This story is not edited yet.... so you'll run into typos, odd sentence structures
big mistakes... excuse me in advance but still: enjoy yourself!

Chris stared at the newspaper. There it was, in black Times New Roman, on an off-white background. He looked at it with strange flatness. Remorse and sadness were knocking at his door. His mind flashed back to several weeks ago.

***

Lilly

How on earth is this possible… I looked at the entire utter chaos around me. After all we’ve been through, how did I manage to get out? Get out in one piece?

Twenty-four hours ago I was a cleaning lady in the First National Bank in Los Angeles. I’m not so sure I am anymore.

I did my cleaning as I had done several years in a row. Starting in the offices on the lower floors first. Personnel that worked there would always come in early, and I liked to be ready before their sneering remarks about me cleaning would start.

Then I would head for the floors higher up in the building. The more they earned, the higher they got - that is, er… was…. quite literally here. And the more they earned, the less they had to work because others would do it for them. And the less they had to work, the later they would arrive.

Thus leaving me with plenty of time to clean their beautiful offices with large desks of expensive hard wood or glass tables with modern leather chairs. Funny thing was, that particularly on the top floor, one older man would arrive early, would always greet me and take some time to talk to me.

"Good morning, miss Lilly." Mr Williams would say every time, and usually he would inform after my health and my children. We would talk for two, maybe three minutes. Then he would offer me a sweet, mostly peppermint, take one himself and we’d continue our work like every day.

Yesterday morning I left after our usual light talk and as always I mopped the hallway, when I saw two men approaching. They were handsome guys. Although approximately the same size and build, they were very different. One of them had very dark hair, thick brown eyebrows, a straight chin below a small mouth and the most remarkable colour eyes I had ever seen. They were green, but had a silver glow to them and they were surrounded by dark eyelashes, which made them even more remarkable. He smiled to me, showing regular teeth and making me feel ..er… special in a strange way. Very different from the men around here who usually did not even notice my presence!

The other man had brown short, briskly hair which gave him a somewhat cute appearance - although I’m not certain whether he would like that description…Blue eyes arched by light eyebrows, a broad mouth that laughed constantly and in his cheeks dimples showing as he did. His face was very "alive" - that was the word that came to mind at once when I saw him.

To my utter surprise he took the mop from my hands and performed a small imitation of Fred Astaire in the deserted hallway.

His associate bent over to me and whispered loudly behind his hand:

"Don’t worry Miss. He’s always like this when he’s had time for a good night’s rest. It’s not contagious."

His accent was unmistakably English.

His partner finished, bowed elegantly to an invisible audience, pushed the mop back into my hands and left me stunned in the hallway. The wink he gave me was the last thing I saw of him before they knocked on Mr William’s door and entered the room.

***

I cannot really recall how much later the floor beneath my feet began to tremble. My heart pounded in my chest as I recognised this in a split second: an earthquake. Living on the St. Andreas line in the United States was like living on a ticking time bomb. And even though I was aware of its potential, its force still took me by surprise.

The little cart with my cleaning gear started spinning and hopping as if it lived a life of its own. The water in the bucket splashed over the edge wildly, until it toppled over. I was lifted off my feet and catapulted into the air - the wall brought my flight to a full stop and I slumped to the moving floor, my head spinning and my chest hurting.

I was scared to death from the wild shocking - but what really terrified me with was the noise. The building changed into a roaring wild animal, the sound coming from all around me. The walls began to crack, first the plaster but then rapidly deepening gashes drew pencil sharp lines from top to bottom and left to right. Aluminium broke off like dry straw and thick solid steel bend, accompanied by terrible noise, into creations fit to be in an art gallery. Light armatures came falling down from the ceiling and, as systems short-circuited, sparks were following them like a beautiful cascade on New Years Eve.

***

Later I was told the entire shock took 38 seconds. It seemed like 8 minutes or 3 hours to me at least. When it was over, the silence was overwhelming. After some time I carefully sat up - trying to find out if I was still in one piece. I did seem okay, apart from some superficial cuts and a dull pain in my back, where I had hit the wall. I was a little light headed and tasted that typical iron-like taste of blood in my mouth - I must have bitten my tongue.

The place around me was completely destroyed and unrecognisably altered into a chaotic dumpster. The once so proud offices were changed into piles of rubble – after the dust settled I began to spot familiar things – a vase that had been displayed on a pillar, a few pieces of a chess game, rags from an oil painting that used to decorate the one of the walls. All fragments, all broken or torn apart by the force of nature.

To my own surprise I was very calm. I coughed a few times to get the dust from my mouth and carefully got on my feet. Mr Williams, the two men - they were the only ones that I had seen on this floor. Where were they? In Mr Williams office? But - where was his office?

The floor was no longer horizontal and the mess hindered my progress, but finally, after shoving aside all kinds of debris and climbing over and under parts of the office, I reached the spot where Mr Williams’ office must have been. The door was folded – nature played origami with men-made material. It was stuck firm and impossible to push open or move. I didn’t try too hard – I knew that the place could collapse just from pushing in one spot too hard. I had been a witness to an earthquake before and realised very well that everything, even the smallest piece, could become a potential danger because of one wrong shift.

"Mr Williams!" I called out. "Mr Williams! Hey! Is anyone there?"

The face of the man who had danced with my broom suddenly appeared and startled me. He blinked encouragingly to me.

"Are you alright?" was the first thing he asked.

"Yes, shaken up a little, I guess." I answered, not realising how appropriate that answer was. "Mr Williams? Is he in there with you?"

"Yes, he’s right here."

Without further thinking I squeezed myself through the narrow opening and, painfully tearing the flesh of my arms on the sharp edges, I managed to get in. The office that had been so nice only ten minutes earlier, had changed into a war zone. The expensive reproductions that had brightened the walls, the sculptures, the family photos – everything was reduced to nothing in there.

Mr Williams was sitting on the ground, against his desk, accompanied by the man with the English accent. The elderly man seemed upset and shaken and he looked like he could faint any minute. I carefully approached. I liked Mr Williams and seeing him on the floor, silently and pale, shook me up more than I wanted to admit.

I got to my knees beside him, hardly aware of the looks of the young man and my eyes flew over the older man’s face. His grey eyes met mine and a tired smile appeared. That was encouraging - I checked him rapidly for vital signs. Then I looked up into the Englishman’s face. And on to the Dancer, who stood by the narrow opening, figuring out a way to force himself through.

"Mr Williams has got a pace maker." I said calmly. "He seems fine, but does need medical attention as soon as possible."

"The world doesn’t hear my call." The Dancer waved with his cell phone. "The entire county of Los Angeles is hit by this - of course we cannot get through."

"Chris? Can we get out? Can you see anything?" the Englishman asked his comrade through clenched teeth. The Dancer - so his name was Chris - shook his head worriedly.

"Not on this side - it’s all jammed. This lovely lady could get barely get in. I’ll look at the other side."

He stepped over the mess to another door.

"That’s a bathroom. No exits there, only two small windows." I told him.

I took a closer look at the dark headed man next to me. He held his arm pressed against his body and supported it with his other hand. The sleeve was torn and when I made him turn to the ample light, I saw a nasty, deep wound - the broken bone of the upper arm visible through the flesh and the blood. The bleeding was going too fast for my liking. It wasn’t arterial blood, I did not see the well-known pumping when that happens, but a major vein was hit and he was loosing blood in a steady tempo.

I took off my working apron and with some difficulty tore it into strokes. I fabricated some kind of tourniquet, with a pen and a ribbon of that cloth. I pushed the pen between the cloth and his upper arm, began to twist the little thing round and round, until it squeezed the vein and shut it and the bleeding became less.

I used the rest of the torn apron to dress up the arm. I produced some kind of sling with the cloth, stabilised his arm firmly against his body, applying it very cautiously, not to hurt him.

But he was one tough guy. He gritted his teeth, swallowed away yelps that almost escaped his lips. He looked pale.

"Sam?" the man, called Chris, worriedly put his hand on the Sam’s back and helped him get up. "That looks better - you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Apart from the tooth ache I woke up with, this morning, I’m fine." He lied, not very convincingly hiding his pain. Here we go again, I thought, one guy trying to show off to the other. Don’t give in, no boys, never show how much you hurt.

"I got to hand it to you, buddy." The other one said in a way that struck me - these two had been in difficult circumstances before. "Every time you manage to get yourself injured, there’s always some fine woman around to give you first aid."

"It’s nothing compared to your talent to make a mess of every place we visit. Look what you’ve got us into this time." The dark headed man retaliated, his answer light but his jaw tight from pushing away the pain.

Mr Williams mumbled something I could not understand too well. I got over to him, leaving the two to discuss their mutual skills, to attend to the old man. He looked as grey as the dust around us.

"Get me my pills, will you, Miss Lilly?" he asked. "They’re in the bathroom, in the medicine cabinet. There must be a jar of painkillers in there too. Give it to Mr Curtis. If it hadn’t been for him, I…" He stopped, his sentence hung unfinished between us. And when I looked at the destruction again, I suddenly understood what must have happened there.

Where Mr Williams’ chair had been standing, a thick steel bar had sliced the leather and wooden chair into two. The heavy bar had cut straight through it and I could suddenly visualise Sam Curtis jumping up to pull away the old man or protect him from the falling bar - unable to avoid getting hurt in the action himself.

Now I was impressed. There was definitely more to these men, than met the eye.

I crawled over the rubble to the bathroom door, my movements followed by the two men. I did get in, but the place was unrecognisably demolished. I looked for the cabinet and saw it, shaken from the wall, on the ground, half-buried under a pile of bricks, mirror shards, glass and broken tiles.

"What are you doing?" I heard the American voice behind me.

"Getting to the medicine cabinet. Can you help me?"

He crawled through the narrow opening, while his friend leant against the wall and waited. We lifted the pieces of bricks and stones and I fiddled with the door until it gave way and I got the pills, undamaged in the aluminium blister. The jar with painkillers was made of plastic - so to my relief that was still in one piece too. A second moving of the grey chaos of rubble revealed a dented refrigerator. I discovered a plastic water bottle that was unopened and undamaged. I pushed the pills into my pocket and grabbed the bottle.

Then the floor began to shake again.

With a yank I was being pulled backwards, unceremoniously grabbed by the dancer. He leaped through the hole where the bathroom door had been and dragged me with him in the same movement. The place where I had just been standing, only a few yards away, shook wildly and then the floor fell - down it went, to the room below. I think I must have screamed, because I heard his voice, worriedly asking me if I was alright.

The aftershock was short but it left me with a feeling of shock and fear that only slowly faded with the settling dust. I looked in silent horror at the disappeared bathroom. That sounds like a contradiction in terms - but it states very well the feeling that crept up inside. Instead of the light green tiles that had been on the walls of the bathroom, I now saw the grey bricks of the room beyond. A gaping hole spanned from the door opening to the other room - four yards further.

Carefully the Dancer got to the jagged edge and looked down. Then I heard Mr Williams calling me and as I turned around I saw the man, who had been called Mr Curtis, lying on the ground. Even through the dust and in the dim light of the room, I could see how pale he looked. Mr Williams was no longer sitting against his desk, but he was pulled away by the Englishman, just like the American had done to me. Where Mr Williams had been sitting, now lay a giant piece of the ceiling.

"Sam!" Chris quickly jumped over to his friend. But I was there before him, checking out the dark headed man who had his eyes closed. However, as I carefully tried to turn him into a stable position to his side, he reacted immediately.

"I’m okay. I’m okay." He grumbled and pushed himself up. Yet he did not contradict when I touched his body to examine it. He opened one grey-green eye and to my surprise he mumbled:

"What’s a certified nurse doing in a place like this, working as a cleaning lady?"

He had a remarkable gift for observation. Even in his own misery he spotted my medical background immediately. Somehow he seemed trained to see things like this, as if he had been taught to pay attention to the smallest details in any given circumstance.

"I have worked for the Médicins sans Frontiers. Before I came here." I spoke quietly, the glow on my face must have been visible to him, because it still was awkward to admit this, but he did not seem to mind at all. I read the label on the jar, took out two pills and made him take them.

"You’ll feel better when this starts to work." I promised him. "Now, relax a little, okay?"

Mr Curtis had been having this strange observing glance in his eyes. It was as if he was trying to find out more about me, without wanting to ask. He seemed to try to categorise me, without judging, but only out of a compelling urge to analyse what was happening around him. It made me feel a little awkward, uneasy even.

Chris, I didn’t even know his last name, had seen me tending to his friend and meanwhile had taken the opportunity to look at the changes in the destruction. He stepped back to us again, put his hands on his hips and said thoughtfully, but very resolutely:

"I’m not gonna stand here and do nothing, knowing we can be sandwiched between two layers of concrete any minute. I’m going to find us a way out." The grim determination in his face emphasised his words.

He knelt besides Mr Curtis and the two of them spoke softly, almost like conspirators. I saw the dark headed man reacting slowly, as the dancer talked to him and listened to his answer. I began to see how well they were accustomed to work together. They really pre-consorted the plan, one making propositions, the other one filling in the gaps.

Mr Williams chewed the remains of the pill I’d handed to him. He must have seen me staring at them, because he spoke to me, quietly, not to disturb their concentration.

"They’re the best, Miss Lilly. Let them handle it. If anyone can get us out, they can."

"I didn’t quite get their names, Mr Williams. The Englishman’s was..er..Curtis and the other one…?"

"Keel. Chris Keel. Former Navy-SEAL. From what I know very competent, very strong. The other one is Sam Curtis, his counterpart. Very clever man. They were here to.."

Then he stopped, making some apologising gesture as if to call himself to a halt. I understood. Somehow this was all crystal clear to me: they had some kind of security job to do here. And I was not supposed to know what. As I had been in so early that morning, I was probably the only one who knew they were here.

I was interrupted in my thoughts as the one with the blue eyes and the funny haircut, approached me and asked details about the building and the various floors. He gently ushered me to the sunken bathroom, and as we looked down the hole, he wanted to know what was down there.

"That’s Mr Guilford’s room. Behind that is a broom closet and a pantry. And there’s a lift on the opposite side of the hall way."

I saw his facial expression change. He began brooding on something, turned back to consult his friend and was suddenly very alive - even more than I had seen him that morning. I know it sounds odd, but I could swear he actually enjoyed the puzzle of how to get out, the excitement of the unexpected and the challenge to the dangers up ahead.

The only thing that could alter that look, was when the concern for Mr Curtis showed. He tried hard to conceal it - but as I had seen before in a close team, they were so tightly bond together that it was hard to miss the signs.

***

He broke through my reflections by announcing he and I would go down one floor. I swallowed. Me? Going down there? I know, all is fair in love and war, but this - was just too much. I shook my head. But he smiled reassuringly and dimples showed - adding even more boyish charm to this unusual man.

"I know it’s not a walk in the park, Miss Lilly." He smiled - a tantalising little look appeared in his face.

"But then again - a date with yours truly is never boring." Then he stepped down and jumped both cautiously as fast, down the pile of crashed bricks that lay beneath the remains of the bathroom, one floor below.

"At least - I don’t get that many complaints." He called up to me from below, then reached out his hand to help me down. Despite our situation, I found his optimistic attitude provoked a nervous laughter inside of me. What kind of idiotic but delicious fool was this?

"Come on. It’s not that deep, really. Just put your feet on the pile of rubble - that should be steady enough to hold you."

With amazing little effort I got down safely beside him. We heard the voice of Mr Curtis over our heads, informing if everything was alright. He did not seem to be thriving.

"Yo, fine, I’m having a ball with your nurse down here." Mr Keel shouted up and gave me a look that involuntarily made me chuckle. He was funny.

But as soon as he turned, he got serious again.

"Where to, Miss Lilly? What’s behind there? Where’s the elevator you told us about?"

Elevator - he’d been in England some time, I realised. Or he’d been around his friend for some time. That could account for his use of the English, rather than the American word.

Carefully, we headed further into the destruction. With minimal difficulty we reached the lift. Together we pulled the doors open, which was not too hard as they gave way easily from being dis-set already from the earthquake.

We looked down into the gaping dark hole and I felt a little panic rising instantly. I quickly took a step back, but Mr Keel kept looking down, and up, and down again, yanked hard at the steel cables that held the lift, somewhere down in the deepness and then he gave me his undivided attention again.

"I’m going down." He said calmly but his eyes were glistening as the adrenaline rushed through. "I should have some rags to protect my hands - the cables are very rough and sharp. And maybe a torch or something."

"I’ve got some chamois-leather in the broom closet. That might do?" But a torch was not something I could provide him with. I got to the closet, that could be entered easily, as there was no door and one wall missing. After some digging I found what he needed and he strapped the leather around his hands. He hovered for a second between the relative steadiness of the destruction and the deep pit of the lift shaft.

"Get back up there when you no longer hear me. Take care of Sam and Mr Williams." He gave me a last smile and then got off into the dark, carefully sliding down the steel cables.

I waited until I heard a dull sound - Keel landing on top of the lift - directly followed by heavily cursing.

"Mr Keel! Mr Keel, are you alright?" I called down, fighting my own fear for depth as I hung forward in the shaft. I heard my own words echoing.

"The MISTER is at home. Call me Chris, will ya?" he shouted up. "I’m fine, it’s just a bit dark here."

Sounds of breaking glass and a self-smugged tone in his voice reached my ears:

"Not any more, though. Go back. I’ll see where this can take us."

I waited until the sounds began to fade - then I went back to my two partners in my misery. But somehow I was not so uncertain anymore.

Mr Keel - Chris - was going to find us a way out.

***

The bricks, steel and rubble had formed a natural staircase and I got up to Mr Williams destroyed office without any problems. The two men were sitting against the opposite wall, half hidden by the darkness of the unlit room and the unusual shades. The grey-haired banker had drifted off into a soothing sleep, helped a little by the pill he had taken. His chin rested on his chest and his breathing was calm and steady, as I checked it. I could feel his pacemaker ticking below my hands. It reminded me, sadly enough, of happier times behind my piano with my son, when a metronome helped us with the beat of the songs we used to study. It must have shown, because Mr Curtis addressed me softly, as if he did not want to be rude. Or was there something else to the voice, I had not yet been able to determine?

"How is he?" Exactly what I had expected him to ask. Showing concern for the old man, rather than complaining about his own troubles, seemed precisely his style.

"He’s asleep. Given into the fatigue. How’s the arm? Pills giving you some relief?" I informed, as I set myself down beside him. He looked ghastly pale and I knew that regular painkillers for a headache or minor muscle soreness, would not be sufficient to fruitfully fight the agony. He shifted his weight a little so he could face me, but he had been unable to hide the something new from me: a line of fresh blood that ran from the back of his head into his collar. I gently but firmly pushed his head sideways and shoved his hair aside, to reveal a nasty, deep cut, just a little behind his ear. A big bump was already showing, the bruise would soon follow.

"What’s this? When did his happen? Why didn’t you mention this to me?" I inquired with a stern look.

He had the grace to look a little uncomfortably, but didn’t answer my question. Somehow I hadn’t expected him to. He was too used to hiding his discomfort and didn’t want to be caught whining about it.

I tend to the wound, which turned out to be even nastier than I had seen at first glance. Then I shifted from my place to a spot directly in front of him.

"Watch my finger, Mr Curtis." I commanded and moved my pointed index finger from left to right as I held my other hand on his head to keep it still. The hair was warm, silky and dusty beneath the palm of my hand.

"Yes ma’am. Would you please call me Sam, ma’am." He mumbled politely.

"Hold your head still. Keep following my finger." I carefully looked at his eyes and the movements in his face as I moved my hand up and down this time.

"I’m fine. I’m alright. Thank you, ma’am." He tried to shake off my nursing.

"Don’t try to fool me, Mr Curtis, Sam, Sir. You cannot keep a steady focus on a moving object. You’ll get nauseous soon, probably even when you try to stand up. And the room will start spinning when it happens. So don’t tell me you’re fine, ‘cos you’re not." I had spoken a bit more harshly than I had intended to, but why in the name of sweet baby Jesus, did this attractive fool refuse to give in to his injuries?

His green eyes clung to my face, trying to enfeeble my words. And exactly as I had predicted, he couldn’t keep them steady for very long. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and rested his head against the crumbled wall behind him. In his peculiar but charming English accent, he asked me:

"You a nurse? Or a doctor? You should not have given up. You’re good at what you do."

I did not feel very much like talking about a dark period that was in the past and that I had buried, so I did not answer his question. Instead I posed one myself.

"Is your friend always like that? Or is he just trying to impress me?"

I held a wad of cotton against the backside of his head and took a little of the pressure off. I felt him relax.

"Yep. That’s his attitude to life in general, and women in particular." He moved somewhat and I recognised he held his breath from the pain the unintentional, sudden movement had caused.

"And yours? Are you always to stubborn to admit you’re not feeling well at all?" I asked flatly, but not unkind.

"Comes with the job, madam. Too little time to sit back and let the ugly guys rule the world." Already his words were starting to sound a little unsteady. I had seen so many men with concussions that I knew he needed rest. Soon he would start talking all strangely, incoherently, with thick tongue, until the tiredness would fell him. I decided I would make him lay down before he would hurt himself when passing out.

"Lay down, Mr Curtis. I wa…"

"Sam." He cut in stubbornly.

"Alright, Sam. Lay down. I want you to relax. Close your eyes, the darkness will feel good."

"I don’t want to sleep." Why did I have the feeling I was addressing my own son here? Boys will be boys, I mused wryly.

"I’m not telling you to. I’m telling you to save your strength in case your friend comes back."

The green eyes flashed open and an angry answer was muttered with an unexpected sharpness.

"Wrong, madam. Not in case. It’s when Chris comes back."

I immediately regretted my words. I knew he was right.

"Yes, of course. Now, try to relax."

I looked to see if I could discover the hall-stand that had been standing somewhere in a corner of this office. I found a dusty, dirty coat that I rolled up to a makeshift pillow and carefully slid it under Sam’s head as he had followed my orders and slowly moved to a lying position. It was obvious by now: his arm hurt, his head hurt - he needed proper medical care soon. I stayed with him and contentedly I saw he dozed off, which only took a minute or two.

I took in his features as he slept. He was a handsome man for sure. Funny enough, he seemed hardly aware of his own looks. He had displayed a calm exterior and a reserved, yet pleasant attitude. But he had never, not even once, given into that obnoxious air of self-esteem that attractive people often have. His concern for both Mr Williams and his friend was genuine and natural. And he had recognised in me what I had forgotten myself. I began to like him.

No, this was not a variation of the Helsinki syndrome! I was not getting attached to my fellow victims because they were in the same malaise as I was. I began to like this man for what he really was: warm, kind, gentle, intelligent and open-minded.

I got to my feet and slowly paced around the damage, the dust and the rubble. And I waited impatiently for the dancer’s return.

***

He must have been away for about 15 minutes or so. I had kept a close eye on my two patients, whose conditions seemed satisfying, considering the circumstances. But I must have shown worry, because the dancer asked at once, even before he had climbed the pile in the room below us:

"What’s wrong? Are they alright?"

His words collided with mine as I asked:

"What did you find? Can we get out?"

You first, his incredible blue eyes said. But he was holding down his urge to shake the answer from me and told me:

"I came out two floors below this one. It’s pretty hazardous there, but no more than here. I found a way to a window, through which we can get onto the roof of the adjacent building. That seems pretty undamaged." And how’s Sam holding out, he asked soundlessly. I read the unspoken words in his eyes.

"Mr Williams is fine. Your friend … needs medical care. On top of the fractured arm and the blood loss, he has a concussion. When he dragged the old man aside, a piece of the ceiling must have hit his head."
His reaction was simple. "Shit."

He was upset, but it showed only just for a second. Then he rubbed his short-cut hair in deep thought, probably trying to think of a way to get one old weak man, one small 40-year old cleaning lady and one injured partner into safety,

Once back in the office, he stepped over to Sam, who was off to green meadows. He tapped his legs carefully and woke him up. I did the same to Mr Williams, who did look considerably better after the nap.

The old man showed remarkable strength. I helped him to get up, but as soon as he noticed that Sam was off far worse, he let go of my assisting arm and pushed me towards Keel and Curtis.

"Help him, he needs you more than I do." I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Englishman or the Dancer, but I did not need second encouragement.

We took turns to support the man with the dark hair. He protested stubbornly, as far as anyone in that kind of physical state can protest in that way. We slowly and carefully got to the messy staircase that awaited us, and which somehow seemed dangerous now as it could betray us. Would it hold? Some pieces of grit began to shift under my feet, I saw Mr Williams slipping as some bricks crumbled off beneath his weight - but it held. We got to Mr Guilford’s room safely and in once piece.

Before we stepped into the shattered hallway, I looked back up to the opening above our heads. Up there I had tried to flee my past. And up there I had learned to trust someone again. People had needed me. People had trusted me. And I had, without further consideration, jumped to the occasion. That minute I knew I would never come up there again.

Getting down that pile was one thing - descending the lift shaft was an entirely different story. Keel - I still had a little trouble calling him Chris - very carefully lowered his friend to the ground and then he addressed me.

"Miss Lilly, I need you now more than ever. Sam can’t make it alone - Mr Williams is not strong enough to help me - but you can. I want you to go down first. Don’t worry - the elevator is beneath your feet and is strong enough to hold you.

When you’re down, I’ll lower Mr Williams and when he’s safe and sound with you, I’ll come down with Sam."

He saw the doubt that flashed my face and took time to reassure me. I felt a strong hand grasping mine and he held my rough work hands tenderly in his as if they were as soft as baby’s bottoms.

"Don’t worry, Miss Lilly. I’ll be right beside you all of the time. We got into this together and we’re gonna get out of this together too. And when this is over - you and I shall dance. I’m pretty certain you dance much better than the broomstick."

Even in this tensed atmosphere he still knew how to get my edginess fade away a little. Despite myself I even laughed, softly though - but yet, I did. It had been a long time since I had laughed.

I stepped over to the shaft, after I had wrapped the cloth around my hands, just as I had seen him doing to protect the skin against the sharp metal splinters.

My stomach sunk to somewhere deep down inside. But - I did not give in to the fear and firmly grabbed the cable. I felt his hands helping me. I hung there, feeling like a fish on a hook, and, encouraged by his words, I slowly lowered myself into the darkness beneath me.

At first I felt stiff and rather clumsy, but as I got down further, I literally got the hang of it and made my way down fairly easy.

"Mr Keel - er… Chris - I’m down. Everything’s okay. You can lower Mr Williams now."

The old man showed remarkable vitality. Although he was not very supple, he got down, helped by Keel, who came down with him and held him by the collar. If he would have fallen, the Dancer would have held him. Or he would have fallen down with him - but I didn’t stop too long to think about that.

And now, the trickiest part - getting Sam Curtis down. How in god’s name was he going to do that? I looked up, saw nothing for a while as he had disappeared in the corridor to collect his friend. Then I noticed his shadow in the light square above me. He echoed down to me:

"Miss Lilly, have you got the coffee ready? I’m coming down. And I tend to get kinda moody without my morning shot of caffeine."

This was unbelievable. He just couldn’t stop. I saw the hint and appreciated his attempts to enlighten the seriousness of the situation. And somewhere along this line of craziness, I heard myself answering:

"Yep, warm and strong. Like all men should be."

I heard him laugh. Another sound reached my ears. Somewhere below me I heard a dull sound - something fell and hit another floor. I didn’t stop to think about that now. I looked up, waiting for the Dancer to come down, with the Englishman.

***

Earlier I had already noticed the worked out body, but Keel was definitely very strong. And there was something else that struck me, as I saw him fiddling up there to get ready whatever he was doing. He was ingenious and used to, or at least trained to, perform to his best under these kind of extreme circumstances. With the few resources he had, he was going to manage, I knew.

I could imagine them, standing in the chaos on the other floor. Curtis swaying like a drunkard from the concussion and the headache, Keel intensely trying to get him to listen and follow his actions. He would urge his friend to remain alert and he would tell him he could rest later. I was very certain of that. Somehow I began to understand these two characters - now that they were depending on each other's co-operation just to survive, their attitude had been stripped of all that was unnecessary and of what could be a burden. They acted on instinct and mutual trust solely.

Keel had engineered a clever device, enabling him to hold on to his friend with and yet use both hands to hold on to the cable. He had used his belt, and the one Curtis had been wearing to tie his friend to his own body. Like hands that cupped a mug of tea, he had his body, arms and legs wrapped around his friend, and looped one of the belts around the cable. The belt held his weight. It reminded me of telephone service men, who climbed in phone pawls and comfortably hung in the safety harnesses to get their work done.

It would have been impossible to carry Curtis on his back. The fractured bone would have been in the way. But this simple yet clever system worked beautifully. Curtis was awake and I saw him using his good hand to hold on to the cable. Good, I thought, he is still alert. The seriousness of a concussion must not be underestimated. As soon as we would be out, he would have to have a thorough check up and a week rest at least.

As the two were slowly descending, a shrill sound broke the suppressed moaning and panting of Keel and Curtis. Unmistakably a cell phone.

I heard Keel curse for he could not let go of neither the cable nor the heavy weight he supported.

When they two men finally reached the roof of the lift, the ringing had stopped. Keel held on to Curtis with one hand and searched his pockets with the other, until he finally found the phone. He pushed the buttons quickly and I saw the anger darkening his face - it was impossible to get through. The telephone traffic was overloaded by people from all over the world trying to get to their families and friends in the hit area.

"That was HQ in England. Backup, I think." He grumbled annoyed. "Fuck."

Backup? What kind of backup? HQ? Who was I dealing with here?

He unstrapped Curtis and we stepped into the corridor beyond the lift, where Mr Williams waited. Keel lowered his partner carefully to the ground. Then Keel lifted his partner’ chin with unexpected tenderness and spoke softly to him. I let them - they needed to be together without me interfering.

Keel rose and lightly touched my arm. The blue eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Will you take a look at him?"

I bend to examine Curtis. He looked pale still, but with an unusual blush to his higher cheekbones. The effort had made the blood rise to his cheeks. I placed my hand on his forehead and worriedly I realised that the cold sweat and the hollow looks in his eyes were indicating what was coming, a little too fast for my liking. The pulse in his neck was showing the first signs of unsteadiness. Then he suddenly looked sultry and, just in time, I could prevent him from falling as he vomited over the cracked floor. If I did have any doubts as to my earlier diagnosis, then this certainly confirmed the concussion.

I cleaned him up - he looked as pale as a sheet. I talked to him and carefully listened to his answers. He replied to simple questions as name, address, date of birth - but I was convinced of his injury. He was on automatic pilot there. I was not sure he would be able to answer the question of what he ate this morning.

Keel had gratefully accepted the bottle of water that I had taken down with me and handed to him. He was perspiring heavily from the exertion of getting everyone down but - apart from the obvious worry - seemed satisfied so far.

"The next bit will be some climbing and descending. Some spots are really weak and we should be very careful. There's piles of rubble on one side, then there's big holes on the other. So, mind your step. Mr Williams, Miss Lilly - ready?

Sam, buddy, can we go? Are you ready for another steeple chase?"

Curtis mumbled a "yes" and we helped him get to his feet. With Keel leading us, we began to move into the direction he had pointed out. I knew he wanted to reach the side of the building that would enable us to step onto the roof of "O'Leary's", a drugstore next door. I made a rough estimate of the distance. Normally, I would say, a hundred yards from wall to wall, taking me 2 minutes in walking speed - but now, with all the mess blocking and obstructing us, our progress would be slow. It would take us a lot longer to get to the other side.

Nevertheless, we headed on. Curtis more or less hung between me and Mr Williams as Keel checked out every unsteadiness and treacherous danger that lay up ahead. As soon as we could proceed he would take over Curtis, even though I protested that we managed fairly well.

Suddenly we were confronted with a huge, gaping emptiness. The entire floor, spanning a diameter of a rough 15 feet was gone. The space underneath was dark, as all lights were out there. Keel picked up a brick and threw it into the hole. It hit something unseen and we witnessed bright sparks as the brick collided with the invisible wiring to show the electricity cabling that was unshielded now.

I began to wonder if there weren't any others in the building. It seemed as if Keel had read my mind, for he shouted down into the hole:

"Heeeey.! Hello! Anyway down there?"

Nothing. No answers, just his echo that came back to fool us.

"The two of you were in quite early this morning, Mr Keel." I ignored his rising eyebrows to the Mister. "Chances are, that there were only very few people on the lower floors. They might have been able to get out. But I don't expect many people to be in. I'm usually one of the first."

"If not THE first." Mr Williams added. I allowed a little smile. He was observant too. That's why I like the older man - he had seen that there was just a little more to me as well.

Keel was still supporting Curtis, who tried to keep his eyes focused on us, but failed woefully. The worry had temporarily been pushed to the background for a little, but now that we were standing still and thinking of a way to cross this, his condition began to eat at me again.

Keel bit his lower lip in deep concentration. This was new, clearly the floor had still been here, when he had walked here twenty minutes ago. He had to find another passage.

He got us back a little further from the dangerous spot, mumbled something to Curtis, then lowered him to the floor and to my cares and left, without saying much else than I'll be right back.

***

I sat down and pulled Curtis to me and made him rest on my lap. He would benefit from every little sleep he could get, so I installed him against the warmth of my body, trying to avoid him going into shock.

His breathing turned calm and steady after some time. Mr Williams, opposite of me, began to talk.

"Asleep?"

"Yes. It's a good thing too, you know. The head injury is bad, the arm even worse." I silenced. But Mr Williams didn't. He couldn't keep his thoughts to himself any longer, it seemed. An uncontrollable flow of words started to roll from his lips, unable for him to stop or for me to cut in.

"They’re here to protect me, you know, Miss Lilly. They work for a small, yet powerful organisation that deals with any kind of crime to humanity.

As we, the Board, feared a major hold-up during the transfer of drug money from a criminal organisation, we asked CI5 for assistance. I worked with their boss a few years ago on the same case. He granted my request and promised me to send a few of his agents over to co-ordinate the protection.

I was pleased to see Mr Curtis on the job again. Three years ago he was one of the agents as well. He was quite new to the job, but already showed remarkable competence back then. I was introduced to his partner just a month ago, when I was in England on business and visited their HQ in London."

It was a mystery to me why he opened up to me the way he did. He kept going, on and on, as if Mr Curtis’ poor state somehow aroused some awkward feeling of guilt that he needed to get off of his chest. Before this, we had always been on a friendly, yet distant level with each other. This added a new perspective to certain matters.

Now I’m only a cleaning lady, but I don’t have my eyes closed when I work. In my professional capacity I have access to practically every room and office in this building. I work here since 1997 and am the only one left of the group I started with at the time. All the ladies left, one after the other, unable to cope with the smug and arrogant bastards that work here. But I stayed on - I never allowed myself to be upset by them. I’ve been given my own key, my own code and freedom to move to restricted areas even. The only place off-limits is the vault, but that doesn’t interest me at all.

So I am not completely unaware of things that happen in this office. But I didn’t know these two men were coming, nor did I know what CI5 is. A small private entrepreneur? Something sponsored by governments?

I listened to Mr Williams while thoughtlessly stroking the hair of the man, who had his head resting in my lap. I vaguely noticed something wet on my pants. Curtis was bleeding from his arm again. It didn’t really get through to me. Soon, he would have to wake up. But for now - he slept. And for now, I listened while Mr Williams spoke.

"There was a big scandal, three years ago. Money from a large corporation was deposited in this bank, under the supervision of the former President-General, Mr Edward Hawksley. During a process, in which the leading men of a drug cartel were on trial, it turned out our Mr Hawksley was up to his eyeballs in this. Surely you must remember the trial? It was called Operation Menace, after one of the synthetic drugs that formed the central item."

I nodded my head slowly. Yes - yes, I could remember things about that in the newspapers. Operation Menace. Hmm, that certainly rang a bell. The former President-General was fired immediately as it became painfully clear how much money he had skimmed off to his own account. The First National Bank had a standard to live up to, and it had been a long, painful and ugly process to clear their name of further involvement, I recalled.

"I was the crown witness during that trial." Mr Williams sighed, as if it was something he found hard to admit. He sighed before he continued: "It was my testimony that put Edward Hawskley and consorts on the stand. I’m not proud of what I did but I’m pleased to say that he is no longer able to smear more filth onto this bank. It is still a puzzle to me how he managed to embezzle so much money for so long."

Mr Williams told me more, in his own words. My mind was temporarily drifting away, as his voice grew monotone and he talked about money and currencies and other things that were too distant for me to keep me interested.

All around me the building was falling apart. It hadn’t been silent, not for one moment, after the first shock. With every step we took, something shifted, got loose, tumbled down, began to crack or in another way changed from its position. I began to grasp the reality here - it finally occurred to me that we would have to move fast. It would not be too long before the entire Bank would be nothing but a big pile of bricks and rubble. So, how was Keel doing? Would this energetic, optimistic man be able to get us out?

"… don’t you agree, Miss Lilly?" Mr Williams concluded his monologue. Vaguely I knew he had been talking about drugs and money and how "all those criminals" should be put behind bars. So, politely, I nodded my head and mumbled something like "Indeed so."

***

My heart skipped a beat as the floor beneath my feet began to shock once again. The injured agent sat up with a bolt as it happened, his eyes non-understanding, then they rolled away as the unexpected movement send yet another flash of pain through his arm. The improvised bandages were gradually getting soaked. I saw Mr Williams looking worriedly too, as he had not only seen the face of Curtis, but also my expression that surely must have told him that the agent looked bad.

Almost in the same second Keel was back.

"Come on! Hurry!" he urged us. There was a small stripe of blood visible on his light pants, where he must have hurt himself, but he was not aware of it.

"Sorry, mate, no time for the soft touch. We gotta get out of here. Now!"

He grabbed Curtis and swung him over his shoulder, in a classic fireman’s lift. Curtis screamed - then his head fell against the back of Keel and he was unconsciousness.

Mr Williams and I followed Keel with his human burden, straight through the shaking and shocking walls, running to a possible safer place. It seems so unreal now, as we rushed through the litter and the rain of cement that descended upon us. After some fifteen seconds the shaking stopped, but we didn’t.

Keel pointed to a crashed window sill, behind which I could see an opening to a room left of us. I recognised it as the cantina and knew we were only one floor from the parterre. We helped each other getting through, and I got an idea.

I pulled Keel’s sleeve. He looked tired, but by Jove, this was one stubborn sod. He refused to give in to the fatigue. From Sam little round spots dripped onto the floor, leaving a trail every where we had been going.

"Chris! There’s a fire escape near the staff entry of the cantina. It’s over there."

I saw his eyes light up. Yesss… they seemed to say.

"Go Lilly, show me. Hurry, the place won’t hold much longer."

Somehow his haste was catching - like the feeling you get when you just cannot afford to miss that last train. We needed to get to that fire escape.

I guided the men through the cantina. We progressed frustratingly slowly as we saw our path blocked by more than a hundred chairs that were scattered all over the place. They reminded me of giant spiders, paws sticking out every way, behind which our clothes hooked or which we had to throw aside to enable a passage.

Finally we reached the staff entry and the kitchen, on the other side of the large cantina. Kitchen equipment was lying all over the place and a little fire burned harmlessly in one of the corners. I could vaguely hear rubble falling around us and both Keel and Mr Williams must have noticed the same, for I saw their faces radiating unspoken thoughts.

We got through the kitchen and were then confronted with a wall that was slanting heavily and just literally crossed our way through. Damn!

"Which way, Lilly?" the Dancer impatiently asked.

"It was just some 10 yards that way, and around the corner there. There’s a hatch, bright red, on the left side. That leads to the stairs."

Again he had to let go of the weight of the unconsciousness Englishman. I helped him as he lowered to get Curtis to the dusty tiles.

"Take care of him, Lilly. I’ll be right back." He straightened and stretched his shoulders, for they must be sore from carrying the unintentionally uncooperative man. He wiped away the sweat the stung his eyes, gave me a vague smile and for the tenth time he left the three of us in the remains of the destruction. I tightened the tourniquet on Sam’s arm a little, aware that Chris saw me doing that and he was grateful for it, just before he disappeared around the corner.

My companion, Mr Williams lowered himself to ground too. His was sweating, his chest was heaving up and down from the physical exertion. His heart condition began to show itself again.

***

I looked around me to find a big brick. Still it fitted in my small hand easily. I took my chances as the Dancer had disappeared to find the last yards that would lead us to freedom.

With one hard blow to his head I hit Mr Williams to the here-after.

No sound came from his lips, just a soft tick where the brick smashed his skull and a light puff as he blew out his last breath. I threw the brick aside and placed my fingers in the wrinkled neck of the old man to feel the confirmation of his death. The broken eyes had already told me that much, and I closed them, the eyelids hiding the gaze into eternity.

That’s it, Mr Williams. We’re almost out. And I had almost given up the idea of ever finding the shadow behind Hawksley. The money is not important anymore. I was only after revenge. Who could have thought that an earthquake would ever give me they key to unravel the mystery?

The movement and the murder had gone unnoticed by the Englishman. He was lying on the ground, unconscious still, the blood rapidly forming a little puddle beneath his wounded body. I got over to him, knelt beside him and searched for his pulse. It was weak. Not much longer and he would be gone too, either dead from exhaustion, shock or sandwiched in the collapsing building.

Finally, after all this time I had found retribution. And by God, what a pleasant surprise it was to be able to get back at CI5 too. They say there is no better taste than that of revenge - and I can vouch that the sweetness of that moment flooded through me with unexpected intensity.

I had so carefully planned to get my hands on the drugs money, three years ago, that I was complete overwhelmed when a small security group had hindered this completely. I had known Edward Hawksley for quite some time then. I had met the man years ago in Sudan, where I worked for Médicins sans Frontiers.

We got involved, we got to be lovers. He came from a wealthy family, all bankers, and introduced me into a world that I had only dreamt about. I had never seen so much wealth and fortune spread so emphatically around me.

Soon I noticed the money did not just come from proper investments and speculation in banking matters alone. There was a dark circuitry of drugs that was also an expectedly huge well of money to Edward. As soon as that became apparent to me, I left him. I had always worked in the world of medical services, I was trained to save lifes, not to destroy them.

But Edward Hawksley was more powerful than I had imagined him to be. Years ago I had applied a formal request to be the legal guardian of a young boy and was granted the request. I regarded Marlon as my son, we had been together for years, ever since he was a baby, and we were as close as a mother and her natural child. Of course he had been with me in Sudan as well. Somehow Hawksley managed to get this boy, my son Marlon, on drugs.

Edward Hawksley had turned my son into a junkie - just to get even with me and to show me how much power he had.

It had been the worst time of my life. I saw Marlon drifting away from me, the young boy turning into a thief and a robber and a drug addict. Soon, he would be arrested, convicted and he would end up in jail where he would be so dreadfully out of place as he was not the rough type at all. He would be a toy for the prisoners and his life would be hell - if he would not kill himself from an overdose first.

Somewhere during that period I got my hands on a folder. It was a special addiction-training program, which had excellent results and indeed an outstanding reputation. That could be, that must be the ideal place for my son to fight his addiction. But it was so goddamned expensive - too expensive for me. How was I ever going to raise that amount of money?

I still had access to certain places where Hawksley used to hang around. I used it to my benefit. I had already taken a job as a cleaning lady in the Bank. From that position I could keep an eye on Hawksley and maybe even have access to the drug money. I agree, it was rather naive of me to think so - but it did give me a starting point, right? I successfully put up an act as a divorcee with three children, a lie that I conveniently used whenever necessary. I blend in perfectly with the background, he never knew I worked in the same place as he.

At a certain point - how I got to know is not important now - I learned that there was going to be a transfer of the drug money. Soon, one point four million dollars would be driven from Los Angeles to San Francisco. I decided to do something that was so unlike me, that I surprised myself.

As I had often volunteered in soup-kitchens I had come to know a lot of people, who were willing to help me for the sake of my son. I had set up an ingenious plan to get my hands on the money, but hours before the hit, the entire operation was blown by an unknown anti-terrorism group. I barely escaped - feeling bad and ashamed over the death of the two homeless men that had helped me.

Out of pure frustration I leaked information about Hawksley’s involvement to the Bank and the local police. Hawksley never knew that it was me who was behind this.

I read in the newspapers about the accusations against Edward Hawksley. I meticulously gathered every scrap of information about the "Operation Menace", following every move and every detail.

Hawksley committed suicide.

But: there was another person in on this. The man behind it all, the shadow, as he was often called in the press, was never found. At first, I thought the press was referring to me: the brains behind the prevented robbery. But as the process continued, I noticed some shadowy figure was the real key player in this crazy puppet game - a lot more people were involved of course, and one of them just had to be in the banking world as well. And he had a finger in the police pie too, no doubt about it - otherwise I would have known his identity long ago. But nowhere in the police files, which I could access through one of my loyal friends, the name of the source was revealed. It was a clever set-up: intricate and intelligent - and dangerous.

And now, a chance to set things straight was thrown straight into my lap. I had just found about the identity of the unknown man - it was Peter-John Williams, bank manager, father of four, grandfather, golf-player, art-lover, criminal. When Mr Williams just told me that he was the one who had provided the testimony, things became painfully clear to me. He had blown the whistle on Hawksley and conveniently covered his own tracks in doing so.

I had come to a decision in less than minutes. Williams was not such a kind gentleman after all, but a filthy bastard who got rich over the heads of young kids with a drug addiction. CI5 supported his actions, so they must be involved too.

Marlon died shortly after Hawksley. Part of me died with him. The part that had cared for life so much was numbed by his sad and unnecessary death. My idea of getting my hands on the money was suddenly of no importance anymore. My heart turned into ice, my human side froze, all initiated by the uncontrollable urge to find the shadow. To be able to find revenge for what had happened to my son.

Now, finally, Williams had paid with his life for the life of my son. The weight of my quest fell of my shoulders like a ton of bricks.

***

All the time I had been thinking about this, I had looked at the silent figure on the floor of the kitchen. His blood contrasted sharply with the blue and white kitchen tiles. He had not moved.

I let out a deep sigh as I got to my feet. This guy would not be in my way, that much was sure. The only thing I had to do was take the other out. Now - that wouldn’t be too difficult either. One little push, one unfortunate slip…

I had to remain convincing. So when I heard footsteps as Keel was coming back to us, I squatted down beside Mr Williams and was the remorseful deeply saddened cleaning lady once again.

"There’s a…Lilly? Lilly, what’s wrong?"

I noticed his presence very close to me. I knew he saw Mr Williams’ soulless body. He bend over, softly laid a hand on my shoulder and forced me to look at him.

"Lilly? What happened?" his voice, that had been either cheerful or determined, had a new curve. I could only identify it as compassion.

I shook my head.

"Something… A brick… it fell down, a brick. It hit him… it hit Mr Williams. I..er… I."

A strong arm pulled me up.

"Come here." The Dancer said, his voice thick with warmth. He wrapped his arms around me and held me, close and tenderly to ease the pain and the shock that I had witnessed. I smelled his body, sweaty and masculine, almost a musk scent. I heard his voice close to my head as he spoke, carefully choosing his words.

"Don’t blame yourself, Lilly. I know that’s easier said than done, but you have to distance yourself from it. It could have been you or me - look what happened to Sam. You can only try to get yourself into safety." The ice that had manifested itself in me, disappeared like snow in the sun.

He pushed me at arm length from him and made me look him in the face. The kindness in this cocky young man was really surprising - not at all what I had expected from him. He wiped away a tear that ran down my cheek.

"What.. do we do with him? We can’t leave him here." I sniffed.

"We must. I cannot carry both him and Sam. And for now - my friend is still alive and he has priority now. Williams is beyond rescue. A search team will salvage the body, don’t worry."

I nodded my head silently and took out a hanky to dry the tears.

"Let’s get out of here, okay? Be strong. If not for me, then for Sam’s sake - I know he wouldn’t have survived so far if you hadn’t taken care of him the way you did." He gave me an encouraging pinch in my arm and let go of me.

Sam Curtis was in no condition to walk anymore. I stopped Chris from hauling him up and checked the tourniquet first. The arm was bleeding seriously and I tightened the blood-soaked bandage and twisted the pen around again. It seemed to be slowing down - but that might have been wishful thinking, I realised all too well.

I nodded my head, to give Keel the okay that he needed to pick his friend up from the kitchen floor. I supported Curtis’ head, which felt no longer silken, but was sticky from sweat, dust and blood too.

My eyes were caught be a knife block that was attached to the wall, and surprisingly was still hanging there. Chris was struggling to keep Curtis and his own balance under control and was not paying attention to me.

This was the push I needed. I shuffled aside, snatched the largest butcher’s knife from the block and hid it behind my back. Keel hadn’t noticed anything.

How on earth was this possible… I looked at the entire utter chaos around me. After all we’ve been through, how did I manage to get out? Get out in one piece?

***

Sam and Chris

The two agents had left foggy London, stepped onto the plane and while Sam read the file that Backup had pushed into his hands before leaving, Chris instantly fell asleep and snored contentedly in the seat next to his.

Sam envied Chris a little for that. He could sleep anywhere, any place and any time. A five minutes nap or a 12 hours deep sleep - it didn’t make any difference to the American. He would usually sleep like a log, Sam had noticed. The nightmares about his butchered family did not seem to hunt him that much anymore.

His job at CI5 had strangely given him a way to learn to deal with those feelings. And maybe his partnership with Sam Curtis also debited that. He had come to the conclusion that there were genuinely sincere people around, people who cared for life and the living. Somehow, Curtis thought satisfied as he closed the folder, Chris had lost the sharp edges of his former existence. He was still a hot-headed, quick-tempered fool, stubborn and unpredictable in some ways - but he had come a long way.

Sam thought about the contents of the folder that lay closed on the little fold away-table of the seat in front of him. He understood the good mood Chris was in. Malone had given the two operatives an easy job. And to both their surprise, also a legitimate leave of absence for five days after this was done. They had been under a lot of stress lately, called back from days off to help out in the most various and difficult of circumstances.

Maybe the old guy is getting soft on us, Sam thought lightly amused. The job was a piece of cake, just some preparations for a drug-money transport and the protection of one Peter-John Williams. He was not unknown to the CI5 agents. Malone introduced them to the banker last month, when he was in London and invited over to HQ.

That was not the first time Sam had met the man. Three years ago he had assisted in a drug case for the same banker. He remembered the shooting and the chaos that had been the result of a prevented hold-up. But it was a screw-up, in a way too. Two of the robbers had been killed, they appeared to be nothing but poor homeless men, and the brains behind it had never been identified nor found.

Sam knew he had been far too inexperienced at the time. Sure, he had saved the life of Williams plus two precinct officers and the drug money had safely been transported back into the bank. But the men shouldn’t have been killed.

He didn’t stop to think about it too long. Regret was something that did not bring back the dead. Nothing did, did it? Yet he knew that, if something like that should happen again this time, he’d be far better prepared.

Sam shook off the thoughts from his early days within the force. He put the folder back in his briefcase, stashed it in the locker above his head and tried to get some sleep. The jet lag would be monstrous again, he knew.

He looked at his sturdy friend once more, sighed enviously and closed his eyes.

***

Chris had been in an excellent mood from the moment he had set foot on US soil.

"Ah, Sam. Just smell it. That real American air."

"Mm. If you’re referring to the exhaust-fumes, I must say, they don’t differ that much from the London traffic gases." Dryly Sam raised an eyebrow.

But Chris did not allow Sam to spoil his good spirits.

"Nag nag nag. Just look at the weather - you don’t get this much sunshine in a year’s time in London! And beautiful women all around - they don’t make them that pretty in your home country. Over there… see the palm trees? Now, where can you find those in England?"

To Sam, the rest of his cheerful talking went in one ear and out the other. He knew his friend far too well by now to stop him. Just, let him wax on and make them both happy. Sam sighed exaggeratedly as they got into the rental car that had been ready for them at the airport.

The Englishman hadn’t been able to sleep, not even a catnap. He knew the jetlag would catch up on him soon and he disgusted that feeling of total chemical imbalance. But Chris, who had been sleeping the entire journey, never seemed to notice the time jump. Well, he probably did notice - but it didn’t bother him.

It was still very early as they arrived in Los Angeles city and parked the car in the parking lot behind the First National Bank. During the ride, Chris behind the wheel and Sam feeling a little weird as the traffic was on the other side of the road, the two agents had discussed Peter-John Williams and the case that they had been given.

"It was an unfinished, strange story, back then. The unknown witness and so…" Sam said, as his eyes flew over the lines in the file again. "Backup hasn’t come up with anything new. It is almost the same as three years ago. The money is going to be transferred from San Francisco to Los Angeles, Williams is going to be present to officially make the transfer to the Government."

"Why this intricate scheme?" Chris asked, his hands beating steadily to the music in the background but meanwhile listening closely to what his partner had to say. "I mean, if they wanted to get money from one place to the other, there can’t be that much going wrong if they have a good security team working. What am I missing?"

As always Chris thought in straight lines. He saw black or white to start with, to him the vague and vast area of grey was never visible at first sight. It took a while before he would begin to distinguish details and nuances. But that was his strength too: he worked for what was right and fought against what was wrong. Simplicity was not always such a bad thing if you had a control-freak partner like Sam Curtis to work with, Richards had once told the American.

"A lot of elements, actually: there’s a lot of people involved in this, to begin with. And don’t forget the fact that processes like these drag on for years and not until the entire case is closed to everyone’s satisfaction, the rounding off begins."

"Rounding off in the case meaning the final transport and hand-over to the Government." Chris thoughtfully filled in. Sam nodded his head in agreement.

"What happened to the money? I mean after you and your buddies prevented the robbery."

"It went back into the vault in this particular bank. It’s been guarded ever since. When the trial was over, it became official Government money."

"And how did Williams end up with CI5?"

"He and Malone were university friends, or so I’m told. Although I’m not certain, I guess it started out as a favour three years ago and turned into a real case with the hold up."

"And our presence here…"

"Is to ensure PJ Williams’ safe return home Friday-evening. The Shadow has never been found, Williams did receive several threats by phone, he told the boss - so Malone assumes somebody's still after the money and Williams."

Chris took the key from the ignition. As he got out of the car and gazed at the deserted open spaces of the parking lot, he seemed distracted. Sam picked up the briefcase and looked questioningly at his friend.

"Hey, have you heard anything I just said?"

"Hmm." Chris had a deep wrinkle just above his nose.

"What?"

"Hmmm."

"Chris, I’d love to help rebuild your lovely sentence structure any time, but not today. And the hmmm, that just won’t do." Sam looked at his friend, who was obviously caught in some thought.

"Chris?! What is it?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

Sam let a sigh out. Chris could be impossible.

But Chris had noticed something - something that had nothing to do with Williams, the drug money or even his work. There were no birds singing. He had seen a dog and it had frightenedly walked with its tail between its behind paws, obviously looking for shelter. The numerous cats, rats and mice that would be hunting the streets at this hour of day to find something eatable, were nowhere in sight.

The young American had seen this phenomenon only once before, when he was just a little kid. That was when Mount St. Helens erupted - the animals had sensed something coming. Now Chris did think in black and white - but that did not mean he was insensitive to the world around him. On the contrary: he had extraordinary eye for detail, partly from training but most of it had been his since childhood. One thing was certain - he hadn’t missed the signs, even though at that moment he was unable to predict what they were implying.

***

The thoughts vanished when the two were shown into the bank by a very young night porter, who was very impressed by their ID’s and explained them the way to Williams’ office. The banker was already in, the young man had told them, eagerly to help. Yes, he had been notified of their coming and they could go straight up. Top floor, that was where his office was.

Chris was singing loudly in the elevator. It echoed around him.

"Chris, I know Pavarotti owes his success to you, but can you save the lesson for some other time?" Sam dramatically held his hands pressed against his ears as the elevator brought them up.

Chris spread his arms and ended a line of some opera song. His choice of music once more surprised Sam.

"You don’t know how to appreciate real art, Sammiboy. Music is the key to my soul."

"I’ll be happy to learn all about it when I’m retired. For now, would you please shut up?!"

Chris laughed, Sam too and they stepped out of the elevator into a wet, shining hallway. A cleaning lady was mopping the floor, softly humming the very tune Chris had been singing just seconds earlier. The American and the Englishman exchanged a surprised glance.

Then, to the surprise of both Sam and the cleaning lady, Chris jumped dashingly forward, grabbed the mop and performed a piece of dancing and singing that provoked a laugh from Sam and a stunned look from the woman.

"Don’t worry Miss. He’s always like this when he’s had time for a good night’s rest. It’s not contagious."

Sam met her eyes. She was completely overwhelmed. He knew his friend had that effect on certain people. Mildly ashamed but more amused Curtis followed his cheerful friend into PJ Williams’ office. Time for business.

***

When the world began to shock, just minutes after they had entered, Chris was thrown off of his chair.

"Earthquake!" the American shouted as he fell backwards.

Sam clenched to the armrests of the chair he was sitting on, taken by surprise, as he had never experienced this before. Everything seemed to be shocking, the building was alive, the walls bending and breaking as the entire office was shaking on its fundaments.

Parts of the ceiling began to fall. From the corner of his eyes Sam became aware of a heavy steel bar coming loose. His mind had already foreseen what would happen, before he had time to actually think about it.

With one giant jump, he leaped over the bureau, going straight for PJ Williams and pulled him down and away from the danger in the same movement. Images from high school rugby teased him for just a second, then he felt a splitting fire in his upper arm as he was hit by the bar.

He heard Williams gasping for breath as he shielded the old man with his body. Or was it his own breath that stuck somewhere in his throat as he was hit by pain?

He kept his head low and pushed Williams against the shaking and shocking floor. His professional attitude had not been taken away by the injury - time to give in to this later. He heard Chris screaming but couldn’t hear it from the noise around him. He noticed the movement of Williams who tried to crawl out, from underneath his body.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, the shaking stopped.

The silence after the earthquake was deafening. Chris staggered upwards, his lower back sore from the involuntary smack to the carpet.

"Sam! Are you alright?" he called out to his friend. "Mr Williams?"

Unstable on his feet, he moved to the desk, behind which PJ Williams and Sam Curtis had disappeared. Both of them sat up, Williams pushing his hands against his chest and Sam supporting one arm with the other.

"My arm - it’s broken." Sam already turned to a different shade. Chris knew from experience that Sam could have a frightening pallor when he was in pain, but this time it came very quickly. Yet before Chris could do or say anything, Sam asked how the old man was doing.

"Mr Williams? Sir, how are you?" The English accent was almost stiff from the tensed way in which the words were uttered.

"Just give me a minute, Sam. Just a minute." The old man breathed heavily. Apart from the initial shock and his heavy panting, he seemed unharmed.

Chris tended to his friend. The arm looked bad - he could see the fractured bone. And although he knew his first aid, there was not much the young agent could do here. Stay off, you’ll only hurt him more, a wise voice inside told him.

He took out his cell phone. There was no getting through - everybody was using the satellite telephone traffic at the same time: overloaded systems meant no phone calls at all. Chris had expected that. Still, it was annoying.

He flashed his friend an encouraging smile and then turned around to see what had become of the office. It was a mess, to put it all in one word. There was nothing standing in the same place where it had been, hardly anything was still in one piece. It was darker now, as the lights had short-circuited. The windows were gone, the walls had pressed them together which made them splatter apart. The glass was everywhere but there was no opening that they could get through.

The door, through which they had entered this room, was jammed as well. Chris carefully tried to get through but it was much too small to be able to crawl through. Suddenly he heard a voice.

"Mr Williams! Mr Williams! Hey! Is anyone there?"

The cleaning lady. She had survived.

***

The woman showed remarkable calmness and Chris noticed the natural way in which she immediately tended to her employer. He saw her entire attitude changing from a simple cleaning lady to a trained and professional nurse, or even a doctor maybe. She checked the old man, she curtly stated a heart condition and then turned to Sam. As a result of her natural authority, Chris let her. Meanwhile he began to check the place out. He knew about earthquakes, about aftershocks and how this office could come down in seconds.

He stepped over to where the woman, called Miss Lilly by the banker, had come in. She was small and slender - she’d fit in his clothes twice. There was no way that either Chris or the other two would be able to go where she’d come from. He turned to the door opening on his right side. Two little top windows, far too small to be able to crawl through, and far too high too reach. He listened to what the woman told him. She was very to the point and wasted little talk on unnecessary things.

Chris came to a decision quickly. He wouldn’t waste time on waiting for someone to save them. There must be hundreds of injured people in Los Angeles, their situation was no worse than that of others. He was going to get them out. The lady seemed plucky enough, Williams would not be of much help and Sam was holding up, but with the extend of his injury it wouldn’t be long before he would become weak.

His investigation into an exit became a strange combination of climbing and crawling and searching and puzzling. Miss Lilly knew her way around well, had told him of the various rooms and as Chris had gone down the elevator shaft his mind had already started planning what to do next.

As he moved through the treacherous stones and dust, he tried to push away the worry for Sam. He had been on the floor, face down, after the first aftershock, but in good "I’m-Sam-don’t-fuss-with-me" style his friend had sat up again and annoyed, brushed away their caring. Chris knew he was biting his way through the pain and recognised the grimness of his friend not to give in to the situation.

Lilly however, couldn’t be fooled, he had noticed. She had that typical peering look of a trained medical expert. As Chris let his friend to her care, he had lowered himself down the shaft and started checking out the floor below. The place was falling apart. He was very aware of the fact that they had to move fast, if they were to come out of here alive.

The corridor that unfolded before him, raised his hopes. It was messy, but in one piece. He moved fast, carefully still, to the other side. A window there was smashed and he could see the building next door, more or less undamaged - and close enough to reach from here.

He ran back, his feet echoing and stirring the dust that had settled everywhere. He climbed up the cables in the shaft easily, got back to the room below Williams’ office and saw Lilly’s face appearing. Her worried look told him more than ten thousand words. When she told him Sam had a concussion, he felt a surge of defeat - just for a second. Shit. That was the last thing they needed.

Quickly, he got over to Sam.

"Sam? How are you doing?"

"Like I was hit by an earth quake." A brave attempt to fool his worried partner, but too weakly spoken to sort effect, Chris noticed. A ball of nerves twisted his stomach.

"Listen Sam. I’ve found a way out. We have to go down an elevator shaft."

Sam started to nod his head in agreement, but checked as he apparently felt that that was not such a good idea.

"Alright."

"It’s pretty tricky down there. But the floor below is in one piece and easy to cross. I saw a window that we can get through, and from there on to the next building."

Sam closed his eyes for a second. Chris thought he’d pass out, but then he felt him pinching his hand.

"What are you waiting for then?" He muttered. Chris grimaced, sympathy for his determined friend rising. He rose and with infinity care got Sam on his feet. The swaying of that body did not predict much good, though.

Chris knew he had two enemies to fight: the effects of the earthquake - and the worsening condition of his closest friend.

Williams had been given some medicine for his heart condition and it showed he was feeling better. He could move around without support, more or less. Lilly looked at him with big eyes. She reminded Chris of a cat, somehow. Even though she was scared, she still headed further and after initial hesitation did what he asked of her. She showed to be a great help too - and without too much trouble the four of them had reached the shaft.

He looked down as she lowered herself from the cable in the shaft. Protest was written all over her face as he had suggested they should get down there, but as she had seen that this was the only way out, and that he wasn’t kidding, she had pressed her lips together, wrapped the cloth around her hands and made her way down. Brave woman, Chris thought as he kept an eye on her progress.

Long time ago already the young American had raised a shield to protect himself from hurt and agony. If an agent, submitted to the stress of field work, could not find a way of dealing with that, he’d have a breakdown. Chris would not allow that to happen: he hid behind the wall of humour and in Sam Curtis he’d found an excellent opponent. Sam could be dry as dust and Chris loved to jump to the occasion and have that special banter between them going on and on.

Funny enough, he had noticed, more people reacted that way. Even the serious Miss Lilly allowed a little smile and a surprised but amused look to his blunt remarks. Her answer from down below as he called for coffee, released some of the tension. She was on his wavelength now - completely.

As he had brought Mr Williams down, he knew the hardest task was yet to come. He had engineered some kind of device to strap Sam to his body, allowing him to have both hands free to hold on to the cable. He was scared he’d hurt him more. But Sam wasn’t completely off to the woods yet. He had moments where he subconsciously knew he had to be alert. To Chris’ relief, he noticed his partner even helping out and muttering vague comment.

"Have you ever seen how frogs mate?" Sam’s determination was unbelievable.

Chris fiddled with the buckles. "Nah, that’s not my usual Saturday-evening television entertainment. Why?"

"’cos we look like a bloody pair of them right now." Sam grumbled.

"Well, Kermy, don’t get your hopes up too high. As much as I’m flattered - you can find yourself a suitable partner when we get out."

He hooked the improvised harness to the cable.

"Ready, Sam?"

"Do it." was the curt answer.

They went down, slowly but as Chris noticed Sam even using his good arm to help, he dared moving faster. Then, to his utter frustration his cell phone rang when he was hanging somewhere in the shaft, halfway in between floors. He had to let it ring - there was no way he could answer it.

They reached the roof of the shaft, where Lilly took over from him and Chris removed the straps and belts. With hands that trembled from the exertion he took out the phone. The display told him at once that the caller had been Backup. As he tried to return the call, he couldn’t get through. Fuck. Ah, well, time to talk to her later. What mattered was here and now.

He carefully lowered Sam to the ground. His friend seemed to sink away into some kind of lethargy. Very tenderly he raised the dark-haired head by the chin.

"We made it this far, Sam. Can you still hold on? Just a few hundred yards, a nice practice for the muscles and we’ll be safe and sound."

He didn’t expect a reply but Sam, good old Sam, managed to mutter:

"Hey Red Cloud…?"

"What?"

"Tell Malone I want a raise in pay."

"You can tell him that yourself, buddy."

Chris smiled, knowing Sam would be able to hold on, at least for some time. He gently tapped his friend’s shoulder and pushed himself up. Then he turned to Lilly, who had been watching them silently and who seemed to read his face like a book.

"Will you take a look at him?"

He had hardly spoken those words as she knelt beside him and made Sam bend over as he vomited. At least her diagnosis had been correct. She cleaned him up and got to her knees besides him. Chris recognised her manoeuvres: she was trying to determine the extend of his alertness by making him answer to questions. Thank God for sturdy Sam, he thought, he’d go on until he dropped. And Chris would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening here.

He drank thirsty, yet little from the water, she’d handed him. The dust seemed to creep inside his throat, making it harder to breathe and carry Sam at the same time. Lilly and Williams had to take him over, but somehow Chris found it difficult to leave him over to the care of others as long as he was around.

The awkward foursome struggled through the route he’d found only half an hour earlier to come to a full stop after some time. The floor was gone. Disappointed and angry Chris looked at the vanished floor. It could have been so easy, this last bit. On the other hand, if they would have crossed this hallway, it might easily have collapsed below their feet, taking them down too. He let out an annoyed sigh - this was so frustrating. Taking one step further, slipping two steps back.

Sam’s attempt to keep focused failed bitterly, Chris noticed. Time was breathing down his neck even more. He lowered Sam to the floor, away from the gaping hole that waited for them.

"Hey Sam. I have to do some snooping around. Hold on, okay? Lilly will take care of ya, and I’ll be back as soon as possible."

Again, his pal amazed him.

"Be home before sundown, you hear? Starsky & Hutch at six, remember."

"I’ll be right back." Was the only thing Chris said.

Just as he was shoving aside the last big block that had barricaded a passage, he felt the trembling again - another aftershock! He ran, his feet barely touching the ground, to the place where he had left Sam and the others. They were all startled, even Sam had arisen but there was no time to debate what to do. The cracked floor was widening fast, like the star in a windscreen that has been hit by a pebble. Chris jumped to his friend, hauling him onto his shoulder, using the momentum to bend and rise and haul him in one fluid movement. He heard a cry escape from Sam as his hurt arm was in the way, felt the body slumping, the head bumping against his back as he ran through the shocking building. He noticed the running feet and curt cries of Lilly and Williams directly behind him.

As suddenly as it had started, it was over. They didn’t stop running until they reached the window sill that he had found.

Lilly pulled his sleeve. She said something about a cantina and a fire escape and pointed through the tangle of chair paws that were littered through that space. A fire escape. Yesss… much better than trying to jump to the roof next building.

It seemed to take them forever to reach the far side of the cantina. To Chris’ growing worry he saw blood trickling down from Sam’s body. It left a trail behind on the grey tiles of the company restaurant. The American found it harder to concentrate. He knew he was getting tired, more than anything else he wanted to sit down for a moment or two to rest, but he didn’t allow himself that luxury. If he wanted to get Sam out alive - if he wanted ANY of them to come of here alive - he must move now. He just had to get to the fire escape.

He put Sam down. His friend didn't react, just a moan bubbled up from somewhere inside.

"Which way, Lilly?" he asked impatiently, shuffling his feet from left to right to avoid his sore muscles from jamming.

"It was just some 10 yards that way, and around the corner there. There’s a hatch, bright red, on the left side. That leads to the stairs."

She took over as head of the party as soon as he turned around. He could see her, before he took the corner, tightening the tourniquet and then pulling Sam close to her. She stroked his hair, compassionately.

Sam, you owe that petite more than you realise, he muttered below his breath.

Chris, Lilly and Sam.

When the American had returned to the kitchen he had found a remorseful, deeply saddened Lilly, bending over Williams and shutting his eyes. A large brick with a few blood splatters had been lying next to the dead body. She had stammered something about a brick coming down and even without hearing her properly he knew exactly what she was saying - the death of this man was so unfair, so unjustified, just as they were about to escape this pit. On the verge of freedom, his life had been snatched away from him. From them, even! He had tried to console her, felt her little body tremble in his arms as he held her close. They had to get on - for the sake of their own lives, the just had to go.

Slowly, very quietly, Lilly had followed him through the next bit, until they reached the place where more trouble lay waiting for them.

Chris looked into the abyss below. Here too, the ground floor was gone and deep down a dark, grey hole revealed the bank's parking garage. He turned to Lilly who waited behind him.

"This is probably not your idea of a night on the town, but we have to cross this."

She nodded silently. There was something in her face that Chris hadn't seen before. He couldn't quite put his finger to it, but it was worrying him a little. She would not faint or something now, would she? She'd been incredibly strong and controlled, but at this very moment he caught a glance that he couldn't figure out.

He still had a firm grip on Sam, one arm tight around his waist. He held the good arm around his neck, while Sam on some subconscious level had been putting one foot in front of the other. His head rolled unwillingly to Chris' shoulder.

"Dangerous." He muttered, barely audible.

"I know, buddy, I know." Chris answered, surprised that his friend talked now, as they were about to cross the small plank that would lead them to safety.

"No.... Chris... dang....dangerous...".

A switch was set in the American's mind. Sam was trying to tell him something. He brought his face closer to Sam's.

"What, Sam? Come on, talk to me."

From a hidden resource the Englishman seemed to gather his last piece of strength.

"Wa....watch... your...back…." he got the words out with immense difficulty. His voice had lost its volume almost completely and Chris had to listen closely to hear what he had to say. He couldn’t understand what Sam was referring to. The only one with them was Lilly and by no means would she be dangerous. Was he referring to rapid fall down of this bank? Had he seen a hazardous spot that had escaped Chris’ attention?

Lilly said something that didn't quite get through to him. He turned to her, Sam hanging like a puppet in his grip, to listen to what she had to say.

"Pardon?"

"I said: you cannot carry Sam like you did just there. He won't survive another carry like that."

"Yeah, already figured out that much myself." Chris grinned. He knew she was right. He felt guilt of already having inflicted more pain on his partner, when he had hauled him on to his shoulders earlier. Yet, he didn't like others to see his concern for his partner and kept up appearances. He let go of Sam's hand for a moment and with a broad arm gesture he waved to the small plank.

"You wanna go first?"

She hesitated.

"Don’t look down, you’ll be fine. It’s only five yards to the other side."

Still she hadn’t moved, and Chris found her fear to be real and rational. She’d been wonderful so far but she needed his strength now.

"Lilly, listen - I’ll go first, with Sam. The plank is strong enough to hold us both. Follow me when you can. I'll bring Sam to the other side and come back for you. It that okay?"

Her eyes were clouded in a strange way. The American touched her shoulder lightly with his free hand and that shook her from her reverie. She nodded.

"Okay. I’ll come when you’re on the other side."

Chris didn’t waste any more time. He nodded curtly and then swung Sam into his arms, like a bridegroom who lifts his bride to carry her over the threshold. The weight of the Englishman’s in his arms made the crossing harder. He couldn’t see where he put his feet.

"Lilly, guide me." He said in an almost demanding tone. "I can’t see where I’m going."

"You’re doing fine. Straight on. A little more to the right, just a little." He heard her calm voice behind him.

Sam’s head rested against the strong shoulders. Chris thought he was unconscious again but to his surprise his partner moaned. He tried to say something again.

"Chris…"

"Shut up, Curtis. This doesn’t mean I want to marry ya." Chris said between two breaths. He perspired heavily. The last thing he needed was Sam to move unexpectedly and cause them to lose their balance.

"Lilly…. She’s…dangerous…"

Then his voice broke and once more Sam had sunken into blissful unconsciousness again. But his message had not gone unnoticed this time. Chris felt the hair in his neck rise, as the meaning of those few spoken words became clear.

He shifted his feet carefully until he could see her, coming up from behind him. To his surprise he noticed tears in her eyes. She had a large kitchen knife in her hands but seemed to be unaware of that as she slowly approached him.

"Lilly." Chris uttered. "What are you doing?"

She blinked, then slowly wiped away the tears with one her sleeves.

"I’m putting an end to this." She replied softly. Carefully, very cautiously Chris stepped back further and further, knowing that each step would take him closer to safety. The platform of the fire escape was only 2 yards behind him.

"Put the knife down, Lilly. We’re almost there. Don’t give in to fear now." Chris tried, but knew she was referring to something that had nothing to do with the situation they were in now.

"I miss him, Mr Dancer. I miss him so much. I want to be with my son. And now that I’ve killed the Shadow, there’s nothing anymore to keep me here." Slowly she brought the knife up to the pulse of her other arm.

"Please, Lilly. Let go of knife."

The CI5 agent was confronted with a totally different woman now. Was this the same rational, calm and quiet woman, who had silently laughed at his jokes and who had taken control of the caring just minutes ago? And what was this she said about killing the Shadow?

Before he had time to come up with a suitable answer, he heard a loud rumbling noise coming from outside - something big in the surrounding area collapsed. The shock made the bank start to tremble on its foundations, so heavily that the already weakened walls, floors and ceilings began to fall down. This was the end - in just seconds it would be over.

Chris literally jumped to the occasion and got himself and Sam onto the narrow iron platform, that lead to the stairs. The plank had begun to shift. To his terror he saw it breaking in two and Lilly sliding down. In one movement he lowered Sam to the platform and leaped forwards to grab her, while holding on to his friend with one hand. If he let go, Sam would topple over and fall down the other side.

"Lilly!" he screamed. His fingers touched the cloth of her sleeve. He clenched his fist around the material. "Grab my arm! Hold on to me with your other hand!"

But the small, plain woman did nothing. She just hung there, looking up at him.

"Lilly! Come on! Grab my arm." Chris knew his voice sounded hard and unusually pitched now.

"No, Chris. I wanted to kill you too. Because I thought you were in on this, as you tried to protect Williams." The agent couldn’t believe she was just bringing out this confession as if she was sitting in a church bench.

"But you’re not, are you, Mr Dancer?" it was a rhetorical question to which she knew the answer, he could see it written all over her face.

"No - for God’s sake, Lilly, help me to help you!" Chris pressed the words out as he felt the cloth slowly starting to tear under his fingers.

"You already did. You restored my faith in humanity. For three years I was consumed by only one thought: revenge. I no longer trusted anyone."

"Later! Later!" the American desperately tried. "Come on Lilly, please, take my hand!"

"You both saw there was more to me than just wiping dust and mopping floors. You brought my real me back to life."

Brown eyes met blue ones and somewhere in that moment, Chris read the inevitable. She was not going to let herself be saved.

"Bring Sam into safety and take good care of each other. You’re a remarkable pair: a Dancer and an Englishman."

Then the cloth ripped off, leaving Chris with only a stroke of light blue cotton in his hand.

Lilly fell into the darkness below. Chris’ shocked scream accompanied her to the depth.

***

The obituary had been simple. Sam put the paper down that Chris had brought him.

"That was some woman, Lilly Cavalier." He said thoughtfully.

"Yes she was." was Chris’ only answer. Sam had noticed that, although he hid it well, his friend had been pretty upset by this entire affair. Although the American was as usual, in a good mood, Sam had not missed the scarce moments that his friend had been staring out of the window, caught up in thoughts about the common, yet no so ordinary, woman.

The Englishman had missed a lot in that building but in his dreams he relived certain parts and although vaguely, some of it had come back. He could still picture quite well the earthquake itself, the bar hitting him, the pain and then the cleaning lady nursing him and Williams. But from the moment the first aftershock had made him drag the old man aside, things weren’t very clear anymore. Chris told him he’d been hit by a piece of the ceiling. A vague fragment of his friend picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder before everything turned dark, also surfaced every now and then.

Very clearly, however, he recalled Lilly hitting the old man with the brick. At first he thought it was strange that that particular moment had not been influenced by his concussion, but after some time he began to see, that there was logic to that. The mere sight of that woman killing PJ Williams was so out of order that even through his blurred vision, the pain and his confused mind, he had somehow registered and analysed it. He had even tried to warn Chris.

The events on the plank and the platform had passed him by. The last thing he remembered before he woke up in a hospital bed, was Chris snarling at him that he should shut up. Headaches and gruesome hurt in his arm had hunted him, but once the broken bone began to mend and much sleep gave his bruised head the rest it needed, he quickly began to feel better. A bag of fresh blood and a mixture of drugs, strong enough to fell an elephant, added a little extra to his prosperous recovery.

He had been dragged to safety by Chris, up there on the iron platform. From there on, paramedics and police had taken over. The American had refused to leave the private hospital before knowing how Sam would come out of the operation so the staff provided him with a bed to get some rest himself. After he heard that Sam would be fine, he finally gave in to exhaustion and slept the day away.

Lilly’s body was recovered days later from under a pile of concrete that had cracked down into the parking garage. Instant death, the autopsy report had stated. Sam had seen a vague flare of relief on Chris’ face. He saw too, that his partner thought about the case a lot. When, reluctantly at first, but more open as he continued, Chris had began to tell Sam what had happened in that bank, Sam had understood his sympathy for the woman. The little Lilly had tried to fight the big bad guys in the world. The feeling of vengeance had taken possession of the actually very kind and very generous woman. It had turned her heart cold and her mind numb - yet she had been moved and touched by the camaraderie between the two agents and had found something that she thought she lost for good.

Backup had been able to fill in gaps. A high police official was involved and had hidden the identity of the Shadow, in exchange for large amounts of money. Several arrests were made, the lid was blown off and Operation Menace could finally be closed for good. And all this because of one little, brave woman.

Sam knew Chris would be feeling guilty for the rest of his life. He had lost his wife, he had lost colleagues and seen his share of death. Yet, he cared for people like Lilly. So alone they were, in a world where they desperately tried to keep them selves alive. Occasionally, one would step out of the line and try to make a run for a better place - but in the end they were all dragged back to the gutter they came from.

***

Chris held a white rose. It was beautiful and fragile, reminding him of his wife in her marriage-gown first and then of the petite woman in the destructed building. Then, calmly, he walked over the lanes of the cemetery until he found the spot where a fresh grave was made. The inscription on the stone was simple, a few words that did little justice to the woman it described.

Goodbye, Lilly, he whispered. Now you can be with your son.

Chris put down the rose and left. The little card that was attached to the delicate flower stirred in the soft warm wind. The words were almost illegible.

Rest in peace - the Dancer and the Englishman.

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