The caller ID identified Rose Thatcher and Gretta returned to her window seat to take the call.

"Gretta, I had to call you. Maurice had me draft a formal complaint for the directors about your activities. He is such a nasty man, after the professor."

"We all miss him Rose. Listen; you aren't calling from the office are you?" She checked her watch.

"No, I'm home, it's after six Gretta."

"Right, I guess I lost track of time there. Listen, don't worry about what Maurice is doing. I appreciate the concern but I'm not worried. If the directors see fit to sanction me in some way then that's their prerogative. I'm pretty confidant that my record will speak for itself."

"I know but he is so- he wants his mandate to be enforced."

"His mandate?"

"Yes, he was the one that presented it to the board when they interviewed him for the position. They agreed that it might be a good idea to refrain from being proactive, strictly from an economical standpoint."

"In that case, Rose, I'm not worried at all. Thanks for the info though; I did not know that."

"He also wants you suspended. They're arranging a meeting date that I'll have to pass on. Oh dear, I so wish Chester was here."

Gretta ended the call with a few more thanks and assurances then and put her phone away.

"Now what?" Arny asked as she stretched out her legs and sighed.

"Office politics. Maurice is trying to build a case against me for not following his mandate."

"He is the director, Gretta." She just turned her head and stared out the plane window.

Glimbs occupied the penthouse floor of the Waterbridge Towers with twenty-seven hundred square feet and a view across the lake to the US. The corner unit boasted a wrap around terrace large enough to accommodate planters with several cedars, climbing roses and Helen's little corner of geraniums.

The furnishings included a two-seater swing and an umbrella table with four all weather chairs. When they arrived home from the airport and agreed to relax from the trip with a glass of wine on the terrace before grabbing some sleep, the shock of finding a woman reclining in the swing, reading a magazine was too much for Helen and she uttered a short scream.

"Great spot you have here, Jeffrey."

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"

"First off, I'm the one woman on this earth you don't want to piss off with attitude and secondly, your lock isn't worth the brass it's made of."

"Go and call the police, Helen." Jeffrey stood in the terrace doorway as Helen scurried inside.

"There's no dial tone, Jeffrey."

"What did you do?"

Luane rose from the swing and adjusted her skirt. "I took precautions, Jeffrey and to answer your next question; I want the pen."

"The pen! What the hell is going on with you people? Your friends in Italy already tried and one wound up dead and the other in jail."

Luane kept the surprise from her face. Gravestone had only mentioned that his goons had failed where he expected her to succeed.

"I don't anticipate suffering either fate. Just give me the pen and you won't either."

"I don't have it; it's in my safety deposit at the bank."

"Is that right, Helen, old Jeff here didn't take it on your trip?" Luane asked as Helen appeared behind her husband.

"Don't answer her, Helen, she has no authority here."

The gun came out of her handbag with a slow, deliberate purpose and it centred on Helen's face. "Back inside, both of you. Now you had better cooperate, Jeffrey unless you want Helen here to try and catch a bullet in her teeth." He shifted in front of his wife, his entire body trembling violently. "I not going to count or anything, Jeffrey, I'm just going to shoot unless I see you make some move to get me what I want."

"Jeffrey!"

"Alright, I'll- I'll call the bank and─"

"Stop right there. It's not in your bank, Jeffrey and for that little lie somebody will pay. Now get that pen."

Too frightened to try another ruse and too worried about the consequences she promised, he clutched at his chest and plunged face down on the terrace.

"Jeffrey!" Helen knelt beside him, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. The sharp blow to the side of her head silenced the scream and the couple lay in a tangle like discarded toys.

******

Bishop actually growled at the news from Luane. "My information was that he took it with him."

"Well, that's not what I'm hearing here. When the bank opens I'll drag him over and he can get it out."

He hesitated, thinking. The Aurora would most likely be there as well and he certainly didn't want Luane seeing that. This might work out better than I planned, he thought.

"You there Bishop?"

"Yes. Fine. When the bank opens take him there and get the pen then move on to Lawrence."

"My time is running down, can you reconsider that?"

"Whatever it takes, I'm tired of the whole business. Just finish it."

She closed her cell and looked down at the couple on the floor.

Bishop eyed his Rolodex and lifted the lid, spinning the cards until he stopped and lifted the one he wanted. He had never used this person before but in light of the fact that all the big hitters had failed miserably, he might just be the right one to get the job done. Treeline, he knew, was never going to deal honestly and Lawrence, well she just needed to go and he thought the best way to hurt her would be through her associate, Wainright. He pulled the phone over and dialed a number.

******

"I don't like this at all. The line's dead and the phone company say they will have to send someone out tomorrow to check the connection." Arny stood and dared Gretta to ignore his concern.

"Maybe they just cancelled it for their trip."

"Oh right, everybody cancels their service for a ten day holiday. We should have seen them home."

"It's after eleven, lover; they could be in bed."

"That's where I should be."

"Well what do you want to do?

"Me! You're the one that got all this started with your escapades in Italy."

"And you're sorry we managed to save your friends."

"You know what I mean, Gretta. This is just another disaster scenario with the friggin' Congress."

"Arny, I will get in the car and go straight over to the Glimbs; you are welcome to come along." She slipped on her jacket and, he noticed, the sheath knife that resided under her belt in the back.

The ride was silent as was the trip up the elevator to the penthouse. Gretta stopped at the desk and asked them to buzz the Glimbs, discovering the internal line was dead as well. They exited the elevator and stood in the hallway between the two penthouse suites, listening.

"I'll knock."

"No!" Gretta shoved Arny aside and pointed to the brass lock where fresh scratch marks appeared in the shiny surface.

"You think someone is in there with Jeffrey and his wife?" He whispered.

"I wouldn't bet there wasn't. Out there." She pointed to the end of the hallway and the door to the fire escape.

The fire escape was just a small landing with a set of stairs that led down to another terrace about six floors below. From there they could see the stairs continued on the other side of the building. Not much use to them. Glimb's terrace was too far to jump to, which meant the only other way was the roof.

"Let me get up on your shoulders. I think I can reach that lip and pull myself onto the roof."

"Are you nuts? Look down there; it's a long bloody way to fall, Gretta."

"So I won't fall. Bend over here."

"No way! I can't hold you on my shoulders."

"Are you suggesting I'm too heavy?" Her look was unforgiving.

"For these shoulders, yeah."

"Get over here, Arny and don't be such a wus." She pushed him down and climbed from the fire escape railing onto his shoulders and then leaned against the building while he struggled to stand straight.

"Oh, Jesus. Hurry up, this is killing me."

"Hang on a sec." He heard her grunt a couple of times and then the weight lifted from his shoulders and he stepped back and looked up into the darkening sky in time to see her legs vanish over the lip of the roof. A moment later her face appeared, smiling.

"Way to go, sidekick."

Before he could respond she disappeared and he saw her silhouette next standing over the Glimb's terrace roof. Arny groaned as he watched her, enviously, as she swung down off the side of the roof and sprang catlike onto the terrace. There was no use calling out or complaining, she was in super Gretta mode so he dashed back inside and down to the penthouse door, waiting, listening and hoping for good news.