And once again: thank you Brenda for editing. Didn't we have great fun?!

PART ONE

Chris Keel pulled the collar of his leather jacket a little tighter around his neck. The evening fog sent shivers down his spine and he stamped his feet and rubbed his hands to keep the circulation moving. He peered into the darkness, trying to find Sam Curtis who was in the same kind of circumstances on the opposite side of the docks.

"4.5 to 3.7. Come in, 3.7"

"3.7 here. All?s quiet." Sam voice had a strange curve to it as he suddenly sneezed three times in a row.

"Bless you!" Chris whispered cheerfully.

"Hmm. You know, I wouldn?t mind..."

Chris would never hear what Sam wouldn?t mind as suddenly Backup?s voice popped up on the tiny ear mike. Would he ever get used to those?

"Watch out, 4.5 and 3.7. Object located and heading your way."

"Copy that." the voices came in unison.

The headlights of the big American car appeared at the end of the dock, slowly heading in their direction. A switch was turned, and the whole area was suddenly flooded in bright light. Sam stepped out of his cover to take careful aim at the approaching target, aiming for the tyres

In the same split second, Backup screamed into Chris?s ear: "STOP! The boy! The boy is in the back seat. I saw him! Don't shoot!"

But Sam had already fired and the car spun wildly. It went beserk, spinning crazily, the screeching tires forming hot rubber tracks on the tarmac. It veered towards the edge of the quay, seemed to stop for a moment and then lost balance and fell, as if in slow motion, ten feet down into the dirty water of the Thames.

The two agents didn't hesitate for a second. Sam ran towards the edge, kicking off his shoes and tearing at the zipper of his jacket. Chris reacted identically. Sam hit the icy, dark water of the Thames seconds before his partner, took a deep breath, and then dove to where the headlights of the Buick pierced the dark underwater world, still sinking. He vaguely saw the small hands of a child through the rear window and searched for the door handle. Chris swam to the other side, carefully approaching, but there was no immediate danger: the hijacker lay unconscious on the front seats. It looked as though he'd hit his head against the windscreen. Chris pulled the door open, grabbed the man's collar and started dragging him up to the surface. Vaguely, he could see Sam's features through the other side of the window, trying to get the boy out.

He pushed himself upwards, towing the limp body of the man behind him. Gasping for breath as he hit the surface, he heard Backup's voice.

"Chris! Over here!"

He looked around to see she and Jenkins on a small pier, signalling him to dry land. His rapid breath formed clouds as the two operatives pulled him and his heavy burden from the water.

"Sam's still down there!" Backup's worried cry made Chris jump back immediately and swim as fast as he could towards the pools of light still sinking into the dark water.

Sam was in trouble. The boy was terrified, and panic made him kick out strongly as Sam tried to reach for him He'd crawled back into the corner of the car, trying to keep his head up in the one spot where a little air was left. In a flash it occurred to Sam: this kid couldn't swim. He wasn't scared of Sam - he was terrified of the water that crept higher and higher. Sam waved at him, trying not to scare him any more, but the child fought and kicked and bit him. Suddenly, he hooked his arms around Sam's neck, half-choking him, and the CI5 agent knew he had to get back to the surface - had to get some air. He twisted to free himself from the ever-tightening grip and drag the child out but something held him back. The boy's foot was caught in one of the seat belts. Sam's lungs were bursting now, and he was desperate? couldn't breathe? had to?

Flashes of red exploded in his head, and without realising it, his mouth was filled with foul, filthy water. This was the end.

Then, suddenly, strong hands - Chris' hands - were pulling him free, the child still clutching him, and the world went darker still.

"You look like shit, buddy." Chris stated happily as Sam started pulling on dry clothes.

"Still generous with the compliments" Sam muttered, trying to respond but not feeling much like it. He'd had a bad time down there, and was still more than a little shaky.

"Nag, nag, nag...I know. But you're not supposed to drink that water. That's why they invented faucets and bottled water, y'know." Chris was making a good job of hiding his worry about his partner, but Sam did look terrible. As Chris had pulled him out of the water, he had already been unconscious, but Backus had swiftly helped, efficiently flipping him over and remembering all she'd ever learned about the kiss of life. Chris had been almost sick with relief as Sam coughed after his own few energetic pumps to his partner's ribcage, turning his head away from Backus to spit the filthy water onto the quayside.

Now, back at HQ, he was showered and in dry clothes. The violent shivering had stopped now, but Sam was still feeling a great deal worse than he wanted to admit.

"You guys ready?" Backup stuck her head around the door of the men's locker room. "I know it's late, but Malone is waiting for us. And after that we'll all have a good night's rest."

Sam sneezed a couple of times, eyes watering. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

The kidnapping had at least ended happily. The boy was safe and sound, a bit shaken up perhaps, but the parents had cried with happiness and the kidnapper was safely behind bars.

Backup and Chris did most of the talking - Sam just sat on the chair and kept quiet, only coughing and sneezing at times.

"Mr. Curtis, you were the first to reach the vehicle. Did you see anyone else in there? "

"Sorry, sir?" Sam muttered, not really registering the question.

"Are we boring you, Mr. Curtis?" Malone's voice sharpened a little "I asked if you saw anyone else in the car, or any evidence of another passenger?"

Sam shook his head as visions of the child choking him in the dark water filled his mind.

"Sorry, Sir. No, I don't think so, I...it was...I..." the words came incoherently as he felt sweat break out on his forehead. His lungs were burning, and the room was stiflingly hot. Then a wave of nausea started to rise and the floor tilted. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Are you alright, Mr. Curtis?" Malone's voice seemed to be coming from miles away.

"I...er...I need some fresh air, sir."

Sam started to get to his feet, but the floor wouldn't stay still. His legs couldn't cope.

"Watch it! He's passing out!" Backus leapt to her feet.

Chris caught his partner before he hit the floor. Grabbing him and swinging him into a chair, he could feel the burning temperature and grimaced. Sam's breathing was too shallow, and his face looked like putty.

"He's out of it, Sir. And he's running a fever."

Sam came to after a few minutes, feeling foolish. Faces were hovering over him and he knew he'd blacked out. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, but Backup pushed him back gently.

"You passed out, Sam - you're sick. Lie back? "

The staff doctor was there, frowning and tapping her fingers against a syringe.

"Up with the sleeve, please. And I'd like to know why you've been running around in this state without bothering to do anything about it."

Sam just shook his head, feeling too bad to do much more.

"Next time you're starting with pneumonia, maybe you'll grace me with a visit."

Once the needle had done its work, the Doctor turned to Malone, still looking offended.

"A good week off, Mr. Malone, then a check-up. And perhaps a little reminder of the reason why CI5 has doctors?"

Malone grimaced, not looking very pleased with his agent himself.

"Can you take him home, Mr. Keel?"

Keel was already nodding, his features betraying concern.

"Then please do so. I shall expect you back here tomorrow."

Two weeks later

A small, hawk-like man with dark intense eyes was sitting with Malone as Backup, Sam and Chris entered the office. Malone introduced him as H.T. Barker, senior customs officer for the port of Hull. Malone nodded to him to start talking.

"Recently, the combined forces of C&E Hull and Rotterdam went aboard a freighter called Queen of Macao, registered in Kupang, Timor in the South Pacific, that came into port. We were informed that it may be carrying a large amount of heroin - we've been working on information from the DEA on possible suspects for a long time. When we went in, we found drugs but also evidence of women having been aboard."

"Illegal immigrants? Slavery under a different name?" Backup said, almost without thinking, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Barker looked over at her, nodding slowly. "The captain and most of the crew denied all knowledge of any trade of that kind, of course. But one of the seamen decided to talk, and confirmed they'd been taking on various groups of women against large sums of cash. Or large for the poor devils they carried, at least - up to a year's earnings, so they could go and make their fortune."

Backup gave a short, angry sigh, but Barker was still explaining his case.

"The freighter had collected the "merchandise" in the Philippines - apparently this wasn't the first run of its kind. Once they were on board, they picked out the pretty, young ones - whether they were lucky or not is a matter of discussion. They found themselves being put to use, whether in the kitchens or in the crew's beds. They were gradually put ashore in different ports, but it's impossible to trace them. In order to find the brains behind the entire operation, by the way, we let the ship, continue to Rotterdam, where our colleagues put the rest of the crew behind bars.

Barker finally stopped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Malone took over, tapping with his finger on a face in a blurred photograph.

"After thorough interrogation and investigation we -that is C&E, DEA and CI5- came up with a name behind this. This is Marco Fransen: the alleged mind behind everything. Read about him in the file. And here's your assignment...."

***

Startled, Sam woke up in the middle of the night. Physically, he felt fine - the antibiotics had soon cured that side of things. But the nightmares had come to haunt him on more than one occasion.

The sheer panic that raged inside him was getting more and more physical during the dreams: his throat would refuse to let air in, and he would awake panting, clawing at his chest for air - and would see the angry red marks his own hands had made.

But nobody knew about this private hell. And nobody ever would.

***

The weather in Rotterdam was similar to the chilly morning they had spent in Hull before crossing to Holland. Strands of fog were creeping into the harbour as the afternoon drew to a close.

Sam met with their contact at the local police, while Backup and Chris spoke to Roland van Genderen, a solid, friendly C&E official on the docks, and were handed a great deal of detailed information on the Queen of Macao.

Van Gelderen pointed to the now-empty ship. "The harbour police are keeping an eye on it - nothing is happening for the time being, but you can take a look inside if you like. I must leave you - my numbers are in the file, so contact me if you need me."

An empty boat was a strange place, Backup decided. The freighter was eerie, huge, and yet moaned and creaked as if it had a life of its own. By the look of him, Chris wasn't enjoying it much either - it must be vastly different from an American navy vessel bustling with life, she decided.

"C'mon Chris - we've seen enough. This place gives me the creeps."

"Familiarise yourself with the details and the persons you're supposed to be." Malone had said as he had given them the information on the case.

Sam glanced at himself in the mirror, seeing the amusement on the faces of his colleagues. He was wearing an expensive off-white suit, purple silk shirt, dark purple tie and Italian shoes. His entire presence suggested money, power, and bad taste, all emphasised by some rather flashy gold jewellery, a great deal of cologne and... a glistening curly hairdo.

"Gorgeous, Sam. You'll knock 'em dead," Chris teased with undisguised pleasure.

"Maybe you should grow a moustache... that would go nicely with the curls..." Backup added thoughtfully.

"Cut it out," Cam snapped, not enjoying his new image at all. "Why do I get this part, eh? Why can't you be the bored rich guy for once?"

"Sam, isn't that obvious by now? You've got the looks - I've got the muscles and the brains around here. I'm so much more convincing as your bodyguard. Besides, I could never look the part as well as you do. And... my hair's too short for that kind of hairdo."

He laughed out loud as he saw the stunned look on Sam's face. Then he touched Backup's arm. "Come on, Backup, let's go and leave handsome here to admire his new image."

They slipped out of the room before Sam had time to come up with a suitable answer.

Sam stepped into a limousine as Chris opened the door for him.

"How's your Dutch, by the way, Sam?" Chris inquired.

Sam's knowledge of foreign languages was slowly becoming legendary.

"Not very good - it's not easy to pronounce, but I do understand it a little as I speak German pretty well."

Backup, unrecognisably altered into an expensive private hooker, slid her petite body next to his on the back seat of the car. Sam chuckled as he looked at her with surprise - this time it was his turn to get back at her. But she was faster than he was.

"Don't get any ideas, Sam Curtis - or I'll show you that high heels were not only invented to walk on..."

Chris - behind the wheel - bit his lip.

The next few days they made themselves visible to the world of laundered money and prostitution by visiting dubious expensive night clubs and casinos around the Netherlands. And of course "Mr. Samuel" dropped hints about his liking for the more unusual kind of sexual adventures whenever he had the opportunity. Backup played his personal sweetheart and secretary and Chris worked his way around as the silent bodyguard.

Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. The big car, the big money flowing and the unmistakable appearance of the three made sure of that. Van Genderen had done his share of spreading their names around, too.

On the fifth day of their assignment Chris heard a knock on the door of the hotel room. Sam was taking a shower and Backup lay in bed, reading, so he carefully checked before answering.

"Mr. Samuel can't be disturbed", he said through the closed door.

"I'll wait, then." It was a woman's voice.

Then, to his surprise, a small note was slid under the door into their suite. It said: "I was sent by Roland van Genderen."

Chris opened up after a few minutes, secretly admiring the fact that she hadn't spoken the Dutch official's name aloud.

"Mr. Samuel will see you now."

He looked into an intelligent pair of hazel eyes, rosy cheeks, promising lips and all of this surrounded by an uncontrolled bunch of short red hair - more or less tied together with a colourful scarf.

She shook his hand: "Fanny Waterman, Dutch Police, Intelligence Division. You must be ... Mr. Keel?"

After the pleasantries she came to the point quickly, in near-perfect English.

"I've been undercover for a few months now, and I have been able to get quite close to Louis Brands - Marco Fransen's right hand man. Mr. van Genderen asked me to spread a few rumours about you, and I think Fransen's starting to get curious about you, at last. He's already sent someone to spy on you while you were in some of the night clubs. I told him that I heard you would be in the Casino in Rotterdam tonight. I'm pretty certain that he'll be there too." She paused for a second, looking at the three with what looked like worry.

"Don't underestimate him, though. He's completely unscrupulous and violence is part of his way of life. The same goes for Brands."

"Warning taken, thanks. We'll remember that. " Sam nodded.

"You take care of yourself too," Chris said, on impulse. She grinned.

"Do my best."

She cast a glance at Chris and her eyes stayed just a little bit longer as they met his. Suddenly she broke into a smile and to Chris the room faded to the background. He felt delight touching him so sweetly, that he had to fight to resist stepping closer to her. He didn't even realise that he was staring at the door as she closed it behind her.

Sam raised his eyebrows as she left, and Chris had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Aw, Chris - " Backup started, and the American grimaced.

"Obvious, was I?"

"You? Never," Sam grinned. "And money grows on trees..."

The set-up in the Casino had been easy enough. Louis Brands joined Sam at the bar quite casually, but exactly as the three had hoped he would. They spoke for some time, carefully feeling out the other's role. Finally, Sam broached the subject: he was rich, he was interested in Oriental women and had a taste for the bizarre - and the cost was not an issue. Brands put down a small card.

"Meet me here tomorrow, Mr Samuels. Mr. Fransen has a rather nice yacht where he likes to do business."

PART THREE

A knock on the door, and an enormous heavily muscled man opened up. Chris registered at once that this was one very, very strong heavy. The man crossed his arms over his broad chest, face blank.

"Your boss wants to speak to my boss." Chris said, evenly.

And thank you for that, Miss Waterman, Chris thought.

Mr Muscles didn't respond immediately, but slammed the door in Chris's face. Chris waited, and it opened again afterwards.

"You can come in now."

They were on a gigantic and luxurious yacht moored in the Rotterdam marina. Chris entered the room, followed by Sam who had Backup on his arm. She giggled, a child-woman pro forma.

"Look Samuel, bubbles!" she cried out, pointing at the champagne. "I LOVE bubbles! We already had some just before?"

Fransen did not introduce himself. He just motioned Sam to a chair.

Sam took a good look at the man who was already seated. He looked pretty average but somehow he had a dangerous air about him - maybe it was the soothing, sophisticated voice or perhaps the dark, inquisitive eyes that did it.

Muscles didn't leave Fransen's side, so Chris stayed right by Sam as well. Brands was nowhere in sight. Backup was waved aside, so she pretended to be interested in the champagne alone, and cheekily served herself a glass. Her eyes however, monitored the place quickly, searching for things that were out of the ordinary in a room like this. "Where's your bathroom?" she inquired coquettishly.

Muscles made some vague gesture outside and Backup left, giggling, pretending to be a bit light headed from the alcohol.

But once in the gangway she moved fast, peering into several rooms, ducking as she saw one or two men working inside: kitchen, bridge, bedrooms, and then: bingo - a radio computer room of some kind. She stepped in, closed the door and started a quick search through the stuff that stood in cupboards along the side. She turned on a computer, fingers moving fast and mind working in milliseconds, knowing she would have at most 5 minutes. She made mental notes of what she read, but it meant nothing to her.

Footsteps were coming her way. She hit the power switch and the computer went dead. One glance around the room and she saw a way out: through the porthole. She unlocked it, hauled herself up and was suddenly hanging on the outside of the boat. But she was lucky - her feet touched a small ridge, so she carefully closed the porthole and moved, belly pressed tight against the hull, to a safer spot. As she clambered back on deck in silence, mercifully unnoticed by the crew, she realised at once she couldn't go back: her dress was wet and stained from its encounter with the hull. Then she had an idea: the swimming pool. There was a small round pool on deck, scarcely lit by few lights on the side. She got up, holding herself against the walls and swaying a little, chose the direction of the pool and fell elegantly into it.

***

"Sorry Backup, didn't mean to hurt you," Sam muttered an apology.

"That's alright Sam - I know you don't - had to keep up appearances?" She rubbed her cheek absent-mindedly, where Sam had slapped her, pretending anger about her tipsiness and stupid fall into the pool.

"Did you see his face when you hit her, Sam?" Chris asked, feeling a cold undetermined worry growing inside. "He loved that. I swear, I saw the look in his eyes."

"Sam, when and where's the next meeting to take place and what time?"

"At 16.00 hrs, on his yacht again - that's the arrangement. We're supposed to discuss conditions for delivery of the merchandise."

Backup's eyes flew over the screen, entering and combining the data and words she could recollect from her visit to the computer room at the yacht. Chris and Fanny Waterman, who had been asked to come down, peered over her shoulder. Eventually she stopped, frustrated. "It's not enough - I need more than this. I did retrieve some data but it's all bits and pieces... nothing to go on. And what I do remember I probably typed in wrong - it was all in Dutch and I don't understand it. There was a computer on the yacht, Miss Waterman," she explained.

Fanny Waterman immediately had an idea. "Deliver a message that you are unable to meet them there. Choose a different spot at a later time. There is a restaurant I know he likes to go to - meet him there. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can pay a visit to the yacht."

"No!" Chris didn't this at all. His eyes switched to Sam, asking an unspoken question. His partner understood immediately. It was far too dangerous for Miss Waterman to go poking around there on her own.

"Backup, I need you with me. Chris, you go with Miss Waterman. If they ask, I'll tell them I don't like doing business with big ears around."

The Dutchwoman's smile made the room light up and Chris once again felt a sharp wrench in his gut - worry, anxiety, fear not only for his two partners but for also this delightful redhead.

"Fine, Mr. Curtis. But just one question. Isn't it about time we got ourselves on first name terms?"

Fanny and Chris kept their heads low as Fransen passed them by in his Mercedes SLK. Muscles was with him. As they disappeared, the two of them turned to the yacht. Fanny was dressed up as a prostitute and took out a lipstick and small mirror from her purse. Chris wore dark clothes, gloves and soft, soundless shoes. He stopped her before she could apply the bright red gloss and pulled her towards him.

"Listen Fanny. I don't know how to put this, but if there is anything, anything that you can't handle, get the hell of there, you hear? Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He looked into her eyes - she was remarkably calm.

She touched his face in a gesture that was almost tender.

"I'll be alright, I promise. I'll divert the two on board while you get in and download the data. And once we're home, we'll gather enough evidence to nail that son of a bitch."

Chris bent over to her - he never realised she was so small - and kissed her. She answered his warmth immediately, then released herself from his grip. Her breath formed small clouds in the cold air.

"My, my, Mister Keel. Is that standard procedure in CI5 these days?" She smiled, blew him a kiss and - wiggling her hips- she headed for the yacht.

Sam and Backup waited for Fransen to show up. The restaurant was crowded enough for them to go unnoticed, the clients a curious mixture of dress and style.

"He's here", Backup said softly, squeezing Sam's arm.

"Where's your wingman?" Fransen inquired, frowning as he looked around.

Sam played his role as a bored, spoilt bully convincingly. "All muscles, no brains. He tends to get a bit greedy if he hears too much. I gave him the evening off. So... he'll be enjoying himself with some of Rotterdam's finest, I suppose."

As Fransen frowned, seeming suddenly suspicious, Sam spoke, letting temper take the upper hand.

"I'm in a hurry. You told me I could get five women within one week. Either we come to an agreement fast, or I'm leaving right here and now."

Fransen patted Backup's knee. "Go powder your nose, sweetie."

Backup looked at Sam, who nodded. When she was away, he bent over to Sam speaking softly, but the menace clearly there.

"You are rather fond of her, aren't you? Don't you ever try threatening me again, Mister Samuel. Or her pretty face won't stay that way."

While Fanny entertained the man aboard the yacht - Chris couldn't understand a word they said, but they were laughing and she apparently held their attention - he stepped over the railing at the far end of the boat. He sneaked in, silently, his shadow the only thing that responded to his moves. Backup noted the route along the inner deck, so Chris found the radio computer room without any problem. Although the door was firmly shut, he had no trouble entering it, using the electronic picklock that was standard CI5 issue. He slid inside, opened up the system, downloaded as much as he could and left - but not before placing a small bug in the room.

Fanny and Chris plugged the zip onto the computer and the uploading started. They stared at the screen together, hitting the scroll keys, moving the mouse, every now and then speaking out loud some key words that didn't mean anything to either of them. Endless lists began to run and Fanny finally spoke, disappointment evident in her voice. "This isn't Dutch. It's just plain gibberish!"

Chris glanced at her, amused at her colloquial use of English. She saw his face and started to chuckle. "Did I get the wrong word?" The merriment had a remarkable effect on Chris - a tingling sensation crawled up his spine and he felt a pleasant warmth in his belly.

"It's probably encrypted. Coded. We'll better leave that up to Backup. She's the expert on that."

"Chris, wait - look, here. A name. King of Siam."

They looked at each other - ideas forming at the same time.

"Well we already have the Queen of Macao," she said. Does royalty run in the family?"

"You think it's another ship?"

"Suppose so. Just a second, I'll log onto the harbour computer."

After five minutes she smiled, pointing out where the King of Siam was docked on the plans.

"It's empty - it arrived a few days ago, but there's no cargo on board. Hardly any crew, either, from what I can understand here."

Chris looked at her, delighted with the results she's obtained.

"How about paying our respects to His Majesty".

"Noblesse oblige!" Fanny could not hide her excitement.

They added a note for Backup in the laptop, then put computer and zip-drive in the safe before leaving the hotel.

***

The night was almost over by the time Sam walked to the car with Backup at his arm. He patted her behind as they left the brothel, knowing Fransen's eyes were burning in his back.

"Sorry, Backup," he whispered.

"You owe me."

They both desperately needed a shower and some sleep. Sam felt sleazy and Backup seemed equally disgusted at the way the evening had turned out. After Sam's attempt to cut short their "agreement", Fransen had insisted on taking them to a brothel. Backup had refused to stay in the Mercedes with Muscles, so she'd taken Sam's arm and went inside with him. Checking out the merchandise, Fransen had called it. The man's cruelty towards the Asian women had astonished Sam and made Backup feel very vulnerable. She too had an oriental look about her, despite being a Canadian born and bred, but Fransen didn't know that. At least he'd completely ignored her, probably because Sam was keeping a close eye on her as his own private "merchandise". But the whole set-up had shocked them both, Sam knew. It was a side of life they both knew about, but it still hit hard to see it: Desperate, scared, addicted women selling their bodies to earn a living, unable to break free from this degrading world.

It took Sam every effort not to hit the man out cold - he felt really disgusted by all of this. It went on for hours and Sam knew Fransen's motive was to test their reliability - to see if they were as perverse as they said they were, was really true.

But the two kept up appearances: Sam showing interest only in what he was about to "buy", Backup watching intensely at the women he pointed out to her- something Fransen did not take kindly to. He prevented her from talking to the women, unspoken threat seeping through his carefully chosen gestures.

***

One thing worried Chris - he couldn't contact Sam to let him know where he was heading. He hardly dared use the phone, not knowing who his partner was with. And there was no question of leaving a note. He'd tried to reach them at the hotel, but they hadn't returned, so just hoped Backup would soon read the message he'd left her in the laptop.

Chris and Fanny went to the dock where the King of Siam was moored. At first glance, it looked like a dilapidated old vessel, with rusty containers stacked up like Lego, but also - and -sticking out like a sore thumb - highly sophisticated radar and sonar equipment.

"That's her?" Chris said thinking out loud, "There must be more than meets the eye. I'm going aboard to take a look."

"I'm coming too."

"You sure?"
"Yes, of course I am." She looked very different now, without the thick layer of make up and the showy, brief clothing prostitutes wore. Chris thought she was simply beautiful. He felt lost in her eyes, alive in her presence. She aroused things in him that he'd forgotten he had. He never thought he would be able to feel this way after his wife had died - but suddenly, that seemed light years ago. Sure, he cared a lot about Sam and Backup, and his partnership with Sam meant a lot to him - his reaction when he thought Sam had died in a Spanish cave a year earlier had made him realise just how much. Backup was bright, cute and a good friend - but suddenly he'd found more. He touched her chin lightly and kissed her tenderly. She looked pleasantly surprised.

"There's no need to bribe me, Chris. You think I'd let you wander off alone in there?"

PART FOUR

Sam felt himself tense and the panic rising. The boy was crushing his larynx and a taste of filthy water gagged him as it forced its way into his mouth. A dark shape had its hands around his throat and squeezed, the fingers strong and resisting his desperate attempts to free himself. Then the hands were grabbing his arms, too.

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!"

The dark shape disappeared. But the child didn't let go.

"Sam! Come on, snap out of it! Wake up!" Backup was holding his arms down to protect him from himself. He looked into her dark, worried eyes and suddenly realised he was awake and that he had been dreaming again. Quickly he sat up in the bed, shivering as the sweat on his back chilled him. Backup looked odd, her hair sticking out every way, and he realised he'd woken her. Had he been shouting in his sleep? Had he given his secret away?

"What was that all about?" Backup asked.

"I... don't remember. It's already gone. Sorry," Sam lied, grateful it was dark in the room and he couldn't see his face. Knowing Backup, she'd know he was lying.

Backup nodded, muttering something about images from what they had seen earlier haunting her, too. Glad she'd at least come to a reasonable conclusion and had no idea what it was really about, Sam went to the bathroom and took a shower. The hot water calmed his shivering and gave him some control over the images that had surfaced again - the nightmare washed away with the steaming hot water.

***

The giant freighter had been cooling down from the moment the large ship's engines had stopped working. It was much colder inside, but just as spooky as the other ship Chris had been on. As their torches made holes in the dark, Fanny pointed out where they were. To his surprise, she seemed to know her way around quite well.

"I wasn't always a cop. I used to work in the harbour, catering. Think I've seen more ships from the inside than your average engineer." She remarked. "What are we looking for?"

Chris shook his head, not knowing for sure. A sign, a signal, data, something to link this to Fransen.

Apart from the statements from the crew, they had absolutely no proof so far. Van Genderen had confiscated logs and computer printouts, but nothing incriminating had been found.

They checked several rooms and quarters: bridge, radio room, computer room, storage and galley. Among the battered equipment so typical of an old ship, the one thing out of place, Chris decided, was the highly sophisticated electronic equipment in the radio room. Everything was there, including radar, sonar and satellite tracking systems - and all perfect for keeping the ship's movements and communications as secret as possible.

They went down the stairs to the lower decks, to find the crew's quarters, an old-fashioned gym with a ping pong table, a few recreation rooms and various storage facilities. Nothing there, Chris decided, heading down for the next deck down.

"Shh!" Chris hissed suddenly. He switched off his torch and Fanny did the same, making them instantly surrounded by dark silence. He felt Fanny's hand searching his and grasped it. Then she heard it, too: muffled sounds. It seemed like some sort of humming - and perhaps voices, too. A sudden trembling below their feet almost made them jump.

"What's that?" Fanny whispered so softly that Chris could hardly hear her.

"Dunno... let's find out." His voice was warm near her temple. He could smell her perfume - and that fragment of femininity in the cold gloom of the deserted ship suddenly brought with it an overwhelming sensation of fear and concern for this remarkable, delightful Dutch cop.

They headed forward on tiptoe, and as their eyes grew used to the dark they could make out the corridor rails to guide themselves forward. As they turned several corners, they were surprised to find an area lit by surrealistic, red bulbs. It made the godforsaken place look even more eerie, Chris decided, and grasped Fanny's hand a little tighter.

Clever guys, he decided. They were down there somewhere, using a generator of some kind to produce energy for light and heating. It was considerably warmer than it had been up on higher decks. The sounds became clearer - voices alright, coming from a room a little up ahead. The two peered cautiously through a door that was not quite closed.

Two men were sitting at a large table in the middle of a big room and were counting a mass of money. On one side of the table, neat bundles of counted bank notes were piled up, while on the other side a chaotic heap of them were waiting their turn. Chris felt Fanny's hand squeeze his and turned to see her pointing to the other side of the room. A small group of Oriental women were sitting on the cold ground, huddled closely together. Fear was written all over their dirty faces.

How long had these women been here? How come they hadn't been spotted by C&E? Had they been threatened they'd be killed if they made a sound?

Chris stepped back from the door and away, while pulling Fanny backwards with him. He brought his lips to her ear and whispered: "Go back upstairs. Get to Sam and Backup and call van Genderen and the harbour police. I'll do some poking around here. Go!"

***

Backup came upstairs with the laptop and turned it on. The first thing she saw was Chris' electronic note: "Off to the docks, please decode the attached files."

She began working on what Chris and Fanny had found. Long lists of numbers and letters, and combinations of both, slid across the screen. Backup thought for an instant, then put her hands on the keys and started rattling. Sam stuck his head around the door, face speckled with shaving foam, and then came and peered over her shoulder as she was working. Backup showed him the note from Chris, timed very early that same morning.

"We must have missed each other by minutes." Sam said pensively.

***

Chris moved silently, making sure he didn't make a sound. By now, his eyes were used to the dim red lighting and he moved more swiftly. Hearing voices heading his way, he touched the wall behind him and his fingers found a door handle. Locked. Moving rapidly, he tried the next door, which opened and then stepped into the darkness, invisible as two men walked past, unaware of their unexpected guest.

Chris was hit by a stench so strong it made him gag. Once the voices were beyond earshot, he flicked on his torch, trying to breathe through his jacket sleeve to protect him from the foul waves of whatever was in there. His knees nearly failed him as he saw where it came from.

The small room was full of bodies. Desperately thin, female bodies, and they looked as though they were all of Oriental origin - the Philippines or Malaysia perhaps.

Fighting for control, he forced himself to move closer, and his rough tally soon reached 15 - including some who were barely beyond adolescence. Reluctantly, he touched the ice-cold fingers of a girl, who looked young enough to still be in first grade. Her nails were bitten to the flesh, silent witnesses to the horror she'd been through. He just stood there looking at them while an infinite feeling of sadness flooded him. And then a fire inside started to flicker - caused by the misery imposed on these victims. He was going to nail these sons of bitches. No matter if it was the last thing he would do...

***

Backup hit the Enter key and leaned backwards in her chair, stretching her sore muscles. Her eyes never left the screen. The little program that she had written started immediately, running through the lists and decoding them. Sam came in with late breakfast and - on Backup's request - a Dutch-English dictionary.

"How are you doing? Any progress?"

"This is a tricky little number. I had to write a programme to be able to crack it. But... it seems to be working."

Sam drank his coffee and stared out the window. Rotterdam was alive - traffic jams had slowed him down while he was out getting their foot and the dictionary. He was ill at ease - Chris was out there, and the only person watching his back was a woman - from the police perhaps and she seemed efficient enough - but it still nagged at him inside.

He picked up the telephone and dialled Chris' mobile.

Chris proceeded, but somehow not so carefully anymore after seeing the pile of bodies. What was he to do? The first thing was to get hold of van Genderen and get the harbour police in, call Sam and Backup to tell them about this. But then again - Fanny would do that. He should check it out further. Find evidence. As if the bodies hadn't been enough...

He stopped as he saw light coming from under the door of a room. He pressed his ear against it, trying to make something of the muffled voices inside.

And then, out of the blue, his cell phone rang. Its shrill tone wasn't loud, but seemed like a canon shot in the silence of this ship. Stupid - he should have turned it off as soon as he realised the ship wasn't empty. But he hadn't - too busy first with Fanny and then with that gruesome discovery - and now they'd heard him. Two men hurled the door open even as he scrabbled to cut off the bleeping, he immediately recognised one of them. It was Fransen's sidekick - what was his name again - Louis Brands.

Chris put up a fight, but they had an advantage over him in the gloomy corridors. The first two out were followed by others, and soon his surroundings were darker still. His last thought was to hope Fanny had got out of there.

PART FIVE

"No answer."

Backup saw Sam's face.

"Worried?"

"Yes. There's something I don't like about this..."

"Did you try Miss Waterman's phone?"

"Out of service."

A soft beep made them turn their heads simultaneously to the screen, now blinking "ready". Backup scrolled and then gave a triumphant "Yes!" as names and bank accounts unfolded before their eyes. Deliveries of women, places and times - everything was there. Enough to put Fransen away for a long time. Now they just had to get hold of him.

She sent the information on a secured line to HQ, where Spence would be able to process it all.

Just as Sam picked up his coat to start searching for Chris, there was a violent hammering on the door. Van Genderen was there, highly agitated.

"Come quickly. Keel and Waterman are in danger. Let's go! Hurry!"

As they struggled their way through the heavy traffic that made their journey agonisingly slow, van Genderen explained his fears.

"Keel bugged the radio room of Fransen's yacht while he was aboard, and we've been monitoring it ever since. Apart from the normal shipping transmissions, nothing important seemed to come up until just half an hour ago. Louis Brands called Fransen, and said he'd found two intruders on the freighter King of Siam and one them was the bodyguard of Mr. Samuel. Fransen said he would deal with them shortly. He showed particular interest in the woman - who must be Miss Waterman."

Van Genderen drove as fast as it was humanly possible through the busy streets as Sam felt the fear tighten his stomach. He was aware of two police cars behind them, and managed to acknowledge Van Genderen's assurance that the harbour police had already been contacted. But his mind was already on Chris.

Not again. Please, not again. Chris had already balanced on the edge a year ago now, when his partner had found him, more dead than alive, in the hands of an Irish terrorist group. He'd struggled and won that fight, but one day he would run out of luck. Not today, please, Sam's mind screamed.

***

Chris gradually took in the water and the world around him as he awoke, his skull pounding. He was lying in ten inches of deep salt water on a cold and rusty floor that moved slightly up and down. The images crowded back: the phone, the fight - and then nothing until now, whenever now was. Carefully, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and checked for injuries. He had countless cuts and bruises and a sharp pain flashed through his chest as he staggered to get up. Was the boat moving or was it dizziness from the blow to his head? And where had they thrown him? Suddenly, he realised what was going on. Water was cascading down the bulkhead from several open hatches, flooding in with increasing, terrifying speed. They were going to drown him.

Then he saw Fanny.

She sat naked in the water, curled up in a foetal position, huddled into the corner of this huge, rusty tank. Chris splashed through the water to her, forgetting the pain, and dropped to his knees. She was shivering uncontrollably and at first, she didn't seem to either see him or respond. As he reached out to touch her, he saw her draw away from him, blinking. Through the gloom, he could make out a dark line around her throat and a small trickle of blood from both ears. What had they done to her? He swallowed, pulling off his damp coat and wrapping it around the thin shoulders. She didn't react.

"Oh, baby what have they done to you," he found himself whispering. "Fanny, can you hear me? It's me... it's Chris."

With infinite tenderness, he carefully placed his hands around her face and lifted it up to him so she would see his face. Her eyes were wide open, but she seemed to have no idea of who was there. Then, suddenly, there was a flicker of recognition. He pulled her close, her cold body pressed against his own wet clothes. Cradling her, he frantically looked around, seeing the hatch high - impossibly high - above. Way beyond his reach. Sam, I need you, he screamed inwardly as the water continued to pour in.

***

Sam saw the giant freighter the moment van Genderen took the last curve. The attack that followed was swift, efficient and the effect of surprise nearly total. Once inside, however, armed men were waiting. It looked as though they weren't going to give in that easily. Sam recognised Brands, hoping Fransen was inside there too. Van Genderen seemed to be holding his own, but Sam was driven on by the urgency of finding his partner. Shouting for cover, he ran forwards and saw one of the gunmen dropping to his knees. Backup - she'd hit him in the pelvis and was already firing again, following Van Gelderen and the police.

"Where are they? Where are they?" Sam yanked the man's head back by his hair and pushing his gun into the shaking victim's crotch, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

"You've got three seconds - one...two..."

"Down below, the flooding tanks. Deck D."

He heard a yelp and saw Van Genderen stagger, holding his sleeve. Hesitating, he saw the Dutchman wave him away and registered Backup already in position to cover him. Taking the stairs fast, he came face to face with another of the crew, armed with a heavy frying pan. Sam didn't waste time, aiming and firing almost without coming to a halt in his frantic dash.

He reached deck D.

"Chris! Fanny!"

He ran on, desperately listening for any sign of life, aware that the ship was suddenly a huge place to find two people. For Christ's sake the entire deck could consist of flooding tanks, for all he knew. But what he did know was that ships of this size used flooding tanks for stability, and that they would be huge, seething masses of water. He swallowed, pushing those images away, desperate to find his partner.

He heard a noise and turned around, ready to fire, but it was van Genderen who had followed him. He looked pale, his arm hanging uselessly by his side, but his face showed no sign of giving up.

"This way, Curtis - the flooding tanks are this way."

They hurried through a narrow corridor and stopped in front of a big heavy iron top hatch that they opened with some effort. They peered down into the deep tank to see both Chris and Fanny trapped like rats.

The flooding compartment was filling up rapidly, the hatches wide open and the water causing a violent whirlpool where Chris was fighting to keep Fanny's head above the foaming salty surface. Sam saw the relief and panic in the blue eyes, seeing the American's exhausted struggle to keep them both alive.

"Sam! Help me!" Chris cried out, his voice barely audible over the noise of the water.

Visions of the child's arm around his throat flashed before Sam's eyes. He was choking - couldn't move. His chest was bursting, and hands were clawing at him.

"Sam.... help... help me...!" it wasn't the boy.

Van Genderen shook his arm.

"Curtis - I can't help them!" he urged him. "Curtis - for God's sake, man!"

Sam was standing there motionless, staring down at the water.

"Hold on!" Van Gelderen yelled down through the hatch and grabbed Sam's arm again, shaking it.

"Curtis! Come on, man! Do something! Your partner is drowning! Help him!"

Curtis could hear Van Gelderen's voice coming from far away, and was vaguely aware of the urgent shaking, but the images wouldn't let him go. He was drowning too? there was no air? he was going to be sucked down into the filthy water?

"Curtis! They're gonna die down there!" A slap to his face finally snapped him back to the present, and he looked at the Dutchman, startled. Backup was calling out to them from somewhere above. And Chris - Chris was down there in the water. Drowning. Oh, God?

Sam looked around, frantic now. He grabbed a rusty chain, and dragged it towards the hatch, forcing his mind to act logically. Looping it around the heavy hinges to the hatch, he pulled it - and it held firm.

"Chris, get aside. I'm coming down!"

The chain rattled as plummeted to the water a split second before Sam jumped 15 feet down. In three swift strokes he reached an exhausted Chris, who looked around with wild fear in his eyes:

"Fanny? Sam? she's gone. I couldn't hold her!"

Sam dragged his partner to the chain that hung from the top hatch and made him hold on to it. Then he took a deep breath and dived down into the dark water. Nothing? but he wasn't going to give up. He dived again, frantically trying to see the girl in the pitch-dark, swirling prison. Dive, search, surface to fill his bursting lungs? the girl wasn't going to drown because of him. Because he'd been slow. Because of his stupid hesitation. Because he'd been a coward.

And then, finally, his hands touched her.

***

The hospital was quiet.

Chris entered the room but the small figure in the bed didn't react. He approached her carefully, careful not to startle her. Fanny didn't hear him. She couldn't have - Brands had deafened her. She'd been submitted to a very cruel ordeal - larynx almost crushed, eardrums pierced, hearing damaged: she would never be able to fully hear again. It was impossible to predict what her speech would be like, if it would ever return.

Chris bent over to kiss her and saw the dark moist eyes, staring into nothing, a single tear rolling over her face and leaving a tiny wet mark on the pillow. He took the seat beside the bed, stroking the reddish hair and pale cheeks and wiping the tears away. Impulsively, he grasped her hand, seeing the horror of what Brands had done haunting her eyes. Her life was shattered.

She would never here his voice again. And would that sparkling laughter ever return?

Oh, Fanny?

***

Back in England?

Sam put a hand on Chris's shoulder. The American's cracked ribs were bandaged, painkillers had reduced the pain but nothing could take away the anger. Fransen had escaped. Gone, alerted by the events on the King of Siam. His yacht was found abandoned in the marina. An APB so far had not brought them one step closer to him. He seemed to have vanished into this air.

Brands, however had been captured. Slowly but surely the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The women aboard the Queen of Macao had reached the Rotterdam Canal after a long journey from the Philippines, with several stopovers in large ports where some women were herded off to their fate. As they had reached the Dutch territorial waters a rumour had reached Fransen that the cargo was to be examined in Rotterdam - so he took what measures he thought to be necessary. That included moving the dead bodies from one ship to the other. It was hardly possible just to drop them into the sea, given the amount of shipping.

"Come on, Chris. Backup's waiting in the car. Malone wants us in the office."

"Yeah... I know... coming right down." Chris looked out of the window, watching the terrible English rain and grey skies terrorising the world outside. The weather here was even worse than in Rotterdam.

"You know Fanny will never be safe as long as he's around, don't you?" he asked Sam, softly.

"He doesn't know she survived, Chris."

Sam was gently steering him towards the door, now. Chris knew he was betraying his feelings for Fanny, but for once didn't even care - he knew Sam would wait patiently until he would open up to him and talk more about it, because that's the way he was. Always there for him.

"C'mon, handsome. Let's go. They're waiting."

Chris nodded absently, seeing the concern in the grey-green eyes, and headed for the door. Sam had been there on the ship, had saved him. That was something else he always seemed to do, although this time it had meant an almost impossible struggle for the Englishman to conquer his own fears. And talking about that couldn't wait.

"Sam...?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for jumping in. I know it what it must have cost you..."

Sam looked at Chris in utter amazement, his hand hovering just a little above the doorknob.

"Did you really think I hadn't realised?" Chris asked, his eyebrows raised. When he saw Sam?s expression he saw he had hit the nail on the head. Sam had indeed not noticed that Chris was aware of his fear. Maybe he thought he could hide it from the world outside - but not from his partner.

Chris squeezed the Englishman?s shoulder.

"After what happened a couple of weeks back? Anybody would have been scared of going in through that hatch, but for you it must have been hell".

For a second, Sam couldn't meet his eyes.

"Hey, Sam. You did a hell of a job out there. You fought your lion."

"Lion?"

"Takes a strong man to fight a lion. And we've fought a few. But the biggest lions of 'em all are those you're most afraid of."

Sam turned back to Chris, the gratitude in his face softening the carefully controlled features.

"Thanks, Chris," he said simply.

For the first time in weeks, Sam Curtis slept peacefully. The nightmares didn't come.

***

Elsa © march 2000. Feedback? Yes please! Mail me!.