The shuttle taxied into Gallatin Field airport in Bozeman. She and Gabriel were the fourth and fifth passengers out; wasting their money on first class tickets was pointless, but it wasn't a full flight, and the others were still gathering their luggage as they exited the plane.

Gabe went to locate a taxi while she went to the phonebook to locate Bryant. They had an address, but Montana was too spread out for the driver to know where they were going without directions. She looked up when Gabe signaled her and went to meet him, quietly ripping the small chain that bound it to the booth so she could take the phone book with her. "There wasn't time," she said briefly as they got into the car. If the driver noticed, he had the good sense not to mention it.

By the time they cleared the airport she had directions. She'd vetoed Gabe's suggestion that they warn him of their arrival. She didn't want to give him a chance to run. She liked to think he wouldn't have, but trusting in the good will of the human race wasn't currently a strong point with her, and she wasn't going to give him a chance to escape just to send a courtesy call.

The trip seemed to take a very long time, though according to the clock it couldn't have been more than forty-five or fifty minutes. She looked out the window as they approached the ranch and began mapping the grounds. There was open plain, with a cluster of forest near the back of the property. Someone would have a hard time making it to the trees from the house, she decided.

They got out a quarter mile from the house. Gabe paid the driver, and they waited until he was out of sight before they started walking towards it. There was no sign of activity outside, and Sol sent Gabe to the front door and circled to the back door herself.

She heard the doorbell ring, and tried the back door while the chime was still dying away. It was unlocked, and she put her picks away and slipped inside. She heard Bryant's voice greeting Gabe, and heard Gabe respond, and moved towards the living area at the front of the house where they were. She was distantly pleased to see that other than the front door, there was only one doorway that led to the living room, and when she entered she closed it behind her with enough ferocity to make Bryant jump and face her. She had one exit, and Gabe had the other.

She sized the man up. He was old, probably slow, and appeared unarmed. He looked tired. There were circles under his eyes. He was wearing slippers. It was cold in Montana in the wintertime, but Sol's voice was colder.

"What is this?" Bryant demanded, looking back at Gabe. Finding no answer there, he returned his gaze to Sol. "Ms. Solenis, I was under the impression you were the more polite of the pair. When you come to an old man's house as he's headed up to bed, it's customary to ring the bell and wait to be admitted."

Gabe, sensing that Sol was about to say something counterproductive, answered. "We have reason to believe you may have information that would help our investigation."

Bryant stared at Gabe for a moment. "Your investigation," he repeated.

Gabe did not reply.

Three days ago, Sol had been a civilian. She'd been content, in love and happy. She'd been free, with nothing but the obstacles of normal life ahead of her. Her short stint as civilian had ended when she saw the picture in the detective's office. There was no way the police would be able to track down a former SOTF assassin. She and Gabriel had a chance. It wasn't a good one, but it was all she had, and Sol wasn't willing to make any more sacrifices.

She didn't bother answering Bryant's question, but he didn't seem surprised.

It always came back to the same man.

The words that followed the name registered for Bryant more slowly. Who else? She was referring to the Court Martials, naturally. What did she intend to do? Track down every man accused of treason, convicted or not, and break into their homes in the night? No, Bryant would have no part in that. It was clear that Solenis was not seeking justice in this pursuit. She wanted vengeance. And she would exact it from whomever she deemed a deserving target. He would not give her names of men who may or may not have committed crimes almost two decades ago completely unrelated to her father's murder.

"The men that I'm looking for are the ones who shot my father. The men that I'm looking for are also probably the same men who shot the helicopter down outside of Juneau fourteen years ago. That investigation was run by the IF. How far did they get? How much justice did they serve? They were still around to shoot at us ten years later for looking too closely. How deep an investigation followed that? I shot one of them. As far as I know, that's the only justice there was."

"Because of the IF's brand of justice, my father and Gabriel's family are dead. The IF has had three chances at the same men, and it fucked them all up. You asked me my intentions. I intend to seek them out, question them, hurt them and kill them, in that order. The authority of law hasn't done shit. It's my turn now. If your morals prevent you from helping us, I don't want to add anything to your conscience. I think you've got enough. Good night, major. I know civilians need their sleep."

Bryant broke it. "She's in pain, Gabriel."

"I know."

"Hurting other people isn't going to make that go away."

"No."

"Then why don't you talk to her?"

Gabriel fixed Bryant with a cold stare. "Because she's right."

To that, Bryant had nothing to say.

"We aren't a lynch mob, Major. But we're not going to be tied up in due process and procedure. We're going to find my father, and kill him. To do that, we're going to find the men he assocaites with. And we're going to do what we have to do, whether you approve or not. You have contacts. Sources. With your help, we can be sure we're hurting the right people. Alone, it's going to take guesswork. Are you with us or not?"

Bryant did not respond immediately. "It's cold out," he said, eventually. "You should go bring her back inside. I'll make up the guest bedroom."

Gabe, after a pause, nodded.

It was, indeed, cold out. Sol was shivering, and trying not to, and shivering more from the effort. Gabe stopped half a meter behind her, hands in his pockets. He spoke only three words.

"He'll help us."

Sol gave no immediate sign of recognition. Then she turned, and reached out, and took Gabe's hand. She didn't say anything, and didn't meet his eyes. But she held his hand for a moment.

The room Bryant had provided them was adequate. It had heat, good lighting and a jack for the terminal Gabe convinced Bryant to let them use. Gabe fed her the telephone numbers from Bryant's calling list, and she spent the next four hours hunting them down. The phone company wasn't swift, but it was persistent; she frequently had to disconnect and reconnect when the tracer came too close for her to continue without risking detection. It wasn't that she cared whether or not Bryant got arrested for criminal electronic trespass. It was that she wasn't finished yet.

Most of the numbers were dead ends. There were a few that led to individuals, but she found nothing on any of those individuals but their phone numbers. Dummy accounts. The rest of them were pay phones, with only two exceptions; the first was registered to a corporation called Vanguard, Ltd., and the second was the cell number they'd been unable to find a location on.

Sol routed the commlink through the terminal and then tossed the audio handset to Gabe. "Call this one. Don't say anything. I have you scrambled." She displayed the number to Vanguard long enough for him to see it and then set about digging up information on the cell.

Gabe was finished before she'd done more than locate the cellular company that serviced the phone number. "Recording." She nodded and tried to slide into the cell records the same way she'd gone into the phone company. Unfortunately, private companies cared more about their files than the average public telephone installation, and it took her almost thirty minutes to find a way in.

Once inside she spent another hour cracking the registry database, and then just over forty-five seconds to locate the file associated with the telephone number in question.

David Cole
3420 S Sepulveda Blvd, #17
Los Angeles, CA 90034-6061

Sol glanced at the clock. 04:42, local time. She checked the flights to Los Angeles, selected the least expensive flight that got them to their destination most quickly, verified that at least five seats were still available and then shut down the terminal and set it aside. Her bag had remained unopened on the bed for the length of their stay, and now she stood up and hefted it.

They had failed. They both knew it. There were other leads to follow, other numbers and addresses from that list to check, but they would be dead ends. The element of surprise had been theirs when they sought out David Cole. Now the enemy had been alerted, and was melting into the shadows.

Gabe decided, half an hour into their plane trip, to speak to Bryant tonight.

Jubal Solenis' funeral was tomorrow. They would spend the night in Montana, and then fly to Houston in the morning. Gabe had purchased the tickets without consulting with Sol; at this point, she didn't seem too concerned with trivial details, and Gabe thought it would be better for her to spend no more time in Houston than necessary. They needed rest; they'd not slept since learning of Solenis' death. Gabe was exhausted, physically and mentally, but he was more concerned for Sol. She did not seem to be getting any more tired as the hours, and then the days, passed. Only more wrathful.

They touched down in Bozeman after connecting in Helena just after midnight. Gabe had called ahead, and Bryant was waiting for them. Few words were spoken on the ride back to Bryant's house. When they arrived, Sol disappeared into the room Bryant was lending them. Gabe lingered.

"I take it things didn't go well."

"No." Gabe looked around wearily at the new furniture in the living room. Bryant had purchased a sofa and a rug to complement his chair. He did not sit down, however.

Bryant also remained standing. "I found some information on David Cole."

Gabe shook his head. "Not an issue anymore."

Bryant's silence was uncomfortable for Gabe.

"We linked him to Vanguard, Ltd., but there was nothing. The building had been cleaned out."

Bryant nodded solemnly. "I've seen it before. The Wolves organize all of their operations with the assumption that they have to be able to have never existed at a moment's notice. You have to respect that level of planning."

Gabe wasn't feeling especially respectful tonight.

"Well," Bryant said. "You look dead. Why don't you get some sleep. The two of you have to be up and on a plane tomorrow morning by eight."

The older man turned to start up the stairs, but Gabe stopped him. "Bryant." He looked back toward Gabe over his shoulder. Gabe breathed a silent sigh, and said, "When we get back tomorrow, we're going to have to talk about enlistment."

Bryant took his time in replying. "Okay." With a slow nod to Gabe, he continued up the stairs.

Gabe entered the guest bedroom. It was now furnished with a bed, and a desk for Bryant's terminal. Sol was curled atop the sheets, still wearing her clothes. She had removed only her shoes.

Gabe moved around the bend, and sat down on the edge next to Sol. He pulled off her socks first, as they were the easiest task. He then undid her pants, and started to work them off while trying to jostle her as little as possible. When he did get them off, however, he looked up to see Sol's eyes open and watching him, though she had not otherwise moved. He had trouble reading her eyes. She was tired, but that was obvious. She loved him, but that he knew. She missed her father, and that he understood.

He moved back up from the foot of the bed, and held her eyes while he finished reducing her clothes to sleepwear. Gabe then tugged the sheets and blanket out from under her, and tucked her in. She started to scoot over to make room for him, but Gabe stilled her and moved around to the other side of the bed, shedding clothes as he went. He slipped in beside her, and Sol turned and hugged him, tightly. Gabe stroked her hair until long after her breathing told him she was asleep. And he lay awake holding Sol, and wondering how much they would have to give up to finish this.

Marcus Bryant was downstairs, but he heard the tones. This house was too quiet even to cover small noises from upstairs. He folded his paper, and looked at his watch. 0719 hours. Bryant was still wearing his robe and slippers. He rose from his chair with a strained sigh and moved toward the stairs.

He wondered where they were. Wherever in the world it was the middle of the night, he decided. They didn't sleep anymore.

Bryamt entered his room, closing and locking the door behind him out of habit. He sat down at the terminal. Coding in required a retinal scan and a voiceprinted password. There was a message waiting.

Bryant leaned toward his desk to reach the photograph lying face down on its surface. He consulted the message again, and studied the photograph. Third row, fifth from the left...

Bryant's jaw set. Amir Safieh.