Lyle held the newspaper up to his face as he observed the man casually strolling past the café. He lowered it, making a production of turning the page, and glimpsed the man pausing to check the sandwich board menu. A moment later the man stepped onto the patio and chose a table in the shade, against the wall of the café.

Lyle got up and went over, asking aloud, for the benefit of others nearby, if he could share the man's table out of the sun. The waiter brought Lyle's drink over and took the order for more, for both men.

"Would you like the paper, I'm finished with it." Lyle offered.

"I would, thank you."

"I've been looking for a place to move to, but I don't seem to be able to find anything."

"What are you looking for?" The man asked casually.

"Nothing extravagant. Small enough for one, but big enough to entertain a few friends from time to time. Those that I did like all seem to be gone now."

The waiter returned delivering drinks with efficiency, and departed.

"Is location important?"

"You mean local or suburban?"

"Yes. Out where I am there are places that sound like what you might be after."

"Really. That's interesting."

"I could give you a few areas to check out."

"That would be great. I appreciate your help. What is the neighbourhood like?"

"Mostly like us, I think." The man chuckled, jotting down on a piece paper as he talked. "Middle class, heading for retirement - hopefully."

Lyle accepted the piece of paper with the man's suggestions and tucked it away in his jacket. Several minutes later, he thanked the man again and bade him goodbye.

Back at Rebecca Davenport's home, Lyle revealed the additional information Arctic had written on the paper he passed to him. Arctic was the designated emergency contact for a covert agent assisting in the Icecap breach. He never knew who he was and never expected to hear from him.

"But he was contacted," Lyle enthused, "and it was this Devon that Tate told us about."

"Well, what happened?"

"He learned a number of things about what the man was up to - what had happened recently with the business at B&S, and how they were in need of another safe house." Lyle almost giggled. "Imagine, our man giving them a safe house."

"You mean we know where they are?"

"Just Devon. Arctic has him treading water until he can verify a site. It's all a delay of course, until Barkhurst can wrap him up and get him here for interrogation."

Rebecca smiled happily. "Wonderful. This will be a huge advantage for Zero going forward. If we can uncover another of our adversaries, we can tighten up all our logistic plans." She got up and stepped spritely to her drink stand. "This calls for a toast, Lyle," she returned with a drink for each of them. "To Zero opposition." They both laughed at the pun.

******

Marshal set down his tea cup and held the report in both hands. "You may just have something here, Frank."

The two huddled over a desk in a secluded area of the military facility, studying a new piece of information.

"I didn't think it was enough to convene everyone, but that's the fourth time that same Black SUV has taken that road. We managed to get a registration this time," he said with enthusiasm.

"And?"

"It's registered to a Barkhurst Industries, they're renovation consultants."

"Hmm, not so unusual for multiple visits to that area then." Marshal took up his cup again.

"Barkhurst Industries has no base of operations, and the phone number is an answering service."

"Really." Marshal sipped from his tea, watching his associate as he did. "Our sweepers didn't get anything on those other vehicles we were watching."

"This, this looks more promising. I think maybe it's time for some boots on the ground, Marshal."

The cup clinked in the saucer again and Marshal sat back, looking once again at the report in his hand. "I think we need more intel before we launch any overt actions." He dropped the report on the desk. "What do you have on the residence?"

"It belongs to a woman, a Rebecca Davenport. Nothing on her personally that raises flags, but these visits bear questioning. I can speak to Colonel Brand. He can have a team there in an hour."

"I think a more careful approach is needed, Frank. I'll arrange a black bag op, and see if your plan is merited. I'll withdraw the sweepers so we don't have a conflict."

"Should I inform the others?"

"No . . . not yet at least. Leave it with me, I'll set up an op."

A trace of disappointment flashed on Frank's face as he stood to leave. "This needs to be resolved quickly, Marshal. We have agents at risk, and frankly there is something hinky about what happened to Icecap that still bothers me."

"Hinky?"

"Yes. From the moment we launched there were hitches, and when we got into their data, those hitches turned immediately into a breach of our programme. That just seemed too co-incidental."

"Well maybe this new intel will be the break we need."

"Yes . . . hopefully."

Marshal watched him out the door, concern furrowing his brow.

******

The laundry room had been a fiasco of sorting clothes, leading to a hurried obscuring of personal garments, and the unintentional, annoying emotions. Sheridan bustled from the room and up the stairs to the bedroom. Matt followed, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

"What are you doing?" She turned at the top of the stairs to face him.

"I'm coming up to get dressed."

"Why up here?"

"Because this is where the rest of my stuff is. Am I not allowed?"

"What stuff?" Her face reddened over her behaviour and she marched down to the bedroom.

He stopped at the doorway. "Wylie, what is the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing's the matter . . ."

"It's Devon, isn't it?" He moved toward her, and she sank onto the bed, hugging her bundle of clean clothes. "He's a pretty resourceful guy, Wylie. I'm sure you're worrying about nothing."

The look was bleak, and she could find no words to respond. It's not Devon, you big moron . . . She threw the clothes on the bed leaned, elbows on knees, with the heels of her hands in her eyes.

Matt set his stuff on the floor and sat beside her, one arm tentatively on her shoulders. "Well' see this through, Wylie, Don't let circumstances beat you up. In the end--"

"Oh shut up, you big oaf!" She lurched around, toppling him back on the bed, and crawled over him, her mouth clamping on his with ferocity.

"Mmph . . . Wy- Wylie! Oomph - ooh. Ooooh."

******

He lay still, listening to the sound of running water, almost positive he heard an occasional hiccup coming from the bathroom. What the hell had happened? He threw back the sheet and swung his legs into a sitting position, one hand massaging his forehead. The occurrence had taken him completely by surprise. Even his natural response startled him. It was an explosion of pent-up emotion on both their parts, that drove their need to a level of unrelenting fervour.

Matt stood and walked unsteadily to the window, staring out at a row of garages in a narrow lane way. In his head, he snickered at the scene. Not the romantic vista one might associate with end of the world lovemaking. He realized the sound of running water had stopped, and he turned from the window to see her watching him.

He looked down, giving an awkward glance to his body, and looked up in time to see her towel drop to the floor. Wordlessly, they came together, her clean, cool flesh against his damp, bed-warmed skin.

11,521 WP word count to this point