M McDonald - March Into Hell

It was a risk that Jim had taken before with other assets. Some paid off, others didn't, but in his long stint in the CIA, more often than not, he managed to contain or avoid any damage to himself or more importantly, anyone else. In all that time, not one of his assets had ever been outed. Until now.

Jim leaned back in his desk chair and put his feet up on the corner of his desk, arms folded. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. There was no mention of Taylor linking him to the CIA. If anything, the enemy combatant mention would throw a smoke screen up, but this article could be the stick that pokes the hornet's nest.

He scanned the article again. There were no direct quotes by Mark, so Jim was fairly confident that the reporter hadn't actually interviewed him, but had just drawn conclusions based on some in depth research. What had Jim curious was why the reporter was curious about Taylor.

So far, Jim had kept his nose out of what Mark did with his future photos. If it didn't involve national security, he remained uninvolved, preferring not to know what the guy did. This article popped the bubble of ignorance that Jim had willingly hidden inside. Damn it. He pulled his legs down, his feet hitting the floor with a thump that would tick off the FBI agent on the floor below him. Jim smiled. It was the little things in life that gave him pleasure.

He reached for the phone and dialed Mark's cell number. The cell phone was special issue, as safe as current technology could make it, and Mark was to carry it at all times. It was the only stipulation that Jim had insisted upon. Taylor hadn't been thrilled with having a cellular leash, but start-up money for the photo studio had been on the line, so he'd conceded.

After the tenth ring, Jim hung up. So much for the leash. He looked up Jessica Bishop's number. While he stayed out of Mark's business, that didn't mean he didn't know that Taylor and Bishop had parted ways. However, he had a feeling that if anyone would know where Mark was, it was Jessica.

"Detective Bishop."

"Hello, Jessica. This is Jim Sheridan."

She groaned. "Oh no. You saw the paper?"

He broke into a grin at her weary tone. "I sure did. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you had any idea where the blessed one is right now?"

"Cut the crap, Sheridan. I'm neck deep in it already, and don't need more heaped on. And no. I saw him earlier today, but he didn't give me his itinerary."

While Jim had counted on them remaining in touch, this news came as a surprise. "You saw him today?"

"Come on, it's not every day that an ex-boyfriend is accused of being the Second Coming. I had to see firsthand if I'd missed something in all the time I've known him."

"And did you?" Jim asked, intending the question to be sarcastic, but it came out sounding serious.

"What?"

"Miss something."

"Look, Jim. You know Mark. He's about as honest as they come, and, I admit, he's a good guy, but he's not perfect."

"Nobody is."

"I would think the Messiah would be pretty damn close to perfect, wouldn't you?"

Jim looked at the photo of Mark. No, the guy wasn't perfect, that was for certain. Someone who was accused of being the next Jesus wouldn't have the temper that Taylor had shown on more than one occasion. Most of all, he would have had the power to prevent 9/11.

"I'm just giving you a hard time. However, it is important that I reach him. With his name all over the news, he could be in jeopardy." He traced a pencil line around the photo, darkening the edges.

"You mean his status as your asset?"

Jim would never acknowledge that kind of question, but he couldn't stop her from guessing. "I mean, there are a lot of nuts out there. I'm concerned about his well-being and if there's anything I can do to help keep him safe, well, I guess I owe it to him."

"Unfortunately, you're a little late on that."

The pencil traced through the paper. "What do you mean?" Had something happened and he hadn't been notified? He had contacts in the Chicago P.D. and other places. Someone should have informed him.

"He had a run in with some cult. He's okay, just a few cuts and a concussion, but it wasn't a good situation."

"What the hell happened?"

Jim rubbed his forehead as she related the details. Just what he needed, a loose-cannon asset who thought he could save the world all by himself.

The minor saves took longer than he'd anticipated because someone would recognize him on the street and try to question him. Mark tried to be polite, but he was sure that many of the people were left in no doubt that there was nothing saint-like about him after the encounters.

He entered the studio through the back door, shutting it in the face of another reporter. The smell of burgers made his stomach growl, and he hurried into the office.

"Hey Mark. I hope you haven't eaten because I ordered you a burger from next door. With your fan club camped outside the studio, I thought I'd save you the hassle of wading through them to get dinner." Lily lifted a bag from her desk, the scent wafting to him hinted of a side of fries.

Mark gleefully rubbed his hands together and took the bag. "Thanks. I'm starving! I didn't have time for lunch." He reached in and popped a fry in his mouth. It was hot and greasy with just the right amount of salt. Pure heaven.

Lily nodded and pulled out her top drawer, rummaging around for a few seconds before shutting it. She gave a delayed, "You're welcome," while lifting a stack of photos. She checked the spot beneath them, and did the same with the appointment book, her brows knit together. "Do you see the spare keys lying around here somewhere?"

Mark set his burger down, and rolled his chair back to check under the desks, then stood and turned in a circle, scanning the floor and the top of his own desk. "Nope. When did you have them last?"

"I can't remember." Lily put her hands on her hips in exasperation. "Where could they have gone? I was going to lock them in my desk drawer. I don't put it past one of those reporters out there getting it in their head to sneak in and bug the office or something when nobody is around."

"Bug the office?" He couldn't help laughing. "Isn't that just a little paranoid?" He sat and resumed eating his burger.

She crossed her arms. "That's easy for you to say. You've been gone all day and haven't had to deal with keeping the pack at bay."

"Sorry." He swallowed. "I'm sure the keys will turn up."

She sighed. "Yeah, I hope so."

He dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it, thinking back and vaguely recalled using them a few weeks ago when he'd left his own keys in his kitchen and used the spare keys to lock up rather than run up to get his own. It's possible that he left them up in his loft. "I think maybe they're upstairs."

"Oh, okay. Well, as long as you have them."

"So, how did the interview with Judy go?"

Lily's brow furrowed. "Strange."

Mark paused with the burger half-way to his mouth. "Strange? How?"

"I don't know. I just…sensed that she really wasn't all that interested in coming to work here." Lily turned in her chair and began re-organizing her desk. Everything had a place, and she knew exactly where it all went.

Mark was always amazed at how organized she was. It was at total odds to the edgy look she preferred. "Could she have changed her mind and just didn't know how to tell you?"

She shrugged. "Possibly." In less than a minute, her desk was in perfect order. "So, are you done for the day?"

Full, he pushed his wrappers away. "Pretty much. I thought I'd tackle some photo editing this evening. I'm almost caught up, then I have to develop my other film."

Lily shook her head. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"Mark, when was the last time you had a night off? A night to just relax and not think about anything?"