into the back seat of the car. “Drive,” she said and Hutch put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Carla slumped way down in the seat as they drove and kept looking around cautiously. “The Sultan’s a very bad man, Hutch. Take my word for it, the less you know about him, the better.”

“Carla, he may have Starsky! I have to know anything you can tell me!”

Carla bit her bright red lip for a moment then nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you. For Starsky. The two of you have always gone out of your way to be nice to me, so I owe you.” She slumped even further down into the seat, clearly afraid to been seen talking to Hutch. But she told him what she knew.

“The Sultan started moving into LA a coupla months ago. Since then, he’s taken over not only almost all the drug business in town, but almost everything else, too. He makes all the pimps give him a cut of their take, or his men work them over. And he expects any girls he chooses to be available to work the parties he gives up at that big house he’s got up in the hills. I went to one once. You wouldn’t believe some of the people that was there!”

“Like who, Carla?” Hutch asked, but she just shook her head.

“Uhn-uh. I value my skin too much to name names. Let’s just say it’s no wonder the cops can’t ever get anything on him!”

“That’s good, Carla. That helps. Can you tell me any more? Do you remember where this house was?”

Carla shook her head again. “Sorry, Hutch. I’ve already told you more than is healthy for me. I’ll try to find out what I can about Starsky for you, though. I hope he’s all right.”

“Me too, Carla,” Hutch said softly. “Me, too.” He checked to make sure the street was clear, then pulled over and let her out. “You call Huggy at The Pits if you hear anything or if something comes up and you need some help. Don’t take chances! I don’t want you to get hurt helping me,” Hutch said as he pressed several bills into her hand. She had to have money to show for the time she’d been away from her corner, or her pimp would get suspicious. He paid her her usual rate, then took another twenty out and told her to hide it. “You spend that on you!” he told her firmly.

“Bless you, Hutch!” Carla sniffed. “But you know I can’t get caught holdin’ out!” She turned to check again that no one had seen her, then hurried away into the night, back toward her corner.

Hutch drove in silence for several minutes before Paula spoke up. She hadn’t said anything since before Carla had gotten into the car.

“You getting a soft spot, Ken?” she asked softly.

Hutch smiled a little. “Carla’s a nice girl, Paula. She’s helped Starsky and I out a lot in the past.”

Paula nodded her understanding. “She must like you, too, to take the risk she took tonight.” Paula sighed and looked out the window. “Where are we going now?”

“I’m going to take you back to your car, then I’m going down to the station to talk to Dobey. I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss this on an open frequency. Why don’t you drop by my house later and I can fill you in on what he says.”

“Sounds good,” Paula agreed as they pulled up near where her car was parked behind Huggy’s place. “What time should I be there?”

“Give me about an hour,” Hutch answered as he wrote down the address for her then handed it to her along with his spare key. “If I’m not there when you get there, let yourself in and make yourself at home.”

Paula nodded and Hutch watched her until she was safely in her car before he drove away.

 

Chapter 6: The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Starsky was bored. Bored and hungry. “Hey! The room service in this place stinks!” he yelled for something to do. He had not expected a response, and so was surprised when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of his door.

He sat up on the cot and waited to see what would happen, wishing he had a blanket or something he could wrap around himself. He still wore only the skimpy gown they’d put him in at the hospital. Thank God, at least, that they’d let him keep his underwear!

A big, burly man slowly opened the door and looked around, then nodded to someone behind him. Then the dark-haired nurse from the ER came into the room carrying a covered tray. Starsky frowned at her in confusion.

“Susan?” he asked.

The woman smiled and shook her head. “I thought you would have figured out by now that that isn’t my real name,” she answered as she set the tray down next to him on the cot. “Sorry about the poor quality of our hospitality,” she quipped, “but we’ve been rather busy.”

“That’s okay,” Starsky answered, trying not to drool too obviously as she removed the tray’s cover and the smell of fried chicken wafted out into the room. “I’m just glad you didn’t totally forget me.” His stomach growled, but he was wary about eating the food.

“Go on! It’s not poisoned!” the woman said as if able to read his thoughts. Starsky picked up a piece of chicken and took a cautious bite, then began to eat with gusto. The woman stood and watched him with quiet amusement as he made short work of all that was on the tray.

“So,” Starsky began as soon as he’d finished washing down the last biscuit with a big gulp of iced tea. He’d been even thirstier than he’d been hungry. He set the empty plastic cup back onto the tray and wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. There hadn’t been any silverware. “What is this place?”

The dark-haired woman shrugged. “For you…let’s call it a waiting room.”

“Oh? What am I waitin’ for?” he asked.

She smiled and shook her head. “That would be telling,” she answered. Starsky felt himself beginning to get mad, but controlled his anger for the moment.

“Do I at least get to know your name?” he asked, putting on his most charming smile.

The woman laughed. “I think a woman’s more appealing if she keeps an air of mystery about her,” she teased, gathering up the tray. “I’ve enjoyed our visit, but I have to go now. Maybe we will get the chance to talk again later.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Starsky called, starting to get up to stop her from going yet. The burly guard reached for what was probably a weapon, but the woman stopped him.

“That won’t be necessary,” she told the guard. “Detective Starsky won’t be giving us any trouble, will you Dave?”

Without warning, Starsky’s legs turned to rubber. He grabbed in vain for something to hold on to as he lost his balance, but there wasn’t anything. His knees went and he crashed to the floor.

“The food! It was drugged!” he accused the woman dully.

“Of course!” she laughed. “Much more pleasant than a needle, don’t you agree?” He passed out hearing her laughter.

~~~

It had taken longer than Hutch thought it would to fill Dobey in on what he had learned and to plan their next move. The captain had hand-picked a few of his most trusted men to continue the investigation and to keep a discreet watch over Carla, then had ordered Hutch to go home for a few hours.

“Get some rest, Ken,” he’d said. “It won’t do Dave any good for you to collapse from exhaustion!”

He saw that Paula’s car was already parked next to the curb as he pulled into his driveway. When he opened the door of his apartment, the smell of food cooking drifted out to greet him, reminding him that he had not eaten anything all day. He shrugged out of his jacket and shoulder holster and hung both in their place behind the door, then followed his nose to the kitchen.

Paula looked up from setting a large bowl of salad on the table and smiled. “I thought I’d fix us some dinner,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” he answered her honestly. “It smells great. What did you fix?”

“Vegetarian Lasagna,” she replied as she turned to take a bubbling casserole dish out of the oven, closing the door with her knee. Paula had taken off her high-heels and her jacket and untucked her blouse from her skirt. Her long blonde hair was down now and hung loose around her shoulders and down her back. Hutch leaned on the edge of the counter for a moment and just watched her as she moved confidently around his kitchen in her stocking feet. He found himself thinking she looked even prettier now than she had at Huggy’s earlier.

Paula set the dish on the table and smiled a bit shyly. “What were you thinking just now?” she asked him.

Caught off guard, Hutch found himself blushing and stuttering. “Hmm? Oh! J-just that it looks good! The food, I mean.”

Paula giggled as she stood back and checked to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “I chilled a bottle of wine. Would you mind getting it out of the fridge? Everything else is on the table.”

Hutch got the wine then held her chair for her before sitting down across from her. He opened the bottle and poured some wine for them both as she cut and served the lasagna.

“Mmm!” Hutch commented after the first bite. “This is great! What’s in it?”

“This and that,” Paula smiled. “Just stuff I found in your fridge. Do you really like it?”

“Are you kidding? I bet even Starsky would eat this, and he’s the original junk food junkie!” Suddenly, Hutch pushed his plate back and got up from the table and fled to the other room. Worried, Paula followed him and found him in the living room staring out the window at the dark beach below his balcony.

“What is it?” she asked softly. “What happened?”

Hutch shook his head and, to her surprise, she realized he was near tears. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, clearly embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

“Ken, it obviously isn’t ‘nothing’! Please tell me what’s wrong.”

He lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. “It’s stupid,” he said softly without turning around. “But, sitting there, all of a sudden it occurred to me that Starsky never did get anything to eat before he disappeared. Wherever he is, he may still be hungry! And…well, knowing that, I suddenly couldn’t eat anything either.”

Paula crossed the room and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “That’s not stupid,” she whispered. “I think it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.” She stepped back a little and made Hutch turn around and face her. “We’ll find him, Ken,” she promised him. “Don’t give up.”

Hutch smiled and touched her cheek. “Thanks, Paula. I wasn’t planning on it, but thank you for understanding how I feel.” He suddenly yawned a huge yawn. “The Cap’s right, I’m dead on my feet! I’m sorry about the meal, Paul, but I’m really not hungry right now. I think all I want is a hot shower and a few hours sleep. You go ahead and eat and stay as long as you like. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I called you as soon as I hit town, so I haven’t had a chance to find a hotel yet.”

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you want. You take the bed and I’ll crash out here on the couch.”

“I don’t want to put you out…” she protested.

“Nonsense! What are friends for? It’s settled then. Give me your keys and I’ll get your suitcases out of your car before I take my shower.”

“Okay. And thanks, Ken.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Seeing you again has been the only bright spot in this whole damned thing!” He took her keys and hurried out the door before it could turn into another of what Starsky liked to call “soapy scenes”.

~~~

An ugly man with bad breath and a cruel smile was slapping him in the face. “Time to wake up now!” he taunted. Starsky groaned and opened his eyes to find he was in another small, dingy room with no windows, but different than the one he was in before. He was tied to a chair with his hands securely bound behind him with Bad Breath only inches from his face. Another man and the dark-haired woman stood in the background, watching.

“Make up your mind!” he moaned. “First ya’ drug me and knock me out, now you’re mad ’cause I won’t wake up!”

The man had no sense of humor. He proved it by backhanding Starsky in the mouth. “You don’t talk ’til you’re told to!” he snarled.

“Fine! I’ll speak when I’m spoken to…if you promise to either go get a breath mint or else stop breathin’ in my face!”

The ugly man drew back his hand to hit Starsky again, but a word from the second man stopped him.

“Get on with it!” he told his bully boy.

“Yeah!” Starsky quipped. “Stop wastin’ my time!”

The ugly man smiled an even uglier smile. “All right, funny guy, tell me what you told your partner!”

“About what?” Starsky asked. He braced himself for another blow, but that didn’t prepare him for what happened next. Instead of hitting him, this time the bully grabbed his injured shoulder and twisted. Starsky screamed before he could stop himself.

The bully grinned. “Laugh that off!” he snarled. “Now, tell me what I want to know or this time I’ll really hurt ya’!”

“How can I tell you anything if I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Starsky protested.

“Tell us what you overheard before the accident. And this time, you’d better not leave anything out!”

“Huh? All I heard was that they worked for some guy called the Sultan and they were planning to bump off the President! The rest of the time, they didn’t say anything…at least, not in English!” He looked past the bully to the dark-haired woman. “You were there outside the room when I talked to Slater, so you must know all this already!”

“That’s true, that’s what you told Slater. We want to know what you told your partner,” she answered him.

“Nothing! That’s all I know and that’s all I told Hutch. Neither of us knows anything else!”

The man in charge nodded and the bully twisted his arm again even harder than before. Starsky screamed again and blacked out.

The bully laughed and grabbed Starsky by the hair, tilting his head back as he drew a knife and brought it close to Starsky’s face.

 

Chapter 7: The Death of a Hooker

Hutch didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the phone ringing woke him up. He rolled off the couch, grabbed it and brought it to his ear, instantly wide-awake. “Hutchinson.”

“Ken? This is Dobey! I think you’d better get over to Huggy’s right away. Carla somehow managed to shake our surveillance officers. We’ve been trying to find her again all night.”

“My god, Captain! Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were dead on your feet, Ken. And you couldn’t have done anything I didn’t do. I’ve got half a dozen men out looking for her.”

Hutch was already reaching for his jacket and shoulder holster. “Damn it! Anything could have happened to her by now!” he muttered as he shrugged into them both. “Why should I go to Huggy’s, Cap? What’s he got for me?”

“I’ll tell you if you’ll just hold on a moment and listen!” Dobey barked back. “We still haven’t located her, but she just called Huggy’s place a few minutes ago. He said she wouldn’t tell him where she was and that she sounded pretty scared. Said she didn’t trust anybody but you”

“All right. I’m on my way to the Pits! Maybe she’ll call back,” he said and hung up the phone. Paula came out of the bedroom as he was heading out the door.

“What is it?” she asked when she saw his expression.

“Carla just called. I’m on my way to check it out. Huggy said she sounded scared.”

“I’ll grab my shoes and come with you.” Paula was already dressed in jeans and a sweater. She ran into the bedroom and came right back out again with a pair of sneakers in her hand. She put them on in the car as Hutch drove as fast as he could to The Pits. Huggy met them at the curb.

“Dobey said you were on your way.”

“What’s up?” Hutch asked him.

Huggy shook his head. “I don’t know, man! Carla called, but I couldn’t get her to tell me where she was. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her. All I could make out was that someone must have seen her talking to you because two guys were following her. I tried to get her to come here or just go to the police station, but she wouldn’t listen. She just kept saying how scared she was and to call you…then she hung up.”

“Damn! She spotted the surveillance team and thought they were the Sultan’s men!” Hutch said, pounding his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. “Stay near the phone, Hug. If she calls again, tell her it’s all right, the men following her were police officers I sent to watch out for her. I’ll call Dobey and get him to send some more men out to help.”

“Will do! And I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. Good luck!”

Hutch peeled away from the curb and headed again for the same part of town he and Paula had visited the night before. If it had looked shabby in the dark, it looked even more so in the light of day. All the working girls were gone from their corners and the streets were practically empty except for the occasional tramp.

Hutch drove in silence as he slowly cruised up and down each of the nearly deserted streets, anxiously scanning every possible hiding place for any sign of Carla. Paula helped him look and did not attempt to make conversation. She knew there was nothing she could say to lessen Hutch’s sense of guilt for putting Carla in danger.

After some time, the radio crackled to life, startling them both. “Zebra 3, Zebra 3. This is Dispatch. Please respond.”

Hutch recovered first, reaching for the mike and keying the response button. “This is Zebra 3. Go ahead, Dispatch.”

“You have a call from Captain Dobey. I’m patching it through to you now.” There was a short pause then Dobey’s gruff voice came on. “Ken? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Cap. What is it? Have you found Carla?”

“Yeah.” Another pause, this one longer than the first, then, “I think you’d better come down to the station, Ken,” he said quietly.

Hutch swallowed hard and pulled the car over to the curb and stopped before keying the mike again. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked then. Paula could hear the pain in his voice.

“Two beat cops, Tony Parelli and Sean O’Connor, found her about ten minutes ago,” Dobey confirmed, “in an alley off 7th Avenue. The coroner’s on the way there now to pick up the body. Parelli says it looks like someone used a shotgun on her at close range. She never had a chance.” Another pause, then the captain added, “I’m sorry, Ken.”

“So am I,” Hutch answered in a broken whisper. Paula reached across as if to comfort him, but pulled her hand back without touching him, uncertain how he would respond. He looked out the window for a long moment, blinking back tears, then keyed the mike once more. “I…I’ll come in if you want, Cap. But I think I’d rather just go home again for awhile, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. I’ll call you there when the coroner’s report comes back. This isn’t your fault, Ken! You hear me?”

Hutch swallowed again. “Sure, Cap…Zebra 3, out.” He reached over and switched off the radio, then slumped forward in his seat, his head going down onto his arms on the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking.

“The captain’s right,” Paula said then. “This isn’t your fault. The surveillance team got clumsy. She shouldn’t have been able to make them!”

Hutch lifted his head and drew a long, shaky breath. “Carla spent her whole life looking over her shoulder, Paula! It’s how she’d survived this long! I never should have put a tail on her without warning her,” he said. “If she had only known they were there to protect her, she wouldn’t have run away!”

But Paula wasn’t buying that. “You can’t be sure of that, Ken!” she argued. “You didn’t tell her about the surveillance team because you knew she didn’t trust the department. She didn’t trust anyone but you.”

“And I let her down.” Hutch sighed again. Paula reached out again and this time laid her hand on his arm.

“You’re not Superman, Ken,” she told him gently. “You can only do so much.”

Hutch turned and glared at her, his grief turning to anger. “I screwed up, Paula! Stop trying to make excuses for me! I made a mistake and Carla’s dead because of it!”

Paula pulled her hand back, her own temper rising. “Okay! So, maybe you made a mistake! You’re human, just like the rest of us. But you didn’t pull the trigger, Ken. Someone else did that, probably one the same people that have your partner. Now, are you going to sit here all day wallowing in guilt and self-pity? Or are you going to pull yourself together and get back out there and find the ones who are really responsible for all of this?”

Hutch stared at her a moment, then nodded. “You’re right, Paula. This isn’t doing anyone any good. I…I just don’t know what to do now!”

“Well, I do! First, we’re going back to your apartment so that I can fix you some breakfast…Ah! Don’t argue with me! You need to eat, Kenneth Hutchinson, or you’re going to fall flat on your face!”

Despite the situation, Hutch couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Mother,” he answered her meekly, chuckling at the dirty look she shot him. He put the car in gear and drove back to his place, feeling a little better than he had before. He still felt that Carla’s death was at least partially his fault, but Paula was right in pointing out that they didn’t have time for him to get bogged down in a guilt trip right now.

As soon as they reached the apartment, Paula went straight for the kitchen as Hutch reached for the phone to call Huggy to let him know what had happened. He had just finished that and hung up the phone when someone knocked on his door.

He got up from the couch and went to answer it, but when he opened the door, there was no one there. He shrugged and had started to close the door again when he spotted the small, plain manila envelope propped against the porch railing. He stooped and picked it up and brought it back inside with him, closing the door behind him.

“Who was that?” Paula called from the kitchen.

“I don’t know. They left some sort of package, though,” Hutch answered her as he examined it. The envelope was lightweight but obviously not empty as something inside it shifted with a soft skittering sound as he turned it over in his hands. There was no writing on either side to indicate who it was from or what it might be about.

Paula appeared in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a towel. She watched curiously as he cautiously tore the envelope open and reached inside. He drew out a single sheet of typing paper. On it, printed in pencil, were only two words: “Back off.”

Hutch felt a cold shiver go down his spine, but could not stop himself from looking to see what else the envelope contained. Paula dropped the towel and rushed forward with a cry as Hutch reeled drunkenly, only just managing to keep him from hitting his head on the hardwood floor as he collapsed. Unnoticed, the envelope slipped from his nerveless fingers, spilling its contents onto the floor at Hutch’s side: handfuls of dark, curly hair.

 

Chapter 8: Slater Makes A Move

Hutch tried not to gag as Paula forced him to swallow another sip from the cup she held to his mouth. “What the heck is that stuff?” he spluttered, grimacing at the sickeningly sweet taste.

“I mixed sugar in orange juice,” she told him as she made him take another swallow of the vile concoction. “My mother was diabetic and this is what the doctor always had me give her when her blood sugar got too low. How are you feeling now?”

“A little better,” he admitted reluctantly. The whole thing was terribly embarrassing. One look at that damned hair, and he’d gone down like the heroine in a bad Victorian novel. At least he was on the couch now instead of the floor!

Paula smiled and, to his eternal gratitude, stopped trying to get him to drink any more juice. She put the cup on the coffee table and drew the blanket she’d spread over him further up under his chin. “You just lie there and behave, then, and I’ll finish getting your breakfast,” she said, patting his shoulder as she got to her feet.

“I’m such an idiot,” he told her when she came back into the living room from the kitchen with a loaded tray.

Paula looked at him questioningly as she set the tray down on the table, then helped him to sit up and handed him a cup of hot coffee. “Why? Because you let your blood sugar get so low that you fainted? The last few days haven’t exactly been a picnic for you, Ken. And you push yourself awfully hard. Cut yourself some slack.”

The coffee banished the last lingering taste of the juice, which helped to settle his stomach. He took another gulp, then set the cup aside and attacked the food on the tray, suddenly ravenously hungry. Paula smiled to herself behind the rim of her own coffee cup as she watched him eat, thinking that, even with his hair mussed and the dark smudges that still lingered under his eyes, he was very handsome. He caught her looking at him, and grinned back at her around a forkful of eggs.

“This is wonderful, Paula!” he told her sincerely. “I owe you! When this is over, it’ll be my turn to cook a meal or two for you!”

“I might hold you to that,” she answered softly.

Hutch finished his breakfast and leaned back again with a sigh. “I’ve got to admit, that’s much better!” He looked at Paula with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Okay, Oh Wise One, what do we do now?” he asked her.

“What else can we do? We wait for the autopsy report and, in the meantime, we hit the streets again. Someone killed Carla in broad daylight and I can’t believe no one saw anything!”

Hutch threw aside the blanket and got to his feet. “Let’s go, then,” he agreed.

~~~

The Sultan looked up from his breakfast as two of his men entered the dining room. Sunlight streamed in through the floor length windows and gleamed on the polished silver and tastefully patterned china of the elegantly set table. “Well?” he asked as he finished pouring himself a second cup of coffee and reached for another piece of toast from the silver rack beside his plate.

The taller of the two men spoke up. “The girl won’t be doing anymore talking,” he confirmed.

The Sultan nodded. “Good, good! And my little note for Detective Hutchinson?”

“All is just as you ordered, Sir,” the taller man said.

The Sultan smiled. “Very well, you may go,” he said waving the men away with a nonchalant gesture, his attention already focused once more on the open newspaper resting beside the toast rack on the spotless linen cloth.

Slater watched him a moment in silence, then could no longer contain himself. “Are you sure that package was a good idea?” he asked, banging his fork down on his plate. “I mean, if it were me you’d sent something like that to, I would be more likely to come after you with more determination than ever!”

The Sultan glanced up briefly, then turned his attention back to the article he’d been reading. “Perhaps that is my intention,” he said.

Slater threw his napkin down next to his nearly untouched plate and got up to quickly cross the small space between him and the other man. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “Why stir up any more trouble at this point in the game?”

The Sultan slowly raised his eyes from his paper once more. “Do not presume to tell me what I should or should not do, Slater,” he warned softly. “How I amuse myself is my own business. Yours is to come up with a new plan to get my operatives close enough to their target to do their job. Time grows short.”

“I am aware of that! And, I’ve been thinking. If the Premier’s widow were to come to the U.S. in person to escort her husband’s body home, it would hardly be polite for the President to refuse her an audience while she was here.”

The Sultan smiled again. “Yes, I like it. It’s much simpler and thus more foolproof than our original plan. Tell me, who did you have in mind to portray the grieving widow?”

Slater smiled slightly. “Who else but your most loyal and best trained assassin? How soon can Rogue Star be packed? Perhaps she might enjoy a brief holiday in an exotic location?”

~~~

When Hutch pulled into the police garage, the Torino was still in its usual spot. He frowned at it as he pulled his car in beside it and shut off the engine. He knew of several officers who coveted Starsky’s parking spot, and was amazed that no one had even mentioned yet moving his car to another part of the garage…until he realized that it had only been sitting there four days. It seemed more like four years!

He and Paula had spent the day talking to pushers, junkies, pimps, street people…anyone who might know anything at all about the Sultan’s operation or where he might be holding Starsky, but without results. Either no one knew anything useful, or those who did were afraid to talk. Not that Hutch blamed them after what had happened to Carla.

They’d eaten lunch at Huggy’s, but he had not had anything new for them either. “Man! I’ve never seen the people in this city buttoned up this tight before, Hutch. Creeps who’d sell out their own grandmother for a dollar clam up when it comes to the Sultan. I’m sorry.” Huggy took it as almost a personal insult when he couldn’t provide whatever information his friends needed.

Dobey had called just as they were leaving The Pits to let them know the autopsy results were in. Hutch had only stopped long enough to drop Paula off at his place–she was still wary of being seen down at the station–before going in. He got out of his car and headed for the elevator without looking at the Torino again.

The captain looked up as Hutch walked into his office. “Here’s the report,” he said as he shoved a folder across the desk toward the blonde officer. “Mostly, it just confirms what we already knew: Carla was shot in the head with a shotgun at close range. Needless to say, death was instantaneous.” Hutch picked up the folder and flipped it open, wincing at the photos of the crime scene, which were on top.

“God,” he breathed. “What a waste! When Starsky and I first met her, she was just a kid, Cap’n! This scared little runaway from Oklahoma. She never told me her story, but rumor had it she left home to get away from her mother’s boyfriend. We tried more than once to get her off the streets, but I don’t think she thought she deserved a better life.

“You know, even with as little as she had, she was always trying to help someone else. Last Christmas, Starsky and I bought her a coat, because she’d given the only one she had to a little old lady outside a homeless shelter.” He closed the folder and dropped it onto the desk again. “I really want the guys who did this to her, Captain.”

“I know you do, son,” Dobey replied. “So do I. There’s one other thing we found that wasn’t in that report.” He handed Hutch a small folded piece of paper. Hutch raised his eyebrows questioningly as he opened it. On it, in slightly smudged green ink, was a name: “Alan Slater”. Hutch drew in his breath sharply.

“Where did this come from?” he asked in a tight voice.

“The coroner found it hidden in Carla’s shoe.” He got up quickly and came around his desk to catch Hutch by the arm before he could make it out the door. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“To find that son of a bitch!” Hutch answered, his voice level but his blue eyes snapping with barely contained rage. “This confirms that he’s involved with the Sultan! Carla was killed because she was trying to bring this to me.”

“And do what when you find him? This still isn’t exactly enough to take to Slater’s superiors. And, with Slater’s record, we’re going to need a strong case if we want to be able to make it stick!”

Hutch didn’t like it, but it made sense. Some of the tension went out of him again and Dobey let go of his arm. “So, what do you recommend, Captain?” he asked tiredly.

Dobey propped a hip on the corner of his desk. “I’ve already got the lab boys working on that envelope you found. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be able to lift a print or two off of it. In the meantime, we keep doing what we’re doing all ready. We stay out there and we keep our eyes and ears open until something breaks. And it will break, Ken. And I have a feeling it will be soon.”

“I hope so, Cap,” Hutch sighed. “Because this waiting is killing me!” He turned and slowly left the office again. Dobey watched him go then went back to work on the pile of paperwork that covered his desk.

“Hey!” one of the uniforms coming on duty called as he caught sight of Hutch crossing the garage toward his car. Hutch had seen the new officer around the squad room, but had not yet learned his name. “I noticed you had some oil in your spot after you left yesterday! You might want to have that checked out!”

“Thanks,” Hutch answered him without stopping. “I will as soon as I get around to it.”

“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t put it off too long!” the other officer called over his shoulder as he headed on towards the elevator.

Hutch sighed as he reached the LTD and stooped down to look underneath. Sure enough, a sizeable puddle of oil had stained the pavement of his spot. Oh, great. Just great.

He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with such a mundane problem at the moment, and yet he had learned the hard way not to ignore any signs that his old car might be in imminent danger of breaking down. Again. So he resigned himself to a stop at Merle’s garage on the way home.

“Any word on Starsky yet?” Merle asked quietly as Hutch tossed him his keys. Hutch only shook his head and then went in and sat down on the old faded green Naugahyde sofa in the waiting area while a tall black man he did not recognize put the LTD up on a rack and looked around underneath. A few minutes later, the unfamiliar mechanic joined him there.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” he said as returned the keys. “Just a loose nut on the oil pan. I tightened it up for you.”

“Thanks. How much do I owe you?” Hutch asked him as he stood up, reaching for his wallet.

“Merle said to tell you no charge,” the mechanic told him with a smile.

Hutch nodded, putting his wallet away again, then looked the man over more closely. He was dressed in grimy coveralls with the name “Brian” stitched above the pocket instead of the “Merle the Earl’s Custom Cars” logo that Merle’s employees usually wore. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?”

The mechanic smiled again, an easy smile full of white teeth. “Nah, I usually work for a friend of Merle’s in a garage over on the South side. Several of Merle’s regulars have been out with the flu, so my boss sent me over to give him a hand for a few days.”

“Oh. Well, thanks again.” Hutch shook the man’s hand, climbed into the LTD and left.

A couple of hours later, the same mechanic was sitting in a bar, winding down after work, when a man in a dark suit sat down on the stool next to him.

“Buy you a drink, buddy?” the man in the suit offered.

The mechanic glanced up and snorted. “Sure, why not?”

The suited man signaled the bartender and ordered two of whatever the mechanic was having. The bartender poured the drinks, took the suited man’s money and moved to the other end of the bar to wait on other customers. The mechanic took a sip of his drink, then reached into a pocket of his coveralls and handed a small box to the man in the suit.

“Here’s a present for you,” he said.

Alan Slater nodded and slipped the box into his own pocket. “Thanks, B.B., I owe you,” he said.

The mechanic snorted again and took another drink from his glass. “No problem! I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I!” Slater agreed, taking a deep swallow from his own glass. “We have to move quickly,” he said then. “The Sultan’s girlfriend flew out from LAX this afternoon. She’ll be back again as the Premier’s widow in a few days. We’ve got to get Detective Starsky out of the way before that happens.”

Brian nodded. “We’re still going with the same plan?”

“Yes. The big poker game is tomorrow night. I’ll make sure that the way in is clear and the guard is out of the way. You take care of Starsky.”

Brian nodded again and raised his glass. “You’re the boss!” he said with a small smile. The two men finished their drinks and went their separate ways.

 

Chapter 9: A Brief Respite

Hutch slammed the car door as he got out in spite of the late hour. He was usually far more considerate of his neighbors, but tonight he just couldn’t seem to care. He was too angry and frustrated and sick over what had happened to Carla and might be happening to his partner.

He’d intended to go straight home after the stop at Merle’s garage, but had decided to go for a drive instead and had somehow found himself cruising his and Starsky’s beat. He told himself he was doing it because it was a good idea to at least put in appearance, to give the criminal element in the area the illusion that it was business as usual. But the truth was, the more he thought of it, the less he could stand the idea of just going back and sitting around at his place waiting for the phone to ring.

Driving had finally proven not to be enough of a distraction either, and he had somehow found himself back at Huggy’s again for another beer or two. There he’d planted himself in a back booth away from the crowd and more or less just stared off into space until Huggy had finally shocked him back to reality with the news that it was almost closing time. He’d started to argue, but a glance at his watch had confirmed his friend was telling him the truth.

“You okay to drive, Hutch?” Huggy had asked him gently as the tall blonde was stiffly unfolding his long limbs from the booth he’d been occupying the last several hours. “Maybe I should call you a cab or somethin’.”

Hutch had looked at him with weary eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not drunk, Huggy,” he’d protested tiredly. “In fact, I don’t think I had more than two beers the whole time I was here!”

Huggy had glanced up at Diane, the bartender, and gotten a quick nod of confirmation. “Sorry,” he’d said then, a bit sheepishly. “I just thought…”

“Yeah, I know,” Hutch had smiled sadly, tossing a couple of dollars on the table to pay for his beers. “And I might have tried it, too…if I’d thought it would help. Thanks again, Hug.” He’d patted his friend on the back and slowly headed out the door and on home. There was nowhere else to go.

Paula was sitting on the couch when he came in. She got up and came to meet him as he took off his jacket and shoulder holster and hung them behind the door. “Any new leads from the autopsy report?” she asked, squelching the impulse to grill him on where he’d been for so long.

He shook his head, seeming not to even be able to muster the energy to speak. He looked so beaten and lost that it almost broke her heart. “Dobey called a little while ago to let you know they hadn’t been able to get anything off that envelope.” Still no response. “I made dinner,” she told him once he had finished hanging up his things and just stood there without moving for several seconds. “Are you hungry?” He shook his head again. “You need to eat, Ken,” she scolded gently, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Hutch breathed a heavy sigh. “I know, Paul. I’ll try.” He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table, but really did not do more than push the food around on his plate. Paula doubted he even looked at it enough to know what it was.

Afterwards, Hutch helped her do the dishes. He had offered to do them, but she did not want to leave him in the kitchen alone. She tried to lighten the mood with small talk, but it all fell on deaf ears.

She still hadn’t looked for a hotel. Neither of them had even thought about it. So, she finally quietly told him goodnight and went to bed again in his bedroom. Long after she’d turned out the light, she could hear him pacing in the other room.

Finally, unable to bear it anymore, she got up and padded softly on bare feet back into the living room. Ken had turned out the lights, but she could see him in the soft glow that came from the window, standing in the same place he had the night before, looking out at the moonlit ocean. And, just as she had then, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

He was like a taut bowstring, so tense that he was literally shaking. It was no wonder he couldn’t sleep! He couldn’t keep on this way; it wasn’t good for him. Then suddenly she thought of how she might help him to release some of the pent up emotions going on inside him.

The first kiss took him by surprise, but then his arms came up and pulled her closer as he kissed her back with equal feeling. “Come on, Ken,” she whispered with a small smile, taking his hand. “Come to bed.”

He followed her without a word back into the bedroom, but covered her hands with his own to stop her when she reached to remove his shirt. “Why are you doing this?” he asked her uncertainly.

She laughed softly. “Because you’re wound so tight that you’re about ready to explode!” she told him. “And…because I want to. I think maybe I have for a long time.”

She reached for him again and this time he did not resist her. They undressed each other quickly and fell into the bed, where he made love to her with an almost desperate passion before falling into an exhausted sleep. She lay awake for some time, holding him tenderly, protectively as he slept. “Please, God,” she whispered. “Let Starsky still be alive and, if it’s not asking too much, let us find him soon! Ken can’t take much more of this!”

~~~

Starsky lay curled up on his side on the cot. His shoulder hurt so bad it was all he could do not to whimper and it was getting harder and harder even to think straight. He’d blacked out when the man with bad breath had re-dislocated his shoulder, and come to once more in the same room he’d been in before being questioned. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been out or how much time had passed since he’d woke up.

He hadn’t yelled or pounded on the door this time. He hadn’t been up to it. And no one had come, though hours had probably passed.

The drugged food he’d been given earlier had come up shortly after he’d come to. He’d gotten rid of it as far from the cot as he could then lain back down again, trying to ignore the smell. He felt like he ought to be hungry again, yet he wasn’t. He was terribly thirsty though. “Probably dehydrated,” he thought. “What if they’ve all just gone off and left me here?”

Starsky shivered involuntarily at the thought. He wouldn’t have been able to break out of this room if he were healthy! And he sure as Hell didn’t stand a chance in his present condition.

So he lay there in a ball and did his damnedest not to think too much about how badly he hurt or how thirsty he was or, least of all, what it meant if his captors truly had abandoned him here. This crappy little room could very well be his tomb.

Not that he was really all that afraid of dying. As much pain as he was in at the moment, it almost sounded good. But he couldn’t do that to Hutch.

He could only imagine what his partner was going through right now. “If our places were reversed, I’d be a basket case!” So he guessed he’d just have to hang on.

“You’d better hurry though, partner! I’m pretty sure shock is settin’ in and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out!”

~~~

In spite of how late they’d gone to bed, Hutch woke up early the next morning. Paula was still there, a soft warm presence beside him in the bed. He watched her sleep, thinking again how lovely she was.

Funny how he’d never really noticed it before. Maybe he hadn’t let himself notice, back in the days when they had first worked together. It would not have actually been against departmental regulations for them to have become involved back then, but it wasn’t exactly encouraged either. And his recent divorce from Vanessa had probably left him “gun shy”, so to speak. So perhaps he had subconsciously kept his distance.

Now, he wondered how he could ever have been so blind. She was truly beautiful, inside and out. He had no idea how he would have kept his sanity the last couple of days without her! But he did know this: once this thing was finally over and Starsky was home, safe, and the bad guys were in jail where they belonged, he had no intention of losing touch with her again.

He leaned over, intending to wake her up with a kiss, but just then the phone began to ring, so he rolled over instead and snatched up the receiver. “What?” he snapped, annoyed, but immediately forgot his irritation when he heard Huggy’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hutch! Hutch, is that you, my man?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “What’s up, Huggy?”

“I just got word that there’s going to be a meeting between Big Eddie and some of the Sultan’s top men! Seems Eddie’s still refusing to join the Sultan’s operation, but whether this meeting is to work things out between them or to have a final showdown no one can tell me! Either way, I thought you might want to know.”

“You were right! Where and when is this going down?” Hutch asked as he got out of bed and started pulling on his pants. Paula was awake and had been listening to Hutch’s end of the conversation. Now, she got up and began to dress as well.

“That’s just it! It’s supposed to be this morning at an abandoned warehouse off San Pedro!”

“Thanks, Hug! I knew you’d come through!” Hutch hung up the phone then picked it up again and began dialing rapidly.

“What is it?” Paula asked, as she hurriedly ran her brush through her hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. “What’s happened?”

Hutch cradled the phone between his head and shoulder, trailing the cord behind him as he rummaged through his closet for a clean shirt. He found one and quickly buttoned it up, then turned to find his shoes.

“Huggy says a meeting is taking place this morning between some of the Sultan’s top men and a local dealer known as Big Eddie. I’m calling the captain now.”

Paula was pulling on her sneakers as Hutch finished the brief conversation with Dobey and hung up the phone again. “I’m coming, too, Ken,” she said then.

“It could be dangerous,” he cautioned.

“I know,” she said as she reached for her suitcase. “But, then again, so can I!” She strapped on the shoulder holster she had pulled from her bag, quickly checking her gun to make sure it was loaded before tucking it into the holster beneath her jacket.

“Paula, you’re my kind of girl!” Hutch laughed as he grabbed up his own jacket and holstered weapon on their way out the door.

~~~

The warehouse was a two-story building with boarded up windows located in the same part of town where Carla used to make her living. Hutch thought of her briefly as Paula circled the block and found a spot in the alley that ran behind it to park. They had decided at the last minute to take Paula’s car instead of his because the battered yellow LTD was so well known in the area.

“Looks quiet,” Paula said as she shut off the engine. “So, do we wait for the back-up or check things out on our own?” Hutch was already climbing out of the car. “I guess that answers my question,” Paula smiled to herself as she got out also and softly shut the door.

They both drew their weapons and moved slowly up the alley towards the backdoor of the warehouse, carefully scanning the area as they went for any sign of the Sultan’s or Big Eddie’s men. Nothing moved, not even an alley cat, among the stacks of trash that lined the alley. They reached the door without incident.

“Do we go in?” Paula asked, but, before Ken could answer her, shots rang out from inside the building. Hutch raised his gun and dropped into a crouch as he pushed open the door and ducked inside. Paula was right behind him, looking back over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming in behind them from the alley.

The door led into what was once an office. A dilapidated desk still occupied a corner of the room and a man wearing the uniform of a security guard was in the chair behind it, slumped over onto its dusty surface. Hutch crossed the room quickly to check for a pulse and shook his head. The man’s body was still warm, so he had not been dead very long.

He had turned to say as much to Paula when she suddenly brought her gun up and cried out a warning. “Behind you!” He ducked instinctively just as the two men she had seen through the office’s other door fired several shots their way. They ran behind a pile of old crates as Paula returned their fire from behind the cover of a filing cabinet. They had spotted her and Hutch at almost the same moment as she had seen them and had already had their guns out. If not for Paula’s warning, they would have had Hutch cold.

Taking advantage of the momentary break in the men’s fire, Hutch crawled across to join Paula behind the file cabinet. “That was closer than I like it!” he panted, his heart still racing. “Thanks, Paula.”

She nodded, still scanning the large dim space beyond the office door for any signs of movement. “You’re welcome. Do you think its safe to go out there?”

Hutch grinned and shook his head. “No…but I’m going anyway. Cover me.”

They both scurried from the shelter of the filing cabinet to that of the doorframe. Hutch looked and listened a moment more, then ran in a crouch out the door for the cover of another stack of crates that lay a little closer to the office than the one that the bad guys were hiding behind. They got off two shots as he ran, one kicking up the dust from the floor only about a foot away from him. Paula fired back and Hutch heard a muffled grunt from behind the other stack of crates. One of her shots must have found its target.

He glanced back towards the office, got a nod from Paula, and started forward once more, sticking to the cover of the crates as he inched closer to the other men’s position. All of a sudden, a third man they had not known was there appeared from behind another pile of crates off to his right, a shotgun tucked up against his shoulder and aimed at Hutch’s head.

Hutch dove for the floor, but the other man had already fired. The roar of the shotgun was deafening in the closed space. Hutch gasped as the edge of the blast caught him, tearing into his arm. He hit the floor and lay there, stunned.

He heard Paula screaming his name, but couldn’t answer her. The fall had knocked his breath out and the pain in his arm was causing black spots to dance at the edges of his vision. He fought with all he had not to pass out. The man who had shot him had ducked back out of sight behind the crates.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, one of the first men decided to make a move. He rushed out from behind his cover firing shot after shot into the office doorway. Paula ducked and was forced to pull back away from the doorway, caught off guard and unable to return his fire. Hutch turned his head and saw his Magnum lying on the floor a few feet away. Despite the pain it caused him, he struggled to raise his injured arm to reach for it, hoping to help Paula.

All at once, a fourth man appeared as if out of nowhere. He fired his weapon and brought down the man who had gone after Paula, then turned to look at Hutch. To Ken’s surprise, he recognized him. “Brian?” he asked, confused. From the corner of his vision, he saw Paula at the door again, her gun up and ready to fire.

“Don’t shoot!” he called. “I think he may be on our side!” He looked up again at the familiar face. What in the world was a mechanic from Merle’s garage doing here?

“It’s all right, Agent Hamilton,” the man called. “As Officer Hutchinson told you, I’m one of the good guys, though I’m not exactly who he thinks I am. My name is Brian Becker and I’m with the Secret Service.”

 

Chapter 10: Becker

The officers from Metro Division had arrived and were securing the scene. Dobey had taken one look at Hutch’s arm and immediately called for an ambulance. The man Paula had hit in the firefight had already been loaded into it and was waiting to be taken to the hospital while the paramedics worked on Hutch’s arm. The blast from the shotgun had ripped away a huge section of skin from his upper arm, but had thankfully missed the bone or any major arteries.

Becker had gotten the drop on the man who had shot Hutch and knocked him out with the butt of his gun. That suspect had come to again and was now sitting cuffed in the back of a squad car. The bodies of the security guard and the man Becker had shot were on their way to the morgue.

After cuffing the two suspects and moving them to the office, Becker had sat with Paula while she tended Hutch. As they’d waited for Dobey and the others to arrive, he had begun to explain to them both who he was and what he was doing there.

It turns out he was Slater’s partner. He knew about Slater’s involvement with the Sultan, but claimed that Hutch and Paula were mistaken about his motives for it, that Slater was really working undercover to bring the Sultan down. He also claimed Slater had not been responsible for killing Paula’s partner. He had repeated this story to Dobey when he’d gotten there.

Paula was furious. “You’re not buying any of this rubbish, are you, Captain Dobey?” she protested, glaring at Becker. “Tell him, Ken. Tell him he’s lying!” Hutch started to shrug, then thought better of it; despite the pain medication he’d been given, his arm still hurt like Hell.

Dobey, Paula, and Becker stood near where Hutch sat on the back of the ambulance. The paramedics had cleaned and bandaged the wound, but a doctor would have to remove the shot and surgery might be needed on the damaged muscle. They had already started an I.V. and would soon take him to the emergency room.

Dobey looked at his wounded officer, then back at Paula and Becker. “I don’t think this is the time or place for a discussion,” he said. “Let’s get Hutch patched up, then I’ll be willing to listen to both sides of this. But not before!”

Paula opened her mouth to protest further, then shut it again as she looked at Hutch’s pale face. Seeing him go down had shaken her up more than she liked to admit, even to herself. Dobey was right, getting him to the hospital came first. But then Becker had a lot to answer for.

She wished she could ride with Ken in the ambulance, but she knew there wasn’t room, so she followed in her car. On the way, she started to cry so hard that she thought she might have to pull over. By the time they reached the hospital, though, she was in control of herself again. She checked her face in the mirror, wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a tissue, then hurried into the E.R.

Hutch had already been taken back to a treatment room. She sat next to Captain Dobey in the waiting room, staying as far away from Becker as she could manage. What seemed like hours later, a doctor finally came out to talk to them.

“How is he?” Dobey asked after the doctor had introduced himself to them.

“Very lucky. He lost a good deal of blood, but not enough to require a transfusion at this time. I removed all the shot from the wound and stitched it closed. He shouldn’t need any further surgery, but the arm should remain completely immobilized for several days, until the stitches come out, and even then he should limit his use of it until it fully heals. The muscle may be weak for sometime, but he should not have any permanent impairment.”

“Thank God!” Paula breathed, relieved.

Dobey grinned and shook the doctor’s hand. “Amen! And thank you, Doctor Anderson.”

“You’re welcome. He wants to go home and I’m willing to let him. But someone else will need to drive him and, if possible, he should have someone stay with him overnight as well.”

“I’ll do both of those things for him,” Paula spoke up. “When can he leave?”

“Right now. I’ve already signed the release papers. Watch him carefully, Miss Hamilton. He will need to rest as much as possible or he could start bleeding again and he could still go into shock. Also, the dressing on his arm should be changed daily. If there’s any sign of infection or if he should run a fever over a hundred and one degrees, he will need to come back to the E.R. right away.”

“I understand,” Paula said. “I promise to take good care of him.”

“I’m sure you will,” he smiled. “And, if I am not mistaken, here he comes now.”

Hutch felt silly riding in a wheelchair, but it was hospital policy so he had not argued. The nurse’s aide pushed him to where Dobey, Paula and Becker were waiting for him. He smiled as Paula took his hand in hers.

“How do you feel?” she asked him.

“A little groggy and a bit silly being pushed around like an invalid, but otherwise not too bad.” He answered her honestly. “Whatever they gave me for the pain is pretty good stuff!”

“That will wear off in another hour or so,” the doctor warned. “By then, you will need to have your prescription filled. The instructions will say to take one pill every four hours, but you can double that if you need to. Feel free to call me if you have any problems or questions. The number is on your discharge papers.”

“Thank you, Doctor Anderson,” Hutch told him.

The doctor patted him on his good shoulder. “You take care and behave yourself, Ken. No offense, but I don’t want to see you back in here again!” Hutch laughed and the busy doctor went back to his other patients.

“All right, you heard the man, Hutchinson, and I’m making it official. As of now, you are off the duty roster!” Dobey told him sternly.

Hutch had pretty much expected that, but he still didn’t like it. “But, Cap!” he protested. “What about Starsky? He’s still out there somewhere!”

“Why don’t you ask Becker where he is,” Paula said quietly. “I bet he knows!”

“I really must be out of it!” Hutch thought to himself. He had not even thought of that. They all turned and looked at Becker expectantly.

“Well?” Dobey barked, “Do you?”

Becker looked around at where they were. “As I believe you stated earlier, Captain, this is neither the time nor the place for us to be discussing this. Officer Hutchinson needs to be taken home and I need to get back to my office. In case you have all forgotten, the President will be here in less than 72 hours and I still have a lot of work to do before then.”

Dobey was starting to get angry. “First, Slater stonewalls us, and now you!” he snarled. “I’m beginning to believe Agent Hamilton was right about you two after all!”

“I don’t need to explain myself or my actions to any of you!” Becker shot back. “This is a Secret Service case and all information about it is on a strictly need to know basis. And, right now, none of you need to know. Should that change, I will fill you in at that time. Now, if you will excuse me?”

He started to walk away, but Hutch caught his arm with his good hand. “Not so fast, Becker. You won’t blow me off! This is my partner we’re talking about here! If you know something about where he is or what has happened to him, I have a right to know.”

“Forgive me, Hutchinson, but at the moment you are in no shape to do anything for your partner, even if I were to tell you where he is. But I promise you that Slater is doing all he can to see that he is returned safely.”

“So, the Sultan does have him!” Hutch responded. “Where? Tell me!”

But Becker shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hutchinson, I really am.” He looked at Dobey once more. “I will contact you if you or your department can help in any way.” He turned and left before Dobey could say anything in return.

“Are you just going to let him walk away?” Paula cried.

“What can I do?” Dobey asked her. He sighed heavily and gently gripped Hutch’s shoulder. “Go home, Ken,” he told him. “I’ll keep you up to date.”

“Not that there has been a whole lot to tell!” Hutch shot back, then was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Cap’n. This isn’t your fault.”

Dobey smiled. “I think you’re entitled, Ken. Take him home, Paula. And thank you for taking care of him.”

The nurse’s aide pushed Hutch out the door and helped him into the car. Neither he nor Paula said much on the ride back to his place. What could they say?

Paula helped him up the stairs and got him settled on the couch in front of the television. “I’m going to go get your prescription filled,” she said. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

He shook his head. He could not believe that after all they’d been through they were still no closer to finding Starsky. No, that wasn’t true. They had taken two prisoners at the warehouse. Maybe Dobey would learn something from them during questioning. It frustrated him not to be able to be there, helping.

After Paula had gone, he sat and stared at the midday news without really seeing it. Then the phone began to ring. His hopes rose as he reached to pick it up. Maybe Huggy had some new information for them. Or perhaps Dobey had got something out of one of the prisoners. His good mood evaporated when he heard the voice on the other end.

“Hutchinson? May I come over?”

“What do you want, Becker? To tell me again how sorry you are that you can’t tell me anything?”

“I really think you will want to hear this. I’ve known Slater a long time and I won’t do anything to betray him, but he may be in way over his head on this one.

“I couldn’t tell you everything in front of your captain, but what you said at the hospital got to me. As Starsky’s partner, you should know the whole story. Just in case this thing blows up in Alan’s face.”

“You’ve got my attention,” Hutch said. “How soon can you be here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“All right, come on. Before Paula comes back from the pharmacy.”

Almost exactly ten minutes later, Becker knocked on Hutch’s door. The blond got up with a grunt from the sofa and let him in. “You’d better make this quick,” he told Becker as he led him back into the living room. “My pain medication is wearing off and I’m not in a very good mood.”

“I’ll try, but it’s a long story.”

“Then you had better start talking.”

Becker took a seat on the sofa and Hutch sat down beside him. He would have preferred to remain standing, but he felt a little woozy and didn’t like the idea of passing out in front of Becker. The Secret Service agent took a folder out of the briefcase he’d been carrying and drew a photo out of it and laid it on the sofa between them.

“Who’s that?” Hutch asked, picking it up.

“The man known as the Sultan. You don’t need to know his real name.”

“He looks younger than I thought he’d be,” Hutch said, studying the photograph with interest. The man in the picture couldn’t be much over thirty. He had striking features with dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. “He also looks Middle-Eastern. Any chance he actually is some sort of Arabian royalty?”

Becker shook his head. “He is from a very wealthy family, though. But I guess not wealthy enough for his tastes. Or perhaps just not generous enough in spreading their wealth around to suit him. Either way, he has worked very hard to amass a fortune of his own, both by legitimate and illegitimate means, and been quite successful at it. He not only deals in drugs but just about anything else you can imagine.”

“How’d Slater get involved with him?” Hutch asked, handing the photo back. “And don’t try to sell that crap again about him being undercover and all.”

“You’re right. Slater was working for him. But not for profit.

“Alan has a son, Grant, who served in ‘Nam. His plane was shot down just before the end of his second tour of duty and Grant was never found. He was listed MIA, but Alan later learned through certain channels that Grant was alive and being held in a POW camp along with several other American prisoners.

“He went to the Administration that was in office at the time and told them this and requested that they start some kind of negotiation to get Grant and the others back. But they wouldn’t do it. They said that the political atmosphere wasn’t right just then to try opening diplomatic relations again and that they were sorry, etc., etc.

“Alan then asked to be allowed to organize a covert military operation to go in and get his son and the others, and was again turned down. The Watergate scandal had just broken and those in charge had other things on their minds than a few missing soldiers.”

“So Slater went to the Sultan for help,” Hutch said quietly. “It makes sense. A man like that would have connections all over the world and perhaps even his own little private army somewhere.”

Becker nodded. “Something like that. The Sultan agreed to help him…but at a price, naturally.”

“The counterfeit plates.”

“You’ve got it. Slater stole them and gave them to the Sultan in exchange for him using his resources to rescue Grant. But the Sultan had other ideas.

“He foresaw the usefulness of having a Secret Service agent at his disposal. He strung Alan along as long as he could with tidbits about his son’s whereabouts and plans to get him out, then, when Slater began to catch on to that, the Sultan had Paula’s partner killed and framed Slater for it. He’s used that to blackmail him ever since. That and the slender hope that he still might be able to help Grant.”

“How does Starsky come into it?” Hutch asked.

“At first, he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then, when the Sultan’s men uncovered the connection between you and Agent Hamilton and learned that she was coming to LA to get your help in making her case against Slater, the Sultan decided he might have other uses.

“Also, I believe he holds some sort of a grudge against you for a large drug bust the two of you helped bring about a couple of months ago. It seems it seriously delayed his plans to take over the West coast and this is a guy who’s big on revenge.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Hutch said. “So. What do you and Slater have planned now?”

“Getting your partner out of harm’s way is on the top of the list. Slater doesn’t want any more innocent blood on his hands. In fact, if all goes well, Starsky could be home tomorrow.”

Hutch caught his breath. “Tell me the plan,” he said. “I want to help.”

Becker looked him over pointedly. “You’ve got to be kidding! You can barely stand up!”

“Tell me or I go to my captain with everything you just told me and he goes to your boss.”

Becker shook his head. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t endanger your partner like that.”

“The way I see it, Starsky couldn’t be in any more danger than he is now. That is, if all this is true. How do I know you’re not lying to me, Becker? Like Paula said?”

“I saved your bacon back in that warehouse, Hutchinson. Yours and Hamilton’s. That ought to be good for something.”

Hutch shook his head. “You could just as easily have set us up, just like Slater set up Paula’s partner.”

“I told you Alan didn’t do that! It was the Sultan!”

“It still worked out awfully well for him though, didn’t it? The only man who has any hard evidence against him is killed before he can make his case.”

“If that were true, why aren’t you and Hamilton dead right now?” Becker asked quietly. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do it, even before you knew I was involved. Yesterday when I supposedly tightened the nut on your oil pan down at Merle’s, I could just as easily have cut your brake lines or planted a bomb. But what I was actually doing was removing the tracking device the Sultan’s man had put on your car.”

Hutch reeled back, surprised. “God, and I led them straight to Carla! Who put it on there, Becker?” Hutch thought a moment, and then it came to him like a bolt out of the blue. “Gary Marshall. That slimy little worm! He did it that day I saw him out in front of Huggy’s, didn’t he?”

Becker nodded. Hutch couldn’t sit still anymore. He got to his feet and began to pace. “All right, Becker. I’m beginning to believe you. But I still want to go with you tonight.”

“No way! Look at yourself, Hutchinson! If you insist on doing this and you collapse out there, you could end up getting all of us killed!”

Hutch shook his head. “I’ll manage, Becker. I have in worse shape than this. Because whether or not I believe everything you’ve told me here, I still don’t trust you. Not with my partner’s life. So, am I in or not?”

Becker sighed. “I suppose you’re in. But I really wish you’d reconsider. For Starsky’s sake if not for your own.”

“Tell me the plan,” Hutch insisted stubbornly. So Becker told him. Hutch sat down again and listened carefully. He’d have to conserve all the strength he had if he was going to do this.

The pain medication they’d given him at the hospital had worn off completely, and his arm hurt so much it was making him sick. Maybe Becker was right; maybe this was a bad idea. But no matter how bad off he was, he still had to be in better shape than Starsky. God only knew what they were doing to his partner!

No, he had to go. If he didn’t and something went wrong, he’d never forgive himself. And if he did and they all were killed, at least then he and Starsky would go out together, just liked they’d always joked they would. Butch and Sundance. Me and Thee.

“Hold on, buddy!” he thought as Becker began pulling the plans for a large house from his briefcase. “I’m coming for you!”

 

Chapter 11: Mind Games

Starsky was drifting in and out of a pain-induced daze when the sound of a key turning in the lock of his door brought him fully alert. With an effort that took almost all he had, he pushed himself up on his elbow on the cot and managed to sit up. He’d rather have stood up, but he knew that was beyond him at the moment.

The man who’d interrogated him and another he didn’t recognize cautiously opened the door and entered the room. The sight of their drawn guns almost made him laugh–in the shape he was in, what the Hell did they think he was going to do?

“Hey! Look who’s come to visit me!” he quipped. “And you’ve brought a friend. Well, the more the merrier! What’s up, guys? Is this business or did ya’ just want another look at me in my underwear?”

“Told you he was funny,” the first man said to the one who’d come in with him.

“Yeah, he’s a laugh riot!” the second man replied sarcastically. “Ought to go on t.v. That is, if he ever gets out of here again!”

The two men put their guns away and crossed the room to take Starsky between them and roughly pull him to his feet. He bit back a scream as the movement jarred his abused shoulder. He hated having to lean on them, but, if he hadn’t, he would have fallen on his face.

“Careful!” the second man warned sharply. “The boss wants to talk to him, and that means he has to be conscious!”

Starsky was too busy not blacking out to come up with a snappy comeback. The two men half-led, half-carried him out of the room and up a stairway. They passed through what looked like a storage room and walked for what seemed like a mile or more down a long hallway until they finally reached their destination: an elegant dining room.

After being so long in the dim basement, the bright sunlight streaming through the floor-length windows was enough to temporarily blind him, so he couldn’t make out too much detail at first. The two men holding him up dragged him around to a place at one side of the table and shoved a chair under him. Starsky sank into it gratefully, wheezing like an old man.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw that the table in front of him had been set for a meal; he must have been brought in near the end, as most of the serving dishes were nearly empty. Any other time, the food might have looked good to him, especially considering how long it had been since he had eaten. But in his present condition, it only made him feel nauseous.

A man with dark hair and intense dark eyes was seated across from him. It was the same man who’d watched and given the orders while Starsky was being questioned earlier. “I’m assumin’ you must be this Sultan I’ve heard so much about,” Starsky said.

The man smiled. “There are some who call me that,” he replied. “I’m pleased you could join me, Detective Starsky. I was just about to have dessert. Would you like something?”

“A glass of water would be nice,” Starsky told him hoarsely. The Sultan gestured to one of the servants who were clearing the table and he brought Starsky a glass and a pitcher of water and set it beside the empty plate in front of him. Starsky reached for it with his good hand and managed to fill the glass without spilling any of it on the tablecloth, though his hand shook terribly. He drained the glass in one long gulp and filled it again.

“Thank you,” he said when the second glass was half-gone as well.

“You’re welcome. So, you must be wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

“Is this a guessing game? Or were you plannin’ on telling me?” Starsky shot back. The water had helped to revive him a little and he was able to sit up a bit straighter in his chair.

The Sultan chuckled. “Ah! I admire a man with a quick wit! Yes, Detective, I was planning to tell you. You see, I have followed the activities of you and your partner for some time now, and I have come to the conclusion that you are a man of rare talent. I believe that talent is being wasted in your current career, so I would like to invite you to come to work for me instead.”

Starsky snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. I believe you would do very well in my organization and that we could both find our association to be very profitable.”

“Okay, say I were to even consider this. What about my partner? You said it yourself: I’m only one half of a team. Are you gonna offer him a job, too?”

“I had considered it, but I’m afraid your partner has already formed a new alliance on his own.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Starsky asked, frowning. “What new alliance?”

The Sultan gestured again and one of the men who’d brought Starsky in turned and took a large manila envelope from a drawer and handed it to the Sultan, who in turn passed it across the table to Starsky. “What’s this?” he asked without opening it.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Starsky lifted the flap and cautiously put his hand inside and drew out a small stack of black and white photographs. He looked at them and was surprised to see that they were all of Hutch and some woman he didn’t recognize.

“Her name is Paula Hamilton,” the Sultan told him as he slowly sorted through the stack. “I believe Detective Hutchinson once worked with her, back when he was assigned to the City Division.”

“She’s a cop?” Starsky asked, surprised. He looked at the woman in the pictures more closely. She was tall and blond like Hutch. And pretty. She looked like a class act.

“Not anymore. She works for the Federal Bureau of Investigation now.”

“Wow! She’s a lot better looking than any of the Feds I’ve ever worked with!” Starsky declared.

“There’s that wit again!” the Sultan chuckled. “Yes, she is attractive, isn’t she?”

Starsky looked up from the photos and saw a strange gleam in the other man’s eyes. “So, Hutch called up an old friend in the Bureau to help him look for me. How does that relate to what we were talkin’ about before?”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken. Agent Hamilton was the one who contacted Hutchinson, not the other way around. Her partner, Derek Hunter, was killed in the line of duty a little over a year ago. I think perhaps she has finally found someone to replace him.”

Starsky frowned. “No way! You don’t know nothin’ about Hutch if you believe that!”

“Really? Look at those pictures again, Detective Starsky. Use that talent of yours that’s made you so good at what you do. What does it look like to you?”

Starsky didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself. He flipped through the photos again more slowly this time. The first showed Hutch and the woman together in what looked like a bar. With a shock, he suddenly recognized that it was The Pits. She and Hutch were hugging each other while Huggy grinned off to one side.

The next showed them sitting in a booth with a drink in front of them both. Hutch’s back was turned to the camera, but you could see the woman’s face. She was smiling as she reached across to touch Hutch’s hand.

Others showed them riding in Hutch’s car, going in and out of Hutch’s apartment together, eating a meal at the table in his kitchen, etc. In almost all of them, Hutch was smiling.

“Who took these?” Starsky asked as he tossed the pictures back onto the table and lifted the glass again for another drink.

“That is not important. What is is what these pictures show. Pardon me for saying so, Detective Starsky, but your partner does not exactly look distraught over your disappearance.”

“What’s he supposed to do? Cry all the time?”

“Perhaps you are right. A man does not always wear his heart on his sleeve. Oh, by the way, did I mention that she was staying with him?”

“That still doesn’t mean anything. They’re old friends. I’ve even stayed at his place from time to time.”

The Sultan gestured again and the man took another photograph from the drawer and passed it to the Sultan who handed it to Starsky. “They say each picture is worth a thousand words,” he commented softly. “What does that one say to you?”

This picture was not like the others. The quality was coarse and grainy, but still plenty clear enough for Starsky to see what it was. Hutch and the woman were in his apartment again, standing by the window that looked out over the beach. Only this time, the woman was wearing a nightgown and Hutch had his arms around her, kissing her. Starsky didn’t want it to, but it hurt.

“Well?” the Sultan asked softly.

Starsky dropped the picture back onto the table. “Take me back to my cell,” he said.

“What about my offer? Aren’t you even going to consider it?”

“Go to Hell,” Starsky told him. The man’s cruel laughter followed him down the hall as the guards carried him back towards the basement.

Once he was alone, Starsky curled up once more into a ball on the cot. Throughout this nightmare, the one thing that had kept him going had been the thought that, somewhere out there, Hutch was looking for him. Now he felt as if a dark pit had opened in his soul.

What was Hutch doing? That picture had to be some kind of a hoax. But, what if it wasn’t? What if he got out of here, only to find that his partner wasn’t his partner anymore? He kept seeing all those pictures of them together in his mind: Hutch buying her a drink at The Pits, Hutch smiling as they left his apartment, Hutch kissing her…What if Hutch wasn’t even looking for him anymore?

“What happened to ‘me and thee’, buddy?” he whispered.

He and Hutch were so close, closer than he’d ever been to anyone else in his entire life. Hutch was not only his partner but his best friend as well. Their personalities and strengths each complimented the other’s perfectly.

There were people who’d speculated that something more than just friendship was going on between them, but it wasn’t like that. He loved Hutch like a brother; had shared more with him than he’d ever shared with his real brother. He and Nicky had grown so far apart that they hardly even spoke to each other anymore.

Starsky felt tears stinging his eyes and didn’t try to stop them from falling. It wasn’t so much the idea that Hutch and Paula were lovers that got to him as the thought that this going on now, while he was stuck in this crappy little hole in the ground. How could Hutch do it? How could he be out enjoying himself?

If Hutch were missing, he’d have been going nuts. He would have been out there combing every inch of every rat hole in the city looking for him, not sitting at Huggy’s drinking a beer. And he sure wouldn’t have been out on a date!

No, that picture had to be some sort of fake. Either that, or it didn’t tell the whole story. But that still didn’t stop it from hurting.

 

Chapter 12: A Falling Out

Paula had never been so furious in her life. Half an hour had passed since she had come back from the pharmacy and found Becker sitting in Hutch’s living room, and she still hadn’t cooled down. She couldn’t believe that Ken had decided to work with him and Slater! After all she’d told him about them!

Becker had left shortly after she arrived, to “give them some privacy to work things out between them,” he’d said. She had slammed the door behind him then turned on Ken.

“What was he doing here?” she’d asked indignantly as she’d stormed back into the living room.

“Paula, why don’t you go get yourself something to drink and sit down,” he’d answered her. “I need to talk to you.”

“Damn right you do!” she’d muttered, but had done as he’d asked. She had poured herself a glass of wine, anticipating that she was going to want it, and taken him a glass of water to take his pills with. He’d taken a double dose then launched without preamble into his story. He’d told her all about Slater’s son and the plan to rescue Starsky that evening.

“And I still say that it’s rubbish!” she’d shouted. “It’s a scam, Ken. It has to be.”

“I only said that his story made sense! I didn’t say I completely believed him or that I trusted him!” Ken had returned tiredly. “In fact, that’s why I have to go! I don’t trust either him or Slater with Starsky’s safety!”

She’d taken his hand. “And what about your safety?” she’d asked. “What if your arm starts to bleed again or something while you’re out there tonight? You heard what the doctor said! You can’t help Starsky or anybody else if you put yourself back in the hospital!”

He’d rubbed his eyes as he’d struggled up off the sofa. “I’m going, Paula,” he’d said in a tone that didn’t invite any more argument. “I have to. Can you understand that?”

She’d nodded. “Oh, I understand,” she’d told him with a sigh of resignation. “I just don’t like it!”

Ken had gone to lie down for a while. He would need all the rest he could get if he was to stand any chance at all of being able to pull off this stunt tonight. Paula still sat on the sofa, sulking.

Becker would be back for Ken at seven o’clock. For some time, she had debated with herself whether she should just pack her things and leave before then but had finally decided that that would not be fair. Even if she were angry with Ken, she had promised she would stay with him tonight. And that was her intention. If Ken or Becker didn’t like it, that was just too bad.

~~~

The Sultan looked up from the book he’d been reading as Slater entered his study. “I was pleased to hear that you will be joining us for my little get together this evening,” he said. “Though, I must admit, I was also surprised. You usually avoid being seen with me in public.” He was seated in a chair before an impressive fireplace.

Slater took a seat in another chair nearby. “That’s true. But an evening of poker just sounded good to me,” he answered casually. “And working for you has tended to isolate me from my normal social contacts.”

“Then I’m gratified that I could afford you this opportunity for some much needed recreation. Is all in readiness for Rogue Star’s meeting with your esteemed President?” the Sultan asked.

“I spoke with her this morning by phone and she said that she’s ready on her end. I still have a few lose ends to tie up here, but I assure you everything will be in place when the time comes,” Slater replied.

“Good, good,” the Sultan nodded. “I feel I owe you an apology for our disagreement before. You have been a man of your word and a valuable asset to me.”

Slater frowned. “We both know that I would not be doing this if it weren’t for my son. I served this country loyally for more than twenty years. But I find it difficult to continue to uphold and preserve any government that would tell me that my son is expendable, simply because those in office are afraid of ruffling a few political feathers.”

“Their loss has been my gain, then,” the Sultan said; then he leaned forward in his chair to place his hand on Slater’s arm. “You will see your son again, Slater. I promise you, I will fulfill my part of our bargain.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for over a year now!” Slater returned vehemently, pulling his arm away.

“I know, I know,” the Sultan soothed him. “I’m sorry it is taking so long. These things are complicated.”

“That’s basically what they told me at the Pentagon!” Slater said bitterly, getting up from his chair and crossing to lean on the mantel, his face turned away from the other man. “I…I can’t help but wonder what he’s going through!” he whispered brokenly. “It wakes me up nights sometimes.” He turned to face the Sultan once more. “I lost his mother when he was only a kid. Grant’s all I have in the world!”

“I am aware of these things,” the man known as the Sultan said softly. “That is why I know I can trust you. You will never betray me as long as I am your only hope of ever seeing your son again alive.”

~~~

Somehow, Ken had managed to change out of the torn and bloodstained remains of the shirt he’d been wearing that morning and into a clean one without her help. Paula winced just at the sight of it in the trashcan; it was definitely beyond repair. Thank God Ken wasn’t!

“Becker will be here in an hour,” Hutch commented quietly as he finished doing up the last of his shirt buttons one-handed. Even the small exertion of changing had left him pale and sweating. Paula watched him as he struggled first into his shoulder holster and then back into the sling they’d given him at the hospital and wondered how in the world he thought he’d get through the next few hours. But she knew better than to try to dissuade him.

“Would you like something to eat before he gets here?” she asked him instead.

Ken stopped what he was doing long enough to glance up at her in surprise. It was not at all what he had expected her to say. “Yeah,” he said then, “That might be a good idea. Thanks.”

She got up from where she had been sitting on the couch and went into the kitchen. He could hear her opening cabinets and then she reappeared in the doorway. “Hope you’re in the mood for canned soup,” she told him dryly. “That’s about all you have out there.”

Hutch blushed slightly. “Yeah. Well, with everything that’s been going on this week, I haven’t had a chance to get to the store. Soup sounds good. Hope I at least have some crackers to go with it?”

“You do,” she answered him shortly. She went back into the kitchen. He sat down on the couch and closed his eyes again briefly as he listened to her getting out a pan and running the can opener.

He must have dozed off for a moment, because the next thing he knew, Paula was sitting next to him putting a mug of hot soup into his good hand. A tray on the coffee table held a second mug for her, a plate with a few sandwiches on it, an open box of crackers and a couple of cans of soda. “This is nice. Thank you,” he told her again after he had taken a sip from his mug. She nodded but didn’t say anything.

They ate in silence, Paula’s anger and hurt like a third person sitting between them on the couch, keeping them from being able to talk to each other. Hutch couldn’t blame her. No matter what his reasons for it, his willingness to work with the men she thought had arranged her partner’s murder must feel like a slap in her face. And yet, she had still cared enough to worry whether or not he got something to eat before he went out and to put his soup in a mug instead of a bowl so that he wouldn’t have to juggle a spoon.

Becker knocked on the door just as Paula was taking the dishes back out to the kitchen. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this?” he asked as Hutch let him in.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Paula answered for Ken as she came back out of the kitchen.

“Then can I at least persuade you to stay in the car? If you were to go down in there…!”

“It’s all or nothing, Becker,” Hutch told him as he worked to get his good arm to go into the sleeve of his jacket. It kept sliding off of his other shoulder. “That was our deal. Either I’m in this thing all the way or I’m on the phone to Dobey right now!” He still couldn’t get his jacket to cooperate. Unable to stand it anymore, Paula finally took it away from him and held it for him.

Becker stared. “Look at you, Hutchinson! You can’t even put your coat on by yourself! This is crazy!”

Paula suddenly whirled to face him. “Shut up, Becker! Just lay off him or I’ll put your arm in a sling!”

Becker just looked at her with his mouth open a long moment then suddenly began to grin. “I bet you could, too!” he laughed. “Maybe you ought to go along with us as back up!” he added jokingly.

“As a matter of fact,” she informed him coolly, “I’ve already decided that I will.”

It was Hutch’s turn to stare. “Now wait a minute, Paula…” he began.

“Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this!” she interrupted him. “I don’t trust this Bozo and his slime ball partner with your safety any more than you trust them with Starsky’s. I’m in, too, or I’ll get on the phone to Dobey and blow the whole deal myself. And, unlike you, Ken, I’m not bluffing.”

Becker looked at Hutch and Hutch shrugged his good shoulder. “You heard the lady,” he said.

“God help us!” Becker muttered under his breath as they all headed out the door.

 

Chapter 13: The Best Laid Plans

The Sultan’s “little gathering” was well under way. The party had begun in the formal dining room, where the servants had served a sumptuous seven-course meal to their employer’s forty of fifty guests. Then the ladies had all gone into one room to visit and listen to a string quartet while the men all retired to the Sultan’s study to play serious poker.

At the moment, Slater guessed there must be at least ten thousand dollars on his table alone, and yet for most of the players present that amount was next to nothing. “Carla was right,” Slater thought as he looked around him. Many people, both in LA and across the nation, would have been shocked if they’d known the names of some of the men sitting in this room this evening.

Slater leaned back in his chair and surreptitiously checked his watch. It was almost eight o’clock. He folded his hand and excused himself from his table.

~~~

A few miles after they’d left the main road, Becker switched the headlights off and killed the engine and let the car coast off onto the shoulder and under the cover of some trees. Hutch’s head fell forward a little as Becker set the brake and he awoke with a jerk, hoping Becker hadn’t noticed that he’d fallen asleep on the trip. A quick glance showed him that he hadn’t.

Paula, unfortunately, had. She frowned at him in the dim light, but didn’t say anything. Hutch pulled himself up straighter in the seat and looked around at where they were.

Under any other circumstances, the view would have been breathtaking. The lights of the city glittered below them, a jeweled carpet stretching all the way to the horizon. A couple of hundred yards in front of them, at the bottom of a gentle slope, a beautiful home lay tucked in the folds of the surrounding hills. Lights glowed in its windows and the faint sound of music drifted up to them on the cool breeze.

Becker checked the safety on his gun. “I still wish you’d reconsider going in with us, Hutchinson,” he said as he returned it to its holster.

“Can it, Becker,” Hutch answered him as he opened the door on his side of the car and got out. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t that far to the cover of a low stone wall; they crossed the distance at a gentle jog, and yet it was still enough to leave Hutch winded in his current condition. Once there, he leaned against the wall heavily, hoping he could catch his breath without being too obvious about it as Becker checked his watch and surveyed the rest of their route to the house.

He knew from the briefing Becker had given him earlier that there were usually at least four guards on foot patrol at any given time but, at the moment, none of them was in sight. Becker finished his brief survey and signaled them that it was clear. Hutch braced himself, drew in another deep gulp of air, and followed as the other two climbed over the low wall and ran in a crouch towards the patio. Slater was supposed to have disabled the alarm on the French doors there. If, for some reason, he had not, this whole venture would soon come to an abrupt end.

Becker wrapped a sleeve of his jacket around the butt of his gun and used it to break one of the panes in the door. It shattered with a minimal amount of noise and the three of them held their breaths as they listened tensely for the sound of an alarm. Nothing happened so, a few seconds later, Becker reached through the hole he’d made and unlocked the door. A moment more and they were all inside.

The music was louder here and now they could also make out the soft murmur of distant voices, broken at intervals by the sound of feminine laughter. The Sultan’s guests seemed to be having a good time. Hutch hoped all of them were being sufficiently entertained enough to stay where they were. All they needed was to encounter some unexpected drifter wandering the halls.

From the plans Becker had shown him, Hutch knew that they now stood in the smaller of the house’s two dining rooms. The room where Starsky supposedly was being held was in the basement, the door to which lay further down a hallway to their right. The lights in this part of the house had been turned down to their dimmest settings, leaving it just light enough that the servants wouldn’t bump into the furniture while still conserving on the electric bill. In the midst of the current energy crisis, even the wealthy were having to think of such things.

They moved silently on thick carpeting down the hallway and into what seemed to be a storage area, then down a set of concrete steps to the basement. At the bottom was a narrow corridor and, at the end of that, a stout looking door. A burly man in an ill-fitting tuxedo was asleep in a chair beside the door, a bottle of what appeared to be champagne still dangling from one hand.

Becker patted the unconscious man down and produced a ring of keys from a pocket, soon locating the one that fit the lock on the door. He gestured with his chin to Hutch and Paula to watch his back as he turned the key in the lock then cautiously prepared to open the door. If the Sultan had discovered that Slater was double-crossing him, then this might be a trap. He raised his gun and slowly swung the door inward.

~~~

Starsky was dozing again when the sound of his door being unlocked woke him up once more. “Whoever you are,” he grumbled without even opening his eyes, “go away! I don’t feel like entertainin’ any company!”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?” a voice he didn’t recognize answered him. It was the faint hint of amusement in his tone that finally made Starsky curious enough to crack open his eyelids and look up at the tall black man standing next to his cot smiling down at him. “Detective Sergeant David Starsky, I presume?” he said.

Starsky painfully pushed himself up on one elbow, frowning. “Who wants to know?” he shot back.

“I’m Brian Becker of the Secret Service and I’ve brought someone with me who would very much like to see you. However, if you’re really not interested, I could send him away for you.”

Becker’s joke went unnoticed. Starsky was too busy staring at the man who’d come through the doorway behind Becker. “Hutch,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

“Hey, buddy,” Hutch answered him with a grin, his own voice none too steady. “You about ready to blow this joint?”

Starsky was already struggling to sit up. Hutch rapidly crossed the small distance between them and offered his partner his good arm to help him. It was then that Starsky noticed the sling Hutch wore on the other one.

“What the Hell happened to you?” he asked him, and got a lopsided smile in return.

“It’s a long story…I’ll tell you later,” Hutch promised. Starsky had made it into a sitting position. Hutch allowed him a second or two to rest before making the effort to stand. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked with genuine concern. Even the short distance to Becker’s car might seem like a long journey to an injured man. Hutch knew from recent personal experience. What if Starsky couldn’t make it on his own?

But Starsky was already getting to his feet. “Are kidding, pal? Right now, I could dance…if you asked me nice!” he joked, flashing that thousand watt grin of his. “If you’ll just hand me my pants…?”

The grin faded somewhat when he saw the change in Hutch’s expression. “Hey, come on, Hutch! This isn’t funny! Give me my pants.” Hutch was definitely blushing now. “Hutch?”

“I don’t know what to say, Starsky! I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about…!”

“Aw, Hutch!” Starsky interrupted, protesting. “How could ya’ forget my pants!”

“Hey, I said I was sorry!” Hutch shot back. ” I didn’t do it on purpose! I’ve kind of had a few other things on my mind, you know?”

The argument might have continued for several minutes if Becker had not stopped it then by loudly clearing his throat. “As amusing as this is, gentlemen, we’re on rather a tight schedule here! So, if you don’t mind…?” He gestured towards the door. Both partners ducked their heads contritely.

Hutch took Starsky’s good arm and placed it across his good shoulder. “Come on, Starsk,” he said. “Becker’s right. Let’s get you the Hell out of here.” It was hard to tell who was supporting who as they hobbled for the door. Becker brought up the rear, shaking his head.

~~~

Gary Marshall was having the time of his young life. When he’d first studied to be a journalist, he’d imagined himself traveling all over the world, mingling with the most interesting, powerful and wealthy people on earth. But reality had hardly lived up to his dreams.

At first, it had been hard to even find work. And then his editors had all seemed dead set on giving him only the most boring and mundane assignments. How would he ever make a name for himself covering children’s science fairs and dances at the senior citizens’ center?

Now, all that had changed. He was living the life he’d always wanted and it was all thanks to the Sultan. And all he had had to do was put that tracking device on Hutchinson’s car and take a few pictures for him.

Not that he was planning on making a career out of crime! But he had not been able to resist the chance to be involved in something so exciting. Getting back at Hutchinson and his partner had just been icing on the cake.

The memory of how they had embarrassed him two years ago still rankled. He’d been fresh out of journalism school and looking for his first big break. He’d stopped in at The Pits for a drink one afternoon and had chanced to overhear Starsky and Hutchinson talking to the owner about this big drug deal that was going down at the docks.

He’d followed them to where this deal was supposed to go down, but he’d been clumsy. They’d spotted him and had set him up, luring him into an alley and jumping him then locking him in the trunk of his own car until all the excitement was over. Afterwards, he’d gone to their captain, hoping to get them at least suspended, if not fired outright. And the man had just laughed at him, saying that the officers had done it for his own good and that he was lucky they didn’t prosecute him for obstructing justice!

But all that was behind him now. The story he’d write once this was over would be enough to land him any assignment he wanted, or maybe even win him a Pulitzer! And, in the meantime, here he was, eating the finest food and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. He was truly in Heaven. The only thing that could possibly make it better would be to be able to personally rub those two cops noses in it.

No, wait! Why couldn’t he? Well, at least gloat to one of them at any rate. Starsky was right here on the premises, being held in the basement. He had a sudden urge to pay him a little visit.

~~~

Paula had stayed outside to watch the stairs as Becker and Ken had gone into the room to get Starsky. She had strained her ears to hear what they were saying in there, but had not been able to make any of it out. Long minutes passed, during which all she could do was wait and worry, and then they had finally come out again, Starsky leaning heavily on his partner but moving under his own power.

Thank God for that at least. They had not really discussed what they would do if he hadn’t been able to walk. Now, if he and Ken could both just hold up long enough to make it to the car!

Ken caught sight of her worried expression and smiled. “Paula! This is Starsky!” he introduced them, almost as if they were at The Pits or something rather than in the middle of a rescue behind enemy lines. A strange expression had crossed Ken’s partner’s face for a moment when he’d first seen her, but now he, too, smiled.

“How’re you doin’?” he asked her politely.

“Better than you are, I think,” she’d answered him honestly, looking him up and down. His color was terrible and he was already wheezing, his shorn hair intensifying the image of a man hanging on by his fingernails. And yet her comment had only served to broaden his grin.

“Yeah, well. You’re not exactly seein’ me at my best!” he returned lightly.

Becker rolled his eyes. “Far be it from me to break up this little party,” he put in irritably, “but I think we’d be wise to hurry. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, and I for one would like to get out of here before our luck runs out!”

“It just has!” Gary Marshall declared from the top of the stairs.

 

Chapter 14: Hail, Hail…

Dobey picked up his phone on the second ring. “Metro Division,” he growled tiredly. Hutchinson wasn’t the only one this case was beginning to take a toll on.

Despite the gruff façade he tried so hard to maintain, it was well known that he felt a fatherly concern for of all of the officers under his command, and was especially fond of his two “problem children”. Their continuing inability to locate Starsky frankly had him worried sick. And while Hutchinson’s injury hadn’t exactly thrilled him, at least as long as he was home recovering he did not have to worry about him.

“Cap’n Dobey?” Some of Dobey’s exhaustion dropped away as he heard the familiar voice on the other end. Maybe this was the break they’d been waiting for.

“Yeah, it’s me. Is that you, Huggy?”

“You got it! Man, am I ever glad I got through to you! I been tryin’ to reach Blondie for over an hour but no one answers at his place!”

Dobey’s brow furrowed slightly. “Huh. Hope Paula didn’t have to take him back to the hospital!” he said half to himself. Surely she would have called him if that were the case. “I wonder where they went?”

“I wouldn’t know. But listen, that’s not why I called! You know that meetin’ the Sultan and Big Eddie were s’posed to have this morning at that warehouse? Well, Big Eddie now thinks the Sultan set him up and he’s really on the warpath about it. I just heard from a reliable source that he’s somehow found out where that big house of the Sultan’s is up in the hills and that he and some of his boys are planning to make a hit there tonight.”

Dobey stopped worrying about Hutch and focused his full attention on what Huggy was saying. “Good Lord! Was your source able to give you an address?”

“Yeah.”

Dobey whistled silently to himself as he wrote down the address Huggy repeated to him. “This is one pricey neighborhood you’re sending me to, Hug. You sure this is right?”

“Hey! Have I ever steered you wrong before?” Huggy asked huffily.

“No, you haven’t. My apologies, Huggy. You got any idea when this is coming down?” Dobey asked as he retrieved his gun from a drawer of his desk and made sure that it was loaded before slipping it into the pocket of his coat.

“My source said nine o’clock.”

Dobey checked his watch. “It’s already eight-thirty!” he exclaimed. “You aren’t givin’ me much warning here, Huggy!”

“Hey! I told ya’ I been tryin’ to reach Hutch for over an hour!” Huggy protested in turn.

“Again, my sincerest apologies,” Dobey soothed the temperamental informant as he got up from his desk and got ready to head out the door. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Be careful up there!”

Dobey hung up the phone and hurried out into the squad room, bellowing orders as he went.

~~~

Marshall smirked at the sight at the bottom of the stairwell. He had the gun he had begun to carry since going to work for the Sultan in his hand and was amazed at how much it bolstered his confidence “Well, well! Look at this!” he taunted. “The two hotshot detectives caught with their pants down by the punk reporter! This is even better than I could have hoped for!”

“Look, Marshall, if you’re gonna crow about it, at least get it right!” Starsky shot back indignantly. “Technically, only one of us has his pants down! I thought you reporters were trained to notice stuff like that!”

Hutch groaned and covered his eyes. “Damn it, Starsk, I said I was sorry! So just let it go, will ya’?” he mumbled.

Becker and Paula could only stare at them both. Any minute now Marshall would sound the alarm and they were all going to be in deep trouble. How could they possibly be joking around?

Marshall didn’t seem to appreciate the humor of the situation either. “Don’t make fun of me!” he shouted, his face twisting into an ugly snarl. “I’ve been laughed at enough because of you two and I’m not going to put up with any more of it, do you hear me?”

“Stop it, Gary, you’re scaring me,” Hutch replied in a bored tone, but Starsky felt his arm tighten slightly around his waist, warning him his partner was about to make some sort of move. He braced himself, hoping he was ready for it.

“Ken? What are you doing?” Paula asked in an undertone, but Hutch ignored her.

Marshall was livid to the point of almost hopping with rage. “If you aren’t afraid, you’re dumber than I thought you were!” he ranted. ” I’ve seen what the Sultan does to his enemies! And I’m going to enjoy watching him do it to you!”

Hutch’s voice and eyes suddenly both hardened into ice. “I’ve seen it, too, Marshall. I saw what he did to Carla! Are you proud of your part in that? It was that thing you put on my car that led them to her! In my book, that makes you just as responsible for her death as they are!”

Starsky felt sick. “Carla’s dead?” he asked softly.

Hutch nodded, not taking his eyes off Marshall. “Yeah. One of Gary’s new friends blew her head off with a shotgun for trying to help me find you,” he told him, wishing there was a way he could have broken it to his partner more gently.

“God!” Starsky breathed. “That poor kid! At least maybe she didn’t feel nothin’!”

At the mention of Carla, some of the bluster had gone out of Marshall and he had gone pale. “I had nothing to do with that!” he gulped. “I admit, I put the tracking device on your car, but I never had any idea they were going to kill that girl!”

“What did you think they would do?” Hutch returned coldly. “That’s the kind of people your new pals are, Marshall! And what makes you think they will hesitate to do any less to you, once they decide you’re no longer of any use to them?”

Marshall tightened his grip on his gun, hoping to regain something of his former self-assurance. “That’s not going to happen,” he stated with a certainty he no longer felt. “You see, I’m not really involved in anything illegal! I’m just pretending to be, just like when you guys go undercover! Once I get my story, I’ll turn all the evidence I’ve gathered over to the authorities, and then I’m out of here!”

“Try telling that to a judge!” Paula put in, having finally picked up on what Ken was trying to do. “That is, if the Sultan lets you live long enough to go to trial once he finds out that you’re planning to turn on him!”

Marshall had started to sweat and the hand that held the gun was no longer steady. “Oh, my God!” he said in a choked whisper, thinking out loud, momentarily distracted by this new threat to his own safety. “What am I going to do?”

It was exactly what Hutch had been waiting for. He let go of Starsky to charge up the stairs three at a time with Becker right on his heels. They were on Marshall before the younger man ever knew what hit him and soon had him disarmed and unconscious on the floor.

Left on his own, Starsky reeled and would have gone down if Paula had not been there to catch him. She grabbed him by whatever she could get a hold of to help keep him on his feet and he was forced to do the same until he’d managed to regain his balance. “Thanks!” he told her then with a sheepish smile, slightly winded and still leaning on her for support.

“My pleasure, Detective Starsky,” she replied with a lift of her eyebrows and a bit of a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Caught off guard, Starsky laughed in delight. “Hey, if you’re gonna be that way about it, maybe you’d better start callin’ me Dave!”

“Are you hitting on my girl, partner?” Hutch teased as he came back down to help Starsky up the stairs.

“Who, me?” Dave asked, leaning on them both now, his expression one of pure innocence but his dark blue eyes dancing.

Becker was left to become the voice of reason once again. “I really think we need to get a move on, people!” he warned them sternly as they reached the top of the staircase.

Paula looked down at the unconscious man lying on the floor. “What should we do with Marshall?” she asked, nudging him slightly with the toe of her shoe with the same slight air of disgust she might have worn if she’d been examining a dead bug. “If we leave him, the Sultan and his men will more than likely kill him.”

“Serves him right, if ya’ ask me!” Starsky muttered darkly, all trace of humor gone from his face and tone.

Becker glanced at Hutch, who shrugged his good shoulder. “I wouldn’t shed any tears over him!” he declared. “But I guess we’d better take him with us anyway.”

Becker nodded and stooped to lift Marshall onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “All right, let’s go,” he said, and then all Hell broke loose.

 

Chapter 15: …the Gang’s All Here!

By the time Dobey and the squad from Metro had arrived, the grounds surrounding the Sultan’s house had become a war zone, the loud staccato popping of semi-automatic gunfire echoing from the surrounding hills. The captain parked his car behind a group of black-and-whites and made his way carefully from the cover of one vehicle to the next until he was crouched beside the SWAT team commander.

“Sounds like World War Three is goin’ on in there, Dix!” he commented to his long time friend.

The tall, redheaded ex-marine nodded his agreement. “Keep your men back a minute or two, Hal, until mine can get things a little more under control,” he drawled. “We’re better equipped to handle this kind of situation than ya’ll are!”

Dobey looked from his own ordinary, slightly wrinkled tan business suit to the other man’s sleek, full body riot gear, complete with helmet and face-shield, and didn’t argue.

~~~

Inside the mansion, chaos reigned. One moment, laughter and the lively strains of Mozart had filled the air. The next, the night was shattered by the sounds of men cursing and women screaming, punctuated by the deadly tympani of gunfire and the crash and tinkle of breaking glass.

“What do we do now?” Paula asked softly. Blocked from their original route back to Becker’s car by a panic-stricken tide of the Sultan’s guests, she and the others had been forced to try to make their way out of the house through the kitchen instead, but had found this way out blocked as well, this time by equally panicky servants. They had backtracked to try their original escape route again, only to find it still unusable.

The stress and constant running were beginning to take their toll on the injured pair. Both were pale and staggering and Starsky especially seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Hutch caught Paula’s eye and shot her a worry-filled glance.

“Starsky needs to rest,” he told her shortly. “Otherwise I’m afraid he’s going to pass out on us!”

“Oh…Yeah?” Starsky protested, pulling back from his friend slightly to look him up and down critically. “You…should take a look…in the mirror, partner!” he panted.

“He’s right,” Hutch admitted, gently pulling Starsky closer to his side again, though whether this was to better steady his partner or himself, he wasn’t exactly sure. “I’m almost as bad off as he is right now…no offense, buddy!” he quickly soothed.

“None…taken,” Starsky answered with a ghost of a smile. “Jus’ thought…you needed to own up…too.”

“Neither of you look very well,” Becker confirmed. “But I’m not sure what we can do about it under the circumstances.”

“I hate to say this, but maybe we should find somewhere for the two of you to hide until Becker and I can find a safe way out,” Paula said.

Hutch didn’t like it one bit, but was hard put to argue with her reasoning. Without Starsky and himself slowing them down, the other two would stand a much better chance of getting out of this place in one piece. And while he didn’t particularly care about Becker, Paula’s safety did matter to him.

“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll try the kitchen again, and if we still can’t get out through there, Starsk and I will find somewhere and sit tight until you two come back for us.” “If you can come back for us!” he added silently.

Starsky was surprised by Hutch’s easy acquiescence, but didn’t comment. Whatever Hutch’s reasons for agreeing to such a plan, he trusted him. Besides, he was hardly in any shape to bicker over it.

He didn’t miss Paula’s reaction either. She, too, had expected Hutch to put up a fight and had been surprised when he hadn’t. She just looked from one partner to the other and shrugged. “Okay, let’s go then,” was all she said.

The kitchen route, if anything, was even more inaccessible than before. The Sultan’s guards had taken the place of the panicked servants, leaving no possible chance for any of the attacking force to sneak in that way and, unfortunately, also no chance for the rescuers to sneak out.

“So, that’s it then,” Becker sighed. “This is where we part ways.”

Hutch nodded. They had located a large linen closet in a relatively quiet hallway just off the kitchen. It was large enough for him and Starsky and the still unconscious Marshall all to fit into.

“If we haven’t found a way out in twenty minutes, we’ll come back to check on you,” Paula promised.

Becker had already put Marshall into the closet. Now Hutch wordlessly handed over the support of his partner to him for a moment so that he could speak to Paula. They moved away from the others a couple of steps to give themselves some relative privacy to say their goodbyes.

“Listen,” he told her softly. “I’ve been thinking…if you do find a way out, perhaps the two of you should just go on without us. You could go to Dobey or maybe to Becker’s boss and then come back for us with reinforcements.”

Paula’s mouth had dropped open in surprise then turned down in an angry frown. ” While the Sultan does God knows what to you and your partner while I’m gone? No way, Ken! You know I was never overly fond of this plan to begin with. But now that I’m here, there’s no way I’m going to leave without you!”

“Paula…!”

“Hush! I’m not going to stand here and debate the issue with you. So just shut up and kiss me, will you? Hopefully, I’ll be back for you in less than twenty minutes, but if something should go wrong…”

Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, he gave in and bent to kiss her as she’d asked. “Be careful!” he told her firmly as he took over Starsky again from Becker to help his friend into their hiding place. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks!”

“I won’t take any risks you wouldn’t take!” she smiled at him in reply.

“Why doesn’t that reassure me much?” Hutch asked his partner, who just grinned as they ducked into the closet and pulled the door shut behind them.

Hutch settled his partner as comfortably as he could in a corner of the closet then rummaged around in the dim light until he found and pulled down a big tablecloth from one of the shelves. It wasn’t as thick a cover as he’d have liked, but it would do. He spread it over Starsky, who sighed gratefully, and then crawled in under it with him, adding his body warmth to that of his partner’s.

“Thanks, Hutch. But how did ya’ know I was cold?” Starsky asked curiously.

“That’s easy, Sherlock,” Hutch teased back. “I’ve only been feeling you shiver ever since we got you out of your cell!”

It was too dim for him to see his partner blush, but he could hear it in his voice. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t really tell if that was me or you shaking!” he chuckled.

“Some of both, I think,” Hutch admitted.

They sat in silence for several moments then Starsky spoke up again. “Guess you and Becker must have hit Marshall pretty hard for him to stay out this long! Think we should check his pulse or somethin’?” he asked.

“Probably,” Hutch said, but made no move to do it. His anger with Marshall for the part he’d played in Carla’s death was still very close to the surface. He was half afraid that if he touched the man, even lying helpless as he was, that he’d end up throttling him. Starsky picked up on his partner’s mood and let it go.

More silence, then Starsky carefully broached the subject that had been bothering him for quite some time now. “This probably isn’t any of my business,” he began tentatively, “but you and Paula seem to be a little more than just old friends.”

Hutch didn’t answer for so long that he was afraid he wasn’t going to. Just as he was getting ready to take the question back and apologize, Hutch sighed and shifted next to him. “Yeah, I suppose we are,” he said.

“I first met her back when I was assigned to City. We weren’t regular partners, but we worked a few cases together…a couple of stakeouts. You know how it is when you’re out there sitting in a car all night, just waiting for something to happen with nothing else to do but talk. We got to know each other pretty well.”

“So, did you two go out together back then?” Starsky asked. If Hutch was just picking up on an old relationship…but his partner was shaking his head.

“No, we didn’t. I’m not exactly sure why…I mean, I liked her well enough, but…this was right after Van left, you know?” Starsky nodded. He was all too aware of the scars his friend still carried from his failed marriage. “And you know, too, how the department is about the female officers, Starsk! You’re supposed to work with them, treat them just like one of the guys, but you’re not supposed to get too close! You know what I mean?”

Starsky nodded again. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted. It all made perfect sense. “So, what now? I mean, are you two getting serious or anything?” he asked, carefully keeping his tone neutral. This was what he wanted, what he needed to know.

Hutch hesitated again then shrugged. “Maybe…I don’t know, Starsk! It’s too soon to tell! Paula’s a special lady, all right. And she’s really been there for me this past week. God, Starsk!” Hutch drew another deep breath and Starsky felt him shiver again, though this time he knew it wasn’t from the cold. “When you disappeared like that…!”

Hutch stopped again, unable to put all of what he had felt into words. Starsky gently squeezed Hutch’s nearest shoulder, feeling like a heel that he could have ever doubted their friendship. It was obvious now that his partner had indeed been going through seven kinds of Hell looking for him.

“I’m telling you, pal!” Hutch went on; “Without her around to hold me together, I think I may have gone nuts! Especially that day when I got home from finding out about Carla only to find that damned envelope full of your hair!”

Starsky reached up and touched the stubble on his scalp self-consciously. “So that’s what they did that for!” he muttered half to himself. “I’m sorry, Hutch…I had no idea…”

Hutch turned to him, puzzled. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked. “God knows none of this was your fault!”

Even as guilty as he felt about it, Starsky couldn’t bring himself to tell his friend what he’d thought. Damn the Sultan anyway for ever showing him those stupid pictures! He should have known better than to think that Hutch would have been distracted from searching for him by a simple fling. It was obvious now that his partner might really care about this woman. Well, if Hutch thought she was something special, then so did he. And even if he couldn’t ever confess what he’d thought to Hutch, he was still determined to do his best to make up for it.

“Hutch, listen,” he began; “When this is all over, if you should want to…” But he never got the chance to finish his thought, because just then the door of their hiding place was pulled open. He wasn’t armed, but Hutch was. His partner instinctively brought his gun up as they both braced themselves for the worst, then relaxed again as they found themselves not facing a pack of the Sultan’s guards as they’d expected, but looking instead all the way up a pair of very shapely legs to Paula’s face.

“Something’s happening out there!” she told them both in an excited whisper. “The shooting’s stopped and all of the Sultan’s men have moved to the front of the house. Come on! Now’s our chance to get out of here!”

Hutch couldn’t quite suppress a grunt of pain as she helped him to his feet, stiff from having had to fold his tall frame into such a tight space, even for such a short time. Then he and Paula both reached to help Starsky to his feet. Becker was right behind Paula and stooped to pick up Marshall again, who groaned as he was moved, but otherwise still didn’t show any signs of coming around.

“I think the police have arrived,” Becker told them shortly as they all hurried for the doors to the patio once more.

Starsky, leaning on Hutch again with the Sultan’s tablecloth still wrapped around his shoulders and moving surprisingly well for someone who could barely stand a short time before, wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Wait! If that’s true, then why are we sneakin’ out the back? Why not just wait until they come inside, then leave with them out the front door?”

“Because not everyone in blue is a good guy this time, Starsk,” Hutch told him. “Paula thinks the Sultan may have bought himself some protection on the force. Also, this operation wasn’t exactly authorized.”

“Meaning Dobey has no idea you’re here and wouldn’t approve if he did,” Starsky interpreted for himself. Hutch nodded. “All right, I get the picture.”

“Good,” Becker said stiffly, “Now why don’t you do more running and less talking for a minute? We can fill you in on everything as soon as we’re all safely in the car!”

Starsky stuck out his tongue at Becker’s back then said to Hutch in a stage whisper. “Grumpy, isn’t he?”

Hutch could only chuckle as they all made their way unchallenged out of the house at last and up the short rise to Becker’s car.

 

Chapter 16: One of Those Days

The grounds surrounding the Sultan’s house had been secured at last and Big Eddie and a number of his men had been taken into custody. Miraculously, despite the number of rounds that had been exchanged, no one had been killed and only a few people had suffered minor injuries, mostly from flying glass or tripping over each other in the general rush to escape. The paramedics had finished with those and the ambulances had already been dismissed. Dobey now stood alongside Agent Slater, a young lieutenant from the division that held jurisdiction for this area of the city, and the Police Commissioner in the Sultan’s private study, trying to wrap things up.

“How much longer will you need to detain my guests?” the owner of the elegantly decorated room asked. “It has been a very traumatic evening, to say the least, and I am sure they are all understandably anxious to return to their homes.”

The identity of some of those guests was to blame for the Commissioner’s continued presence on the scene. Normally, he would not have been summoned or even have known anything had occurred until long after the fact. But he just happened to have been dining at another home in the neighborhood when the “disturbance” at the Sultan’s had broken out–that was the Commissioner’s term for what had taken place here, not Dobey’s. Once he had arrived and seen the caliber of the personages involved, however, the Commissioner had quickly decided that this “incident” merited his personal attention. This was an election year after all!

In spite of the fact that he was well outside his normal jurisdiction, the Commissioner had put Dobey in charge of the investigation since the evening’s events might be connected to a case his division already had underway. The lieutenant had agreed, keeping any ill feelings he might have had about it to himself. In fact, Dobey guessed that he might even be a little grateful to hand this one over to someone else. He didn’t blame him. This interview had already lasted over half an hour and Dobey had yet to get a single thing worth jotting down in his notebook. He still had it out though, pencil poised, just in case. He was starting to feel ridiculous as well as frustrated. And his superior’s attempts to grease the wheels of justice had only served to give Dobey the beginnings of what promised to be a whale of a headache.

Dobey sighed. “I will be more than happy to let them go…as soon as we’re finished here. Now, what did you say your name was?”

The enigmatic, dark-eyed man only smiled. “I am sorry if I appear uncooperative, Captain, but I prefer not to have my name associated in any way with such a sordid business.”

“I assure you, sir, that any and all information you give me would only be shared with those authorized to have it,” Dobey countered, forcing himself to remain polite.

Their host only shook his head. While the others in the room all stood, he was seated comfortably in a dark red leather chair before an impressive fireplace. A cheery fire burned in the hearth behind him, lending its warmth and golden color to the tastefully decorated room. “I am afraid that is not good enough,” he said. “No offense, but such matters do tend to find their way into the public records.”

He had a point. Police records were easy enough to obtain if you knew how. Dobey heaved another sigh.

“I think we can fill out the report without that information, Captain,” the Commissioner put in then with an ingratiating smile. “We certainly must have enough evidence to make a case against the perpetrators of this attack without needing to involve this man either as a witness or to file a complaint!” Dobey hated it that his superior was fawning so over a man who was most likely responsible for, among other things, both Carla’s death and whatever had happened to David Starsky. But he hid his feelings and went on with his work.

“Is this property in your name, sir?” he asked.

The man in the chair only smiled once more. “No, Captain, it is not. The house belongs to a friend of mine who has kindly allowed me to use it while he is out of the country on business. And, before you ask, I would prefer not to reveal his name either.”

“That’s all right,” Dobey told him with a small smile of his own. “If I need that information, I can always get it from the county’s tax records.” The man in the chair’s mouth turned down in a slight frown. Dobey pretended not to notice either it or the angry glance the Commissioner had sent his way. Instead, he went on with the interview.

“Do you know of any quarrel someone might have with either you or the owner of this house that could have provoked the assault that took place here this evening?” he asked. Not that he expected an honest answer, but it was still proper procedure to ask.

The man’s dark eyes glittered in the firelight and he was smiling again. “All successful business men have enemies, Captain. And I have been more successful than most, as has my friend. However, I cannot imagine anything I have done to warrant such an attack. Those in the circles I move in wage their battles with their wits, not guns. I cannot vouch for the actions of my friend but I do not believe he would have such…crude adversaries either.”

“I see…so you’re claiming this is just a random act of violence, then?” Dobey asked, an edge of sarcasm creeping into his tone in spite of his best efforts.

Their host shrugged eloquently. “What else can I think? Unless you can offer a better suggestion?”

Dobey felt his anger rising. He had opened his mouth to make a suitable reply but was stopped by the Commissioner cutting in. “Just what are you insinuating…Captain?” he asked sharply, placing heavy emphasis on Dobey’s lesser rank. “And I would be careful of my reply if I were you!”

Dobey took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down again before answering. “With all due respect, Sir,” he began, “What happened tonight was no ‘minor disturbance’! We’re dicussin’ a full scale gun battle here!”

The Commissioner’s face was reddening. “I am aware of that…Captain!” he growled, again with heavy emphasis on Dobey’s rank. “And the men responsible are in your custody. What more do you hope to accomplish by this line of questioning?”

“I intend to find the facts, Sir! That’s my job! Our job, in case you’ve forgotten!” Dobey was shouting now in spite of himself.

The man in the chair leaned back as if enjoying the show. Slater, so far, had not said anything at all. He stood a little apart from them all almost as if he were trying not to be noticed. The Commissioner’s face had gone purple and the veins were bulging in his temples. His voice when he spoke again had dropped to a deadly hiss.

“Your job, Captain Dobey, is the apprehension of criminals! That has been done here! Now, should you wish to continue this useful public service in the future, I suggest you stop badgering this man and return to your station, where you can put your interrogation skills to better use on some real criminals, and allow this citizen and his guests to return to their normal lives!”

“Are you, sir?” Dobey suddenly asked, ignoring his superior and turning instead to face the man in the chair again.

“Am I what?”

“A U.S. citizen?” Dobey clarified.

The man shook his head. “No, Captain, I am not, though I am in your country legally and should therefore be entitled to a certain amount of courtesy as a guest, surely!”

“May I ask whether your visit is for the purpose of business or merely for pleasure?” Dobey inquired, once more ignoring the Commissioner’s angry attempts to stop him.

“A little of both,” the dark-eyed man replied. “My corporation maintains offices in almost every major city in the world, including LA. I am currently expanding my operations along the West Coast, so I have obtained an extended visa in order to accomplish this. I am also scheduled to attend the Governor’s reception for the President later this week. The Governor is a good friend of mine and will certainly vouch for me if needed.”

“I am sure that will not be necessary!” the Commissioner was able to get in at last.

“Or possible,” Dobey added sarcastically, “Being as you still haven’t told us your name!”

The Commissioner spun around and swiftly stormed across the short distance that had separated him and Dobey, only stopping when his face was inches from the big black man’s own. “That’s enough!!” he snarled. “I think Lt. Aymes, Agent Slater and I can finish up here without you! Take your prisoners and go back to your station at once, Dobey, or risk an official reprimand!”

“Yes, Sir!” Dobey returned with an exaggerated salute and stalked out of the room. It wasn’t that the idea of a reprimand particularly bothered him, but now was not a good time to risk anything more serious, such as a suspension. Not with Starsky still missing and the men who killed Carla still at large. No, this was one investigation that Dobey had every intention of seeing through.

~~~

Starsky had somehow made it to the car more or less under his own power, but it had cost him everything he had left to do it. Now, sitting beside him in the backseat with his partner’s shorn head resting on his shoulder as the car sped down the dark, narrow road, Hutch tried again to check his pulse, but still couldn’t tell whether Starsky had passed out or was just asleep. Either way, they would not be able to get his friend to a hospital soon enough to suite him.

He hated to admit it, but he might need to see a doctor as well. A soft gray fog was lurking at the edges of his vision and it was all he could do not to just give in to it and let it engulf him. His pain pills had worn off some time ago and every little jolt and jog in the road went through his injured arm like a hot poker.

Paula, sitting on Hutch’s other side, felt him flinch again as the car hit another pothole. She was doing her best not to bump up against his injured arm but it was nearly impossible in the moving car on the rough, winding road. She glanced at him worriedly, then leaned forward and spoke softly to Becker.

“What’s our ETA to the hospital?” she asked.

Becker shook his head. “I’m sorry, Agent Hamilton, but we’re not going to a hospital.”

Hutch, who’d been on the verge of drifting off, was instantly completely awake again. “Now wait just a damned minute, Becker!” he protested. “What do you mean, we’re not going to the hospital! In case you haven’t noticed, Starsky needs medical attention now!”

“And he’s going to get it!” Becker assured him quickly, “But a regular hospital is too dangerous. We’re headed to see a friend of mine. Don’t worry, he’s a doctor! He runs a little private clinic about twenty minutes from here.”

Hutch settled back in the seat again. He wasn’t too happy that Becker had waited till now to spring this little detail of his plan on him, but he also knew that he was in no position to do anything about it. Yet.

~~~

The officers working the late shift carefully avoided Dobey as he made his way through the squad room toward his office. Their Captain could be a bear on a good day, and the current situation had done nothing to improve his disposition. They all breathed a little sigh of relief when the door to his office had closed behind him.

Dobey took off his crumpled suit jacket and hung it on the coat rack behind the door, then slowly sank into his chair behind his desk. He was beyond tired and could not remember when he’d been home last. Was it yesterday or the day before that his wife had come by to bring him a hot, home-cooked meal and some fresh clothes? He looked again at the badly wrinkled jacket and decided it must have been the latter.

He’d spent the past two hours interrogating Big Eddie and those of his gang that he’d taken with him when he’d attacked the Sultan’s place. Two hours of questioning with nothing to show for it but this damned headache that nothing he took seemed to make a dent in. For all of his bluster and bravado, Big Eddie was apparently just as scared of this “Sultan” as everyone else in this city. So scared that neither he nor his men would talk, even when Dobey had offered to try to make a deal with the DA to reduce their jail time in exchange for their testimony about the Sultan’s activities.

He sighed and picked up the phone and dialed Hutchinson’s number. He let the phone on the other end ring for a good ten minutes but still couldn’t get any answer. And this was the third time he’d called since he’d gotten back to the station. He hung up then dialed the number of the hospital where Hutch had been treated earlier.

“Dr. Anderson, please,” he asked the woman who answered. There was a brief pause then the by now familiar voice came on the line.

“This is Anderson.”

“I’m sorry to keep bothering you, Doctor, but this is Captain Dobey over at Metro again. I just called Detective Hutchinson’s house again and there’s still no answer there. I can’t imagine Miss Hamilton letting him go out for anything less than a medical emergency. Are you absolutely sure he hasn’t been brought back into the hospital?”

“If he had, I should have been notified since he was my patient. Hold on a moment and I’ll check again with the admissions desk.”

As he waited, Dobey rooted around in his desk drawers for the bottle of aspirin he kept there. He found it and shook two tablets out into his hand and swallowed them dry, even though he had already taken two less than an hour before. Then, knowing the number that much aspirin was likely to do on his stomach, he chased them down with a couple of Tums.

Anderson came back onto the line. “I’m sorry, Captain, but no one using Hutchinson’s name or fitting his description has been here tonight. Have you checked with any of the other hospitals? If it really was an emergency, perhaps Miss Hamilton took him somewhere closer to his home.”

“I already thought of that,” Dobey sighed. “And they’ve all told me the same thing you just did.”

“I see…well. Perhaps you should call his regular physician then?”

“Dr. Anderson, as far as I know, you’re the closest thing Hutchinson has to a regular physician right now!” Dobey stopped himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said then; “I know this isn’t your fault. I’m just worried about him!”

“I understand. I promise that I will notify you if I should hear anything at all.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dobey told him wearily and hung up the phone again, then just sat and stared into space for a minute or two, trying to think what to do next.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him that hadn’t before. Maybe Ken was home after all! Maybe there was just something wrong with his telephone! That was it, surely!

He got up and went to the door of his office. The officers out in the squad room all jumped as Dobey stuck his head out of his office and bellowed, “Hey! Someone call down to Dispatch and have them to send a unit over to Hutchinson’s place! Now!! If no one answers the door, tell whoever they send that I want the place checked out thoroughly for any sign of anything out of the ordinary. Either way, I want them to radio back to me with a full report of whatever they find immediately. You got that?”

“Got it, Cap!” one of the officers responded, already on it.

Dobey went back into his office and shut the door again. A short time later, the phone on his desk rang. Dobey snatched up the receiver and brought it to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Captain?” the familiar feminine voice of the night dispatcher said. “I’m patching through a call to you from Adam 2.”

“Okay,” Dobey told her, then waited as the dispatcher confirmed the connection with the unit in the field.

“Adam 2, this is Dispatch. You’re patched through to Captain Dobey. Go ahead.”

“Captain?” a voice crackled over the line. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Adam 2. What have you got for me, Watts?”

“We’re over here at Hutch’s like you requested, Cap,” Sergeant Watts answered him. “My partner and I went up and rang the bell and knocked on the door several times, but didn’t get any answer. We checked the front door and it was locked, so we walked around outside a bit, checked the back door and looked in the windows. There’s a light on in the living room, but no sign of anyone inside and nothing appears to be out of place. I’d say all was secure here, Captain.”

“Except there’s still no sign of Hutchinson or any clue where he went,” Dobey said softly.

“What was that, Captain? I didn’t quite catch that last part,” Watts came back.

“Hmm? Oh! That’s all right, Sergeant. It wasn’t anything important,” he told the officer on the scene. Wonderful. Now both of them were missing! What the Hell was going on? Dobey leaned forward on his elbow, lost in speculation.

“What do you want us to do now?” Watts asked after listening to several seconds of static-filled silence from his superior.

Dobey pulled himself upright in his chair again, shaken from his train of thought. “There’s nothing more you can do. Thank you, Watts. You can go on about your regular patrol,” he told the sergeant wearily. “But I’d appreciate it, if you don’t get too busy, if you could drop by again a time or two before your shift ends and let me know if anything there changes.”

“Will do, Cap. Adam 2, out.”

 

Chapter 17: On the Road to Nowhere

Marshall had come to at last. He sat slumped next to Becker in the front seat, moaning and complaining and holding his head. “Damn it, Hutchinson, what were you trying to do, crack my skull?” he grumbled. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t file charges of police brutality on you this time!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the judge will be real sympathetic to your cause, Dirtball!” Hutch retorted. “Especially when he finds out how you were holding a gun on me and my partner at the time! Not to mention the two federal agents you were threatening!”

Marshall answered with a two-word statement and an obscene gesture and Paula had to grab Hutch by his bad arm to keep him from going over the seat after him. “I’m sorry,” she told him softly as he gasped in pain. He just looked at her a long moment, then nodded to show that he understood why she’d done it.

“You’re right,” he said, settling back, cradling his injured arm. “I shouldn’t let the worthless little weasel get to me. I could’ve caused Becker to wreck the car and killed us all!”

An uncomfortable silence settled in the car other than Marshall’s continued moans and mumbling, which he wisely kept too low for Hutch to make out whatever he was saying.

“I thought you said this place was only twenty minutes away!” Paula said sometime later. “Seems like we’ve been traveling for twice that!”

Becker looked up at her in the rearview briefly then turned his attention back to the road. “I think I may have missed the turn in the dark,” he admitted sheepishly.

“What?!” Hutch shouted as he came forward in the seat again. “If this is your idea of a joke, Becker, it isn’t funny!”

Becker met his gaze in the rearview. “Who’s joking?” he returned. “Don’t worry, I know we can’t be too far off…”

Hutch put his good hand on Becker’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make sure he had his attention. “That’s not good enough! Now, either you find this place pronto or you turn this car around and head back for the nearest hospital in LA.”

“I already told you, we can’t risk going to a regular hospital!” Becker retorted.

“Wrong! What we can’t risk is the chance of my partner slipping into a coma or something while you take us all for a nice drive in the moonlight! So do you know where we’re going or not?”

Becker was silent a moment, then suddenly brightened. “Wait! This is it! This is the turnoff!” he declared, guiding the car off the road they’d been traveling onto an even narrower dirt road.

“This must be some clinic!” Paula mumbled sarcastically as they wound their way through dense trees. “Who the heck does your friend treat out here, Becker? Bears?”

“Actually, he sees a very exclusive clientele,” Becker answered with a slight smile as they suddenly came out of the woods onto pavement again.

Hutch whistled softly as he caught sight of a large modern building in front of them. Lights glowed in the windows despite the late hour. “I thought you said this was a small clinic!” he commented.

Becker only grinned again as he pulled the car up to a covered side entrance. A number of men and women in medical garb were already standing outside, waiting for them. The man who seemed to be the doctor in charge took one look at Starsky and called for a gurney. Paula helped Hutch out of the car on one side as the medical staff gently lifted Starsky out on the other.

Hutch ran to catch up with the medical staff as they whisked the gurney carrying his partner into the building, down a short hallway and through a set of swinging doors, his long stride leaving Becker and the others far behind. He reached the doors a second after the gurney had disappeared inside and started to follow, but found a big man in blue hospital scrubs blocking his way. “I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed into the examining area,” he said, his tone polite but firm.

“The Hell I’m not!” Hutch protested. “I am not letting anyone take Starsky out of my sight again! Get out of my way!”

The orderly looked ready to argue the point. Paula, who’d just then breathlessly caught up with Ken again, braced herself to play referee once more. But just then the head doctor stuck his head back out into the hallway. “Of course you may come in, Detective Hutchinson…if you promise to stay back out of the way until we’ve finished our exam. You, too, Agent Hamilton.”

Hutch strolled past the orderly with a smug expression, but sobered as soon as he saw his partner. “How bad is he?” he asked the doctor in charge quietly.

“We’ll know in a minute,” the doctor answered without looking up. Hutch felt Paula’s arm go around his waist as they stood near the doors and watched as the medical staff gave Starsky a thorough examination, talking among themselves in quiet, professional tones that gave Hutch no way to tell if what they were finding was good or bad. A few minutes later, the doctor stepped away from the table. “Let’s get that I.V. started,” he instructed as he came to stand near Hutch by the door.

“Well?” Hutch asked anxiously.

“Your partner’s shoulder has been dislocated again. We’ll give him something to help reduce the swelling at the site and will know in a few hours if he will need surgery or not this time to correct the problem. Meanwhile, we’ve already begun treating him for dehydration and shock. He has a few new bruises from rough handling, but otherwise, his time in captivity does not seem to have exacerbated the other injuries he sustained in the car accident much.”

“What exactly does all that mean?” Hutch asked.

The doctor smiled. “It means that his dislocated shoulder is your friend’s worst problem right now. Everything else can be fixed by giving him plenty of fluids, a decent meal or two and some rest.”

Paula felt the tension leave Hutch’s body for the first time since this thing began. “Thank God!” he breathed. “And thank you, doctor! When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Not for several hours at least. I think he passed out as much from exhaustion as the pain,” the doctor replied. “So, now that we have your partner back on the road to good health, why don’t you let me take a look at you?”

“Not unless you can you do it here because I’m not leaving him alone.” The doctor seemed trustworthy enough, but after all he’d been through, Hutch wasn’t exactly in a trusting mood.

The doctor did not seem offended. “Of course. Nurse, please bring another exam table,” he ordered. The nurse nodded as if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the situation and left the room. A moment later she and the big orderly were back wheeling the requested table between them. The orderly didn’t seem to bear any grudge from their earlier dispute; in fact, he helped Hutch to climb up onto the table.

Paula gasped when the doctor gently removed Hutch’s sling, revealing his blood-soaked sleeve. “I think you should lie down, Detective” the doctor urged softly.

That seemed like a good idea. The room seemed to have tilted slightly in the last few seconds and the fog from before was back at the edges of his vision thicker than ever. He knew he was about to pass out, but he was fighting it.

“Paula!” he managed, his tone desperate. She stepped closer and took his good hand.

“I’m right here,” she assured him.

“I…I think I’m gonna…” Hutch gripped her hand hard, valiantly trying to focus on her face. “Don’t leave Starsk alone!” he begged her. “Please? Only one I trust! Don’t…don’t let anyone…!”

“I won’t,” she promised as she felt Hutch’s grip on her hand go slack as he lost to the swirling nothingness.

 

Chapter 18: The Sultan’s Plan Nears Completion

The Sultan’s men all knew how to read his moods well enough to realize that it was best to avoid calling any attention to themselves as he stormed back into his study. Slater followed at a slightly slower pace. The Sultan crossed the room and threw himself gracelessly into his favorite chair in front of the fireplace, then looked up at the agent, fury burning in his dark eyes.

“How could this happen?!” he shouted. “How did this mere…detective,” he pronounced it as if it were a dirty word, “breach my security! He had to have help!! Someone inside this organization had to have helped him!”

Slater was still frantically thinking how to respond to that, when the guard standing near the door spoke up. “Excuse me, Sir,” he said quietly, the slightest tremor of fear present in his voice–he had been one of the guards present as the Sultan had “disciplined” the man who was supposed to be guarding Detective Starsky’s cell. The body was even now on its way to be dumped in the ocean. “But no one has seen Gary Marshall since the party.”

The Sultan was on his feet and across the room again so quickly that the man gasped. “What is this?” he hissed, reminding Slater once more of a snake as he pinned the terrified man in place with his eyes. “Why was I not informed of this sooner?” His face was only inches from the guard’s and the man was visibly shaking now.

“I…uh…you were busy, Sir! And we wanted to make sure that the information was correct before we bothered you!”

“And have you made sure of this?” he asked softly.

The man nodded rapidly. “Yes, Sir! We have searched both the house and the grounds. I assure you, he is not on the property.”

The Sultan stepped back again, nodding. “I see…Good work! You may leave.” The guard fled gratefully, closing the door behind him. “Yes,” the Sultan declared softly, “This does make an odd sort of sense!” He stood lost in thought for several seconds before finally dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “Ah, well, it is of no great consequence at the moment. I have already made arrangements to contend with this ‘Big Eddie’, and shall deal with Mr. Marshall and Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson in due time as well. Right now, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Is all in readiness?”

Slater nodded. “Rogue Star arrives tomorrow, and the President will be here the day after that. His secretary has scheduled a private meeting with the Premier’s widow on the afternoon of his arrival before the reception that evening.”

“Did you have any trouble establishing her identity, following the fiasco with the original plans?” the Sultan asked, settling into his chair once more.

Slater shook his head. “My department believes the original conspiracy was limited to a small group within the Premier’s own Embassy. Since Rogue Star’s credentials have been cleared by the Premier’s home country through my office, there wasn’t any problem.”

“Good! Good! You have renewed my faith in you, my friend! Just two more days, and you’re work here will be done and we shall be on our way to Brazil to start work on our plans for that long overdue reunion with your son.”

“Have you heard any more news of Grant’s condition?” Slater asked quietly.

“I am sad to say that the prisoners are not well treated, but my sources assure me that your son and two other POWs remain alive and relatively healthy yet.”

“How much longer until we can get Grant out of that place?” Slater asked in a tortured tone.

“Not much longer, Alan,” the Sultan promised. “Not much longer at all. As soon as we are finished here, all of my attention will be free to focus on this project and all of my resources will be at your disposal. I think it is safe to say that he should be back with you in time to celebrate Christmas.”

Slater nodded, looking away to hide the tears in his eyes, embarrassed to have this man see them. The Sultan only quietly smiled again to himself as he picked up the book beside his chair and began to read.

~~~

For Hutch, returning to consciousness was like slowly crawling up from the bottom of a deep, dark pit. His eyelids felt like they weighed twenty pounds apiece as he struggled to lift them, but some nameless need drove him to keep trying. One thought kept echoing in his muddled brain: there was something important he was neglecting, something he needed to know about… Suddenly, that something had a name: Starsky!

Paula was dozing when the hoarse whisper woke her up. She sat up straighter in her chair and looked over at the occupant of the bed beside her. Ken moaned softly and repeated the name he’d called out, “Starsk!”

She got up to stand next to him and gently took his good hand in her own, careful of the IV still taped there. “Shh!” she told him, reaching with her other hand to stroke his cheek. “It’s all right! Starsky’s fine, Ken. He’s right here; open your eyes and you can see for yourself.”

Hutch groaned again and finally managed to crack his eyelids. He turned his head towards Paula’s voice and waited for his vision to focus. “Paul?” he asked thickly.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Yes, Ken. I’m right here,” she assured him. “How do you feel?”

“Not so hot,” he returned honestly, then, as the fog lifted a little more, his earlier panic washed over him again. “Where’s Starsky?” he demanded, struggling to sit up. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Ken,” Paula repeated patiently, placing her free hand on his unbandaged shoulder to gently restrain him. “He’s right here. Look.” She stepped to one side so that he could now see that there was another bed in the room. In it lay his partner. Starsky was curled up on his side, facing away from them, only the top of his darkly stubbled head showing above the covers but Hutch recognized the familiar lump his friend made asleep. Paula felt the tension go out of him once more.

“Has he been awake any yet?” Hutch asked, settling back into his pillow and focusing on Paula again.

She shook her head. “Not yet, but the doctor said his vitals are good, so there’s nothing to worry about. They put his shoulder back in place again. It was probably a good thing he was out at the time! They used this thing with weights that looked like something out of a medieval dungeon!” she told him with a small laugh.

“So, no surgery?” Hutch asked.

“No surgery,” Paula confirmed. “But he may need some PT after the sling comes off.”

Hutch nodded, relieved, but immediately regretted it as the movement made his head swim. He closed his eyes and gulped and felt Paula’s hand gently squeeze his. “How long was I out?” he asked after the room stopped spinning again.

“The rest of the night. It’s a little after seven in the morning. You didn’t lose as much blood this time as before, Ken, but you didn’t have it to lose. They thought for a while that you might need a transfusion.” Paula kept her tone light, not wanting to let him know how worried she’d been.

Hutch looked down at the IV line in the back of his hand and started to nod again but caught himself in time. “Have you been awake all night?” he asked then, finally noticing the dark circles under her eyes and her mussed hair.

“Mostly,” she answered him honestly, but offered him a weary smile before he could apologize. “Hey, I made you a promise, remember?” she said with another squeeze of his hand. Hutch squeezed her hand back. It had felt strangely good to have Paula looking out for him this week. In every other relationship he’d ever been in, he’d always been the caregiver. “Every other relationship but one,” he corrected himself, glancing over at his sleeping partner again.

He knew he didn’t really have the words to express to her how he felt about her yet, but suddenly he wanted to try. “Paula…” he began, but was interrupted as an older woman in a nurse’s uniform bustled into the room just then.

“Well! Good morning, Detective!” she greeted him cheerily as she crossed the room and opened the blinds to let in the morning sunshine. Hutch winced as the light hit his eyes and the nurse smiled apologetically as she closed the blinds a bit once more to take the edge of the brightness. “It’s good to see you awake! The meal cart is on its way up with the breakfast trays. Are you hungry?”

Before Hutch could answer her, a muffled voice spoke up from the other bed. “Summon menshun food?” it inquired blearily.

Hutch chuckled as the nurse moved around to help Starsky sit up in his bed. “Ladies!” he declared as if announcing an act at the circus, flashing Paula a wide grin. “My partner, The Walking Stomach! Should have known all that talk about food would bring you around! How you feelin’, Sleeping Beauty?” he asked as Starsky made it into a sitting position at last. The nurse had raised the head of his bed and was now adjusting his pillows to support his back. She spared a moment to give Hutch a brief disapproving glare that only caused his grin to broaden.

“Better if you’d stop shoutin’!” Starsky groaned back, reaching up with his only free hand to clutch his aching head. His other arm was wrapped in a sling and strapped against his side to keep it immobile. “Jeez, Hutch!”

“Sorry, babe,” Hutch said then in a softer tone, though still smiling. He had missed teasing Starsky and knew his friend didn’t mind that much.

“‘Sokay,” Starsky assured him, “Just keep the volume down a little. So, what was that I heard about breakfast?” he asked, looking up hopefully at the older woman who was still bending over him, checking first his pulse then his IV line.

“The trays are on the way now,” the nurse repeated with a motherly smile and pat on his shoulder. Hutch rolled his eyes. What was it about his partner that brought out the maternal instinct in most women? Though he had to admit Starsky did look rather pitiful at the moment. With his hair all gone like that, he reminded Hutch uncomfortably of pictures he’d seen of Holocaust survivors.

The nurse was now raising the head of Hutch’s bed for him. “There you go!” she said when that was done and Hutch’s pillows were arranged. “I’ll be right back.” She bustled back out of the room again. Hutch sighed in relief. Perpetually cheery people sometimes tried his nerves, especially when he didn’t feel well.

Starsky looked over at him then with a kind of goofy smile on his face. “So, what all have I missed?” he asked casually, as if he’d just been out of town to see his mom or something rather than being held prisoner the last few days.

Hutch and Paula brought him up to speed until the breakfast trays arrived. Starsky grinned in anticipation as his was set on the bed table in front of him. His expression quickly turned to dismay, however, when the cover was lifted. “Hey!! What’s this? Where’s my food?” he asked indignantly. Hutch turned to see what all the ruckus was about.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” the nurse was saying, “but after all the days you’ve gone without food, the doctor thought it best to start you on a liquid diet and slowly work you up to solids again.”

Starsky looked from his tray to Hutch’s. Hutch’s tray contained generous portions of bacon, eggs, toast, and cereal, along with orange juice, milk, and coffee. He looked dejectedly back at his own: milk, apple juice, and something in a bowl that he couldn’t figure out at all. He picked up his spoon and poked at the beige liquid suspiciously. “What the heck is this stuff anyway?” he asked plaintively.

“Cream of Wheat,” he was informed. Starsky shivered and pushed the bowl to the furthest side of the tray. “You should at least try it, Detective Starsky,” the nurse scolded. “It’s good for you and it tastes better than it looks!”

“I’ll take your word for it!” Starsky pouted. The nurse frowned, but patted his shoulder again. She was treating Starsky the way a mother might a slightly spoiled child.

“Don’t I even get a cup of coffee?” he asked in a hurt tone. “Hutch got coffee!” Starsky was sounding more and more like a sulky two-year-old. Hutch had to turn his head and firmly cover his mouth to keep the laughter he felt welling up from escaping.

“No caffeine,” the nurse said. “Doctor’s orders.” Starsky looked as if he were about ready to cry. The nurse seemed to take pity on him. “If you eat all your breakfast,” she told him. “I’ll bring you a treat.”

“What?” Starsky asked, his face brightening a little.

“How about some Jell-O? Or maybe a Popsicle?” the nurse asked.

“Goodie!” Starsky replied in a tone that dripped sarcasm. The nurse only patted his shoulder again and left.

Starsky looked after her, then down at his tray again, then over at Hutch’s. “Trade?” he offered hopefully.

Hutch shook his head, once more regretting the movement though the dizziness passed more quickly this time. The laughter was still very close to the surface. “No way, pal!” he told him, covering his tray protectively with his good hand.

Starsky put on his pleading face. “Aw, Hutch, please? At least share with me! How can you stand to sit there and watch me starve?”

There was very little Hutch could refuse his partner when he looked at him like that. “All right,” he said at last, beginning to divide his food onto two plates, giving Starsky the lion’s share, but not commenting on it. “Here, Paula, give that to him before he starts bawling!” he grinned. “And if that makes you sick, Starsk, it serves you right!”

“Thanks, Hutch!” Starsky managed, his mouth already full of Hutch’s breakfast. The nurse could return at any minute and Starsky was determined to get as much of the food down as he could before getting caught. Hutch hid his smile behind the rim of his coffee cup. Starsky looked up and caught him and stopped shoveling in food long enough to reach out with his good hand. “Here!” he demanded, “How about some of that, too?”

Hutch wordlessly relinquished his coffee cup to Paula who in turn passed it to Starsky who downed at least half of it in one long gulp.

“Ahh!” he sighed contently, passing the nearly empty cup back. “Thank you, Hutch! You’re a life-saver!”

Hutch looked down at the toast crumbs floating in the bottom of his cup and wordlessly set it aside before digging into what was left of his meal with a little more aplomb than his partner was using. Paula only shook her head, amazed and amused once more by the antics of the two men. She leaned over the bedrail and lightly kissed Hutch on the cheek, then sat back down in her chair, leaned back and closed her eyes. The next thing either man knew, she was asleep.

Hutch glanced over at her, only to have Starsky catch him looking. He had no idea what expression he might have been wearing, but Starsky only grinned and pretended to concentrate on his food again. Hutch blushed and cleared his throat, which only made his partner grin more. “Hey,” Hutch demanded, softly so as not to wake the sleeping woman between them; “if you really aren’t going to eat your Cream of Wheat, pass it here.”

Starsky grimaced as he leaned over to do as Hutch had asked. Their eyes met and Starsky suddenly smiled again. “Thanks for coming and gettin’ me, Hutch,” he said simply. “Oh, and by the way, I like her,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Hutch blushed harder and didn’t say anything at first. Then, when Starsky had turned away again, he quietly said, “Yeah, Starsk. I like her, too.” He picked up his glass to finish his juice.

The nurse chose that moment to come back into the room. She took one look at Hutch’s food on Starsky’s plate and let out a shriek of outrage that was loud enough to wake Paula again while Starsky rapidly gathered the last few bites of egg onto the last of his toast and stuffed it all into his mouth at once. Hutch couldn’t help it; he laughed so hard he sprayed his orange juice across his bedcovers.

 

Chapter 19: Some Tough Decisions

Becker paused outside the doorway and looked in at the two men, shaking his head. Like any good agent, he’d read both of their files as soon as they’d become involved in his case. Yet this was one of those times that reminded him how deceptive mere words on paper could be.

From what he’d read, he had expected to meet a close-knit, slightly eccentric but highly successful team. But the reality of these two beat all he’d ever seen. At first glance, the two men appeared to be total opposites: One fair, one dark; one tall, one shorter; one well educated and well spoken, the other seeming almost inordinately proud of his lack of polish and lousy grammar. If he hadn’t read their records, he’d never have believed two such diverse people could even work together, much less rack up the success rate they had! Or become such devoted friends.

Now, having had the chance to observe them together at close quarters, he realized that they actually made a strange sort of sense, like two pieces that made one whole, mirror images of each other rather than true opposites. Look at ’em! They were even both wearing a sling now, for crying out loud! Though on opposite arms, of course.

At the moment, they seemed to be involved in some sort of an altercation with their nurse. The older woman was scowling and scolding them both in turn as she stormed about the room, apparently changing Hutchinson’s bedding for some reason. The two men were grinning like idiots while Agent Hamilton seemed to be wisely staying out of it all.

Hamilton seemed to have some sort of personal thing going on with Hutchinson. He felt a little sorry for her–relationships like the one Hutchinson shared with his partner seldom left much room for anyone else. He briefly wondered how she’d work it out then shook his head again. It really wasn’t relevant to the matter at hand. He pulled in a deep breath to brace himself then stepped on through the doorway.

Both men stopped their clowning and looked up as Becker came into the room. The nurse, finished with her task, helped Hutchinson back into his bed then left under a cloud of annoyance. Hamilton silently offered him her chair, but he waved her back; she looked like she needed it more than he did.

Hutchinson was the first to speak. “I don’t know how to thank you, Becker,” he began humbly, but the agent cut him off before he could finish.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until you hear what I’m about to ask you,” Becker said.

The friendly expression Hutchinson had worn as he’d first greeted Becker rapidly faded back into wariness. “What now?” he asked.

Becker glanced at Starsky, who gave him a one-shouldered shrug in return, meaning he was letting Hutch handle this one. He turned back to Hutchinson with a sigh. “Just hear me out, please? Then you can tell me to go to Hell.”

Hutch didn’t say anything, just crossed his good arm over the other and stared at him. Realizing that was all the reaction he was going to get, Becker went on.

“I went to meet Slater this morning to get the final details of the Sultan’s plans from him. I waited for more than two hours past the time we were supposed to rendezvous but he never showed up. I…” Becker paused, then simply said. “I’m worried. I think he’s in trouble.”

Hutch’s frown deepened. “And I care because?” he asked coolly.

Becker’s expression hardened. “Look, Hutchinson. Slater made a mistake–I’ll admit that! But my God, man! Put yourself in his shoes! What would you have done? He…” There was that pause again. Becker swallowed and went on. “He was a good man once, Hutchinson! Still is, as far I’m concerned.”

“I’m not impressed by your glowing testimonial, Becker. What is it you want from me?” Hutch asked. “Because if you’re after me as some sort of character witness…”

“No,” Becker said, glancing again at Starsky, then briefly at Paula. “I want you to do the same thing for me and Alan that I did for you. I’m asking you to help me get my partner out of this mess alive!”

Hutch’s head snapped back in surprise, but before he could say anything, Paula beat him to it. “Now I’ve heard everything!” she snapped. “How dare you act like Ken somehow owes you for getting Starsky out of a situation he’d never have been in in the first place if not for your precious partner! So what if Slater dies? The bastard deserves to after what he did to Starsky and Carla…but most of all for Derek,” she finished softly, near tears.

Hutch reached out and took her nearest hand, making her look at him. “No deal, Becker!” he said firmly, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m not interested in playing any more of your spy games. I would never have gone with you last night if not for Starsky.” Paula smiled slightly, then wiped her eyes and turned to raise her chin defiantly towards Becker as if to say, “So there!”

Maybe their personal relationship wasn’t so irrelevant after all. Becker’s tone became slightly pleading. “I can’t go to anyone in my own department for help on this one!” he cried. “Not without telling them the whole story and that would ruin Slater. I won’t do that to him! He gave this country more than twenty of his best years! His career is through after this…I’ll see to that! I’ll make sure he retires or resigns or something. But I won’t see him disgraced and I won’t see him go to prison!”

“‘Scuse me,” Starsky put in softly. “But even if we were inclined to help you,” Paula shot him a dark look, “which we’re not!” he added and watched her relax again, “we’re not exactly in top form, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

Becker sighed. “I’m aware of that,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I also saw how you both handled yourselves last night!”

“Oh, really?” Starsky asked sarcastically. “Are you referrin’ to the part where we were slowin’ ya’ down so bad that we had to hide in a closet? Or maybe that part where I blacked out in the car?”

Hutch smirked and snorted.

“I was thinking more of how you handled Gary Marshall.” Becker retorted sincerely; “And the fact that you made it to the car before you passed out! I know I don’t really have any favors to call in, but consider this: we aren’t just talking about my partner’s life here! There’s also the President’s to take into account.”

Hutch shook his head. “Unh-huh, Becker,” he told him. “That won’t wash! The President’s safety is a matter for the Secret Service! And, you said so yourself, Starsky and I are just a couple of street cops…right Starsk?”

“You got it, Hutch!” Starsky agreed firmly. “This is way out of our league!”

Hutch shot him a slightly hurt look for that one and got an apologetic bounce of the eyebrows in response.

Becker sighed again. “Fine!” he shouted, “If that’s the way you want to play it! But remember, Hutchinson, I did help you! I didn’t have to tell you about our plan to get Starsky out and I sure as Hell didn’t have to take you along, but I did!!” He turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

“Seems to be our day to tick people off!” Starsky muttered, eliciting another snort from his partner.

“You know,” Hutch began softly, sobering again. “The funny thing is…he did manage to make me feel a little guilty. Especially with that last part! I mean it, Starsk, before Becker came to me with his plan, I was getting nowhere fast on finding you, buddy!”

Paula gasped and drew back to stare at him in amazement. “You’re not actually considering…?” She broke off when she saw the look in his eyes. “You are!!” she declared, her voice rising angrily. “In spite of everything I’ve told you, and despite what you just said! You’re going to help him, aren’t you?” It came out as an accusation. Hutch looked stricken. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but his partner beat him to it.

“Not that anyone has asked my opinion,” Starsky put in, “but I’m with Paula! You don’t owe Slater or Becker nothin’!”

Hutch turned and faced his friend then. “That’s not true, Starsk,” he said with a small, sad smile. “Your life isn’t ‘nothing’.” Hutch looked away, embarrassed, but Starsky understood what he’d been trying to say.

“Aw, Hutch,” he said quietly. Paula looked back and forth between them, speechless at what she was hearing.

“Besides,” Hutch added softly, “it just occurred to me that until this Sultan guy is stopped, there’s nothing keeping him from coming after you again!”

“Or you!” Starsky whispered, nodding. “Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

“Well, you haven’t convinced me!” Paula shouted. “Damn it, Ken! Doesn’t my opinion matter at all to you?”

“Paula,” he pleaded gently, reaching again for her hand.

“Don’t!!!” she warned, pulling away from him. “Just…Don’t even speak to me, Kenneth Hutchinson!” she cried as she ran from the room, tears streaming down her face.

“There goes another one!” Starsky commented quietly. “We’re batting a thousand today, buddy!” Hutch only looked after her, his expression unreadable, but Starsky could see the pain in his eyes. “Dammit, Blintz!” he cursed then mildly. “Must you always be the White Knight?”

Just as Starsky had hoped it would, that made Hutch look back at him again, some of the pain in the depths of that gaze replaced by a momentary glint of humor. “Yes,” he deadpanned, causing Starsky to let loose a short “Ha!” of laughter. Hutch snorted another brief laugh of his own.

“So,” Starsky went on in a lighter tone, settling back into his pillows. “Think there’s any chance of you fixin’ things with Paula?”

Hutch’s eyes became sad and distant again. “I hope so, Starsk,” he whispered. “I hope so.”

~~~

Dobey emptied the last dregs from the squad room’s coffee pot into his mug. There was barely enough left to fill his cup halfway and would most likely be terribly strong after sitting on the warmer all night, but it would do to swallow a couple of aspirin with and, right now, that’s all he really wanted. His headache had finally let up a little, but now his back was acting up from spending another night on the old couch in his office. Dobey popped the tablets into his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste of the liquid in his cup as he swallowed them. Then he snared the last two donuts from the box next to the now empty coffeepot and carried them with him back into his office, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

There was no real reason why he couldn’t have gone home for a few hours to lie down, but he just had not been able to bring himself to do it. Not with his two boys still missing. He had been up most of the night, sticking close by the phone, hoping to hear something new from the various units he had sent by Hutchinson’s place throughout the night. Yet, so far, everything there remained the same. It was as if his two favorite detectives had simply vanished from the face of the earth.

The phone jangled, startling him. He grabbed it up, not letting himself get his hopes up. It was his wife, calling to see if he had heard anything.

“Still nothing,” he told her wearily, rubbing at grainy eyes. “How are things at home?” He listened without really paying attention as she briefly outlined some of the day-to-day trivialities of raising children and home ownership.

“…and the plumber said he couldn’t possibly get by to check out that pipe in the basement until sometime next week. Harold? Are you still there?” The change in her tone suddenly snapped him back to awareness.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry, Honey,” he quickly apologized. “I…I wasn’t really listening.”

On the other end of the line, he heard his wife sigh. “That’s okay, dear,” she assured him. He could almost hear her gentle smile. “I understand. I have a few errands to run this morning, but I could swing by and bring you some lunch and another change of clothes this afternoon if you’d like,” she offered.

Dobey wondered again how he had ever gotten so lucky. “Thank you, Edie. That would be great!”

“You’re welcome! At least if I bring you food, I know you’ll be eating something better for you than doughnuts!” she declared. Dobey looked down at the half-finished pastry in his hand and laughed.

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you?” he smiled. “I love you. Kiss the kids for me and tell them I miss ’em.”

“They miss you, too, Harold. But they know what’s going on. You will call if anything there changes?”

“I promise,” he assured her. “Bye.” He had no sooner hung up the phone than it rang again. This time it was Huggy.

“Hey, Captain! What’s the word? Have Hutch or Paula turned up yet?” Huggy asked. Most of his usual exuberance was missing from his voice this morning.

“Still nothing,” Dobey told him. “And no new leads on Starsky either. Are you sure you haven’t heard anything from any of your contacts? Not even a rumor? Anything at all that would give me a clue to where I should look next!”

“Sorry, my man,” Huggy apologized. “If I had, you’d have been the first to know it!”

“Okay, Hug. Thanks and keep your ears open.”

“You know I always do!” Huggy declared, sounding more like himself. “Later!”

Dobey broke the connection, but did not put the receiver back into its cradle. It was time to do what he had been putting off doing. As much as he hated to, it was time to call the Secret Service’s office again. And this time he planned to get some answers.

 

Chapter 20: An Unlikely Team

Paula had made it all the way downstairs to the door to the outside before she thought about where she might go. She had no transportation and no idea of where they were, but had been too upset when she ran out of Ken’s room to think about such things. Now she paused, looking out through the glass door and feeling a little silly for her outburst.

She was still angry, but not to the unreasonable degree that she had been a few minutes before. The day had dawned clear and bright and warmer than it had been earlier in the week (which was good, since she had left her jacket up in Ken’s room) and the woods surrounding the building looked inviting. She decided to take a short walk under the trees while she thought things through.

It was a little cooler in the shade but still not too bad and the crisp, clean air was a welcome change from the LA smog she’d been breathing the last several days. She filled her lungs with it and felt her mind beginning to clear. And the more it did, the more she began to feel that she had overreacted.

Ken’s strong principles were part of what had attracted her to him in the first place–lots of people talked about what was right and what was wrong, but Ken Hutchinson was one of the few people she knew who actually tried to practice what he espoused in his everyday life, even when it caused him difficulties. It was hardly fair of her to fault him, then, for following his principles when it didn’t suite her. And despite what she thought, his conscience seemed to be telling him that he owed Becker his assistance.

She also had to seriously consider whether jealousy was playing any part in her hurt feelings. If she was honest with herself, then it was a possibility. She had known from the beginning how much Ken’s partner meant to him. Yet it still hurt to think that his relationship with Starsky seemed to matter more to him than his with her. But then again, why shouldn’t it? Ken’s friendship with and loyalty to Starsky went back to their Academy days. How could she expect their one night together to outweigh that?

True, she and Ken had been friends many years ago, too, but they had not exactly been close then and a lot of time and distance had come between them since. In fact, she had hardly thought of him until recently when she had decided to use her vacation time to come to LA to gather evidence for her case against Slater. The moment she’d laid eyes on him in Huggy’s bar, though, things had changed for her.

She had forgotten how handsome he was, for one thing. And seeing the concern he had for his missing partner, along with his genuine guilt and grief over Carla’s death, had reminded her how decent and caring he was. She had not meant to develop feelings for him, but she had. It was too soon to tell whether or not those feelings might become mutual, but she knew she’d never find out if she walked away now.

“So, what do I do?” she thought. She could storm back in there and demand that someone take her back to the city and continue her mission against Slater on her own. Or, she could go back in there and try to make things up with Ken. If she did that, then she might as well go along on this new insane rescue mission of his, too, if only to see that he came out of it in one piece.

She sighed as she turned back toward the building. “Just so you know, Becker,” she thought with a last trace of anger; “I’m not doing this for you! And don’t expect me not to use anything I see or hear against Slater either! I still intend to see him pay…after we get him away from the Sultan.”

Starsky couldn’t hold back his grin as he looked up and saw Paula coming back into the room. “Hi!” he greeted her, “You’re timing is perfect! Do you mind lettin’ down these rails for me? I gotta…you know.” He indicated the door to the bathroom with an inclination of his head.

Paula did what he’d asked without comment and she and Ken both watched as Starsky slowly got to his feet, wobbled a moment, then carefully shuffled his way to the bathroom. Once the door had closed behind him, Paula turned back to face Ken. He did not return her gaze until she spoke.

“I…I don’t know what I can say other than that I’m sorry,” she began.

She saw his brow wrinkle in confusion. “You’re sorry? What for?” he asked.

“For the way I acted earlier…or rather, the way I overreacted,” she corrected herself with a small smile. “It’s just…Slater is a touchy subject with me.”

“No kidding!” he answered with a soft chuckle and Paula felt her heart lighten. “I’m sorry, too,” he told her then. “I wish things weren’t like this…”

“I know,” she interrupted him to assure him. “It’s not your fault.” She offered him her hand and smiled when he took it without any hesitation.

“So, we’re all right then?” he asked, searching her face anxiously.

“Yes,” she smiled. “I’m not thrilled with your choice, but I understand why you think you have to do this. In fact…I want to go along again. I still don’t trust Becker to watch your back if anything goes wrong.”

“Neither do I,” Starsky agreed as he came back into the room. “So you’d better count me in, too. Sounds like this is turnin’ into quite a party!”

Hutch let out a brief laugh. “Sure does, Starsk. Now all we have to do is figure out how to let Becker know about it.”

That didn’t prove too difficult as Becker showed up again a short time later with a determined set to his jaw. He crossed the room to stand at the end of Hutch’s bed. “Now, see here, Ken…!” he began.

Hutch’s expression hardened immediately. “Don’t call me Ken,” he warned. “Or Hutch, either! We are not friends, Becker!”

Becker deflated somewhat, “You’re right, I’m sorry!” he quickly apologized. “That was out of line. It won’t happen again.”

Hutch decided to let up on him a bit. “Fine, Becker, that’s fine. Now shut up and listen before you put your foot in your mouth any deeper than you already have! We held a little conference here after you left and we’ve all come to a decision.” Becker tried not to look too hopeful. “We’re in. All of us. We’ll help you nail the Sultan and get your partner out,” Hutch told him, not missing the way Becker’s whole body sagged in relief. Even if he didn’t like the guy, he couldn’t help sympathizing with him just a little. Enough that it bothered him to have to add, “Though only on the condition that Slater is turned over to the proper authorities afterwards. Who knows? Maybe his inside testimony about the Sultan and his activities and that story about his kid will win him some leniency when he comes to trial.”

Becker looked ready to argue the point for a moment, but then gave in once more and nodded. “I guess I can live with that…for now,” he agreed wearily. “My main concern at the moment is just keeping Alan breathing! Once I’m certain that he’s going to have a future, then I’ll start worrying about how he’s going to spend it!”

“Okay,” Hutch said, satisfied. “So, what’s the plan?”

Becker shook his head. “I haven’t really worked that out yet,” he admitted. “If nothing has been changed since Alan and I last met, the President will arrive at LAX at 7 tomorrow morning then meet with Rogue Star tomorrow afternoon. Whatever we do, we’ll have to do it before that meeting takes place!”

“Whoa!” Starsky protested. “Wait a minute! Who’s this ‘Rogue Star’? And what is it with you guys and the code names?”

Becker smiled a little. “Code names, Detective, as I’m sure you already know, were originally created for security purposes, in order to confuse any would be enemy who might overhear a conversation involving certain important individuals or operations. Using them has become a habit for those of us in the Service; a habit I assume the Sultan and his closest associates decided to adopt for similar reasons. Also, they seem to derive some sort of childish pleasure from them. Rogue Star is the name the Sultan’s girlfriend chose for herself. You’ve both met her; she posed as an ER nurse at the hospital that Detective Starsky was kidnapped from.”

Starsky raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. “That was the Sultan’s girl, huh? I guess I should feel honored. She also dropped by to pay me a little personal visit while I was being held at his place.”

Hutch’s brows were knit. “Why is the President meeting with the Sultan’s girlfriend?” he asked.

“He’s not. Or, at least, he doesn’t know that he is. He, and everyone else for that matter, thinks she is the Premier’s widow, who’s come to the US to escort her husband’s body home,” Becker answered. “This is only to get her close enough to her target to do her job–she is also the Sultan’s best assassin.”

“Wait!” Paula protested. “As powerful as you claim this Sultan is, there’s still no way he could have pulled something like that off without help. Slater’s help, right?” She said it as if she were certain of the answer. Becker nodded and Paula turned an “I-told-you-so” expression to Ken and Starsky.

“When and where are they meeting?” Hutch asked.

Becker shook his head again. “When, if nothing’s changed, is three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Where?” He shrugged. “That was one of the things that Slater was supposed to tell me at our meeting this morning.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Starsky put in then. “Even if Slater didn’t get that information to you, why can’t ya’ just call and get it from your office? I mean more than just one person must know the President’s schedule?”

“It isn’t that simple!” Becker sighed. “For one thing, that would look strange. As Slater’s partner, I should be able to get the information I need from him. But more importantly…I…I’m not even supposed to be in LA, much less involved in this case!” he finally admitted.

“Then why are you?” Hutch asked. “And where else are you supposed to be? Won’t anyone there miss you?”

“Agent Hamilton isn’t the only one who still harbors some doubts about my partner,” Becker confessed. “Even though Derek Hunter’s allegations against him were never proven, our supervisor has kept a closer eye on him ever since those counterfeit plates disappeared. On both of us! The only way I’ve been able to help Alan at all has been in secret, on my own time. I’m supposed to be vacationing with my wife in Hawaii right now.”

“Wait a minute!” Hutch objected, waving his hand for emphasis. “Let me make sure I have this straight: you’ve gotten all of us involved with all this undercover, cloak and dagger business, and come to find out, your boss doesn’t even know where you are, much less what you’re doing! Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!” he declared in exasperation. He stopped and looked around the room at the others. “We’re talking about a matter of national security here,” he stated doggedly. “So I hope you’ll all understand my concern when I ask: Do any of us have any kind of official backing on this thing?”

He knew he and Starsky didn’t. And Becker had just admitted that he was acting as much on his own they were. That only left Paula. All three men turned and looked at her at the same time. Cornered, all she could do was shrug and offer them a slightly sheepish smile. Starsky let out a whoop of laughter. Hutch just shook his head. “At least we have that little point cleared up!” he grumbled sourly. “All right, Becker. I only have a few more questions.

~~~

“To start with, if your supervisor really is that suspicious of you two, how the Hell did Slater manage to get himself put in charge of security for the President’s visit?” Hutch asked.

“Any agent who works closely with the President or his family has to have attained our highest level of security clearance,” Becker answered, “and, frankly, there just aren’t that many agents who ever qualify for that level of trust. Slater earned and still maintains that rating. As I said before, he’s been with the Service more than twenty years and has…had an exemplary record prior to Hunter’s accusations. What little doubt remained after those charges fell apart wasn’t enough to justify taking that away from him.”

“You make it sound as if Slater is innocent of those charges,” Paula put in quietly.

Becker sighed. “If so, that was not my intent, Agent Hamilton. For the last time, I am not arguing the fact that Alan has made some mistakes.”

“Mistakes!” Paula cried, her voice rising. “Is that all Derek’s murder is to you? A mistake?” she asked. Neither Hutch nor Starsky said a word, sensing that, if the two agents were to have any hope of being able to work together, this issue was going have to be resolved sooner or later. And now was as good a time as any to do it.

“Just because I sympathize with Alan’s reasons for what he’s done doesn’t mean that I condone his actions any more than the rest of you,” Becker said wearily. “Agent Hamilton, I realize you have no cause to believe me, but I swear to you, even as much as I love the man, if I ever thought for one moment that he was involved in arranging your partner’s murder, I would have turned him in myself! Alan Slater is my oldest and dearest friend, but even I wouldn’t have stuck by him if he had gone that far astray!”

Something in Becker’s tone must have gotten to her. It was so subtle that Hutch wondered if anyone else besides himself had noticed it, but he saw the change in Paula’s face. She had accepted that, whether or not it was actually true, Becker at least believed what he was saying.

“All right,” Hutch continued after a long silence. “If your information is still good, Becker, then we know that Rogue Star is set to make an attempt on the President’s life tomorrow afternoon. That doesn’t leave us much time. Here’s my next question: when do we make our move to get Slater out? Tonight?”

Becker shook his head again. “No. There are only two reasons I can think of why Alan would have missed that meeting: One, the Sultan found out he was double-crossing him. If that’s the case, then Alan is probably dead already and there’s nothing else I can do to help him.

“The other possibility is that the Sultan has tightened his security since discovering Detective Starsky’s escape, which would have made it too risky for Alan to try to come to the meeting since the Sultan will now most likely be having him watched much more closely. I’m hoping my last guess is the right one. Either way, it would be almost suicidal for us to try to go back into that house again. We were only able to get in and out of there as easily as we did the last time because we had Alan’s help.”

“Can I say something here?” Starsky asked. Becker nodded. “Okay,” Starsky began. “Here’s the way I see it. First off, I think you can stop worrying that Slater may already be dead. If what you’ve told us is accurate, then the Sultan can’t afford to kill him yet, even if he has found out that he’s betrayed him. He still needs him to get Rogue Star in close enough to the President to do her job. I mean, I know I’m not a Secret Service agent, but if I were and the man I put in charge of an important security operation were to suddenly disappear right before that operation was to take place, I would be changing any plans that agent had made and fast!

“Second, unless Slater has done something really stupid to give himself away, I don’t think the Sultan will suspect that he’s the one who has turned on him. I’ve met this guy and he impressed me as being very self-confident …too confident! An ego like his won’t allow him to believe the hold he has on Slater isn’t airtight!”

“That actually makes a lot of sense, Detective Starsky,” Becker said thoughtfully. “Thank you, you’ve eased my mind a little.”

Starsky smiled. “You’re welcome. And just call me Starsky and drop all the ‘Detective’ stuff. Even if we’re not all buddies, you don’t have to be that formal!”

“Thank you…Starsky,” Becker smiled back.

“Okay,” Hutch continued then, his tone becoming slightly sarcastic. “If we’re all done with the social niceties, we still have to come up with some sort of a plan! If you don’t think it’s safe to go back into the house, what do you propose we should do? Wait for Slater to come out?”

Becker nodded. “As a matter of fact, that was exactly what I was thinking! We know when the meeting is supposed to take place! And even though I can’t call my office directly, I still may be able to get the information we need through indirect channels about where.”

Hutch nodded. “This is your show, Becker. It’s up to you to get what we need to pull it off. In the meantime, I want that doctor of yours to check Starsky over again. He wants to go in with us, but I need to make sure he’s up to it.”

“Hey!” Starsky protested. “Now wait a minute, Hutch! I don’t need your permission to do this! I’m an adult, or at least I was the last time I looked. And since this isn’t an official assignment, I don’t need no doctor’s either! That means that I get to decide for myself on this one and I say I’m going, whether you like it or not!”

To everyone’s surprise, Paula was the one to settle the argument. “Actually, Dave,” she put in casually; “I think it’s a good idea to let the doctor examine you…after he’s checked out Ken, of course,” she added sweetly. Starsky gaped, then his face lit up like a kid’s who’d just found out Christmas was coming early this year.

It was Hutch’s turn to protest. “Wh-what?” he stuttered, completely taken off guard by this sudden turn of events. “Why? I’m fine!”

Paula reached out and touched his cheek sympathetically. “You know you aren’t,” she smiled gently. “But you also know that you aren’t going to let that stop you. Neither is Dave. Let it be, Ken.”

Hutch shook his head, still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then he glanced over at his partner and was irritated to see that he was grinning like the proverbial cat who’d just dined on a canary. He glared at him for a moment, daring Starsky silently to say anything, but Starsky was too smart to open his mouth. He just kept smiling that smug, annoying grin.

“Knock it off, Gordo!” he finally snarled, which only caused Starsky’s grin to broaden, if that were possible. He still refrained from commenting, though, so, after a beat, Hutch stopped glaring at him to turn back to Becker.

“All right, skip that last part,” he conceded. “Just get on the ball and get as much information for us as you can, Becker. There’s no way we’re going into this thing blind! Oh, and I’d like to call my captain. I need to tell him about Starsky and he might be able to help us out with this.”

Becker had already been moving toward the door, but he stopped and turned back at this last. “Uh…I won’t tell you you can’t do that, but I wish you wouldn’t. Hamilton was right to worry on that point. The Sultan has several men planted inside your division. And my office has at least one–that uniformed officer who told you about the oil under your car.”

Hutch felt himself growing angry again. It was one thing to suspect something like that, but another to hear it confirmed. “Nice of you to decide to finally share that little bit of information with us. Is there anything else you’ve been holding back that you’d like to unload while you’re at it?”

Becker nodded. “All the phone lines to your station house, as well as your personal lines at both your homes, your captain’s home phone and the public and private lines for your friend’s bar, have been tapped and are being randomly monitored by the Sultan. Don’t worry about the call I made to you last night, I took the necessary measures to secure that one. But anything else you’ve discussed on any of those phones, you’re going to have to assume he’s overheard.” Hutch thought of all the things that had been said over those lines in the past week and felt sick. No wonder the Sultan had been able to stay at least one step ahead of him so easily!

“Let me guess, Slater again,” Hutch said in a disgusted tone. He was becoming so inured that he couldn’t manage to muster much more than irritation over this latest choice tidbit of information. Becker nodded reluctantly. “Anything else?”

Becker shook his head. “That’s all I know of, but I won’t guarantee that’s it. Those are only the things Alan told me about.”

Hutch narrowed his eyes at Becker. “You may not like what I’m going to ask next, but I have to ask it anyway. Are you absolutely sure you can trust Slater anymore? It sounds like he’s in this thing awfully deep and the stakes are certainly high enough. You may be his best friend, Becker, but he’s playing for his son’s life here. How sure can you be that he isn’t setting us all up?”

Becker shrugged. “How sure can anyone be of someone else’s motives?” he asked simply in return. “Alan and I go way back. And we’ve been close all those years, almost as close as you and Starsky are. Even after everything he’s done, I’m still willing to stake my life on that friendship, Hutchinson. But if the rest of you aren’t…well, I can understand that.”

Hutch nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear. Okay, I won’t try to contact Dobey or anyone else. You get busy and get that information! Looks like that meeting may be our only opportunity to get to your partner before it’s too late.”

“Thanks, Hutchinson. Thank you, all of you.” Becker said humbly.

“Like you said earlier,” Paula answered him softly. “Don’t thank us yet! Your partner has made one Hell of a mess here. There’s no way to tell how this thing is going to turn out. And, if we all survive this crazy stunt, I still intend to see that Slater answers for everything he has done, to me if not to anyone else!” She said it casually enough, but Becker heard the implied threat in her words.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told her and turned to leave again.

“Oh!” Starsky called after him. “There’s one other thing you need to do!”

Becker sighed as he turned back. “What’s that?” he asked wearily.

“Would you please see if someone can find me somethin’ to wear?” he asked plaintively. “Anything! I’m not picky at this point. If nothin’ else, at least a pair of shoes and some pants?”

In spite of everything, Becker found himself chuckling. “Sure, Starsky. I can do that for you, even if I have to give you my own!”

“Thanks, Becker,” Starsky told him in a heartfelt tone. “I think everyone’s seen enough of me for the time bein’! And I sure don’t want to haveta meet the President in my underwear!!”

 

Chapter 21: It All Hits The Fan

The few dayshift officers present in Metro’s detectives’ squad room all braced themselves for a storm when they saw the expression on their captain’s face as he passed through on his way to his office. But, to their surprise (and relief!) Dobey walked on through without saying a word to anyone and quietly closed the office door behind him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Detective Sergeant Frank Rogers turned back to the young uniformed officer he’d been talking to with a smile. “I thought for a moment there you were going to get your first glimpse of the famous Dobey temper!” he declared.

“What do you mean?” the rookie asked innocently. God, these kids coming in out of the Academy seemed to get younger every year. This one looked like he ought to still be in high school, not out on the streets with a loaded gun on his hip!

Rogers shook his head, chuckling to himself. “They’re not really getting younger, Frank! You’re just getting older!” he thought. Out loud he said, “Usually, if the Cap comes in with a look like that on his face it means that we’re in for a shouting session!”

“I guess he has a lot on his mind,” the younger man commented. “What with two of his men still missing. Any word yet on what happened to them or where they might be?”

Frank shook his head. “No, not a clue. It’s quite a mystery, you know?”

“Yeah, it is isn’t it?” the younger officer agreed readily then glanced at his watch. “Well, I guess I better go get those reports typed up before my T.O. gives me another look at his temper!”

Frank laughed. “Don’t worry about Joe, kid,” he told the younger officer with a friendly clap on the back. “Or the Cap either, for that matter. You know they’d really only do about half those things they threaten you with when they’re chewing you out!” He chuckled to himself again as the younger officer blanched and hurried from the squad room then turned his attention back to his typewriter and his own stack of backlogged reports.

As soon as he had made sure no one was watching, the young officer made his way to the pay phone and quickly dialed in a number. He didn’t have long to wait before the phone on the other end was picked up. “What?” a male voice inquired impatiently.

“This is Specter calling in with my regular report,” the young uniform rapidly informed him. “Still nothing new. No one here seems to have any more information than we do.”

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. The officer glanced nervously to his right and left to make sure he was still not being observed. “All right,” the voice finally came back on. “The boss says stay there and keep listening. Those two are bound to call in sometime.”

“Got it,” the officer said then hung up the phone and went in search of his training officer, preparing himself as he went to receive another lecture. That was all right, he knew he wouldn’t have to put up with the older man’s tirades much longer. Despite the show he had put on for Frank Rogers, he found it difficult to be afraid of much of anything since going to work for the Sultan. Now there was someone with a scary temper! And he always made good on his threats!

~~~

A couple of hangers with a clean suit, shirt and tie hanging from them were draped across the back of his chair and a foil wrapped package and several Tupperware containers, along with a small sack containing some underwear, socks and a few personal grooming items, sat on his desk next to a short note in Edith’s handwriting. Dobey moved the clothes to the coat rack behind the door and pushed the rest aside without more than a glance as he settled behind his desk. His mind was still too occupied with what he had learned (or rather hadn’t learned) at the Secret Service’s office to allow him to feel irritated that he had missed seeing his wife or even to be curious about what she had brought him for his lunch.

The whole trip had been a colossal waste of time at best. At worst, it may have brought about the end of Dobey’s career on the force. Not only had Slater’s supervisor been unable to provide the captain with any new information about Becker’s possible involvement in Hutchinson’s disappearance, the man had not even been aware that Slater’s partner was in town until Dobey had tried to question to him. Then, to top it off, the man had tried to grill the captain for whatever he knew about either Becker or Slater. Dobey wasn’t sure himself why he had refused to cooperate. Perhaps the other man’s attitude had gotten to him. Or perhaps some sixth sense was telling him that it would be in his missing officers’ best interest not to.

As soon as the supervisor had realized he wasn’t going to get anything, his attitude had turned ugly and he had threatened to go to the Commissioner to force Dobey to talk to him. The captain’s response to that was where the career-ending part came in. If so, it had been almost worth it to see the expression on the other man’s face. Dobey only wished he could see the Commissioner’s when the message was relayed to him!

As satisfying as it had been to tell off the annoying little jerk, Dobey had to admit now that it had also been stupid. The captain had a temper all right but he was usually able to control it much better than that. It must be all the years he’d spent around Starsky and Hutchinson finally getting to him. God knew those two never hesitated to tell him off when they felt like it!

Dobey snorted, amused at the idea that they might be rubbing off on him, then sobered again. This newest twist in this mess was anything but reassuring. Starsky had been missing without a trace for four days and no one had seen or heard from Hutch since he and Hamilton had left the hospital yesterday.

“You picked a Hell of a time to get yourself canned, Harold!” he scolded himself. He really had no doubt in his mind that that would be the Commissioner’s reaction to what he had said earlier. Oh, well. He couldn’t take his rash words back now. So, until the order actually arrived relieving him of his command, he had better make the best use he could of what time he had left to act. He got up from behind his desk and went to the door of his office.

“Listen up, you turkeys!” he bellowed as he stepped back into the squad room. “You all have to be the sorriest excuses for detectives I’ve ever seen! Two of our own are missing and it’s time to stop playing around. Until further notice, everyone…and I do mean everyone…in this department is to drop whatever they’re doing. As of right now, finding Starsky and Hutchinson has just become our top priority and our only case.” Dobey paused a moment and when no one spoke he nodded. “Okay. You have your orders. Now get to it! No one goes home tonight until you bring me at least one good, solid lead!”

“What do you think that means?” Rogers’s partner asked, dumbfounded, when the captain had stalked back into his office and slammed the door. He’d stepped out for a minute to get Frank and himself a couple of sandwiches from the deli around the corner and had only walked back in in time to catch the tail end of Dobey’s little speech.

Frank grinned as he pulled the sheet he’d been working on out of his typewriter and stuffed it into one of the many folders covering his desk. “I think that means this pile of reports is gonna have to wait a bit longer to get filed!” he chuckled.

~~~

Sergeant Joe Eastermann fit all the stereotypes of a cop near retirement: he was tall, graying, and slightly overweight but not to the degree that he couldn’t pass the departmental physical, with a mildly world weary but still caring air about him. He had spent his whole career in uniform, on the streets, never having aspired to any rank higher than Sergeant. This is where he felt he did the most good, driving his patrol route and training the young officers who would serve this city once he was drawing his pension. And that day was drawing nearer and nearer.

Eastermann glanced at the clock on the wall, then at his watch again. This was about the fifth time he had looked in as many minutes. Where was his newest trainee anyway?

Darn kids! They seemed to come out of the Academy either ramrod straight and all spit and polish, trying so hard to please and to live up to what they thought he expected of them that it almost hurt to look at them, or they were all smart-alecky attitude and wrinkled uniforms and knees and elbows klutziness. That cockiness, he knew, really hid the same uncertainty that the spit-and-polish type’s earnest eagerness did. He had trained both types over the years and all of them had gone on to become fine officers. It was a record he was proud of.

He had originally pegged this newest rookie as the spit and polish variety. And yet the kid had the strangest habit of just disappearing every now and then. Not a trait he’d have expected, but then again you had to allow some for individuality. He’d marked it down as a habit to break the kid of. After all, who’d want a partner who might pull that vanishing act in the middle of a bad situation? Say, like a holdup?

He cocked his head and hid a smile behind his coffee cup. He’d just heard the distinct sound of shoe leather rapidly hitting floor tiling. He knew it meant his new trainee had finally noticed the time, realized he was late and was now running down the hallway to find him. The footsteps paused outside the break room. Eastermann could picture the kid straightening his tie as he tried to catch his breath before stepping into the room. He did the kid the favor of not looking up until he was spoken to.

“Sarge? Sorry I’m late. I was talking with Detective Rogers for a minute, then I promised my girlfriend I’d call her whenever I got a break…she worries so much about me! Anyway, then we got to talking and…I lost track of the time,” the young man finished lamely, blushing.

Eastermann finished the last of his coffee before answering. “Kid, it’s good to be considerate of your girlfriend’s feelings, but you and she are both gonna haveta learn that your work here comes first! True, your girl may get offended if you tell her that, but if you two ever get serious about each other, it’s an idea she’s better off getting used to from the beginning!”

“Yes, Sir,” the kid answered in a contrite tone.

Eastermann decided to cut him some slack. “All right, that said, let’s go.” The older officer stood up, pitched his empty Styrofoam cup in the trash, picked up his hat and started out the door with the rookie trailing behind him like a puppy.

“Go where, Sarge?” he asked as he hurried to match the taller man’s long stride.

“The suspects in that shoot out up in the hills yesterday are being moved to the county lock up this afternoon. And guess who gets to help transport ’em?” Eastermann smiled humorlessly as he paused to get the rookie’s reaction to this. He wasn’t disappointed.

The younger man’s eyes widened. “That…that’s really something, Sarge!” he stammered. “When did you find this out?”

“About five minutes before you came in,” Eastermann informed him. “Why?”

The younger man shrugged. “No reason…I just thought maybe you had mentioned it earlier and I had forgotten or something,” he answered awkwardly.

Eastermann spared him a puzzled glance. “You don’t usually forget things like that, Smith. Something goin’ on with you today that maybe I should know about?”

The younger officer paused and the older man stopped walking to focus his full attention on him. “Well…actually, I’m not feelin’ too well. My stomach is acting up a bit,” he confessed. “In fact…I kinda think it’d be a good idea if I made a stop in the men’s room before we get rollin’.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “You should have taken care of that before you came and found me!” he scolded mildly. “All right, go on. But make it quick! We’re supposed to be meeting the other units down in the garage in ten minutes to load the prisoners and the captain’s already in a bad mood today. I don’t want to make it any worse by havin’ to tell him that we have to wait because my trainee needed to take a potty break!”

“Oh, this won’t take long!” the trainee promised. The moment his TO was out of sight, he went directly to the phone again. As soon as the line on the other end was answered, he spoke rapidly. “They’re moving the targets now! Is everyone still in position?”

“Yes. Good work! Now go! We don’t want to raise any suspicion until after the job is completed!” The phony trainee hung up without any further comment and rushed down to join Eastermann and the other officers on escort duty in the garage. Eastermann nodded as he saw him, pleased to see the rookie had taken his advice about hurrying.

A few minutes later, the secure elevator from the cellblock level arrived and the first group of prisoners was brought out and loaded into the waiting black and whites. The convoy would consist of five vehicles all together to transport ten prisoners: eight from the arrests following the assault on that house up in the hills plus the two from the shoot out with Hutchinson at the abandoned warehouse. There would be two officers and two prisoners per car.

Eastermann noticed that he and the rookie had gotten the dubious honor of chauffeuring Big Eddie himself. He made sure the doors of his vehicle were securely closed once the prisoners were inside, checked to see that the other units were ready to roll, then climbed behind the wheel of his unit and followed the rest of the convoy out of the police garage.

It wasn’t very far to the county lock up, and with the traffic as light as it was at that time of day, Eastermann figured it would only take them about twenty minutes to get there. He glanced up in the rearview mirror as he drove and noticed that Big Eddie seemed jumpy. He hadn’t sat still since being loaded into the car and kept craning his neck to peer out the windows as they drove. Finally, the twitching began to get to him. “Hey, Eddie! You got a problem?” he called over his shoulder.

The prisoner met his gaze in the mirror. “How long ’til we get there?” he asked instead of answering the Sergeant’s question.

Eastermann allowed himself a grin. “You sound just like my kids when they were little. It’s not that long a trip, so you can’t be bored already. You that anxious to get back into a cell? Or maybe you need to go or something. Should’ve done like the kid here and made a pit stop before we left!”

The rookie let out a brief chuckle at that. Eastermann spared another quick look away from his driving to glance over at him. The kid looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen him before and seemed to actually be enjoying himself. Maybe it was the thrill of transporting what must be, to him, a big time criminal. Or maybe he had begun to loosen up at last. Either way, it wasn’t hurting anything so Eastermann decided to let him have his fun.

Big Eddie didn’t make any further comments, so the Sergeant went back to ignoring him and returned his attention to his driving. They were coming up to a turn. Eastermann frowned as he made it, only to find the rest of the convoy stopped dead in front of him.

A semi appeared to be the cause of the holdup. It looked like the driver was trying to back the truck into a narrow service driveway between two buildings and was having trouble getting the big vehicle lined up. Eastermann sighed, starting to get out of the car to check it out when a sudden loud noise from beside him almost made him jump out of his skin.

He jerked around in time to see his young trainee calmly discharge his drawn gun a second time, killing the remaining prisoner in the back seat. Eddie was already lying slumped against the door, his face frozen forever in an expression of surprise and a hole in his forehead. The bullet had gone right through the gang leader’s skull to shatter the back windshield. What was left of the glass was splattered with blood and gore.

Eastermann turned in shock to face his eerily calm trainee. “What the Hell are you doing?” he managed in a strangled whisper. “Have you lost your mind?” Eastermann paled as the rookie now calmly pointed the weapon at him. “It’s all right, kid,” he soothed. “Calm down! Just give me the gun and then I can try to help you straighten this mess out!”

In the background, Eastermann could hear other guns being fired now all along the convoy. The car’s radio came on with a brief, frantic cry for help, cut short by another gunshot from further up the street. His heart sank as he realized too late that this was an ambush.

Officer “Smith” smiled at him and shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Sarge. But that won’t be necessary as I guess I’ll be leaving the force after this,” he said before pulling the trigger a third time.

He calmly checked to make sure the older man was dead, then got out of the car without bothering to shut the door. Sirens had begun to wail in the distance, yet the crime scene remained surreally quiet with the exception of one woman, who was screaming hysterically. None of the other few passersby seemed able to move or make a sound, perhaps afraid to draw attention to themselves.

The phony trainee seemed not to notice or care as he joined two other men who were climbing up into the semi’s cab beside the driver. He was the only one dressed as a policeman. The others were dressed in nondescript coveralls of the type worn by movers and deliverymen everywhere. The driver took the big truck through the gears and expertly swung it around. By the time the responding units arrived to discover their fallen comrades and the dead prisoners, the truck and its passengers were long gone.

The truck would later be found abandoned near the same warehouse where the earlier confrontation between Hutchinson and two of the now dead prisoners had taken place, on the edge of Big Eddie’s former territory. It would turn out to have been reported stolen from a service center two days before its use as a roadblock and getaway vehicle. Forensics teams would not find any clues that could help them locate or identify its passengers.

 

Chapter 22: When It Rains, It Pours

Starsky grinned as Paula helped him finish adjusting the laces of his new Adida’s and leaned back on his bed to wiggle his toes appreciatively. “Not bad!” he commented. “In a few days, I bet they’ll be nearly as comfortable as my old ones! Thanks, Becker!”

Showered, shaved and dressed in the blue jeans and dark brown shirt the Secret Service agent had turned up from somewhere for him, Starsky almost looked like himself again. Except for the sling and a few luridly colored bruises and his still nearly bare scalp. His appearance without that unruly curly mop still unnerved Hutch whenever he looked at him. He’d never admit it to his partner, but he sure would be glad when his hair grew back. In the meantime, he made a mental note to ask Becker to see if he could find his friend some sort of a hat.

Becker had brought clothing for Hutch, too. Some fresh socks and underwear and a slightly faded but clean plaid flannel shirt to replace the one the doctor had had to cut the sleeve off of to treat Hutch’s arm. The color, to Hutch’s relief, wasn’t red but a mix of various shades of blue and the fit was even pretty good.

Becker hadn’t been able to find any clothing Paula’s size, but had arranged for hers to be washed by the clinic’s laundry staff. In the meantime, she had borrowed a set of scrubs. Becker had also arranged for a cot to be set up for Paula in Starsky and Hutch’s room since she had refused to go and lie down anywhere else. After a few hours of rest and a shower, she, too, looked more ready to tackle their self-assigned mission.

Hutch had been the last one in the shower. Still barefoot and toweling the last dampness from his pale hair, he came and perched on the edge of his hospital bed. Paula, no longer needed by his partner, came to sit beside him to help him do up the last buttons of his shirt and to ease his stiff arm back into his sling. Becker occupied the room’s one chair.

“Okay,” Hutch said, turning to face the Secret Service agent. “Now that our personal needs have been taken care of, I hope you’ve also managed to turn up that information we needed to finish our plans.”

Becker sighed wearily. “I have some bad news there…” he began, then quickly added, as Hutch’s expression darkened, “Don’t look at me like that! I got the information, Hutchinson!”

“Then what’s the bad news?” Hutch asked.

“The same source that gave me the information about the meeting told me your captain made a visit to my supervisor this morning, looking for me. Which means my boss is now aware that I’m here.”

Hutch frowned. “Do you think he’ll change the time or location of that meeting because of it?” he asked. “If so, that puts us right back where we were.”

Becker shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll go that far. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he assigned more men to the security detail. And he’s sure to warn anyone who’ll be working it to be on the lookout for me, which rules out any ideas I’ve had about bluffing our way into the hotel. I’m sorry. If any of you are having second thoughts…”

“We’re still on, Becker,” Hutch sighed. “We’ve all come this far, why back out now? So, okay, that’s just one more thing we’ll have to work around. Anything else?”

Becker nodded. “I’m afraid there is.” The agent swallowed and went on. “I don’t know of any good way to say this, so I’ll just give it to you straight. Big Eddie himself and several of his men were taken into custody yesterday. Seems they were the ones who attacked the Sultan’s place while we were there last night.

“They were supposed to be moved from your Division house to the county lockup a few hours ago. Somehow the Sultan’s men found out about it. The convoy was attacked and all the prisoners and nine Metro officers were killed. A tenth officer is missing. Several witnesses say he left with the attackers. They say he didn’t act like he was being taken hostage but seemed instead to be working with them.”

“Damn!” Hutch breathed. “Did your friend happen to get any names on those officers?” He was already mentally going through a list of friends and acquaintances, wondering which of them wouldn’t be with their families for the upcoming holidays. The loss of even one of their own always hit the whole department hard, especially if the officer was someone from the same station house, someone you saw and worked with everyday. He knew the deaths of this many men, at this time of the year, would be doubly devastating. He barely felt Paula’s hand touch his shoulder.

Becker shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Hutchinson. Starsky,” he said sincerely.

Both Metro officers nodded their appreciation and Starsky sniffed once, softly then cleared his throat. “All the more reason for us to put a stop to this Sultan guy and his organization. Now!” he said, his dark blue eyes flashing angrily.

Hutch couldn’t agree more. “When and where, Becker?” he asked.

“Three P.M. tomorrow at the Hyatt,” Becker replied.

Hutch nodded. “All right. So, how do we work this?”

“I have a few ideas about that,” Becker told them. He scooted his chair a bit closer and leaned forward as he outlined his plan. The other three listened attentively, adding ideas of their own as they occurred to them. The conference lasted the rest of the afternoon until a nurse brought them all dinner trays and continued long afterwards, into the night.

~~~

The Sultan had a keen appreciation for the best things in life and took particular pleasure in fine cuisine. Therefore it was no surprise that he had a top-rated chef heading his kitchen staff. Slater, however, was not in the proper frame of mind to enjoy the excellent dinner in front of him.

The Sultan looked up from his own meal and frowned. “What is wrong, my friend? Is the fish not to your liking?” he asked. Before Slater could answer, his host had snapped his fingers at one of the nearby servants. “Take this away and tell the chef to prepare something else for my guest!” he ordered imperiously, gesturing at Slater’s untouched plate. “What would you prefer, Alan?”

Slater shook his head. “Nothing, please,” he requested, then added, when the Sultan’s frown deepened, “I’m sorry. I don’t wish to insult your hospitality or your chef’s talent, but I’m just not very hungry tonight.” He well knew by now the other man’s mercurial temperament and had learned that the smallest slight was likely to be taken as a grave affront.

The Sultan’s frown faded to be replaced by an expression of understanding. “Ahh! Are you nervous about tomorrow, perhaps? Is that what has quelled your appetite this evening?”

Slater nodded, relieved. “Yes, I am,” he admitted. Why shouldn’t he? It was the truth after all.

His host favored him with a small smile. “Relax, Alan. You have planned this operation well and I have complete confidence that it can be carried out successfully. Tomorrow night we will celebrate and I hope by then to see that your appetite has improved.”

“Thank you,” Slater said, rising and dropping his napkin onto the table.

The Sultan frowned again. “Must you leave so soon?” he asked.

Slater nodded. “There are a few small details I would like to double check before the morning and my supervisor will be expecting me to check in with him soon.”

The other man nodded and waved him on dismissively. “Go, then. I will see you again tomorrow afternoon after the operation has been completed. And do not worry, my friend. Nothing will go wrong…but, if it should, my men will always be nearby.” This last was stated as a sort of reassurance, but Slater did not miss the underlying threat. From now until this was over, he would never be out of sight of the Sultan’s followers.

Slater’s mind was troubled as he drove back to the city. He had missed his meeting with Becker that morning, so he had no way to know for sure how the rescue mission had gone. Though he knew that Starsky was indeed no longer in the Sultan’s imprisonment, he also knew that this did not necessarily guarantee that the detective or B.B. had gotten away safely. Especially considering that it had unfortunately also been the evening Big Eddie had decided to try to make one last stab at keeping the Sultan out of his territory. The agent had heard how that had been dealt with. It sickened him that he had not been able to do anything to prevent the deaths of those officers. More innocent lives…

It also worried him that he had not been able to pass on the final details of the Sultan’s plans to Becker, but it could not be helped–as the Sultan himself had just reiterated, since Starsky’s disappearance from his cell, Slater would be under constant surveillance from now on.

He cracked his car window and took several deep, bracing breaths of chilled night air. His hands, as he drove, shook on the wheel. God, he was so tired! It seemed sometimes as if this nightmare, which had begun the day he’d received the news that Grant’s plane had been shot down, had gone on for a hundred years.

On some level, he still could not believe that it would soon all be over! Or, at least, his part in it would be. He could not allow himself to think too much about the fate of his son. He only knew that, after tomorrow, no matter how things turned out, he would no longer have a hand in whatever fate that might be–if he ever truly had.

Perhaps he’d only been deluding himself all along. All of this, everything he had done, had been for Grant, to save him. It had only been during this last month, since the Sultan had revealed his intentions to assassinate the President, that he’d finally realized how he close he had come to betraying everything that his son had fought and suffered for.

If wasn’t bad enough that he’d turned his back on all that he had sworn to protect and uphold, and ruined his own life, his own career, he’d dragged his best friend down with him. This last was almost more than his already strained conscience could handle. And now, this mess he had created was drawing to a head and he was not going to be able to help his partner at all. Brian would have to walk into whatever happened tomorrow cold and Slater could only hope that his career was all that his partner lost in this! His only consolation was that his son would most likely never know what he had done!

He banished all of these disturbing thoughts back to the far edge of his awareness as he reached the building that housed the Secret Service’s offices in LA. He parked in his assigned spot and took the stairs up to the third floor where his supervisor’s office was located, hoping that he could keep this meeting brief. As soon as he had stepped into the room, however, several armed agents materialized from positions that had kept them hidden from his sight until after he had entered. They closed ranks behind him, blocking his path to the door, their weapons drawn and aimed at him.

Despite the shock, Slater managed to keep his voice calm as he turned from staring at his fellow agents to face his superior. “What is this about?” he asked, all the while wondering how he had finally given himself away.

His boss, who stood across the room near his desk, scowled back at him. He, at least, was not holding him at gunpoint! His answer was anything but what Slater had expected. “Becker is in LA.” he replied shortly. “Do you have any idea why?” The supervisor’s tone remained matter-of-fact in spite of the tension in the room.

Slater decided to ignore the weapons his fellow agents were pointing at him and follow his supervisor’s lead. “With all due respect, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I thought Brian was still on vacation with his wife in Hawaii,” he answered, secretly amazed at how normal his own voice sounded considering the panic that was raging inside his head. Damn it, B.B.! How the Hell did this happen?

His supervisor visibly relaxed. After a moment more of gazing at Slater intently, he seemed to reach a decision. To Slater’s surprise, he now dismissed the other agents, who rather reluctantly filed out of the office. Once they were gone, the supervisor stepped around his desk and sat down in his chair, his expression still thoughtful. With a gesture, he indicated that Slater should sit down, too.

“I suppose I don’t have to remind you of the charges filed against you by that FBI agent Derek Hunter last year,” the supervisor began. Slater shook his head. No, there was no way he was likely to have forgotten those. Where could his boss be going with this?

His supervisor did not keep him in suspense. “Even though no evidence could be found to support those charges, I have always felt that Hunter was right. One of my agents did steal those plates and also, just as Hamilton later surmised, arranged for Hunter’s murder, if not directly, then through whatever organization he had allied himself with when he had stolen those plates.”

Slater frowned. “If you really believe that, why did you just dismiss those other agents? Aren’t you placing me under arrest?” he asked.

The supervisor snorted impatiently. “Calm down, Alan. I didn’t say I thought you were guilty, did I?”

Slater was more puzzled than ever. “Then who?” And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew. He was glad he was already sitting down, because his legs probably would not have supported him. His eyes shot back up to his boss and found him nodding.

“That’s right,” his superior confirmed. “It was your partner, Brian Becker. He was as much in a position to steal those plates as you were, and in an even better one to set you up to take the fall for it. Don’t look so surprised! I’ve suspected Becker for some time. This latest little game of his just confirms my suspicions.”

Slater felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Oh, God, B.B.! I’m so sorry! He started to speak, but found he had to swallow first because his mouth had gone so dry. “There could still be a completely innocent reason why he’s in LA,” he began. It sounded lame, even to his own ears. He could tell his boss wasn’t buying it.

“Come on, Alan! I know he’s supposed to be your friend, but surely even you can see that I’m right. Why else would he be here? And why give Dobey that cock and bull story about the two of you being on some sort of undercover assignment to take down someone called the Sultan. I checked. We don’t have any files on anyone by that codename. Though I have no doubt that such an individual does exist and that he is who Becker is working with.”

“I…I still can’t believe it!” Slater managed to stammer. “What are you going to do?”

The supervisor sighed. “At the moment, nothing, since I have no idea where Becker is. But he’s here in LA for some reason, Alan. And I have a feeling it isn’t a coincidence that it just happens to be at the same time the President is scheduled to visit. I have alerted our men to keep their eyes open for him. He’ll turn up. I feel it. And when he does…” the man did not finish the thought, but he didn’t have to.

“What do you want me to do?” Slater asked softy, his earlier sick feeling back with a vengeance.

The supervisor looked at him sympathetically. “Nothing, Alan. You’re too close to the man to be involved in this. Just go on with the duties you’ve been assigned and let me handle your partner! Except, of course, if he should try to contact you. If he does that, call me right away.

“Again, I know this can’t be easy for you to hear. The man was your partner and your friend for a lot of years. But consider what he tried to do to you! Don’t be tempted to let any lingering misplaced loyalty to him drag you down with him! He isn’t worth it.”

Slater nodded numbly. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, sir,” he said.

“Good! Now, let’s go over those details for the President’s arrival in the morning again, starting with the arrangements you’ve made for security at the airport. Have you worked out that trouble you were having with where to put the camera crews from the press?”

Slater leaned forward in his chair and looked at the chart of the airport that his boss had spread open on his desk, but even as he outlined his plans for how he would move the President through it, his mind was not on his work, but still on his friend. “I’ll make this right, Brian!” he silently swore to his friend. “Somehow, I swear I’m gonna make this all right…if I can only get the chance to!”

 

Chapter 23: More Complications

The soft murmur of the television was the predominant sound in the room. Dressed again in the clothes Becker had found for him, Starsky was sitting leaned back with his feet propped up on his bed, checking out the gun the Secret Service agent had brought him a short while ago. Starsky’s own gun was back in Hutch’s apartment, still in the bag the hospital had put Starsky’s clothes in when he’d been checked into the emergency room after the car accident.

A Colt .38 revolver, the borrowed weapon was similar in weight and balance to the Smith and Wesson he usually carried, but with slight differences in the grip. So, after a thorough inspection to make sure that the gun was clean and in proper working order (it was), Starsky had spent the past half hour or so picking the unloaded weapon up, then putting it down, only to snap it up again and aim it at various inanimate targets around the room in order to get the “feel” of the new gun.

Hutch glanced over at him, then back up to the television. The news was on and the top story was, of course, the President’s arrival. As he watched, the door of Air Force One had just been opened and the President was emerging, waving to the cameras and the gathered crowd. He descended the steps to the tarmac slowly and carefully, but stumbled slightly as he reached the red carpet at the bottom. Despite the grim day ahead of them, Hutch couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that. Poor man, the press was probably going to have a field day with that bit of footage for the rest of his visit! At least, they would if things went as Hutch and the others had planned. If not, then the media would have more important things to cover than that small example of the most powerful man in the free world’s humanity.

“Why would anyone want to assassinate him?” Starsky asked, apparently also having caught that little media gem and thinking along similar lines as his partner. “I mean, he lost the election, which means the new guy is going to be taking over in a coupla months anyway, so what’s the point?”

Hutch shook his head, his eyes still on the screen. “From what Becker says, this is some kind of revenge thing for the Sultan. Who can say how a maniac like that’s mind works?”

Starsky remembered the strange light in the dark man’s eyes and shivered involuntarily. “He’s crazy, all right! But he ain’t stupid, not by a long shot and he’s had Slater to help him plan this thing. Do you really think we can stop him?”

Hutch looked away from the television and met Starsky’s gaze. “Yeah, Starsk, I think we can. Or at least, I hope we can!” he corrected himself, glancing back up at the t.v. “The man may not be the best or most inspiring President we’ve ever had, but I think he’s made a sincere effort to do the job right under unusually trying circumstances. He doesn’t deserve to die for that.”

Starsky nodded his agreement and went back to his “target practice” with his borrowed weapon, making soft “Pow! Pow!” noises under his breath as he playacted the gun’s recoil in his hand. Hutch sighed and looked over at Paula, who was still asleep on the cot in the corner. He’d decided he’d be better off not wearing his sling today and, in spite of his efforts to put as little strain as possible on it, his injured arm was throbbing again, making his already dark mood that much worse. Where was that nurse with the pain pills? He knew it had only been a few minutes since his last inquiry about the whereabouts of his medication, but he grabbed up and pushed his call button several times impatiently anyway.

Starsky glanced at him questioningly as he spoke gruffly to the feminine voice that answered his page. “Got a problem, buddy?” his partner queried in a casual enough tone, yet the scrutiny in those dark eyes was anything but. Hutch found himself looking away from that too-searching gaze.

“Arm’s bothering me,” Hutch answered him shortly, hoping his partner would let it go at that. Unfortunately, his friend didn’t appear to be in a letting it go mood.

“Seems to be bothering you a lot, Hutch. You’ve been hittin’ those pills pretty hard. Bet it was really bad when it first happened! They must have given you something pretty strong while they were digging around in there for all that shot and stitching you up.”

Starsky’s tone was infinitely gentle now. Hutch sighed again and turned to meet his friend’s eyes once more. He knew all too well what his partner was getting at. He glanced again at Paula to make sure she was still asleep before he answered him.

“Okay, Starsk. You’re right. They gave me morphine. In the ER the other day, right after I got shot. I…I was kinda out of it, Starsky and by the time I realized what they were doing, it was too late! There, are you happy now?” he asked bitterly, turning his eyes away from his partner’s face again in shame.

Some time ago, another mad man named Forrest had kidnapped him and forced him into an addiction to heroin. Even though he knew on an intellectual level that it had not been his fault, it was an episode in his life he still felt intense humiliation about. Starsky had found him strung out in an alley, had taken him to a room above Huggy’s and single-handedly helped him to get clean again and had never told his secret. His friend had also appointed himself his watchdog against any danger of a recurrence of that addiction ever since. Hutch knew that his partner had cause to be concerned now, but his guilt over what he perceived as his own weakness made him too angry to admit that easily. And so Starsky, as usual, had become the target of that anger.

“Aww, Hutch,” Starsky whispered; “You know I didn’t mean it like that! I just think you ought to be careful, that’s all.”

Hutch heard the hurt in his friend’s voice and felt like kicking himself. With an effort, he made himself meet those sapphire eyes again. “I’m sorry, Starsk. You’re right, maybe I should take it a little easier with the pills. But, they don’t seem to last very long and I’m worried that the pain might become a distraction to me out there today.”

Starsky nodded his understanding. “All right, Hutch. All right,” he said, his tone still gentle. “Take the pills…for now. But when this is over…!

Hutch smiled. “I promise, Starsk! As soon as this is behind us, I’m putting you in charge of the all my medication again. Satisfied?”

“For now,” Starsky repeated, adding one of his famous lopsided grins to soothe any lingering bruises to his friend’s sometimes fragile dignity. Hutch turned back to the television and drew a long, shuddering breath.

A short time later, a nurse walked into the room carrying a whole bottle of the requested pills for him and a glass of water. Apparently the doctor had decided that it would be easiest on the staff just to put Hutch in charge of his own medication, especially as he would be checking out soon anyway. Becker followed on her heels. The agent waited as Hutch shook two of the pills into his hand and swallowed them with a fierce scowl. If Becker thought it odd that he then tossed the bottle of pills over to his partner, he didn’t comment. For all he knew, they were sharing the same prescription. Why not? These two seemed to share just about everything else!

“I see you’ve been watching the news,” Becker said when Hutch’s scowl had let up enough that he felt it was safe to speak to him. “The President has arrived safely and is on his way to his first appointment of the day. Which means we should be leaving soon.”

“How soon?” Hutch asked.

“An hour or so at the most,” the agent answered. Hutch nodded and Becker looked over at Starsky, who’d finished acquainting himself with his borrowed weapon and was now loading it from one of several boxes of ammo that sat beside him on the bed. “How’s that working out for you?” the agent asked, referring to the gun. “I tried to get one as close as I could to what you’re used to handling.”

Starsky nodded. “This’ll do just fine, thanks, Becker,” he said, snapping the cylinder shut (quite a trick, one-handed) and slipping the loaded gun into the waistband of his jeans. Becker had not been able to come up with a holster that suited Starsky’s tastes to go with the weapon.

“Shouldn’t we wake Paula soon?” Starsky asked then. “She’ll probably want some time to dress and all before we go.”

Hutch and the Secret Service agent both agreed and Hutch got up to go over to the cot and gently shake Paula’s shoulder. As she mumbled something in reply to whatever Hutch had whispered to her and sat up, Starsky noticed irrelevantly that she looked pretty good, even just waking up like that. No doubt about it, his partner ought to consider hanging on to this one. Paula got up and made her way a bit groggily into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Oh, by the way Becker,” Hutch said as he came and stretched out on his bed once more. Both police officers were conserving as much of their strength as they could until time to go. “Whatever happened to Marshall?” It hadn’t even occurred to Hutch to wonder about the annoying reporter until a few minutes ago. His mind had been too occupied with other things.

“The doctor treated him for a moderate concussion but, otherwise, he’s fine. Don’t worry, Hutchinson. I told my friend that he was an accessory to a murder and that he’s going to be wanted by the police later for questioning. He’s been given his own room in one of the more secure parts of the facility, though I can’t say he’s too happy about it,” Becker laughed, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Is this a private joke, Becker, or can anyone join in?” Hutch asked irritably.

“You asked me the other night what kind of clinic this was. It’s a very expensive, very exclusive treatment facility for the mentally ill,” Becker informed him with a broad smile.

“An asylum?” Hutch choked, surprised.

Becker nodded, still grinning. ” So, relax, Detective. Marshall won’t be leaving here until we want him to!”

In spite of his lingering bad mood, Hutch found himself smiling as well. It was no more than that little slimeball Marshall deserved! He looked over at Starsky, suddenly feeling mischievous. “I knew hanging around with you would land me in a place like this someday!” he declared. He was rewarded with a suitably outraged protest from his partner along with the same rude gesture Marshall had given him in the car the other night. He turned back to Becker, still laughing.

“I’ve said some pretty rotten things about you, Becker,” he began, “Both to your face and behind your back. But I take them all back. Through this whole thing, you’ve just been trying to look out for your partner.” Hutch paused and looked over at Starsky again, who grinned back. “I guess I understand you better now and I just wanted to let you know…I think you’re all right,” he finished awkwardly. The big black man’s gaze dropped to his shoes, pleased and a bit embarrassed by Hutch’s words.

“Thanks, Hutchinson. So are you. Both of you,” he went on to include Starsky. “If, by some miracle, we make it through this thing in one piece, I’m gonna owe you both big time!”

“Yes, you are,” Starsky shot back in mock seriousness, but then spoiled it with another grin, which quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles. There was something about his partner’s stupid giggle that Hutch always found contagious. Before he knew it, he was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes, the sheer absurdity of their situation having finally caught up with him. Becker joined them.

They were just slowing down a bit when Paula came back out of the bathroom. “What on earth are you lunatics laughing about now?” she demanded innocently, which sent them all off into fresh spasms of hilarity. She shook her head in disgust at the three of them and went off to the nurse’s station to ask when she would be getting her own clothes back instead of the baggy scrubs she still wore.

~~~

Back at Parker Center, Dobey had little to laugh about. Nine of his officers were dead and two were still missing. Three, if you counted the rookie who’d left the crime scene yesterday with the perpetrators; but, since he seemed to have been working with them, Dobey wasn’t inclined to include him as one of his men anymore. He’d been on the phone with the Commissioner almost constantly since the shootings and still had nothing new to offer his superior.

One good thing in all this, if anything that came out of this could be thought of as good, was that, in the midst of the current crisis, the Commissioner couldn’t afford to fire him. His boss had satisfied himself instead with the longest and nastiest chewing out Dobey had been subjected to in some time, then dumped the investigation of yesterday’s shootings in his lap and basically told him to get out there and perform miracles. Or else! The Commissioner might not feel he could fire Dobey at this time, but there was always later. And the man could make his life a living Hell in the meantime. Dobey sighed. It didn’t seem as if the Good Lord was going to help him out in the miracle department at the moment, either.

He looked up at the sound of a soft knock on his door. “Come in!” he called tiredly. To his surprise, it was his wife. “Edith! What are you doing here?” he asked as he got up and came around his desk to kiss her hello.

“I just thought I’d come by and remind myself what you look like,” she teased gently. “I don’t suppose…?”

Dobey shook his head sadly. “No, there’s nothing new. Not on the shootings, and not about Dave and Ken. I…I’m beginning to think…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought. The men they were dealing with had proven themselves to be utterly ruthless. So far, everyone who’d come in contact with them had wound up dead. And he couldn’t help but wonder if, by now, Starsky and Hutchinson might be, too.

As always, Edith seemed to know what he was thinking. “Don’t!” she told him firmly. “You know those two, they’re like cats! Nine lives apiece! Don’t give up on those boys yet, Harold! I just have this feeling that, wherever they are, they’re together and that they’re going to turn up soon. Just give them a little while longer.”

Dobey hugged his wife gratefully. “Thanks, Edie! You always know what to say,” he told her.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back, gently caressing his cheek. “I brought you some more fresh clothes and some lunch, though I doubt you’ll eat it! You keep skipping meals, Harold Dobey, and we’re going to have to buy you a new wardrobe!” She indicated how loose his jacket had become in the last week.

Dobey chuckled in spite of himself. “Hell of a way to finally lose some weight!” he grumbled and got another kiss from his wife. “I’ve got to go back to work now,” he told her reluctantly as he released her a long moment later.

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes bright. “Cal and Rosie send their love.”

“Give mine to them, too,” he told her as he walked her to the door. “I still don’t know when I’ll be home,” he began apologetically.

“I know,” she repeated, smiling sadly. “It’s all right, Harold. I just came by to see how you were holding up, not to lay any kind of a guilt trip on you! You call me if I can bring you anything else. Or if you just need to hear a sympathetic voice!” she said.

“You’re the best,” he told her sincerely.

“Yes, I know,” she answered him, her eyes dancing. “And don’t you ever forget it!” With a last kiss and a wave, she was gone.

Dobey watched her make her way across the nearly deserted squad room then turned back to the pile of reports on his desk. They contained all the odd bits and pieces of information his officers had managed to gather in the hours since the shootings and, before that, from the investigation of David’s kidnapping. Somewhere, in the midst of all this seemingly irrelevant information, lurked the clue that was going to crack this whole thing wide open. Or so he had to keep believing. He sank tiredly back into his chair and picked up another file folder.

~~~

Slater, riding in the front of the limousine next to the driver, glanced back over his shoulder at their passenger. The President didn’t notice him, deeply engrossed as he was in a sheaf of papers he had taken from his briefcase. He had already attended two meetings since his arrival and they were now on their way to a luncheon being hosted by a local women’s group. Slater turned back around and consulted his watch. Ten forty-five A.M. A little more than four hours left till the meeting with Rogue Star.

It was so tempting to just spill the whole thing to the agent next to him. But how likely was it the man would even believe him? And if he did, then what? Though Slater was not able to spot them at the moment, he knew the Sultan had not been bluffing when he had said his men would be nearby at all times. If the younger man beside him did believe him and was to try to call for help or make a run for it, many innocent people could be killed. And the Sultan would go free. No, he had come too far and risked too much for that to be acceptable. He would just have to stick to the plan and hope that Becker had been able to get enough information on his own to be in place for his part when the time came.

Becker was at that moment behind the wheel again, driving back toward the city. Starsky rode next to him in the front seat and Hutch and Paula in the back. Becker glanced up at Hutchinson in the mirror.

“So we’re all still agreed that our best chance to approach Rogue Star is before she can enter the hotel?” he asked. It was an extremely dangerous plan. The other agents on the scene would be guarding what they still thought was a visiting foreign dignitary. It was highly likely one or all of their group would be arrested or worse as they tried to stop her. But it was the best strategy any of them had been able to come up with.

“I don’t see where we have much choice,” Hutch replied. “That is if you’re sure you can’t get us inside?”

Becker shook his head. “Not easily,” he confirmed.

“Then why are we even discussing this?” Hutch asked, his tone carefully even. Becker took the hint and let it go. They all knew the risks they were taking. Only nerves had prompted him to ask the question in the first place.

Starsky twisted around and looked over the seat at his friend. Hutch’s voice had sounded a little strained to him. “You hurtin’ again, Hutch?” he asked quietly.

His partner glared at him. “Probably no more than you are!” he answered him crossly. Starsky turned back around without any further comment. Paula raised an eyebrow at Ken who pretended not to notice it.

Becker drove a while longer in silence until a sudden loud bang beneath the car startled them all.

“What was that?” Starsky shouted.

“I think we had a blow out!” Becker shouted back. A repetitive loud flopping sound had followed the bang and the car had begun to shake and shimmy.

Becker slowly, carefully guided the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road and they all got out to look. Sure enough, the driver’s side rear tire was gone, reduced to mere ribbons of shredded rubber.

“That’s just beautiful!” Hutch groused. “Tell me you have a spare, Becker!”

“Of course I do!” the agent returned in a heated tone. “It won’t take me more than a few minutes to get this changed and we’ll be on our way.”

Hutch gave the offending tire another venomous glare, then, without any further comment, walked over and sat down on a large rock a few yards off the roadside. Paula shrugged at the other two men and went to join him. Starsky stayed with Becker to offer the agent what help he could with one arm still in a sling. Several minutes later, Starsky slowly approached his partner to give him the bad news.

“What now?” Hutch inquired acidly as he saw the look on Starsky’s face. “Wait! Don’t tell me! The spare’s flat!”

Starsky shook his head. “Nope, the spare is fine! But…part of the jack is missing.”

Hutch rolled his eyes heavenward. “How the Hell did I get involved in this Mickey Mouse operation?” he asked the universe at large. When the universe didn’t bother to answer him, he turned back to his partner. “So, what does Becker plan to do now? Call the Secret Service’s auto club?”

Starsky snorted. “That’s a good one, Hutch! No, he thinks maybe he can jury rig something. In the meantime, I thought I’d hike back to the service station we passed a while ago and see if maybe they can loan us a jack or something.”

A worried frown creased Hutch’s forehead. “You sure you’re up to that, Starsk?” he asked.

Starsky grinned. “It’s not that far, Hutch! I’ll be fine! You wanna come along and keep me company? Beats brooding on a rock!”

Hutch shook his head. “I think I better stay here in case Becker manages to drop the car on himself or something!” he grumbled, which caused Starsky to laugh again.

“Suit yourself! Paula?” She, too, shook her head. “Okay, then, I’ll be back in a bit,” he told them and started off up the road, turning up the collar of his borrowed jacket against the chill in the air and pulling the ball cap Becker had found for him more securely down on his still nearly bare head.

Hutch watched him until he was out of sight around a turn in the road. “Maybe I should have gone with him,” he said then softly.

“I think he’ll be all right,” Paula assured him. “Are you?”

He turned a puzzled look on her. “Am I what?”

“All right?”

Hutch heaved another deep sigh. “I’m fine, Paula. I’m just…I’m fine. Really.”

She searched his face a moment more, then nodded. “Okay. I’m going to see if I can help Becker any.” Hutch nodded, looking off up the road in the direction Starsky had gone again. He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that all of this, all of their efforts were useless. That no matter what they did, it wasn’t going to matter in the end.

 

Chapter 24: A Dance With Destiny

The problem with the tire took a lot longer than a few minutes to fix. The gas station Starsky had seen was closed, and he had had to walk almost another mile before he’d found one that was open. Then it had taken more precious time to convince the owner to finally lend him a rusty jack that he’d most likely salvaged from some wreck.

“The least the guy could have done was give me ride back to the car!” Starsky muttered to himself as he hiked back, lugging the heavy hunk of metal in his good arm. “Especially since he seemed so concerned that I might want to steal this damned thing!” None of the few cars that had passed him going or coming had seemed interested in offering him a lift either.

He reached the disabled car at last and found things pretty much as he’d left them. Becker had taken off his jacket, suit coat and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His hands were dirty and there were dust and bits of grass clinging to his clothes and in his hair. Paula, too, was looking a little worse for wear. Only Hutch remained unruffled, not having left his perch on the rock.

Becker eyed the rusty jack uncertainly, but kept any criticism of it to himself after seeing how winded Starsky was from fetching it. Despite any doubts he might have had about its functionality, he stooped to put it in place under the frame of the car anyway, willing to give it a try. So far, nothing he had come up with had worked.

It took another half hour of straining, cursing and barked knuckles before Becker, Starsky and Paula working together managed to finally raise the car off the ground enough to remove the shredded tire and put on the spare. They returned the nearly useless jack to its owner only at Starsky’s stubborn insistence–a further waste of their precious time to which Hutch had at first loudly objected, then had given in to when he realized that arguing about it was only using up that much more of the limited time they had left to reach their objective.

The mood in the car was definitely hostile by the time they actually reached their destination. Becker kept glancing at his watch and cursing under his breath as he circled the area around the hotel, looking for a place to park. Starsky and Hutch weren’t speaking to each other and Paula only stared sullenly out the window.

“Look, Becker! Why don’t you just stop and let the rest of us out!” Hutch exploded after the third trip around the block. “A least then the rest of us might still stand some chance of getting into position before it’s too late!”

Becker opened his mouth to protest, but Paula beat him to it. “No, Ken! The plan was that we would stick together! If something should go wrong…!”

Hutch now turned his anger on her. “What do you mean, ‘if’ something goes wrong? Where the Hell have you been the last several hours? Nothing has gone anything but wrong!”

Starsky twisted around in the seat again. “Lay off her, Hutch! This isn’t her fault!” he objected.

Hutch turned the full freezing power of his ice blue stare onto his partner at that. “No, it isn’t,” he said quietly. “It’s yours for wasting our time with that business about returning the stupid jack! That damned thing was a hunk of junk!” By the time he’d finished the sentence, he was shouting again.

“Hey!! That jerk at the gas station practically called me a thief to my face, Hutch! No way was I gonna give him the satisfaction of bein’ right! And it only took a few minutes to drive back there! Now, if you really want to point fingers, why don’t you think about how much sooner we could have gotten here if you’d bothered to help when the rest of us were bustin’ our butts changin’ that tire, huh?”

Before Hutch could frame a suitable reply to that, Becker slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park, right there in the middle of the street, then turned around in his seat so that he could address them all. “Stop it!” he roared. “That’s enough! If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine! Stop tearing each other apart!” He glanced at his watch again and slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. “It’s a moot point now anyway,” he continued in a softer tone. “We’re too late.”

An embarrassed silence descended for several seconds, broken only by the angry horns and shouts of other drivers because of the backup they were causing on the busy street. None of them paid any attention to this, however, too focused on the drama being played out in the car.

Starsky was the first to speak up again. “We can still try to bluff our way into the building somehow,” he suggested. “We’ve come this far. We’re not gonna just give up and go home, are we?”

“He’s right, Becker,” Hutch added softly. “We’re not giving up! So let’s find somewhere to park this heap and figure out what we’re going to do now!”

Becker nodded and put the car back into gear. A few minutes later, they were parked in a lot about two blocks from the hotel.

“How much longer till the President arrives?” Hutch asked then. Becker had told them before that Rogue Star would be coming to the meeting place slightly ahead of the President, so that the agents guarding them both would only have to protect one target at a time during the crucial few moments between their vehicle and the relative safety of the hotel’s lobby.

Becker consulted his watch again. “If everything is going according their schedule,” Becker smiled wryly, “he should be arriving in about five more minutes.”

“Then we don’t have much time. What’s our best way in?”

Becker thought a moment. “Through the service entrance and up the freight elevator,” he said decisively. “The very fact that it is so obvious means they won’t really be expecting anyone to try that route.”

“Let’s go,” Hutch said, opening his door and getting out of the car. The others followed and they all made their way as quickly as they could, without making themselves conspicuous, up the street and around the side of the hotel to where they could see the entrance Becker had chosen. No agents were in sight, but they all knew they would be there.

“Well, this is it,” Becker breathed. “If any of you are havin’ any second thoughts, this is your last chance to be sensible and back out of this thing.”

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, and both knew what the other was thinking. If they went through with this, any or all of them could die in the next few minutes. And they both knew neither of them was going to back out. “We always kinda thought it might end like this!” Starsky said softly. “It’s been a blast, Hutch!”

Hutch reached out and squeezed his friend’s good arm. “Yeah, it has, Starsk,” he answered simply, his eyes locked on his partner’s. Butch and Sundance, buddy! Me and Thee. He saw Starsky nod slightly and knew he’d gotten the unspoken message. “See ya’ on the other side, pal!”

He then turned to Paula. “There’s a lot I’ve been wanting to say to you, but I never seem to get the chance,” he told her with a sad smile.

“Tell me tonight, then…over dinner,” she smiled back. “Don’t think you’re getting out of that meal you promised to make me this easily!” she teased.

He wrapped his arms around her in a brief, tight hug, then released her and turned to offer Becker his hand. “Looks like we’re doing this. Sorry I didn’t get to know you better, Becker. Who knows? Under different circumstances, we might even have been friends!”

“I’m gonna remind you later that you said that, Hutchinson!” Becker laughed, returning the offered handshake. He nodded to Starsky, who clapped him on the back. “Everyone ready?” the agent asked. They all nodded.

By unspoken agreement, Becker led the way. Just as they reached the top of the stairs to the loading dock, two agents appeared from the doorway into the hotel’s service area, their manner alert but relaxed. Neither had their weapons visible yet. “Sorry,” one of the agents said politely, “But if you’re going in this way, we’ll need to see some ID.”

Hutch had a sudden inspiration. Becker had started to speak, but Hutch stepped forward instead, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his police department ID and shield and presenting them to the agent. The other man looked over his partner’s shoulder as the first agent examined both carefully before returning them to Hutch with a curious expression.

“What may we do for you, Detective?” he asked. Both agents were completely relaxed now and focused on him. Neither noticed Starsky as he slowly moved around behind them until it was too late. He slipped his borrowed gun from beneath his jacket and used it to hit the agent nearest him on the back of the head just as Hutch punched the man he’d been talking to solidly beneath the jaw. Both men slumped into the detectives’ arms, unconscious.

“Sorry about that,” Starsky apologized to the man he’d hit. With one arm still in a sling, he’d almost dropped him. Paula had stepped forward and caught the man’s other arm just in time. Becker was already at the door.

“It’s clear… for the moment. Hurry!” he said, stepping aside and holding the door for the others as they dragged their limp burdens into what proved to be the hotel’s laundry room. Several huge commercial washers and dryers lined one wall and a number of gondolas full of sheets and towels were scattered about, waiting to be washed. They quickly hoisted both unconscious agents into two of them and covered them up with the linen.

“Which way?” Hutch asked.

“Here!” Becker said, leading them through another door and across an empty hallway to the freight elevator. They all waited tensely as the car descended from one of the hotel’s upper floors. The doors opened to reveal an older Hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform. She raised her eyebrows at the odd looking group, but rolled her cleaning cart past them without comment as they got in the elevator.

“Which floor?” Starsky asked, who was standing nearest the buttons.

“The meeting is taking place in a suite on the tenth floor, but that whole level will be secured and there are sure to be agents posted by all the elevators,” Becker answered. “Our best bet would be to go up to eleven, I think, then back down to ten by the south stairs. There will guards posted there too, of course, but probably only two to each stairwell. And it won’t be as visible to other agents on the floor as the area around the elevators.” Starsky hit the button marked “11”.

“The clock is already running against us,” Becker continued. “Those agents you disabled will have been under orders to check in every five minutes or so. Add to that another two or three minutes for someone to run see what the problem is once they miss their next check in and that gives us seven or eight minutes at most before this whole place is on alert and looking for us.”

“Will they automatically assume somethin’s goin’ down?” Starsky asked.

“Wouldn’t you?” Becker answered him. The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. “Come on!” he said as they got out and followed him at a run towards the south stairwell.

~~~

Slater got out of the limo and carefully looked around at the gathered crowd, then up at his fellow agent waiting at the hotel’s doorway, who nodded, signaling that all was secure. Slater then walked around the long dark car and opened the rear door for the passenger. A loud cheer only marred by a couple of “boo’s” went up from the crowd as the man inside got out, pausing briefly to wave. Slater unobtrusively touched the taller man’s arm to get him moving, then stuck close by his side as they crossed the short distance to the doors at what felt like a snail’s pace, though actually was a fairly brisk walk.

As they went, he continued to watch the crowd with trained hyper-vigilance. He knew that Rogue Star would already have arrived and been escorted up to the suite of rooms on the tenth floor where her meeting with the President was scheduled to take place. And yet he still had to remain focused–it wouldn’t do to be so distracted by the threat he already knew about that he missed some garden-variety kook in the crowd! His life over the past couple of years had made the agent a firm believer in Murphy’s Law.

They reached the doors without incident and Slater allowed himself a small sigh of relief as they stepped inside. The hotel’s lobby had been cleared and secured. A handful of other agents had formed a cordon that made a clear path to the elevators. A car had already been summoned and was waiting for them. Slater and the President, along with a second agent named Grayson, got in without pausing and Grayson turned the key that would prevent the elevator from stopping on any other floors, then pushed the button marked “10” on the control panel. As the doors closed and the car began to ascend, Slater took in another deep breath and turned to his charge.

“Mr. President,” he began. “I don’t know how to tell you this…”

He was interrupted by an impatient gesture from Grayson, who had suddenly become very interested in what was coming over the earplug of the radio link that he had tucked in his ear.

~~~

Becker was the first out of the stairwell, surprising the two agents guarding the door there. They both had their guns out in a flash and aimed at his chest.

“Stop! Identify yourself immediately!” one of the younger men demanded.

“It’s alright, son,” Becker told him calmly, raising his hands. “I’m one of you. There’s been some kind of disturbance down in one of the back service areas and Slater sent me up to make sure everything was still secure up here. He’s on the way up with Pass Key in the main elevator now.” Or, at least, he should be if nothing happened to delay him!

“I’ll need to see your ID!” the younger agent told him firmly, while his partner continued to cover him carefully.

“Of course,” Becker nodded, reaching slowly for his wallet in his jacket pocket. He knew the others could hear everything that was taking place from where they still remained hidden in the stairwell. He also knew that the clock was still running against them. He had to think fast.

His wallet was in his hand now. He opened it and flashed his official identification.

“Hand it over, please,” the other agent ordered, his tone still suspicious, but slightly more relaxed than a moment ago. This man knew the President’s code name and the name of the agent in charge of this detail. Also, from where he stood, his ID looked real enough, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. He held out his hand but, just as Becker reached to hand him the wallet, it “accidentally” slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor–an old trick, but it worked. The younger man almost reflexively bent to retrieve it. He and his partner were both distracted just long enough for Starsky, Hutch and Paula to burst out of the stairwell and overcome them both.

“What should we do with these two?” Starsky asked as he gently lowered the second man he’d beaned that day to the floor. His conscience was beginning to bother him a bit, but he knew it couldn’t be helped.

“Leave them!” Becker said as he picked up his wallet and tucked it back into his inside jacket pocket. “We don’t have time for anything else. Come on!”

~~~

“I’m in charge of this detail and I say we take the President back down to the lobby. Now!” Slater said angrily.

Grayson, who’d pushed the button to stop the elevator between floors, shook his head. “Yes, sir. But with all due respect, I still think it would be better to continue the tenth floor. Whatever’s going on, the disturbance seems to be contained on the lower floors, so the upper level is probably safest. Also, with both the President and the Premier’s widow on the same floor, we can pool our resources to better to protect them both!”

The third man in the elevator cleared his throat discreetly at this. “I agree with Grayson,” he put in softly. “If my opinion matters any, I say we go on.”

Slater sighed. “Mr. President,” he began again, and was again interrupted.

“Sir!” Grayson told him. “Henry and Black have just been found unconscious in the laundry room! We definitely have a breach on the lower levels!”

Slater thought furiously. Hopefully, the person responsible for the breach was his partner. But if it wasn’t… “What are you waiting for, Grayson?” he demanded. “Get this car moving on up to 10!” The younger man nodded and turned the override key once more as he and Slater moved their charge to the back of the car and unholstered their weapons.

Several things happened at once. Becker and the others came around a turn in the hallway just as the elevator carrying Slater, Grayson and the President arrived. At the same moment that the doors of the elevator parted, the door to suite 1032 opened and, despite the protests of the agent on her heels, a woman in a long, black dress with long, dark hair stepped out into the corridor. The agents who had been stationed outside the elevator drew their weapons and aimed them at Becker, Starsky, Paula and Hutch, but were unable to use them because of the woman in their line of fire. Meanwhile, the agent who’d followed Rogue Star into the hallway saw the perceived threat to her safety and had grabbed her by the shoulders, intending to bodily pull her back into the suite to protect her. He never felt the blow as the heel of her hand connected violently with his nose, shattering it and driving the splintered bones up into his brain, killing him instantly.

For Slater, everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. He saw the Sultan’s girlfriend’s calm execution of the agent who’d been guarding her. She looked up from the body on the floor at her feet and her emotionless eyes met Slater’s for the briefest of moments before moving to focus on her target behind him, her body already in motion to cross the small distance that separated her from her main objective. Slater heard Grayson gasp as he raised his weapon and, without another thought, fired at the oncoming woman. Her body jerked as the bullets hit her, but her expression remained determined as her momentum continued to carry her forward. The fifth shot finally brought her to her knees. She glared at Slater a moment more, then collapsed in a dark heap on the carpet.

Slater heard a small sound behind him. He turned, expecting to find Grayson’s gun trained on him. He wasn’t disappointed, but what he had not been expecting was to find that the younger agent now also had his other arm wrapped around the President’s waist and was using him as a shield.

“What are you doing, Grayson?” he asked the younger man calmly.

“I’m just finishing what you started, Slater,” Grayson growled. “The Sultan is not going to be very happy when he hears what you’ve done!”

Everyone else in the corridor was frozen in place, watching this latest turn of events without being sure how to react. Slater felt his heart sink. The Sultan had told him his men would be nearby. And yet the thought that he might have anyone else in the Service on his payroll had never occurred to him.

“How’d he get to you, Grayson?” he asked the younger agent almost gently. “My son was my price. What was yours?”

“None of your business!” the traitor snarled. “Now, put the gun on the floor. Slowly. And as for the rest of you, nobody move or the President gets it!”

Slater was shaking his head. “Don’t you think that’s rather a weak threat, Grayson? Since we all know you’re planning to kill him anyway!”

“Shut up!” Grayson screamed. One of the agents who’d been guarding the elevator decided to make a move. He raised his weapon, hoping to be able to find a shot without hitting the President. Grayson saw the movement and shifted his aim and fired at the other man just as Slater shoved the President aside, slammed into Grayson and grabbed the gun, trying to wrestle it from his hand. The shot meant for the agent in the hallway went wide and buried itself in the wall. Grayson and Slater struggled for what seemed like a small eternity but was actually only a few seconds, until suddenly the gun went off again. Everyone stared, wondering which of the three men in the elevator might have been hit. Then, with exaggerated slowness, Grayson silently slumped to the floor.

Slater bent and checked for a pulse, then wrenched the gun from the other man’s limp fingers and threw it disgustedly onto the floor a few feet away. Grayson might still live to stand trial. With a sigh, Slater turned to find that the weapons of all the other agents in the corridor were now trained on him, Becker and the others seeming to have been temporarily forgotten. He pointedly ignored them all as he turned back to the slightly rumpled man beside him.

“Mr. President, I know that what has just transpired must seem very confusing, and must have raised some doubts in your mind, as well as those of my fellow agents, about my trustworthiness. Arrest me if you feel you have to. Yet, even as we speak, the man who orchestrated this attack, a man who poses a much more serious threat to yourself and this nation’s security than I do, is still at large and may be getting away. He must be stopped–if not by me, then by my partner, Brian Becker, here and these others that he has brought with him. Only we know enough about this man to have a chance of locating him in time to prevent his escape!”

The President stared at him for several seconds, then nodded. “Let them go!” he ordered the other agents.

“Mr. President! Even if I had the authority to do that, I can’t…” one of the agents in the corridor began to protest.

“You may not have the authority,” the President shot back. ” But I do! Go on, Slater. But rest assured, there will be a full investigation into this matter, for which I will expect you, your partner and these others here all to be present.”

“Yes, sir. We were planning to be,” Slater promised. He turned to face his fellow agents, who stared at him a moment more before reluctantly lowering their weapons. “This is an official duck and run, folks!” he said then. “Exit Plan C! Move it!” This, at least, was familiar ground again. The other agents scrambled without any further hesitation to comply with Slater’s order.

“Let’s go, B.B.,” Alan whispered to his partner as he reached him, herding Becker and the others back the way they had come. “Our boss is going to be hearing about this any minute now, and I don’t think he will be quite so willing to trust us!”

Two agents looked up as the freight elevator’s doors opened onto the ground floor again. Relief flooded their features as they recognized Slater among its passengers.

“Sir! The reports coming in have been rather confusing. What’s going on?” one of them asked.

“There’s been an incident. Pass Key is safe, but the Raven and two agents are down. Exit Plan C is in progress,” Slater told them.

Both blanched, and then nodded. “Yes, Sir!” they called as they ran off to carry out their assigned roles in the preplanned evacuation.

Becker took over the lead again, avoiding the laundry room where the two agents they had incapacitated on the way in might still be lingering, and headed instead for another service entrance further toward the back of the building. They passed several more agents on the way out, but they all recognized Slater and were too busy with their assigned tasks to ask questions about the odd group with him.

No one spoke until they were well away from the hotel in Becker’s car again. “Where to?” Becker asked his partner then. The black man was once more behind the wheel with Slater in the front seat now beside him and Hutch, Starsky and Paula together in the back.

“The Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport,” Slater answered. “The Sultan keeps a small private jet fueled and ready there at all times for just such an emergency. I only hope we can beat him to it!”

Except for an occasional suggestion on what route they should take from the two police officers, they made the trip to the small airport in tense silence. As Becker wove madly in and out of traffic and pushed the government-issue sedan to its limits, Starsky found himself longing for his beloved Torino with himself behind the wheel instead of Becker. He knew without conceit that he was an excellent driver. With the mars light going and the Torino’s power, he could have shaved precious minutes off their time.

Not that Becker wasn’t doing an outstanding job! The black agent pulled a couple of maneuvers that caused Starsky to grin in admiration and made Hutch’s knuckles go white where he gripped the back of the seat in front of him. If the situation had not been so desperate, Starsky might even have enjoyed the ride. As it was, he satisfied himself with making mental notes of some of Becker’s driving techniques for future reference.

As they took the turnoff into the small airport on two wheels, Slater pointed to a hanger at the far end, where several people were loading luggage into a sleek-looking little jet as the pilot went through the preflight engine tests.

“That’s it! That’s his plane!” Slater told them. Just then, a man they all recognized stepped out of the nearby hanger and turned toward the sound of the approaching car. The Sultan frowned, then his expression changed to one of panic. He yelled something they couldn’t hear to the men loading the plane and broke into a run. The others looked in the direction their boss had indicated, then threw the last bags into the cabin and climbed in themselves. As they reached to pull the Sultan and another man onboard, the plane began to roll.

Becker swerved the car as the last man to board the jet turned in the still open cabin door, raised a gun and squeezed off a couple of shots in their direction. Slater rolled down the window on his side of the car and returned his fire. One of Slater’s shots connected and the shooter inside the moving aircraft grabbed his chest and tumbled out onto the tarmac in front of the sedan. Becker tapped the brakes and swerved to miss him, spoiling Slater’s aim as another man now appeared in the door to send a couple more rounds their way before pulling the door closed at last.

The pilot kicked the engines up another notch and the sleek little craft picked up more speed. Becker pushed the sedan’s accelerator to the floor in an attempt to keep up as the small plane effortlessly outdistanced them as it fled down the taxiway ahead of them. Slater was leaning out of the open window on his side of the car, still firing, hoping to hit one of the jet’s tires or otherwise damage the aircraft’s control surfaces enough to prevent the plane from taking to the air. Starsky clung desperately to Hutch’s belt to keep him from falling as he also leaned out of the car as far as he dared on his side to add his Magnum’s heavier caliber fire to Slater’s efforts. Still the little jet sped on, reaching the end of the taxiway far ahead of the slower sedan, where the pilot executed an enviably tight turn and, with almost no loss of speed, began accelerating down the last short strip of asphalt that separated them from actual the runway.

“Hang on!” Becker cried as he suddenly threw the speeding sedan into reverse, whipping the car around on its axis in a desperate maneuver that brought a shriek of protest from the abused transmission and a cry of fear from Paula as she saw Starsky’s fingers slip on Hutch’s belt as the force of the turn tore the thin leather from his grasp. She lunged across the seat, latching onto one long leg just as Starsky managed to get a grip on the other. They both hung on for dear life as Becker slammed the still squealing transmission into drive again and floored the accelerator once more. Hutch’s face as Paula and Starsky pulled him back into the car was so white that it made his hair look dark in comparison.

“You ok, partner?” Starsky managed to gasp, his own face ghost pale. Hutch nodded, too shaken up to speak. Paula clung to him fiercely, tears streaming unnoticed down her face. Somehow, even as he’d guided the clumsy sedan through a maneuver it had never been designed to make, Becker had managed to snag a handful of Slater’s coat and he, too, was now safely back inside the car. Starsky’s respect for the black man went up another level.

Meanwhile, the fleeing plane had reached the runway at last. The pilot executed another impossibly tight turn that brought the nose of the craft around until it pointed towards the far end of the strip and freedom. The little jet’s engines whined eagerly as the pilot revved them up towards takeoff speed.

Becker made one last desperate bid to stop them. Cutting sharply across the grassy strip that separated them from the runway, he pulled the sedan directly into the path of the speeding jet and slammed on the brakes. All of them stared at the oncoming danger as they threw open their doors and piled out of the car, but no one made a move to get out of the way. Instead, they all drew their weapons and stood their ground as they faced down the rapidly approaching aircraft, determined one way or the other to stop it from taking off, even at the risk of their own lives.

The engines’ whine took on a shriller note as the pilot frantically pushed them to their limits and beyond. At the last possible instant, the nose rose off the ground, the landing gear barely clearing the sedan’s roof as the plane lifted into the air. Slater, Becker, Hutch, Starsky and Paula all emptied every round in their guns into the belly of the little plane as it skimmed over their heads. The jet wobbled once under their combined onslaught, then leveled off and was gone.

Becker and the others slumped against the sides of the car in defeat as the airport’s emergency crews’ vehicles now bore down on them with lights flashing and sirens howling in the sudden silence left in the jet’s wake.

 

Chapter 25: In The Wake of the Storm

Hutch looked around the sterile little room and sighed. God, he hated hospitals! Still, it was better than the alternative, he supposed. If not for some quick talk and a little blackmail by Dobey, he, Starsky and Paula could as easily have been spending their time waiting for the hearing in a jail cell.

Unbeknownst to them, the hotel’s security cameras had captured their part in yesterday’s fiasco. Actually, all the tape had shown was a few seconds of the four of them running down the south stairwell, but it had been enough to get a few good frames of all of their faces. One of the local stations had somehow gotten hold of it and blown those frames up, and the footage had been all over the evening news. The Commissioner had nearly had a coronary when he’d seen it and recognized the two missing Metro officers. Only Dobey’s insistence that his detectives needed medical care, and repeated protests that arresting them would only lead to even more negative publicity for the department, had kept them out of the county lockup. Even so, they were still virtually under arrest, though the guards outside their door were ostensibly there for their protection.

Paula was once again sharing a room with the two men, a third bed for her having been squeezed into a semi-private room that normally held only two. She had pulled some muscles in her back when she’d grabbed Hutch to help Starsky keep him from falling out the window. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her system at the time had kept her from even feeling the injury until later after things had finally settled down. To tell the truth, the damage wasn’t so severe that it would normally require her to be in the hospital, but Dobey had convinced her boss that it would be as good a way to keep her out of trouble as it was for his two detectives. So, she had been admitted as well.

At first, the hospital had been vehemently against of the idea of having them all in one room, but after only one night of having them sneaking from one room to the other, they had decided that it would be easier on the staff and their guards just to give in. The third bed had been brought in along with a folding screen to give Paula at least an illusion of privacy, though, so far, it had mostly stayed folded up in the corner. Paula, who had come to feel very close to both Hutch and his partner in a short time, had grown up with a pack of brothers and boy cousins and so was quite comfortable sharing her living space with males. Most of the medical staff still frowned at the impropriety of it all whenever they had to come into the room. “What’s the big deal anyway?” Starsky wondered. “We’re all friends! And besides, this is the 70’s, for crying out loud! They got coed dorms, so why not coed hospital rooms?”

The t.v. was on and Hutch was once again scowling at the screen. The attempt on the President’s life had not only not dampened the mood of the Governor’s reception, it actually seemed to have added excitement to the evening. What airtime the networks had not devoted to the events at the hotel yesterday afternoon was being spent this morning on reviewing who had worn what and been seen with whom at the party last night. It may well have become the social event of the year.

Suddenly, Hutch sat up a bit straighter in his bed, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume. Starsky and Paula both looked up to see what had caught his interest.

“In other news,” the red-haired woman on the screen was saying, “Authorities still have not been able to confirm the identities of the pilot or passengers of a small private jet that crashed into the Pacific Ocean yesterday evening approximately fifty miles off the California coastline. The crews of several fishing boats anchored near the area say that the engines of the plane seemed to be making an unusual noise just before the small aircraft hit the water at high speed and disintegrated. The downed plane fits the description of one that reportedly took off under suspicious circumstances from the Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena Airport less than half an hour before the crash. The Coast Guard is conducting a search of the area for survivors, yet, because of the violence of the impact, a spokesperson for the Guard says they feel it is unlikely that anyone will be found alive. We’ll bring you more on this story as details become available.

“On the lighter side, the Los Angeles Zoo is getting ready for a visit from the stork!”

Hutch hit the mute button and turned to face his two roommates, his eyes wide in shock. “Damn!” he whispered.

Starsky silently agreed with the sentiment. “Do ya really think it was the Sultan’s plane, Hutch?” he asked wistfully.

The blond detective sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I hope so, Starsk. But, unless they can find and positively identify his body, on some level I’ll always wonder if he got away.”

Paula smiled, reaching across the small gap between their beds to take Hutch’s nearest hand. “Just the thought that we might have gotten him is going to help me sleep sounder at night!” she declared.

“Yeah,” Starsky said. “Me, too. ‘Sides, we have other things to worry about. Like that hearin’ that’s comin’ up in a couple of days.”

“At least they aren’t going to make us wait long!” Hutch said with a rueful smile. “In the meantime, I suppose we will just have to make the best of it. I hate to say it, but this is the closest thing Starsky and I have had to a vacation in over a year!” he laughed, leaning back in the bed again and folding his arms behind head.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t had any vacation time in quite a while either,” Paula agreed as she left her bed to come curl up beside him on his. “I guess that makes it almost our duty to enjoy our time off as much as possible!” Hutch sighed in contentment as she rested her head on his good shoulder, careful not to jar the other one. His injured arm was still terribly sore, but nowhere near as bad it had been before. He hardly needed the pain pills anymore, except last night when he was trying to sleep and even then he’d only taken half the dose he had been.

Starsky tossed a tolerant smile their way and focused his attention on the television again. “Okay, just don’t forget I’m here, too, guys!” he teased. “Or at least have the decency to wait until I’m asleep or somethin’ before ya’ get too friendly over there!”

Paula reached across and snagged the pillow from her bed and handed it to Hutch, who hit Starsky squarely in the face with it. Starsky grinned and tucked the extra pillow behind his head. “Thanks! How’d ya’ know I wanted another pillow?” he said, his violet eyes dancing.

Hutch shook his head and settled back into his own pillow once more and closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly drowsy. Starsky had taken charge of the remote and had found a morning cartoon show. His soft chuckles at the antics of Tom and Jerry blended with the murmur of the television and Paula’s warmth to ease the blond detective further toward sleep. Just then, the peace in the room was shattered by a loud voice from the hallway.

“All right, you three! What’s this I hear about you playing musical rooms all night?” Dobey demanded gruffly, making them all jump as he came into the room. The captain’s smile belied his angry tone.

Hutch blushed as Dobey raised his eyebrows slightly at the sight of him and Paula curled up together on his bed, but wasn’t embarrassed enough to ask her to go back to her own. Dobey shrugged, deciding that, if it was okay with the three of them, he wasn’t about to make it his business, and sat down on the end of Starsky’s bed so that he could talk to them all.

“I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this,” the captain began, eyeing Starsky, “But I for one am sure gonna be glad when that ridiculous hair of yours grows back!”

Hutch chuckled and Starsky ran a self-conscious hand over the dark stubble that was just beginning to come in on his scalp. “Me, too, Cap’n!” Starsky agreed wholeheartedly. “I feel weird without it!”

“Believe me, buddy, you look weird, too!” Hutch put in with an evil grin.

“Thanks, babe!” Starsky pouted, pretending to be hurt. “I love you, too!” Hutch only chuckled, knowing his friend wasn’t really that upset by the remark, and Starsky was forced to look away to hide his smile. He’d seen himself in a mirror after all and Hutch was right–he did look weird!

“Yeah, well, the damage to my looks ain’t all I’m sufferin’, Hutch!” Starsky added in a pitiful tone, “It’s also cold bein’ bald!”

Hutch’s grin broadened. He could tell his partner was going to milk this for all it was worth.

“I tell you what, Starsk,” he said, light blue eyes twinkling devilishly, “I have this friend who makes wigs. I’ll give her a call once we get out of here and see if she can come up with something for you until your own hair grows back in! Wonder what you’d look like as a blond?”

Starsky shot him a dirty look. “Thanks, but no thanks, Hutch! One Blond Blintz on this team is enough! I think I’ll just stick to wearin’ hats!!”

“Just trying to help, pal!” Hutch chuckled, then grunted as Paula nudged him none to gently in the ribs. Hutch turned to stare at her in surprise.

“I think that’s enough picking on poor Dave for now!” she warned him as Starsky burst out laughing.

“You tell ‘im, Paula!” he encouraged her. “I have to put up with this kinda stuff from him all the time!”

“You poor thing!” Paula commiserated, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, not while I’m around you won’t!”

“Wh-what?” Hutch stammered, looking from one to the other in bewilderment. “Now, wait a minute, Paula! You’re supposed to be on my side!” he protested in an injured tone.

“Who says?” she returned innocently.

Hutch opened his mouth to argue with her, but Dobey stopped him with another patented Dobey glare. “Hamilton’s right, Hutchinson. Dave’s been through enough without your wisecracks on top of it, so cut it out!” he ordered, his expression set in a fierce scowl, but his eyes shining.

Hutch looked again from his grinning partner, to Paula, to his captain, then crossed his arms on his chest with a mock angry, “Hmmph!” at suddenly finding them all ganged up against him.

Once their laughter had subsided, the conversation turned to other matters.

“You heard anything about Becker and Slater, Cap?” Starsky asked, sobering again.

Dobey shook his head. “I tried talking to their supervisor,” he said, “but was informed in no uncertain terms that anything concerning the two of them was strictly ‘need to know’, and I didn’t need to.”

“Well, I, for one, still think Slater deserves anything that happens to him!” Paula declared. “And yet, now that I’ve had a chance to get to know him better, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Becker.”

“Yes. Well,” Dobey said, clearing his throat, “Maybe the three of you should save some of that concern for yourselves! From what I’ve been able to gather, you’re all going to be facing some pretty serious charges at that hearing! Yesterday, before you were admitted to the hospital, you tried to give me a sketchy outline of how you’d ended up here. Perhaps now is a good time to tell me the rest of the story!”

They did just that, the three of them taking turns until they had filled in all of the blanks they could for him. When they had finished, Dobey sat in silence for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he heaved a big sigh and got to his feet.

“I can’t say this is the smartest thing either of you have ever done,” he began gruffly, shaking a stern finger at his two officers. “You ignored proper procedure in just about everything you did in this case, and it’d serve you right if you all landed in prison! Still, no matter what they decide at that hearing, I’m proud of you boys! Your hearts were in the right place, even if your brains weren’t! That goes for you, too, Hamilton, if my opinion matters to you.”

“It does, Captain Dobey. Thank you,” Paula replied with a smile.

“Yeah, thanks, Cap!” Starsky grinned. “And if we do go to prison, I promise I’ll write ya’ every day!”

Dobey snorted. “I bet you would, too, just to annoy me!” he huffed. “Well, I can’t stand here talking all day. I have a department to run…or, at least, I still do for the moment. I think the Commissioner is just waiting to see how the wind is gonna blow after that hearing before he decides if it’s in his best interest to fire me or not!”

Hutch blushed then. “I’m sorry, Cap’n!” he apologized sincerely. “I never thought about how this mess might affect your career!”

“Would you have done anything differently if you had?” Dobey asked, offering Hutch a kind smile when the younger man couldn’t answer that one. “I didn’t think so.” He reached out to squeeze Hutch’s good shoulder gently. “Listen, son, just so you know, my problems with the Commissioner have nothin’ to do with you two! That trouble has been brewing for years. I guess I finally just got fed up enough to speak my mind, is all.”

Starsky’s eyes had grown wide. “What did you say to him?” he asked in an awed tone.

“None of your damned business!” Dobey shot back with a scowl, but his eyes twinkled in his broad, dark face. “I’m going back to the station now, and I don’t want to hear of you three reprobates giving these nice people any more trouble, do you hear?”

“Yes, Sir!” the three patients replied in unison.

“Good! I’ll come by and check on you all again on my way home tonight. Is there anything I can bring any of you?”

“Do you think you could bring me some tacos, Cap?” Starsky asked hopefully. “Or maybe a couple of burritos? I don’t know about Hutch or Paula, but I’m about to starve to death and the food here is awful!”

Dobey looked Starsky over carefully, noticing that he might indeed have dropped a couple of pounds, before he turned to Paula and Hutchinson. “Is the food really that bad?” he asked softly.

Hutch grinned. “No worse than usual, Cap,” he assured their superior. “Starsky’s just in a snit because the head nurse wouldn’t let him keep the pizza he called out for last night!”

“Why not?” Dobey asked, curious in spite of himself.

“It may have had something to do with the fact that it was after hours,” Hutch chuckled. “But I get the feeling it was mostly because, once the delivery boy got here, Starsky didn’t have any money to pay for it!”

“Hey!” Starsky grumbled, “I told them both the department would pay for it if they’d just add it to my bill! Isn’t that right, Cap?”

Dobey chuckled and patted Starsky’s nearest knee. “I don’t think it works that way,” he told him gently. “But, I’ll see what I can do about getting you something decent to eat, son. I want you and Hutchinson to make the best impression you can at that hearing, and you can’t do that if you go in there fainting from malnutrition!”

“Thanks, Cap!” Starsky grinned again, genuinely pleased.

“Yeah, well. Don’t go thinkin’ this means I’m getting soft on you or anything, Starsky!” Dobey teased in a warning tone “I’m just thinking of the department’s image!”

“Anything you say, Cap!” Starsky laughed, before turning to stage whisper to Hutch, “Did ya’ hear him? He called me ‘son’!”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Gordo!” Hutch told him. “He called me ‘son’, too.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he did…but he’s bringing me tacos!” Starsky finished with a “top that!” grin.

Hutch just shook his head and turned back to their boss. “You know you’ve got to now, Captain. Otherwise he’ll never let you hear the end of it!”

“I’ll bring enough for all of you,” Dobey promised, on the way out the door. “We’ll have a regular Mexican feast! But that means you’d better behave yourself the rest of the day, Starsky! Otherwise that head nurse might not allow it!”

“Oh, don’t worry about her, Cap!” Starsky declared confidently, settling back on his bed and returning his attention to his cartoon show. “A few more hours of the Starsky charm, and she’ll be putty in my hands!”

Hutch gave Dobey another long-suffering look as Paula rolled her eyes and shook her head. The captain continued to chuckle to himself as he made his way back down to his car and headed back to the station. He was still worried about the hearing, but, for the time being, he felt better than he had in over a week.

 

Chapter 26: Paying The Piper

The Mexican Feast turned out to be an unqualified success. Dobey not only brought enough food to feed an army, he brought the army, too. At least twenty people were squeezed into the tiny hospital room at any one time, all of them realizing without mentioning it that, should things go badly at the hearing, this might be the last party the guests of honor got to attend for quite some time, if ever. Half the officers from Metro showed up, needing something to celebrate following the funerals of the nine officers they’d lost earlier in the week. Dobey’s wife and kids came, of course, as well as Huggy and several of the regulars from The Pits, and even the taciturn Merle dropped in for a minute.

Much to Hutch’s bemusement, Starsky had somehow been able not only to con the stern head of the night nursing shift into allowing all this, but had even sweet-talked her into letting the last party-goers stay an extra hour after visiting hours were supposed to have ended, on the condition that none of the other patients on their hall complained. Only two other rooms on their hallway were occupied that evening, and the patients in them were easily appeased once they were offered a share of the aforementioned feast. Hutch could only shake his head once more at his partner’s uncanny art of persuasion. Not that he should be that surprised, he guessed. After all, how many times had he been smooth-talked into just about whatever his best friend wanted by that special Starsky combination of little boy smile and big, blue eyes?

The remaining two days between the party and the hearing passed quietly, the reality of what they might all actually be facing perhaps sinking in at last. The morning they were scheduled to appear before the committee for the first time dawned gray and cool, with a light drizzle falling. Paula’s supervisor came by early to pick her up, wanting to use those extra few hours to go over her testimony one last time. Starsky knew that saying goodbye to her had to have been hard on Hutch. Hell, it hadn’t been easy for him! Once she was gone, the tiny hospital room suddenly seemed too big and too quiet and an air of depression settled over them both. Starsky and Hutch took turns showering, shaving and dressing in silence, the morning cartoon show that Starsky had turned on again doing nothing to lighten the mood.

It was almost a relief when Dobey showed up to take them to the government offices downtown where the preliminaries were to take place. If the committee decided that their involvement warranted it, they might each also be called to testify in Washington, D.C. But, so far, they had only been told to expect to testify at the local proceedings.

All three Metro officers wore their dress uniforms for this occasion. Dobey had dug the two detectives’ out of the backs of each of their closets and had everything pressed and polished for them before dropping them off the night before. Now the captain looked them both over critically from head to toe, straightening Starsky’s tie before finally nodding his approval of their appearance. “Someone might actually mistake you two for professionals for once!” he quipped lightly as he unlocked the doors of his car for them down in the hospital parking lot.

Starsky couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Dobey’s appearance as well as he stole yet another glance at his superior as he drove. The man positively glittered with all the decorations he had received over the years! He was even more surprised to note how many citations he and Hutch had added to their own collections since the last time they had been called to put them on, each one its own silent testimony to their character. And Dobey had been very careful to make sure that he and Hutch displayed them all–they were going to need all the back up they could get!

The hearing took place in what looked more like a conference room for some big corporation than a courtroom. The Metro officers were taken first to another, smaller room where they had to wait under the stony gazes of half a dozen armed Marines until they were each called to testify. Starsky was the first to be called. Escorted by Dobey and two of the Marine guards, he gave Hutch a nervous smile and got a thumb’s up in return before he was taken down the hall to the conference room.

Paula, along with her supervisor and her own pair of Marines, was just coming out as he was being brought in. Neither of them spoke, but she smiled at him as they passed each other in the doorway. She looked tired, Starsky noted as he found himself unconsciously coming to attention before he walked on into the room and took his seat across the big table from the committee.

Several exhausting hours later, the head of the committee finally looked up and announced that it was Hutch’s turn. It was all Starsky could do not to groan out loud as he rose to leave. Both his head and his shoulder, neither of which had given him much trouble during this last stay in the hospital, were throbbing again and only an act of sheer will kept him from staggering as he slowly straightened and forced his stiff legs to carry him from the room with as much dignity he could muster.

“How’d it go?” Hutch whispered as they passed in the doorway, earning him a frown from one of his guards and a subtle headshake from Dobey. Starsky could only shrug in reply. The members of the committee had asked their endless rounds of questions and listened to his answers in a completely professional, almost bored manner that had offered him no clue at all as to what they might be thinking.

He was taken back to the same room they’d all been taken to before, where he spent several more hours pacing and staring at the walls. There weren’t any magazines or anything in the room to help pass the time and not even a window to look out of. Dobey was in with Hutch and none of the guards allowed him to draw them into a conversation. The only break came when he finally gave in to the pain in his head and shoulder enough to ask if he could have a little water to take a couple of Tylenol with. Two of the guards had then walked him down the hall and around the corner to a water fountain. They had even let him visit the nearby john, one going in with him while the other waited outside in the hallway. Starsky “harrumphed” to himself as he came back out–it’d been a long time since he’d been escorted to the bathroom! What’d they think he was gonna do, crawl out a window? They were on the eighteenth floor, for Pete’s sake!

“Maybe ya’ better get used to it!” he thought to himself as his guards took him back to the waiting room. If things went badly, he stood to lose a lot more than a little privacy!

Too tired to pace anymore, he flopped into the least uncomfortable of the room’s few chairs to stare into space, trying unsuccessfully to distract himself from the disturbing thoughts that filled his mind by attempting to name all of his favorite Bogart movies in alphabetical order.

“Let’s see, there’s The Big Sleep, then Casablanca…oops! Almost forgot African Queen! That was a good one! I especially like that scene where Bogart is havin’ tea with the missionary and his sister, and he’s tryin’ so hard to make a good impression, but his stomach keeps growlin’ ’cause he’s so hungry! Boy, I sure know how that feels!”

He had not meant to doze off, but must have, as the sound of the door opening startled him awake. He looked up to see his partner being escorted back into the room, his fair complexion even paler than usual from weariness, yet still managing to find a smile from somewhere for his friend. Starsky gave him a lopsided one in return.

“What now?” Starsky asked when Dobey had joined them a few minutes later.

“They’ve called a two hour lunch break but will reconvene this afternoon. They’ve indicated that they want to hear both of your testimonies again at that time,” the captain told them.

“You’re kidding!” Hutch declared, earning himself a glare from their boss.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Dobey shot back, then sighed. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

They weren’t allowed to leave the building for lunch. Instead, the Marine guards guided them all to an elevator and down several floors to another room with a large table in the middle, though this one was less austere than the one upstairs. On a smaller side table were several big plates piled high with a variety of sandwiches and a couple of bowls of chips and even a big bowl of fresh fruit, along with paper plates and napkins and such. There was also a big urn of coffee and a cooler full of cans of soda and juice.

The guards showed them in and took up positions outside the door, giving them some time alone. The three Metro officers had just settled at the big table with their lunches when the door opened again and Paula and her supervisor were shown in. Hutch’s face lit with the first genuine smile of the day as he crossed the room to hug her briefly. He stayed with her as she fixed herself a plate, then sat beside her at the table.

“How are you holding up?” he asked after she had taken a long drink of her soda and several bites of sandwich.

“Okay, I guess. How about you two?” she asked with the same weary smile she’d given Starsky before.

“Well, I can’t say I’m enjoying myself,” Hutch laughed tiredly, “But it hasn’t exactly been torture either!”

“They must be saving that for after lunch!” Starsky grumbled around a mouthful of his second sandwich, getting the laugh he’d been looking for from them both. The rest of the lunch break passed almost pleasantly. Paula introduced them to her boss, who turned out to be a decent enough guy if a little lacking in personality. At least, that was Starsky’s impression from the few words they exchanged. Most of the time, Dobey and Paula’s supervisor talked quietly at one end of the table while the others ate in companionable silence at the other, too worn out to even try to eavesdrop on what their bosses might be saying about them.

When the lunch break ended, Paula and her superior were escorted into the conference room again, Starsky, Hutch and Dobey were taken back to the waiting room, and the whole process started over again. It was well after eight o’clock that evening before the three Metro officers were escorted at last down to the doors to the parking lot, where their guards let them go on alone. They all breathed a sigh of relief as they climbed back into Dobey’s car. It and one other were the only ones left in the lot.

“Do I even want to know where we’re spending the night?” Hutch asked as he looked back over his shoulder to see that the Marines were still watching them from the doorway even as they drove away.

“You’re going home,” Dobey told them both shortly. “Though you’re not off the hook yet! I’ve had to promise to post a guard at both your places. Damn waste of manpower if you ask me! Especially since I’m down a dozen officers right now, but they insisted, so don’t give me any grief about it!”

“We weren’t plannin’ to,” Starsky assured him, then added, “Cap’n…Hutch and I…well, we don’t know how to thank you enough for stickin’ by us like this!”

“Yeah,” Hutch put in. “No matter how this turns out, we know you’ve done all you can for us!”

Dobey snorted. “It was the least I could do, boys,” he told them softly. “In spite of all the bone-headed pranks the two of you have pulled over the years, you’re still two of the finest officers it’s ever been my pleasure to command…though if either of you repeat that to anyone I’ll deny I ever said it!”

Both partners found themselves temporarily at a loss for words. Then, finally, Hutch broke the uncomfortable silence, speaking for both of them. “That means a lot to us, Captain. Especially coming from you! It’s been an honor to serve with you, too.”

“Yeah…well,” Dobey huffed gruffly, “Thanks. Now, enough of the mushy stuff! Here’s your place, Hutchinson! If I were you, I’d have dinner and go straight to bed! The committee wants you both back there first thing in the morning! Make sure that uniform gets put on a hanger rather than thrown in the floor! I’ve seen your idea of housekeepin’!”

Hutch hesitated before getting out of the car. “Uh, Cap…You happen to know where Paula’s staying tonight?” he asked, blushing.

Dobey’s tone softened a little again. “Her supervisor asked me to get her things from your apartment while I was here yesterday getting your uniform. I got the impression he’s booked them both rooms in a hotel for the night, though I honestly don’t know which one. Sorry, son.”

“Hey, partner!” Starsky put in then. “I just had a great idea! Rather than puttin’ the captain here to the trouble of drivin’ all the way out to my place tonight, why don’t I stay here with you? That is, if you don’t mind. It’d save him the extra trip in the morning, too, so he could spend a little more time with his family or whatever before he has to come and pick us up! What do you say?”

Hutch smiled at his friend gratefully. It was just like Starsky to do something nice for him and then act as if he was the one doing the favor! “Okay, Starsk! It’s a deal…though I get the bed! That is, if it’s all right with you, Cap’n?” Hutch asked. Both of them looked at him hopefully.

Dobey sighed. “Get out my car, you two, before I change my mind and haul you both downtown and book you a cell for the night!”

“Thanks!” both men grinned as they piled happily out of the car.

“Don’t go reading too much into this!” he called after them. “It just so happens that it’s a good idea. Also, it means I get to keep one more man on regular duty, since, with the two of you in the same place, I’ll only have to post one guard for you both! Remember what I said about turning in early! And no beer, ya’ hear me?” he continued as the two men fled up the stairs. “I don’t want either of you walking in there tomorrow looking hungover! And you’d both better be ready and waiting when I get here in the morning! This means you, Starsky!” he threatened at their retreating backs.

“Yes, Sir!” Hutch called over his shoulder, and, “‘Night, Cap’n!” Starsky called at the same time.

The captain only shook his head, smiling to himself as he waited to make sure that the promised guard was in place before putting the car into gear again, eager to make his weary way to his own home and family.

 

Chapter 27: “Troubles By The Number…”

As soon as the door had closed behind them, cutting off the last of Dobey’s admonitions, Hutch’s smile faded again. Starsky saw the change in his expression, of course–had been expecting it even! But he just plastered that much broader a grin on his own face and pretended not to notice.

“Whew!” he declared brightly into the silence, “It sure feels good to be home again! Feels like I’ve been away for a month or more! What ya’ got to eat around here, partner? I’m starvin’!”

Hutch blushed slightly. “To tell the truth, Starsk, not much!” he admitted sheepishly. “I’ve been so busy these last few days that I haven’t had time to get to the store!”

Starsky immediately felt contrite. “Of course he’s been busy, dummy!” he mentally scolded himself. “He’s been out all week workin’ his butt off lookin’ for you!”

Out loud he only said. “No problem, Hutch. We’ll just call out for a pizza! I’ll even treat this time…that is, if you’ve still got my wallet and all here!” he added. It was his turn to blush as he recalled the last time he’d tried ordering a pizza at the hospital, not remembering until it had arrived and the deliver boy had smuggled it up to their room that he didn’t have any way to pay for it!

In spite of himself, Hutch couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, remembering the same incident. “Yeah, Starsk! Your stuff’s still here…though, if you have anything more than a couple of bucks in your wallet, it’d be a first!” he teased, going to the closet behind the front door to retrieve the plastic bag that his friend’s things were still in from the first time this week Starsky had been admitted to a hospital. He took it out, then just stood there a long moment, suddenly sobering again, shuddering slightly as his fingers closed more tightly around the handle of the bag, remembering how he had clutched it as he’d waited to hear if his partner was going to be okay or not.

As always, Starsky was immediately aware of the change in his mood. “It’s all right, Hutch,” he said softly, almost as if he could read his thoughts. “I’m right here and I’m just fine…other than bein’ close to fainting from starvation, that is!” he added with another mischievous grin.

“We can’t have that!” Hutch suddenly declared, his mood lightening once more. “Believe me, I’ve tried it and I wouldn’t recommend it!”

Starsky frowned at him in puzzlement. “What are you goin’ on about now, Blondie?” he asked.

“Paula didn’t tell you I fainted, did she?” Hutch asked with a mischievous twinkle of his own, knowing full well that she wouldn’t have.

“What?!” Starsky gasped. “When?”

Hutch took his partner by his good arm, steering him over to the couch as he began to fill Starsky in on the details. “It was the same morning Carla was killed,” he began softly, his voice growing serious again. “God, Starsk! That was a bad day! Anyway, Paula and I had been out looking for her when we got the news and we’d just gotten back here to the apartment when there was this knock on the door, only, when I went to answer it, there was no one there…just this envelope leaning up against the porch rail. It was one of those manila ones like we keep files in, only not quite as big. Anyway, I looked around and didn’t see anybody, so I brought the thing inside…”

Starsky listened with both horror and amusement to the rest of Hutch’s story, then told him more about his time at the Sultan’s, only leaving out the part about the surveillance pictures of him and Paula and the game the Sultan had tried to play with his head. He still felt too guilty for what he’d let himself be led to believe from those to feel comfortable talking about it yet, even to Hutch. Especially not to Hutch!

They ended up ordering Chinese instead of pizza and Starsky surprised them both by actually turning up enough cash in his wallet to pay for everything but the six pack of Dr. Pepper he’d ordered to go with the food (both of them deciding for once to honor their captain’s ban on beer for the evening).

Afterwards, they just sat around together in companionable silence on the couch, watching some old spaghetti western Starsky had found on the t.v. until neither of them could stifle the yawns anymore.

“Don’t know about you, buddy, but I think I’m gonna to take the captain’s advice about turnin’ in early!” Hutch smiled, unsuccessfully trying to head off yet another yawn. Then, noticing his partner trying to hide yet another wince of pain from his injured shoulder as he got up off the couch, he added gently, “Why don’t you take the bed, Starsk? I’ll be all right out here on the couch for once.”

Starsky turned a grateful smile on his partner. “You sure, Hutch? I mean, I know what it does to your back!”

“I’ll be all right for just tonight, Starsk. So go on! Really!” Hutch assured him, waving him toward the bedroom.

“Okay…if you’re sure,” Starsky answered, turning towards the door, then turning back again with another wicked grin on his face. “We could always share, ya’ know!” he teased, striking a flirtatious pose and batting his eyelashes while making little kissing noises.

Hutch’s reaction didn’t disappoint him. “I don’t know how to break this to ya’, buddy!” Hutch gasped when he’d stopped laughing enough to talk again. “But you’re not my type!!”

Starsky put on a pout, pretending to be crushed. “Aw, Hutch!” he lamented. “And you’re so purty, too!” He ducked just in time to avoid being hit in the face with the cushion Hutch lobbed at him in response, giggling hysterically at his own joke.

“Get out of here, you maniac!” Hutch roared menacingly, holding his sides with his good arm to keep them from splitting as he pointed towards the door of the bedroom with the hand of the other. “Before I call Becker’s friend and have him come and take you back to that loony bin where ya’ belong!”

Starsky took the hint and ducked through the doorway just in time to avoid being hit by the second missile. Almost immediately, he poked his head back out again. “Hey, Hutch?” he called softly.

“What is it now, you big dope?” Hutch groused good-naturedly, looking up at him with a warm smile.

“I meant what I said earlier…about bein’ glad to be home. I really missed ya’, partner.” Starsky said almost shyly.

“I missed you, too, Starsk. You’re gonna have to stop getting yourself into these situations! I’m getting too old to take the strain anymore!”

“I’ll try to be more careful from now on!” Starsky promised, only half teasing. “‘Night, Hutch.”

“Go to bed, Gordo!” Hutch shot back affectionately.

~~~

Both of them were ready and waiting when Dobey arrived the next morning to pick them up, coming out the door and down the stairs before the big man had even had a chance to honk his horn for them. The second day of questioning went much the same way the first one had, the only difference being that the questions now seemed to be more focused on the actions taken by Becker and Slater than those of the two police detectives. By the time they broke for lunch, Dobey informed Starsky that the committee had told him they were through with him.

“What does that mean, Captain?” Starsky asked upon being given the news.

Dobey only shrugged. “How should I know? They just told me to tell you that they didn’t need anything more from you.”

“What about Hutch?” he persisted. “Are they done with him, too?”

Dobey shook his head. “Not yet! In fact, they want to talk to him again right after lunch.”

That information dampened their moods for the rest of the meal.

Back pacing in the waiting room once more, Starsky’s worry and boredom had just begun to turn into anger when the door opened and his exhausted partner was shown into the room, closely followed by their boss.

“Well?” Starsky asked anxiously, crossing the room to lay a hand on his partner’s sleeve.

It was Dobey who answered him. “It’s over, Starsky. The committee has reached a decision…at least, it has concerning the two of you! Paula’s in there again even as we’re talking.”

“So? What did they say?” Starsky managed around the sudden lump in his throat. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach like a rock– his whole future was resting on the answer to that question.

“They’re letting us off, Starsk,” Hutch told him, so softly that his partner could barely hear him. “They’re letting us go. All the charges against us have been dropped. Seems the committee has bigger fish to fry!”

Hutch’s mood was bothering him. He knew his friend was dead tired, but, even allowing for that, he didn’t seem to be nearly as happy as he should have been at the news he’d just delivered.

“What’s wrong, Hutch? You did say all the charges were being dropped, didn’t ya’?”

“All the charges against us have been dropped, Starsk. Paula…Paula’s still in there!” The anguish in Hutch’s eyes tore at Starsky’s heart.

“God, Hutch!” Starsky said, squeezing Hutch’s nearest shoulder, the injured one, gently. “I’m so sorry! I mean, I just assumed, if they were lettin’ us off…”

Hutch nodded his understanding. “She’s a federal agent, Starsky!” he explained in a patient tone. “Which apparently makes her involvement in what took place much more serious than ours!”

Starsky turned stricken eyes to Dobey, only to get a silent nod of agreement from him. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help her?” he whispered.

Hutch shook his head. “I tried, Starsky!” he said, his voice quavering a little now. “I…I told the committee that the only reason either of you went along was because I had decided to and that the two of you were only trying to protect me!”

Starsky drew back, shocked. “You did what?” he choked. “Damn it, Hutch! What did ya’ go and do that for?”

Sky blue eyes and midnight ones locked once more. “Because it’s the truth,” Hutch said simply. “And you know it, too, buddy!”

“Aw, Hutch!” Starsky whispered, using the grip he still had on his partner’s shoulder to draw him into a tight, comforting hug, not caring what the Marine guards who were still waiting by the door or anybody else thought about it.

Dobey cleared his throat softly. “Let’s go home!” he told them, reaching out to gently turn them towards the door. ” There’s nothing else we can do here!”

~~~

Starsky stayed another night at Hutch’s apartment despite his partner’s protests that it wasn’t necessary. “Aren’t you worried about your pet rock?” he’d joked, though the humor in his tone had sounded forced, even to his own ears. “No one’s been by to check on him all week! He must be getting pretty hungry by now!”

“Nah,” Starsky returned, understanding what Hutch was trying to do and deciding to go along with the gag. “I left some Purina Rock Chow out for ‘im when I left to go up to ‘Frisco. I left plenty, just in case something came up and I was gone longer than I planned, so he should still be okay.”

That at least got a snort from Hutch, though the pain in his eyes didn’t lessen any. Officially, they were both on indefinite medical leave. In truth, the Commissioner still had not made up his mind yet about what to do with them. Even though the government committee had dropped all of it’s charges against them, there was still the department to deal with and the possibility of an IA investigation hung over their heads.

Between the uncertainty about their situation and his worry over Paula’s fate, not to mention the rest of the stress he’d been under for the past week and a half, it was no wonder that it all finally caught up to Hutch. He woke Starsky up in the middle of the night crying out in his sleep, delirious from a high fever. When an hour had passed and the fever had climbed another two degrees, despite the cool sponge baths and the Tylenol Starsky had somehow managed to get down his partner, he knew it was time to get help. He called for an ambulance and Dobey, in that order. He’d watched in silent horror as the paramedics strapped Hutch’s still struggling form to a gurney before loading him into the waiting ambulance. He rode with Hutch to the emergency room, daring the paramedics with a look to try and stop him.

Dr. Anderson, the same doctor who’d treated Hutch for the gunshot wound following the shoot out at the warehouse, was on duty and took over Hutch’s care. Once he found out who Starsky was, he even let him stay in the room while he performed his examination, provided he stayed out of the way. The sedative the paramedics had administered en route had begun to take effect, but Hutch still mumbled under his breath, his head turning slowly from side to side as the doctor took his vitals, shaking his head over the temperature reading.

“Just as I thought!” the doctor grumbled, half to Starsky, half to himself as he unwrapped the bandage on Hutch’s arm. Starsky winced as he caught his first glimpse of the extent of his partner’s injury. Hutch had been very careful to hide it from him up to now, insisting that his partner go somewhere else while his dressings had been changed in the hospital. That alone should have clued Starsky in that all was not as well as Hutch made out. “The wound’s become infected! I warned him that it might, even with the antibiotics I prescribed for him, if he didn’t rest and give his body a chance to heal! The infection may already have spread into his bloodstream. I’m going to admit him, at least for tonight, and put him on IV antibiotics.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Starsky asked.

“He is if I have any say in the matter!” Dr. Anderson returned, his tone making Starsky smile in spite of everything.

The fever broke an hour later and Hutch was doing well enough the next morning that, at the doctor’s insistence, Starsky had let Dobey drive him down to the station to get the Torino, then had driven himself home to be greeted by an overflowing mailbox and an apartment full of dead plants.

“At least you made it, pal!” Starsky told the small rock that rested on his kitchen windowsill over the sink, giving his pet an affectionate pat. He made himself some coffee, then sat at the kitchen table to drink it while he sorted the few bills from the pile of junk mail before gathering up the deceased flora to take out to the trash. This last depressed him more than a little, but he felt sure that, once he was feeling better, Hutch would go with him to pick out some more. Hutch…

He splashed some cold water on his face and changed his shirt, then was out the door again, headed back to the hospital.

He was asleep in the chair beside Hutch’s bed when the blond detective woke up a few hours later. Starsky came instantly awake, though, as soon as he heard his partner calling him. He leaned forward with a smile to take his friend’s hand.

“It’s okay, Hutch, I’m right here. How do you feel?”

“Where am I?” Hutch asked, blinking as he tried to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was going to sleep in his own bed.

“Take it easy, Hutch!” Starsky soothed him. “You’re in the hospital. Again! That wound on your arm got infected because you weren’t takin’ care of yourself. Good thing I stayed over another night! You had a fever so high you were out of your head, pal! Scared me half to death!”

Hutch blushed and looked away. “I’m sorry, Starsk,” he mumbled.

“For what? Being human?” Starsky couldn’t understand why his innocent comment had suddenly reduced his partner to tears. “Hey! What’d I say?” he asked frantically.

“P-P-Paula s-said almost the same thing!” Hutch managed to stammer. Starsky knew his friend only stuttered when he was very upset. “When I f-fainted on her!”

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s hand tighter, not knowing what to say. They both jumped in surprise when a voice from the doorway spoke up.

“Great minds think alike!” Paula grinned as she strolled into the room. “Told you needed to cut yourself some slack, Ken!”

“Paula,” Hutch breathed, as if afraid that, should he speak any louder, she might vanish.

“You know, if hospitals gave out trading stamps, you guys would have earned enough to get one of the really good prizes by now!” she teased, coming to take the hand Starsky wasn’t holding between both of her own. “Or do you both just have a thing for nurses?”

“H-how…?” Hutch asked, still too stunned to make much sense.

“The committee let me go this morning. Dropped all charges against me, just like with you two, in spite of the extra grilling they gave me! Now, if I can only get so lucky with the Bureau!”

“I know what you mean!” Starsky agreed in a heartfelt tone. “We got IA breathin’ down our necks! And that little weasel, Simonetti, has always had it in for us. Doesn’t like the way we sometimes bend the rules to get the job done. This could just be the opportunity he’s been waitin’ for!”

Hutch had finally found his voice again. “How much longer can you stay?” he asked softly.

Her smile grew sad. “I have to fly back to Quantico tonight. The committee wants me to testify at the hearing in D.C for Becker and Slater next week. I’m sorry, Ken! I wish I didn’t have to go, but my supervisor kind of insisted, if you know what I mean!”

“Damn!” Hutch cursed softly, the lack of volume not having diminished the vehemence of the expletive any.

“I feel the same way!” Paula assured him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “Don’t worry, Ken! You haven’t heard the last of me yet! Who knows? Maybe they’ll put us all on suspension or something, then we can all go take a vacation together!”

“Ever thought of robbing banks in Bolivia?” Starsky suddenly asked. Paula just shook her head, looking from one to the other as the two men laughed at what was obviously some kind of private joke between them, reminding her once more of the history that existed here. The more she was around these two, the more she began to realize that, if she really meant to pursue her relationship with Ken, she’d better be prepared to make it a package deal. It was a little intimidating at times. She was glad to see that the joke had taken some of the pain out of Ken’s eyes, though.

“What time’s your plane leave?” Hutch asked after the laughter had died down again.

“Not for hours and hours yet! You’ve got me all day…if you want me,” she added shyly.

For an answer, Hutch reached up and drew her head down to where he could kiss her. Some time later, Starsky cleared his throat noisily.

“If you’d let go a me, partner, I’ll get out of here and give you two some privacy!” Starsky said, blushing a little.

Hutch turned bright red as he looked down and realized that he still held Starsky’s hand in a firm grip. “‘M sorry, Starsk!” he mumbled as he released his hold.

“That’s all right, Blondie,” Starsky laughed, with one of his best lopsided smiles. “It was nice to meet you, Paula,” he said as he started to get up in order to leave. “Though I wish it’d been under better circumstances!”

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she told Starsky sincerely, looking to Ken for his opinion.

“Yeah, Starsk! Hang around!” Hutch agreed, gesturing back to the chair his partner had occupied until a moment ago. “You don’t have to go running off!”

“Thanks,” Starsky told them both, “But three’s a crowd! We’ll all do something together next time you’re in town, Paula.”

“I’m holding you to that!” Paula smiled. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, too. It makes it easier for me to leave, knowing Ken has someone like you here to look after him. He’s not too good at looking after himself!”

“Noticed that, huh?” Starsky laughed. “Take care! Hutch, you call me when you’re ready for me to come back. I’m gonna go by Huggy’s for a burger, then I’ll be at my place the rest of the day. My pet rock pines for me if I stay away too long! I figure I sorta owe him after leaving him all on his own for over a week! So, while I’m at the Pits, I think I’ll see if Huggy’s friend still has that lady rock he offered to sell me the other day! I’m not getting my guy fixed though, Hutch! So you may have to help me find good homes for a litter of gravel sometime!”

“Is he serious?” Paula asked in a stage whisper.

“I’ve tried to warn you!” Hutch returned.

Hutch and Paula both looked at each other and rolled their eyes as, chuckling to himself, Starsky swaggered out the door.

The sound of a key turning in the lock of his front door had Starsky up from where he’d been sprawled on his couch and across the room to where his holster hung behind the door like a bolt of lightning. He wasn’t involved with anyone closely enough at the moment to have given them a key to his place and the only other people besides himself who should rightfully have one were: a) Hutch, who was still in the hospital, b) Dobey, who would never use his key without knocking if he thought Starsky might be there, and c) his elderly landlady, who always knocked first and would never come by at this time of the night. So that left someone who wasn’t entitled coming in his door and, to Starsky that could only mean trouble. Maybe it was some flunky of the Sultan’s who’d missed the plane. Or maybe even the Sultan himself! As Hutch had pointed out, no body fitting his description had been recovered from the crash site.

So, Starsky huddled in the corner behind the door, holding his breath, listening to the blood pounding in his ears as the doorknob turned silently and the door was slowly pushed open. He cocked the hammer of his gun and waited for his moment.

Hutch, turning from trying to catch one last glimpse of Paula as she drove away, took one look at the bowl of popcorn spilled on the floor of Starsky’s living room and knew in a flash what was about to happen. “Don’t do it, Starsk!” he cried, raising his hands. “It’s me!”

Starsky’s surprised stare quickly transformed itself into an angry scowl. “Good God, Hutch!” he managed in a voice that quavered a little. “I hope like Hell this isn’t another one of your sick jokes, ’cause I’m not in the mood!” he shouted, uncocking his gun before slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, his knees having suddenly gone rubbery in delayed reaction to what he’d almost done. He looked down at the loaded gun in his hand, and, if possible went a shade paler.

“Dammit!” he went on in a softer tone. “Why’d ya’ sneak in here like that? What’s wrong with you, huh? Do ya’ like getting shot?” His voice was definitely shaky now and Hutch couldn’t help but notice the way his partner’s hand trembled as he got back to his feet and, with exaggerated care, replaced his gun in it’s holster before slamming the still open door and returning to collapse once more in the spot he’d recently occupied on the couch. “I coulda blown your head off!” he said then, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hutch was having his own delayed reaction. “I-I…” He stammered, then swallowed hard and tried again. “I wasn’t thinking, Starsk! Honest! I didn’t do it on purpose!” Starsky at least was looking at him now, so he went on. “The doctor released me several hours ago. Then Paula and I went out to dinner, to say goodbye, ya’ know?’ Hutch babbled. “Anyway, it was her idea to drop me off here on the way to the airport. I really am sorry, Starsky! I didn’t even think about callin’ to let you know I was out and coming over! I…I had no idea you’d react like you did!” he finished contritely.

Starsky didn’t say anything right away, but Hutch could tell that all of the tension had gone out of his friend’s body. And he’d stopped glaring at him, too. Taking this as a good sign, Hutch slowly crossed the room to sit down beside his friend on the couch, careful not to touch him. Not yet.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Starsky finally said without meeting Hutch’s eyes.

“I wasn’t plannin’ on it becoming a habit!” Hutch grumbled, sure now that he’d been forgiven. Starsky stared at his bare feet a moment longer, then, suddenly, looked up with this funny little smile on his face.

“Ya’ shoulda seen your face!” he declared softly, having gone from abject fear, to anger, and now to humor within the space of a few minutes. It almost made Hutch dizzy at times, trying to keep up with his friend’s mercurial mood swings. But he managed somehow to snort in response, despite the fact that his heart rate had still not returned to normal.

“Oh yeah? You should have seen yours!” The last of the tension between them was dissolved by their shared laughter.

Hutch’s smile quickly changed into a smirk of disgust a moment later when Starsky, who’d been down on his floor picking up the spilled popcorn, plopped back down on the couch and resumed eating it as if nothing had happened.

“Uh…Starsk? That’s been on the floor, you know!” he informed his partner carefully.

Starsky looked over at him with an innocent expression. “I know. So?”

“And you’re still going to eat it?” Hutch asked, his nose wrinkled in distaste and his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Sure! Hey, what’s wrong with it? Haven’t you ever heard of the ‘ten second rule’? ‘Sides, my floor’s clean! Now if it had been on, say, your floor…well, that mighta been a different matter!” Starsky grinned. Hutch only shook his head as he turned to see what movie Starsky had been watching before he got there. As he might have guessed, it was an old black and white B sci-fi film.

As if able to read Hutch’s thoughts, Starsky gestured towards the screen. “‘Plan 9 From Outer Space’,” he commented around a mouthful of popcorn. “It’s the last film Bela Lugosi ever made. He died less than halfway through the shooting, and they ended up getting the producer’s wife’s chiropractor to play his role so that they could finish the film. Problem was, besides him not bein’ an actor, the guy was much taller than poor Bela and didn’t look a thing like him! That’s one reason he has so few lines and why most of the scenes with his character in ’em are shot from a distance! And it also explains why he keeps puttin’ his cape in front of his face so much!”

Hutch only nodded at this. What else could he say? Old sci-fi and monster movies were his partner’s area of expertise, not his. For all he knew, Starsky could be making the whole thing up.

“So, did you get that friend for your rock?” Hutch asked a bit later, reaching over without thinking for a handful of the popcorn. It wasn’t until he’d already eaten some of it that he realized what he’d done. He forced himself to swallow what was already in his mouth, then, as discreetly as he could, put what was left in his hand back into the bowl. Starsky had seen the whole thing, of course, but knew better than to comment.

“Sure did! Want to see her? She’s a beauty!” Starsky grinned.

“I’ll take your word for it, Starsk!” Hutch smiled. “When it comes to rocks, I’m afraid I’m no judge!”

“Hey! Bogey thought so, too! You shoulda seen the way he looked at her when I took her out of her box! And I think she liked what she saw, too! What can I say? The kid’s inherited my charm and my looks! I think he and Laurie are going to be very happy together!” Starsky said with a satisfied nod.

“Laurie?” Hutch asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Short for ‘Lauren’,” Starsky grinned.

Hutch shook his head. “I had to ask!” he groaned.

It was Starsky who broke the companionable silence next. “You want a beer, Hutch?” he asked, already en route to the kitchen to get one for himself.

“Sure! Why not? It’s not like either of us has to get up in the morning!” Hutch answered wryly.

Starsky handed him one can as he returned, then opened the other and took a long swallow, followed by a soft belch and a sigh of pure contentment as he leaned back again with half-closed eyes into the couch cushions.

“You’re getting pretty good at that!” Hutch declared, having watched in amazement as his friend had easily performed all these tasks single-handedly, so to speak, since his right arm was still bound in a sling.

“Ya’ think so?” Starsky asked. “Well ya’ ain’t heard nothin’ yet! What do you think of this one?” With a wicked grin, Starsky tilted his can back for another big gulp of beer before letting forth with a burp that literally shook the glass in the windows behind them.

Hutch could only stare at him. “That was gross, even for you, Starsk!” he choked, though, secretly, it was all he could do to keep from laughing again. He’d learned the hard way not to give his overgrown adolescent partner even the faintest hint of encouragement when he did things like that.

“You want another?” Starsky asked a little while later, getting up for yet another beer for himself. They’d already gone through one six pack and were working on a second.

“Maybe just one more!” Hutch replied, “I don’t want to get so sloshed that I can’t drive home!”

“You won’t be able to do that anyway, buddy!” Starsky called from the kitchen. “Paula dropped you off, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” How could he have forgotten that? It usually took more than three beers to muddle his thinking that much! Or was it four? He seemed to have lost count. “How many have you had, Starsk?” he asked as Starsky returned with the cold cans and resumed his place beside his friend, stretching out to rest his bare feet on Hutch’s nearest leg. Hutch’s stocking feet were propped comfortably up on Starsky’s coffee table.

“Don’t know,” Starsky smiled, feelin’ pleasantly mellow as he popped the top on his latest Bud and took a sip. “Same as you…enough to figure that I ain’t gonna be drivin’ anymore tonight! So I guess that means you’re gonna hafta stay over…unless ya’ were plannin’ on callin’ a cab or somethin’?”

“Stayin’ over sounds good,” Hutch nodded. “That is unless you’d rather I…?”

“You’re always welcome, Hutch,” Starsky said, his tone taking on that gravely serious note it sometimes did when he was drunk…or, at least on his way to being drunk. “You know that!”

Hutch nodded and the companionable silence descended once more.

“Hey, Hutch?” Starsky asked after he’d downed about half his can. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Sure, Starsk! Anything, you know that!” Hutch answered expansively, smiling as he intentionally echoed his friend’s words of a few minutes before.

“Well…” Starsky began, his eyes on the t.v. screen, though he no longer really cared about the movie. “While the Sultan had me, he had his goons bring me out to talk to him once. It musta been the second or third day I was there…I’m not sure ’cause I didn’t have any way to keep track of the time.”

Hutch frowned. “Why is this the first time I’m hearin’ about this?” he asked, his tone more curious than miffed.

“I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to talk about it. Least ways, not ’til now,” Starsky told him.

Hutch reached out to squeeze Starsky’s nearest shoulder, his good left one, making him turn and look at him. “Was it bad?” he asked gently.

Starsky nodded. “Yeah, it was! But not in the way you’re thinkin’! The guy was just finishin’ dinner or something and he was acting all gracious-like–even offered me some dessert!”

“What did he want?” Hutch asked when Starsky did not continue right away.

“To offer me job, believe it or not!”

Hutch snorted. “I can imagine what you said to that!”

Starsky let out a little snort of his own. “Anyways, that’s what he said! I really think…no, I’m sure that what he really wanted was to mess with my head!”

“How so? Other than the job offer, that is.”

“Well, while he had me there, he showed me all these pictures….pictures of you, Hutch. And Paula. Together.”

Hutch stared at his friend a moment blankly before he suddenly realized what his partner was saying. Starsky was talking more rapidly now, as if he wanted to get it all out before he lost his nerve again.

“He…he kept goin’ on and on about how you didn’t look too broken up about my disappearin’ on ya’ and how you had other things on your mind, that kind of stuff.”

Hutch felt the floor open up beneath him. “God, Starsk!” he managed to breathe. Of all the ways the Sultan could have chosen to torture Starsky, he’d somehow hit on what would cause him the most pain.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Hutch! I knew you’d never…! But I was so tired! And I was hurtin’ pretty bad, too! And….and you were smiling in so many of those damned pictures!” Starsky dropped his feet to the floor and sat up, his hand going up to scrub irritably at his eyes, embarrassed by his feelings.

Hutch moved his hand from Starsky’s shoulder to the back of his neck and bent his partner’s head toward him until their foreheads were almost touching. “You listen to me, Starsky! I swear to you, I never once forgot about you, you go that? Not once, the whole time you were missing!”

Starsky had his eyes squeezed shut tightly, a faint glitter of moisture on his dark eyelashes. He thought he’d gotten this all worked out on his own and was surprised to find that he still wanted…no, needed to tell Hutch about how he’d felt and hear his partner’s explanation of those painful photos. “I know that, Hutch!” he whispered, reaching around with his good arm to mirror Hutch’s hold on the back of his neck. “Yet, for a moment…just a little while, maybe…he almost made me believe it! And it hurt, Hutch! Worse than any of the times I got shot. Worse even than when that creep with the sewer breath twisted my arm back out of it socket!”

“Oh, damn! I’m sorry, Starsky! I’m so sorry!” Hutch could hardly speak around the lump in his throat. He attempted to swallow it back. “Those pictures you mentioned,” he went on then, “Are you sure it was even me in them? You were in pretty bad shape at the time–you said so yourself! Maybe it was just some guy who kinda looked like me!”

“It was you, Hutch! They didn’t do anything to my eyes! And I’ve looked across my desk at that ugly mug of yours for enough years to know what ya’ look like, pal! It was you!” Starsky took a deep breath, taken off guard by the sudden surge of irrational anger he was feeling. “One of ’em…the last one he showed me, the one I kept seeing later, when they dumped me back in the basement and left me there…it showed the two of you at your place. You were standing in front of that window in your living room that looks out over your balcony and Paula was wearin’ this flimsy little nightgown and you were kissing her! You sure didn’t look like you were thinkin’ of me then!! Was that a fake, partner? Or did that really happen?”

Starsky’s eyes searched his friend’s and found his answer. He pulled out of Hutch’s grip and moved a little away from him. In reality, less than a foot separated them, and yet it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

“They had me in this stinking little hole in the ground with no food and no water and not even a bucket to pee in, Hutch!” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, each word cutting through his friend like a knife as he painted a vivid picture of what he’d experienced, not sparing him anything. “At one point, I thought they’d gone off and left me…that I’d die down there and no one might ever find me! But then I’d think, ‘It’s going to be okay! Hutch is out there lookin’ for me and he’s gonna come and find me, just like he always does, and everything will be all right!'”

“And I did find you, Starsky!” Hutch whispered back, stricken by the naked pain in his friend’s voice.

“Yeah, you did. I know that and I told you thank you! But…Aw, Hell! I’m just tryin’ to tell ya’…well, it still hurt, Hutch! It still does!”

“Oh, babe.” Hutch’s voice had taken on a slight quaver. He blinked rapidly a couple of times, trying to stop the tears he felt gathering. “I wish I could lie to you, partner, and tell you that every single moment that you were missing was a living Hell for me! But that one night, and a few other moments Paula and I spent together that week…they weren’t. I’m not trying to make excuses, Starsky. But I feel it’s only fair to tell you…what you’re talking about happened on the same day Carla was killed, the same day the Sultan played his little head game on me with that damned envelope of your hair! I didn’t want to even think it! But for a little while there, I…I thought you were dead, Starsk. And I was half out of my mind because I knew it was my fault if you were! That I’d been too slow finding you! And that I never should have left you alone in the ER to get kidnapped in the first place!” Hutch’s voice broke and he had to pause a moment before he could go on.

“Hutch…” Starsky tried to put in quietly, but stopped when Hutch shook his index finger in his face.

“Paula was staying with me, in my apartment…I admit that! But as a friend! Up until that night, I’d been sleeping on the couch.” Hutch’s voice grew softer again.

“Somehow, that night, she could sense how I was feeling…how desperate I was and how hopeless it all seemed. She came to me, Starsk! To comfort me. It was the only time anything happened between us the whole time you were gone! The next day, I got shot at the warehouse and that night we both went with Becker to get you. You’ve been with me almost every minute since, pal. Until tonight, and God knows, as much as I would have liked to, I wasn’t up to it this evening!”

It was Starsky’s turn to reach out and Hutch’s to pull away. “I have no idea who took those pictures, Starsky–though it wouldn’t surprise me if this was more of Marshall’s work! But what they showed you was given to you totally out of context! So maybe I did smile a couple of times while you missing. Excuse the Hell out of me! I’m only human–as I seem to recall you telling me not so long ago!

“And as for what Paula and I may have shared…” Hutch jumped up from the couch, suddenly furious. “Who the Hell are you to judge me, Starsky? To decide how I should handle my feelings? I’ve done some stupid things over the years and I realize that there have been times when I may have gone too far and hurt you! But I would never have thought that you’d for one minute believe…Thanks a lot, Starsk! It’s good to know what you really think of me!”

“I’m not judgin’ you, Hutch! I…aw, damn it! I don’t even know why I brought this up! Believe it or not, I think I started out wantin’ to apologize for ever having doubted you. I’m sorry I went and loused that up. I guess I shoulda just left well enough alone!”

Hutch took in a deep breath and came back to sit down beside his partner again on the couch. “It’s been a rough week all around, Starsky. Let’s just chalk it all up to that and forget about it, okay?”

Starsky nodded and returned his attention to the television. Or at least pretended to. There was still one other thing on his mind, but now he was afraid to ask about it. Hutch must have sensed Starsky’s mood as, a few minutes later, he turned his focus from the t.v. to his friend again with an exaggerated sigh.

“Are you just going to keep glancing at me when you think I’m not looking all night?” he asked. “Or are you planning on letting the other shoe drop?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Starsky protested, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the commercial that was on.

“Come off it, Starsk! We both know something’s still bugging you. So, out with it! Come on, we might as well completely clear the air here!”

Starsky reluctantly turned to face him again. “Okay…but you may not like it.”

“We’ve already covered that. Spill it, Starsky.”

The darker man sighed. “The pictures were only half of it, Hutch. The Sultan also implied…well, he almost as good as said…!” Starsky lifted pain-filled eyes to meet his friend’s. “Hutch…you’d tell me if you were plannin’ on leavin’ the force for some reason, wouldn’t ya’? I mean, you wouldn’t keep something like that back, to spare my feelin’s or whatever just because I was hurt or something?”

Hutch’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Leaving the force? Where in blazes did you get that idea? And where do you think I’d go?”

“I don’t know…to Washington, maybe. Or that place in Virginia Paula’s flying to tonight, the one with the Indian name.”

“Why on earth would I be going to Quantico, Starsk?” Hutch asked, more puzzled than ever. The beer was definitely slowing up his thinking processes by now.

“Isn’t that where all the new agents go to be trained, Hutch? And if you were going to be Paula’s new partner, you’d have to be trained, wouldn’t ya’?” Starsky persisted gently.

“Paula’s part… You’re not making any sense, Starsky! Who said I was going to be Paula’s new partner? She didn’t say something like that, did she? Because she sure as Hell didn’t mention it to me!”

“No, Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, sorrier than ever that he’d brought this subject up. “Paula didn’t say anything about it! I just thought, since you two were getting so close and all, that maybe…” Of course, it had only been another of the Sultan’s lies! But now that he’d mentioned it, what if Hutch were to actually start to consider it?

Hutch only stared at Starsky thoughtfully for a long moment, trying to decide how to react to this. At last, he reached out and gently placed his hand on Starsky’s nearest knee. “I don’t know where my relationship with Paula is headed,” he told his friend honestly. “Who knows what either of us might want to do down the road? But I can tell you this, Starsky! I’d never make plans to break up our partnership without telling you about it, and I’d never stop being your best friend, even if I did someday decide to leave the force! But that day’s not today, pal! Leastways, I wasn’t planning on it being! The Commissioner, however, might have other ideas on the matter!”

The hard knot Starsky had not even realized had been in his chest all this time suddenly loosened, leaving him almost giddy in relief. “Maybe we better go ahead and pack, in case we have to make that quick trip to Bolivia after all!” he quipped, flashing Hutch the full wattage of one of his patented grins.

Hutch laughed, whacking Starsky on the leg before intentionally reaching across him to help himself to another handful of Starsky’s popcorn–his grandfather had always said that you had to eat a pound of dirt before you die, so, what the Hell? After what they’d both survived this week, a few germs weren’t likely to cause him that much harm. And whatever still lay ahead of them, he now knew they’d survive that, too. Just like they always did. Together.

 

Chapter 29: “Let the Sun Shine!”

Brian Becker tilted his dark sunglasses up to rub at his tired eyes before glancing again at his wristwatch as he waited for the light to turn green. He saw, to his relief, that he still had plenty of time to make it to his destination, despite the heavy traffic that was the norm for D.C. this time of the day. He felt himself relax as the long light finally changed and allowed him to proceed on his way. Today, of all days, it wouldn’t do for him to be late!

He’d made this same drive so many times over the past couple of weeks that he now felt that he could do it in his sleep–might have a few times! But his heart was a little lighter as he made this trip today because today was the last time he would ever have to drive this route. Today, for better or worse, was the last day of the hearings, the day when his friend, Alan’s, fate would finally be decided. And, no matter how things turned out, he knew that just having this over with and behind him would be a great relief for his friend. The unexpected phone call he had received from a trusted source just prior to leaving his hotel this morning wasn’t hurting his mood either. For the first time in a long time, Brian Becker was feeling a bit of hope again.

Snow had fallen the night before, coating the city in a fresh blanket of white and the day was still new enough that the traffic had yet to turn it all into the gray slush it would become before evening. The heavy clouds that had shrouded the city earlier in the week had all blown off and sunshine sparkled in rainbow hues on the millions of tiny icicles that adorned the cherry trees along the roadside, turning them into natural crystal ornaments to rival any of the man-made Christmas decorations that had been put up. Becker drove slowly and carefully, enjoying the scenery while still remaining mindful of the traffic, his own weariness, and the slipperiness of the pavement.

His own part in the hearings had ended days ago. The committee had voiced its opinion of his role in the events culminating in the attempted assassination plot in no uncertain terms, but then had let him go with little more than a reprimand. He still had his own boss to deal with, but felt fairly certain, due to his superior’s chagrin at his mistaken assumptions about the depth of Becker’s involvement with the Sultan, that his boss would not make life too difficult for him. At least, not for very long! The discovery of duplicity by not just one, but two of the best and most trusted agents under his command had left the man understandably rattled. Becker knew he would be needed to help out with the reorganizing and clean up investigations all of this was bound to leave in its wake.

Alan, however…now, that was another matter. When Becker’s turn had come to testify, he’d done the best he could to make the committee aware of the extreme mental anguish that had prompted his friend’s desperate actions. He knew that there was no way that that would be enough to completely exonerate him, yet he still held out some hope for leniency, especially considering that, in the end, Alan had been the one to reveal Grayson as a traitor and to save the President’s life. That, and all the good years Alan had put in, in service to the government and his country, surely had to count for something!

The Capitol building loomed in the near-distance. A few minutes more, and he’d reached the government office building where the hearings had been carried out. He’d expected, at first, to have to appear on the Senate floor for these proceedings, especially with the new, open door policies this particular president had so strenuously worked to put into place during his time in office. But, in this case, it turned out that he, too, had agreed that these hearings did not need to be made public knowledge. At least, not just yet. The records would, of course, have to be released to the general public eventually, at an unspecified later date. Or so the President had ordered. Still, he given that directive knowing full well that he would only be in office another month and a half, and then would have no more say in what happened to the records one way or another. And who knew how much of what had taken place in Los Angeles would ever be revealed to the new Chief Executive, if any of it? No, Becker already had a sneaking suspicion that this was one incident that would never make it into the history books!

This building housed a fair number of government offices and a lot more business than just the hearings was being conducted here, making finding a parking space challenging, but not impossible. Becker soon found one on the next block and walked briskly, breathing in the clean, crisp air, back to the entrance. There, much to his surprise, he saw three other people he recognized just climbing the steps to the main doors ahead of him. They, like he, must have come to hear the Committee’s decision on Alan–there was no other conceivable reason for these three to be here. He called out to them and waved, and they paused to wait for him to catch up.

Starsky was the first of the group to greet him. “Hey, Becker! How are you doin’?” he grinned enthusiastically, giving the older black man a hearty slap on the back before offering him his hand. Becker returned both the handshake and the smile.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, given the last couple of weeks,” Becker answered honestly. “And you? I have to say you look a Hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you! And your hair is coming along nicely. Another couple of weeks and you should be able to ditch those hats for good!”

“Yeah, it’s comin’ in way quicker than I thought it would!” Starsky laughed good-naturedly, running his right hand, once Becker had released it, across the half-inch or so of growth that now covered his scalp in dark, soft curls, rather like a baby’s hair. “And the arm’s finally out of a sling, as you can see. The doctors tell me that, with another month or so of PT, it’ll be almost as good as new!” A brown Fedora was tucked casually under his other arm, a match to the chocolate brown suit he wore beneath his long tan coat. A darker brown tie with small gold stripes on it and a cream colored shirt completed his outfit, going well with his dark coloring. Becker was amused to note that, instead of dress shoes, Starsky wore a pair of blue Adidas running shoes on his feet.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Becker told him, before turning to Starsky’s partner, who was standing next to and a little behind his friend. Hutch was also dressed in a suit, his of midnight blue with a white shirt and a maroon tie with silver stripes beneath a charcoal gray overcoat. But unlike his more casual partner, he, of course, was wearing dress shoes, a pair of well-polished, black and white wingtips. His hair, though still a bit long, had been neatly trimmed and all but glowed in the bright sunshine and the dark circles were gone from beneath his eyes. “Hutchinson,” he said, offering his hand now to the blond. “You’re also looking a lot healthier these days. I trust you are also healing well?”

“I’m managing,” Hutch smiled. “Like Starsky, I have a little PT ahead of me yet. But, all in all, I can’t complain too much.”

“That’s new,” Becker commented after they had finished shaking hands, pointing to the first shadow of a mustache coming in on Hutch’s upper lip.

Hutch blushed slightly. “Yeah, well…after having our faces plastered all over the news these last two weeks, I thought a little change in my image might be in order. Just in case either Starsky or I are ever allowed to do undercover work again!”

“Dobey’s threatened to put us both on traffic control for the next fifty years!” Starsky put in, with a mock shudder and another grin. “He’s told us that before, of course, but this time I think he really means it!”

Becker had to laugh at that. He’d heard from his own sources about what had happened to the two L.A. detectives. The Commissioner, after a thorough IA investigation and careful consideration, had decided it would be better for the Department’s image (read his image) to make the two of them out to be heroes rather than villains. Their parts in the “rescue” of the President had been played up to the hilt, complete with an awards ceremony, a parade, and the whole nine yards. Both men had been very embarrassed by the whole thing, and so the trip to D.C. had come as a welcome break from all the media attention.

“Enjoy your ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ while it lasts!” the seasoned agent advised his younger friends, chuckling. “Lord knows the thanks come few and far between in our jobs!”

“Well, I, for one, am ready for someone else to have their turn in the spotlight!” Starsky grumbled. “I just want to get my shoulder back in shape and get back to catchin’ the bad guys! That’s thanks enough for me! Right partner?”

“You got it, Starsk!” Hutch agreed. “Hey, I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s a bit nippy out here for me! Why don’t we finish the rest of this conversation inside, where it’s warmer?”

The others nodded their agreement, and they all went up the steps together and on into the building. While they had been talking, the nine-to-fivers had all had a chance to reach their offices, making it easier for them to get an elevator car to themselves. They got in and Becker pushed the button for their floor before finally turning to the last member of the group.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Hamilton,” he greeted her, though in a quieter tone than he had used for the two men. “I’m also a little surprised, though I guess I shouldn’t be. You said you wanted to see Alan get what was coming to him!” He hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like an accusation. When her turn to testify had come, Hamilton, to his surprise, had stuck strictly to the facts concerning his and Slater’s actions, never once coloring her account with her personal opinions.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” Starsky spoke up before Paula could answer for herself. “After sitting through your testimony, and hearin’ what Slater had to say for himself, Agent Hamilton’s had a little change of heart. Haven’t you, Paula?”

The blond woman was standing on Hutchinson’s other side from Starsky, with her right arm threaded through Hutchinson’s left. She leaned forward enough to shoot Starsky a mildly exasperated look, to which she got an apologetic shrug in reply, before turning back to meet Becker’s gaze once more. “Dave’s right, Becker,” she sighed then. “I guess, after hearing the whole story in there from you, and seeing how Slater looked when he was talking about his son, even though he was trying so hard to keep his testimony strictly impersonal and professional…well, I guess it just got harder for me to keep hating him. And the remorse he showed when they asked him about Derek…! I would have known if he was faking that, and he wasn’t. I believe he feels genuine guilt, not only for Derek’s death, but for Carla’s and the Premier’s and all those police officers’ from Metro division as well. I know now that you were telling me the truth when you said there wasn’t anything he did directly to cause those deaths and nothing he could have done to prevent any of them. You were right, Becker. The Sultan was the only one to blame on all of those accounts and I hope he’s burning in Hell for it right now!”

“Amen to that!” Becker fervently seconded the wish. The bell dinged and the doors parted to let them out on their floor. The four exited and walked down the hallway together, each lost for a moment in their own thoughts. When they reached the door to the suite where the hearings had been held, they paused again. Today’s session was not scheduled to start for another twenty minutes, and none of them were anxious to sit in that room any longer than they had to.

“So,” Becker began again, to fill the awkward silence, “What are all of you doing after this? I take it you all still have some time off?”

Becker sensed their hesitation to answer that question, and could guess at its cause. According to his sources, they all three were still officially listed as being on “medical leave”. Yet for how long, and what assignments they might expect to be given once they were cleared to return to duty, was anybody’s guess.

It was Hutch who took on the role of spokesperson for their group this time. “Well, Starsky and I only arrived last night, so I guess we’ll spend a couple of more days here sightseeing, then it’s on to New York to visit with Starsky’s mom. She’s invited us all for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Becker raised an eyebrow curiously. “All of you?” he asked. “Meaning you, too, Hamilton?”

Paula laughed. “Me, too,” she confirmed. “I believe her exact words were, ‘the more, the merrier’!” She looked up at Hutch and smiled. “Actually, a home-cooked meal sounds pretty good. And I gather from Ken that Mrs. Starsky is not a woman to be argued with!”

“And he ain’t kiddin’ either, Paula! The fact that she’s been able to keep me in line all these years should tell ya’ something about that!” Starsky put in, and they all laughed together.

Becker glanced at his watch, and up to the doorway. “Maybe we should see about finding some seats,” he said, sobering again.

Hutch reached out to lightly touch his arm to stop him before he could go through the door. “Uh, Becker…if you don’t mind, I have a few questions I’d like to ask before we go in there.”

The black man sighed and turned back. “Go ahead, though I won’t know if I can answer any of them until I hear what they are,” he said. Hutch nodded his understanding.

“First off, what happened to Marshall? I’ve asked Dobey, and he said that he’d been subpoenaed to testify here and was taken into government custody. These hearings, for all intents and purposes, are over. So, what happens to him now? Will he be returned to L.A. to stand trial?”

Becker sighed again, knowing that the blond detective was not going to like the answer to that. “In exchange for his testimony, Gary Marshall was given immunity for any crimes he committed while in the Sultan’s employ and also entered in the federal witness protection program. I’m sorry, Hutchinson. I know that hardly seems fair, considering what he did.”

“No,” Hutch admitted, “It doesn’t. But life isn’t fair, is it?” Hutch surprised himself that he didn’t feel much more than a brief flare of anger at this. Maybe, after all they had been through, Marshall’s fate just wasn’t that big a deal anymore. Either that, or he was just flat too tired to manage anything more at the moment.

“All right,” he went on. “What about the Sultan’s girlfriend, Rogue Star? What’s going to happen to her? Or was the rumor I heard that she had survived just a rumor?”

“It’s not a rumor, she’s alive, though barely! She’s still in the hospital in critical condition. Whether or not she will ever stand trial depends. From what I hear, it may be months, if ever, before she recovers from her injuries.”

Hutch nodded. At least she would no longer pose a threat to anyone! He drew a deep breath and put forth his last question. “And what about the Sultan himself? Only two bodies were reported to have been recovered from where that plane went down, neither of which fit his description. Was anyone able to confirm, for sure, that it was the Sultan’s plane that crashed? And, if so, is it possible he might not have been aboard when it did, that he might still be alive somewhere?”

Becker sighed again. “It was the same plane, Hutchinson. There’s no doubt about that! And as to whether or not he was onboard… We all saw him get on that plane before it took off, and I can’t see where he would have had time to get off anywhere else between the time that we saw it take off and the time that those fishing boat crews say it went down. So, to make a long answer short, I think we can safely conclude that he is dead.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard since this whole mess started!” Starsky grinned. “I have to tell you, I’ve had a few nightmares about the possibility that he might still be lurking out there somewhere, just waitin’ for things to settle down before he showed up again to seek his revenge! Thanks for clearin’ that up for us, Becker!”

“You’re welcome,” Becker smiled back. “It may take months, or longer, before the rest of his organization is rounded up, but, with him out of the way…”

“Once you cut off the head of a snake…” Hutchinson said softly.

Becker nodded, checking his watch again. “The body may still wiggle awhile, but it’s sure to die. Now, if that’s all, I think we better go in. They’ll be starting here in a few minutes.” The others nodded and followed the tall black agent into the hearing chamber.

The room wasn’t very crowded–these hearings had been kept as quiet as possible–so it wasn’t too difficult for the four of them to find seats together near the front. They had all just finished removing their coats and getting settled in when the members of the committee overseeing these proceedings began to file in to take their places on the podium at the front of the room. The panel was made up of five men and one woman. Two of the men wore military uniforms and the others were dressed in dark, conservative clothing suitable to the gravity of the occasion. The gray haired man who had acted as the head of the committee throughout the process looked about a moment to make sure his fellow committee members were in place, shuffled briefly through the pile of notes before him, and cleared his throat.

“As it seems that we are all here, then we may begin,” he stated simply. He gestured to the two stout Marines stationed near a side door opposite the one used by the committee. The taller of the two guards opened the door, and a third Marine escorted Alan Slater into the room and over to a chair at the very front, facing the panel. He came in quietly, his head bowed, and took his seat, only then looking up to meet the eyes of the men and woman who would soon pronounce judgment on him.

“Agent Slater,” the chairman began, “I’m sure I need not remind you of the seriousness of the charges that are pending against you.” Alan shook his head. “I also would like to state once again that, while this is not a formal court of law, this committee has been empowered nonetheless to investigate these charges and to decide how best to proceed, should we conclude that these allegations are true.” Slater nodded. “Very well, then I do not feel we need to delay any longer. Alan Leslie Slater, after hearing extensive testimony in this matter, it is the unanimous opinion of this committee that the charges against you are indeed well founded. It has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt that you are guilty of having stolen evidence key to a federal criminal investigation, i.e. materials to be used in the production of counterfeit U.S. currency as well as a large sum of forged bills, that you have associated outside of your official capacity with an organization that, by your own testimony, has been involved in a large number of criminal activities, and that you have used the power of your office to create false legal documents and records. You also stand accused of the even more serious charges of treason, accessory to murder, and conspiracy to commit murder: more specifically, to assassinate the President of the United States. Under normal circumstances, I would have no choice but to recommend that these charges be leveled against you formally and appropriate legal action taken!”

The chairman paused, took a sip of water from the glass in front of him, and drew a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone. “However, as it has been pointed out, these are far from ‘normal’ circumstances. Agent Slater, would you please stand?” Slater looked at each member of the panel a moment in confusion as he slowly got to his feet. “Let me tell you, sir, that the decision we have reached was neither an easy nor a completely unanimous one! However, in light of the mitigating circumstances surrounding this case, and taking into consideration both the exemplary record you possessed prior to this incident and the various appeals made on your behalf, not the least of which was a petition from the President himself, this committee has decided not to press charges against you at this time. However, a record of these charges will be kept and can and will be brought against you again at any time in the future unless the following conditions are met:

1. 1.     You will immediately step down from your position in the Service, turning in all keys, badges, files, credentials and sensitive materials of any sort to an agent assigned to receive them by no later than 5 o’clock this evening.
2. 2.     You will never seek to obtain employment with any other government agency or office in any capacity nor in any position where your former knowledge of Secret Service codes, procedures, and practices could be misused for criminal purposes.
3. 3.     That you will not travel abroad without submitting a written itinerary and obtaining prior approval from an appropriate body to be named later. And,
4. 4.     That you will not be allowed access in perpetuity to any secure government facility.

“In exchange for your cooperation in keeping to these conditions, you will be allowed to retain your full retirement benefits, and all records of this matter will be suppressed from the public record. Do you understand and agree to these terms as they have been presented to you?”

Slater just stood there a long moment, too stunned to speak. Then he cleared his throat noisily. “I, uh,” his voice came out a mere croak and he had to clear his throat again. “Yes,” he managed at last, “I understand and I will agree to those terms.”

The head of the committee looked at the bewildered former agent a second longer, then nodded. “Very well! Then, as far as I can see, we’re done here. Gentlemen, and lady, of the committee, let me extend my thanks to each of you again for the time you have given to this matter. This committee stands adjourned.” He got up from his chair, signaling the other panel members that they, too, could rise. Chairs were scraping back throughout the room and the air was full of murmured conversation as the dozen or so people who had come to observe the outcome of the proceedings began talking it over among themselves.

Becker let out the breath he had not realized he’d been holding and looked over at Hutch, Paula and Starsky. “Ahem! Well…I think I need to go and check on my friend. He seems to be having a bit of trouble taking all of this in!” In the midst of all of the activity going on around him, Slater still stood just as he was, not having moved since the chairman had finished speaking to him, seemingly completely unaware of his surroundings. “Uh, are you all going to come and congratulate him?” he asked.

Hutch glanced at the other two with him and shook his head. “I don’t think, so, Becker. It looks like a mob of well-wishers is the last thing he needs just now. So, if you don’t mind conveying them to him for us…?”

Becker nodded, shaking hands with them all one last time in farewell. “Of course. Thank you again for coming and…well, just thanks…from both of us.”

“If you’re ever out our way again…!” Starsky grinned.

“I’ll be sure to look you up. You all take care and at least try to stay out of trouble!” he couldn’t resist adding. The three of them exchanged a “who, us?” look, then smiled again and left.

The room was rapidly clearing out. A minute more, and he and Alan were alone. He approached his friend slowly and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. The other man drew a long breath then and his shoulders sagged as he turned to face him.

“Well,” Becker smiled, trying to get some kind of response from his former partner. The blank look on his friend’s face worried him. “What do you think? Come on, Al, it’s over and everything’s gonna be okay now!”

“Is it?” Slater asked in a tone that tore at Becker’s heart. He looked up then and saw the pain that remark had caused in his friend’s eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry, B.B. I’m…I guess I’m just tired.” His attempt to smile was almost worse than the blank expression had been. Becker picked up both of their coats and took Slater by the elbow.

“Let’s get the Hell out of here!” he declared, steering the other man towards the door. Slater let the other man lead him out into the hallway, into the elevator and out into the street. They walked together in silence to Becker’s rented car, neither of them in much of a hurry.

The cold air seemed to revive Slater a little. He kept drawing in deep lungfuls of it as they walked and, by the time they reached the car, his head was up again and he seemed to be taking as least some interest in his surroundings. Becker started the car and pulled out into the much lighter traffic.

They had been driving for about ten minutes when Slater spoke up again. “You know, I forgot to ask for the name of the agent I’m supposed to turn everything over to tonight–not that I have all that much left to turn in! Do you think he’ll contact me or what?”

Becker smiled slightly. “Don’t sweat it, Al. I’m the agent they assigned that duty to and there’s no rush, so long as I can put it all on my supervisor’s desk in the morning!” ‘My’ supervisor, not ‘our’. It felt weird! Becker shook his head and concentrated on his driving.

A few minutes more passed, and Slater suddenly looked over at him with a puzzled frown on his face. “Uh, Brian? Where are we going?” he asked.

Becker suppressed his smile. This was what he’d been waiting for all morning. “I just thought we’d take a little drive out to the airport…maybe sit and watch the planes land for a while,” he said, careful to keep his tone casual.

Slater’s brow furrowed. “Look, buddy, no offense, but I think I’ve seen enough airports to last me for a long time!” he declared, causing Becker to chuckle.

“Trust me, Alan. There’s a plane coming in this morning I think you’re gonna want to be there for!” he returned cryptically.

They were just turning onto the airport. Becker steered the car away from the main terminals and headed instead toward the more quiet end of the airport where the smaller planes took off and landed. He spoke quietly as he drove, watching Alan’s face from the corner of his eye. “A friend of ours over at the Pentagon called me this morning, Al. Seems they haven’t just been sitting on their hands all this time over there after all! Ever since the troops were officially pulled out, there’s been a number of covert missions going on, looking all over ‘Nam for missing soldiers…guys like Grant.” He heard Slater draw in a sharp breath.

“Stop beating around the bush, Brian!” he said. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. The Sultan lied to you, buddy. Grant was never in Russia like he said. He’s been in the same POW camp in North Vietnam all along. He and twenty other soldiers. The Pentagon’s known about them almost from the start, but couldn’t release the information for fear of compromising the security of the missions.” They now could see that the area they were about to enter was blocked off to the public and well guarded by a dozen or so Marines in full dress uniforms. One of them approached their car but, upon recognizing the two men from the descriptions he’d been given, backed off again almost immediately with a crisp salute as he waved them on through the barricade. Becker pulled on up to where several other cars were parked and killed the engine before turning in his seat to face his best friend.

The realization of what Becker was trying to tell him was just beginning to dawn on him when a small plane taxied up and stopped. The Marines stationed here all snapped to attention as one of them stepped forward to open the hatch. Slater let out a small cry and leapt out of the car at the sight of the first person to appear in that opening–a tall young man leaning heavily on a cane who blinked at the bright sunlight with old eyes in a youthful face. The weary soldier looked up at the sound of his name, though, and smiled a smile that rivaled the winter sunshine.

Becker got out more slowly and stood leaning against the car, blinking back tears of his own as he watched his best friend run across the tarmac to embrace the son he’d given up for dead. Around him, other such quiet reunions were going on, but his eyes were only for these two. “I told you, buddy,” he smiled softly to himself through his tears. “Things really are going to be all right now!”

 

Epilogue: “All’s Well…?”

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft sounds of the machinery monitoring the patient in the bed. Long dark hair fanned out across the pillow beneath her head, making her face seem even paler by contrast. It was hard to believe now that this tiny, frail form had once been mere steps away from taking down the head of the free world!

A darker shadow separated itself from the ones that filled the corners of the dimly lit room and a tall figure bent over the prone woman to lightly stroke her cheek. Her eyes opened and she smiled up at the man bending over her. “Come, my dear!” he whispered. “It’s time for us to go home!”

THE END