Kristen set the tray of sandwiches on the coffee table, and as she sat down, immediately took one and bit into it. I looked at Tom and his eyebrows rose in response. We both helped ourselves, and after fixing our coffees, Tom cleared his throat and began.

"Frank Crawford made application to the U.S. Department of State Student Internship Program in 1991, and was accepted for a position in one of State's bureaus. He met and married Carol Willis in '92. She became pregnant with their first child right away, and the second, 15 months later."

"And - what happened?" Kristen prodded, taking a third sandwich.

"In 1998, while attending meetings with senior-level U.S. Government officials, as an aide, he apparently read some material that was inadvertently left with some other documents to be marked classified. Since his boss was part of the meeting, he didn't know, with any certainty, what steps to take. The documents had to be filed, and his boss had to sign off on the file numbers, so he bit the bullet and handed them in.

"Alarms immediately began ringing in certain sectors, and Frank was quickly hustled behind closed doors. After being forced to sign non-disclosure statements, when he re-surfaced, he had been resigned from the State programme, and was given a minor intern role in housing."

I drank my cooling coffee. "To keep an eye on him, would be my guess. That wasn't the end of it though."

"No. In 2000, he came to our office, at great personal risk in breaking that non-disclosure contract, and told us what had happened to him."

"So, he told you about the documents."

"Again, no. Only that he had seen something he shouldn't have. He wanted protection. He believed he and his family were in danger from someone in the government."

"Who?" Kristen asked.

"He didn't know, but he was definitely scared."

"How did he know it wasn't the FBI?"

Tom gave her an appraising look. "I think he felt we might be his only hope, being a national police force."

"But you can't just take over any case that comes along, unless it's a Federal law that's been broken."

"That's why we did take it. Everything about it smelled Federal."

"Okay, so he came to you in 2000," I intervened. "That's 4 years before they vanished," I said. "What was going on meanwhile?"

"The family was being subjected to threatening phone calls. Their mail had been tampered with - and that was Federal. Within a year, our office deemed the situation critical for the family, and we put them in our safety programme."

"Your safety programme? Not WITSEC?"

"Ours is- well it's similar. Let's leave it at that. The point is, as soon as our investigation warmed up, everyone showed up to the fight - CIA, NSA, DIA, Homeland, and on and on. It was a dog's breakfast of agents falling over one another. There were even threats made on some of the state department officials. At that point we made a private arrangement with the Marshal's, and the family was put in witness protection. Nobody else knew, at least that's what we thought until 2004."

"But what happened to the business with the document he saw?" I persisted.

"Favours were called in. More deals were made, and with so many fingers in the pie it just lost traction. We tried for a while but, since we never really knew what they said, lips and doors were sealed."

"And he still wouldn't say what they were, after you set them up."

"Nope. I admired the guy's loyalty to his word. I mean he broke the contract by seeking our help, but not a word about what he read. When they vanished in 2004, we tried to track them with the Marshal's but to no avail - it seemed the family was a lot smarter than we were - we couldn't find a trace."

"How is that possible? All those agencies . . .?" Kristen tried a cookie.

"It's possible, believe me. There are more roadblocks in any bureaucratic government than you'd find around a sinkhole in Times Square." Tom reached for another sandwich, but they were all gone.

"Who do you think it is that's watching us then?"

"Could be anyone. All the agencies have . . . off the book operatives."

"You too?"

"No comment."

I got myself another coffee, and grabbed a cookie while there still were some.

"What do you think happened in 2004?"

"Obviously something spooked them. My guess is one of those agencies I mentioned located them, or at least came close."

"This so bizarre! Our own government persecuting its citizens." Kristen huffed impatiently.

"What about that phone call? What was with that Phoenix business?" I continued.

"That I don't get either. Code phrases, like that, are generally signals for some action or other. Spy agencies also use them for the sleepers they've planted."

"What a world."

"Well, whatever all this means, I still have a business to operate and clients to serve, so this meeting is over, gentlemen."

"What are you going to do, Tom? Are you going back home or . . .?"

"I think not. My place will be targeted now. I actually left my car there and practised a little tradecraft leaving the area. I arranged for a rental that I left in a parking garage, and took a cab to your place." His face looked hopeful.

"Is that a hint you want a place to crash?"

His eyes widened and he just smiled.

After a quick help cleaning up dishes, and hasty cautions and promises to keep in regular touch, Kristen closed her door behind us, and we heard the bolt slide home.

******

Cletus Horvat sat in his car watching the two men exit the car and enter the small apartment building. Standing and the FBI agent. This put a crimp in his plan to visit the policeman. They were in the policeman's car which meant if the Agent left he would require a taxi. He decided to wait a while longer.

******

Kristen walked around the house checking doors and windows, then a last check of the stove, and shut out the lights on her way to the bedroom. She stopped in front of the dresser mirror and faced it in the light of her bedside lamp. Shadows always seemed to add an allure - a flawless reflection of the true image, she thought, turning this way and that.

Her thoughts slipped to the unexplained romp with Ralph Standing, and she addressed herself in the mirror. Face it Kristen, you would have jumped the mail man to burn off your stored up need. All this devotion to your precious business, no social life, no friends to just hang out with . . . She examined her clothes, muttering an oath. Was that the reason for dressing up tonight? To flirt with two virtual strangers?, she moaned, using a kid's definition.

She grabbed the waist of her sweater and stripped it off over her head, dropping it on a small chair by the dresser. The heels were kicked away and the skirt shed to the floor, also kicked away.

In the bathroom, the tooth brush scraped furiously across the teeth of another image, and suddenly she dropped it in the sink and leaned on the counter, her head hanging, toothpaste foam and tears dripping into the bowl.

Word count to this point - 7667