Maurice Trask stood as Gretta entered his office, surprised that the woman he had seen fashionably attired at the funeral was now clad in jeans and a tank top, which left him uncomfortably shifting his eyes.

"Pleased you could come, Miss Lawrence. Have a chair."

Gretta sat and crossed her legs, glancing about the office that used to be Chester's.

"You've made some changes already," she noted.

"Yes- well, one must set the environment best suited for one's working comfort." He gave her a tentative smile and sat behind his desk.

"Cheesy loved this room; he always said it was his soul's control centre. I imagine that was the environment he constructed."

Maurice wet his lips and fiddled with some papers. The light from the window made his hair shine and she concluded it was some styling cream or other.

"I uh- I have been going over all our agent's files, as you might imagine, and," he chuckled patronizingly. "Yours provided some very startling reading. You have quite a record with CONGA."

"It began a long time ago when it was CIA. That was when we were proactive in the field."

"Yes, I understand. Actually that is why I wanted to speak with you. We uh- CONGA's board has considered taking a new position with regard to our uhm- exploits. Our mandate is being modified to respond solely to requests from concerned parties. We will no longer be actively seeking interventions."

"Was I specifically selected for this information?" Gretta asked calmly.

He smiled condescendingly and flapped the file in front of him. "In a word."

"I see. A wrist slap from the new director." She stood and stared down at him, his shining hair appeared even more artificial from that vantage point.

"I'm sorry you see it that way. It's simply a matter of protecting the organization from uhm, inconveniences." He stood as well, still holding her file, unhappy to see she still had a small height advantage without the heels she'd worn at the funeral.

"Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment; we are still in the process of tightening our contacts with field agents. There is nothing pending."

"Fine. Nice meeting you." She stepped around the chair and left the office.

"You don't deserve to be treated that way, Miss Lawrence." Rose offered as Gretta passed her desk.

"Thanks Rose. It's okay; I used to get worse than that from Cheesy." She gave a little laugh and patted the older woman's arm.

"But he really loved you, Miss Lawrence."

"And I loved him, Rose. He'll be missed... big time."

"He will indeed. You take care, dear."

Gretta thanked her and left, her mind dashing back to the content of Cheesy's letter.

---------------------------

Arny lifted the receiver of his phone and answered with his official voice.

"Arnold Wainright."

"It seems to me the last time I spoke to you on the telephone it was your birthday." The scraping voice sounded like static.

"Mr. Glimb, hi. Uh yeah, that was a long while ago now, sir. How can I help you?"

"I'm calling to wish you another happy birthday, Wainright."

"Well- well that's very thoughtful, sir. Thank you." Arny stared at his desk top, uncertain of this circumstance. A ten year gap!?

"It's a happy birthday, Wainright, because today is also the day I finally retire and that means there will be a large reorganization of the managerial staff because Peter Cutter doesn't want to sit alone on our letterhead."

Arny listened and began to feel uneasy about the conversation's direction.

"Still there. Wainright?"

"Sir, yes sir."

"There will be a small meeting of the top people this evening in the boardroom to resolve Peter's concern. Supper will be provided and I expect it to turn into a bit of a farewell for me too so there will be an open bar."

Arny gaped at the phone. This was Jeffery Glimb inviting him to an exclusive meeting of top management and chuckling about supper and a free bar.

"You want me to attend, sir?"

"That's why I called, Wainright."

"I thought it was to wish me a happy birthday."

"If that satisfies you then we'll leave it at that."

"Huh! No ah- I mean- I just wasn't sure, sir. I'd be privileged to attend. What time?"

"Seven. Sharp, Wainright. And no presents thank you." The phone went dead.

Presents? Arny replaced the receiver and watched the veins on the back of his hands. If that satisfies you? He picked up the phone again and dialed home.

---------------------------

Gretta tipped back her glass of wine and sucked out the last drop, setting it down and letting her head flop back on the sofa cushion. She smiled at the empty room and did a mental tip of her hat to Cheesy's foresight over the appointment of Maurice Trask to his position.

He knew what Trask was about, which was budgetary cost cutting and more control over the types of projects CONGA should involve itself with. His final letter was a tribute to his rascally nature as well as his conscientiousness. When it came to the right of ownership of a body's antiquities, Cheesy was relentless . . . even yet.

She held up the picture of the item enclosed with the letter and shook her head. Right to the end he had been tracking the interests of CONGA's old adversaries and learned that, once again, Bishop Gravestone was hunting this very object. The phone rang and she half crawled across the sofa and pulled it down as she twisted on to her back.

"Gretta?"

"Sorry, she's not here at the moment but if you hurry we can have some fun before she returns."

"Gretta, why do I get these offers when I can't take advantage?"

"Because it's your birthday, and why can't you take advantage?"
He told her about the call from the company president and what was expected of him.

"I have no idea how long it will run so I guess I'll just call when it's over."

"This sounds very huge, Arny. How do you feel?"

"Nervous. Uncertain. Excited."

"Keep the last one and I'll keep my fingers crossed. Call when you can."

"Can we still have fun anyway . . . later?"

"I'll tell Gretta as soon as she get's back." She teased, and blew him a kiss before hanging up. She decided to use the free time to do some research on the item in Cheesy's letter.

----------------------------

The twelve cent Niuean air mail stamp, issued in 1910, six years after becoming a separate colony of New Zealand with its own administration, was one of the prize acquisitions for philatelists collecting South Pacific, commemorative postage stamps. According to The Scott Standard Postage Stamp Catalogue, the stamp in almost any condition was worth in the neighbourhood of $300,000.00. Mint condition put it in the priceless category, not as valuable as the famed 1856 British Guiana one-cent magenta or the 1918, 24-cent Jenny invert, but an interesting top ten member.

Gretta studied the picture of the stamp and wondered what it was about something so small that sparked such unbridled obsession for millions of collectors around the world. It was pretty but then so was some wallpaper.

With the Niuean economy dwindling annually, a result of the cut in aid funding by New Zealand and a meager export picture, the remittances from Niueans living abroad remain a significant source of personal income leaving the sale of postage stamps to foreign collectors an important source of trade revenue. Hence the very real desire to maintain possession of the twelve cent air mail stamp.

When the phone rang, Gretta was surprised that it was so late; she had missed dinner and was suddenly starving.

"Gretta? What's up, you sound funny?"

"Just hungry."

OH geez, I said I would be late—"

"Not your fault, Arny. I just got doing something and forgot about it. How was the meeting?"

"Well." His voice assumed a pompous pride and she could see his chest swelling over the phone. "Jeffery Glimb gave in his resignation to retire and the board voted for a triumvirate to manage the company. Yours truly is one of the three!"

"Arny, that's great! Oh I'm so pleased for you. So what happens now? New office? Car and driver? Tons of money?"

"Yes, no and no. A moderate increase but a large share holding. Incentive to do well."

"Will there be a formal thing happening or do you just go to the liquor store and get some cartons to move your stuff?"

"At the next shareholder's meeting there will be a small reception to acknowledge the new leaders; wives and partners welcome."

"Great, with your new raise you can buy me a nice dress to wear."

"To be continued. What was in the letter from Cheesy?"

"Oh, a really interesting project . . . we can talk about it later."

Arny groaned aloud and moaned into the phone. "It's not another of your adventures, Gretta. Please say it's not."

"We can talk when you get home."

"Aah, Christ! I knew it. Even from the grave—"

"Bye, Arny, drive carefully." She replaced the phone and smiled. He always acted that way