Detective Kermit Griffin watched Captain Karen Simms look at the sheet he had just placed on her desk. The resignation letter had been simple to write--just the words, 'I resign" on a blank sheet of paper with his signature. Placing it in his Captain's office was harder-much harder than he had expected. She was there, working late. He had waited to leave until the crew was gone, but hadn't waited long enough.

Her eyes jerked up to his after the short second it had taken to absorb the words and meaning. "Just like that? With no explanation? Where you planning to come by the house and tell me personally? Or is this the only notice I was going to get?" Her thoughts were plain on her face: He was going again, damn him. As his Friend, lover, and Captain, I have a right to be angry.

Even with the sunglasses on, he couldn't pretend to meet her eyes. "There is something I have to do, and I can't do it carrying a badge. I don't know how long it will take." Amazing how hard it was to keep those words flat.

If he could have looked at her face, he would have seen the question corresponding to that which appeared uninvited in his mind. Will I return, to this life, to her? If the mission had involved anybody's reputation other than Blaisdell's, it would have ended then.

Kermit had faith in Karen's years of training as a manager, the knowledge he had gone before and returned, and her trust in him--and her love for him - he hoped. So accepted her words: "You say you have to go; I accept that. But I will file your resignation in my desk until you come back. Then you can decide. The other times you've left, you've taken your badge back. You may change your mind this time, too."

He was grateful for her light tone, believed in the effort it had taken her. Kermit gave a deep sigh. It used to be so much easier to leave. He would drop off his note and slip out the back door or side window and miss all the brouhaha. Of course, then he couldn't go back, but he had gotten used to just moving forward, toward the next set of friends to leave behind the next time.

The difference wasn't that he'd gotten caught leaving the note. He had to admit he'd known she was there. The difference was that this time he wanted to be able to come back. Maybe not to this job, but to this set of friends--more importantly, to this special woman.

As he sighed again, she rose from her chair and moved to him. She could sense his indecision. He really did not want to leave. Something powerful was drawing him away, something only slightly more powerful than that which anchored him here.

She put her hand on his arm to comfort him, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. "I have to go," he whispered in her ear, not letting go.

"I know," she responded, "and you have to come home, too."

As he held her, Kermit said, "I've already removed the few things that are mine from the office and cleaned my private files from the computer. Someone else will have to do your computer searches. Now, if you don't need a cop, you might be able to do with a part-timer. Carolyn McCall could do it for you."

"Carolyn?" Karen was surprised at the suggestion. "What does she know about our work? I know she's Blaisdell's daughter, but…"

"Carolyn. She and I have worked together on some projects and I've taught her a good deal. She's a fast learner; by now, she can get into just about any computer I can. I've even had her do some of the less sensitive searches for the department. She already has a direct link to the computer in my ex-office."

Karen was more than a bit shocked. "You've given a civilian access to our files?"

Kermit let go of her with his right hand and lifted his glasses to peer at her. She sighed. "You always know what you're doing, don't you."

He let go of the glasses and let them fall back into place. He kissed her on her nose and chuckled as he said, "Most of the time." Then he grew serious. "Remember, since she can work from home, she has a very flexible schedule."

Karen was skeptical, "I'll think about it."

He tightened the hug one more time, whispered her name, and left.

***

Kermit left the office, locked up his home, and left the country. Funds from an account opened and maintained under an alias got him on a series of apparently random flights beginning at Sloanville airport and ending in Orly. Wigs, occasional fake glasses, and changes of clothes reduced the chances of his being recognized. In spite of such mercenary stealth techniques, he reached Paris in time for breakfast.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, his heavy mood was mostly replaced with the excitement of the beginning of a new mission. His regrets at leaving were tucked away where they would not interfere with what he was about to do. His mind touched briefly on the disparity between his recent past and what he was to about to do. He had not trained to be a policeman; the thought of him being a peace officer still made him laugh. He was, had been, a soldier. A soldier for hire, true; but a soldier. He had fought other people's wars, he had killed other people's enemies, he had received other people's injuries. Paul had done him a big favor by letting him hide behind the badge while he recovered from the physical and mental wounds he had incurred. Now he was going back to his former life, to go after Paul's enemies. Even if Paul were dead, his family needed Paul's good name.

Within an hour of landing at Orly, he was on a chartered flight for the south of France, with the help of an old mercenary contact, another who owed Blaisdell. Once in Marseilles, he rented a sports car and headed for Ste. Adele. Still in his disguise, he stopped at a bistro in nearby St. Sloan, picking a table in a corner formed by the corner of the building and some thick bushes. He observed foot and auto traffic while he ate his lunch. He ate mechanically, apparently absorbed in his newspaper, as he looked for any indications of people following him or recognizing him. Perhaps, when this was over, he would come back here so he could pay some attention to the food he'd been served. It had probably been delicious. By the time he had finished eating, he was sure no one there was interested in him. None had passed within his view more than a couple of times; few had given him even a passing glance. He could proceed safely.

Thirty minutes later, he was hiding the car in a thick copse, away from roads and trails, away from the curious eyes of children and possible adversaries. New maps of the terrain, the district, and the town downloaded from the Internet had refreshed his memories of this area - it had been years since he had last been here. He checked his bearings several times against the composite map he had made - was he more nervous at the thought of dealing with another of the Caine family? Or was it his sixth sense telling him he was walking into a hornets' nest and he was already low on bug spray?

Before he left the car, he transformed himself into a semblance of a vineyard worker, complete with heavy cotton workpants, shirt, and rough-hewn jacket acquired in a second-hand clothier in St. Sloan. He was sure he could pass himself off as a cousin from elsewhere, visiting in St Sloan, touring the district. His French would pass.

He moved cautiously back to the road and struck out for Ste. Adele, whistling as he strolled a much-older man's stroll. The sun was a bit too warm and bright, and he wished he could have left his trademark sunglasses on, but at least the broad-brimmed hat he had acquired after lunch, with the rest of the clothes, helped him look more like a local - an elderly local, given the age and style of the clothes, and his gait.

He came into Ste. Adele, noting the positions of the various businesses and government buildings. As he started to pass the bistro, he scanned the people sitting there and quickly changed his mind. This being Saturday afternoon, the outdoor tables were nearly full. Two tables held one couple apiece, both couples completely engrossed in loving conversation. Three tables held solitary newspaper readers. Another two tables had been pushed together to seat five older gentlemen engaged in a lively discussion about the wine industry. The three men at the last occupied table were reading newspapers, the remains of their meal on the table. The body language of the crowd intrigued him enough to stop.

He knew that, whatever else the people in the bistro were doing, they all were examining him carefully for future reference and discussion. However, the three men reading their papers were also still under scrutiny by the local people. This, in itself, was enough to tell him that they were not locals. But there was something else about the way they held themselves that kept them from blending in. As small a thing as the wine they had ordered to go with the cheese told everybody else that this was their first time in the French countryside. They were drinking Chianti with the Brie.

He came to an unhurried stop and looked at the bistro tables. He consulted the sky, thought, and looked at the tables again. Finally, he turned to find a seat, hoping to appear as if he had talked himself into believing he had enough time for a drink. The attention of all but those at that one table switched back to whatever it had been before he walked into view. He might not be local, but he was temporarily accepted as one of them.

He ordered wine and sat, casually looking around at the people and the town. Shortly, one of the three strangers came over, sat down, and asked, in English, "Where are you from?"

He gave a Gallic shrug and said, "I do not understand you," in French. The question was repeated, in French. Answering as if he now understood, he gave his cover story.

"My home village is Morestel, a small village near Lyon. I am currently visiting a cousin in St. Sloan, but came here to visit your renowned church and to visit with the doctor. She and I became friends when I was her patient many years ago."

Before Kermit had a chance to question his inquisitor, the man left the table. Moments later, a modern bus, dusty from the road, pulled up in front of the bistro, not ten feet from Kermit's table.

Any arrival in town attracted attention; Griffin had certainly received his share. But now, even the other three were forgotten, at least for the nonce. They were only strangers, and, they had been here for a while; but the motorized coach was an event. Who knew how many strangers might get off? Perhaps someone's relative might appear, come for a visit; perhaps a new or lost love? For the quiet town, the possibilities woke up the populace for a little while.

The vehicle windows were closed to keep the dust out and the air-conditioned air in. The door opened briefly and a single passenger disembarked. Disappointment quelled the curiosity of all but four: the three still curious about Kermit, and Kermit himself. Her shorts and T-shirt marked her as a foreign student, possibly American, probably here to visit their popular church. The local people marked her as not very interesting.

Kermit took no chance that the other three non-locals might recognize the young woman - from any photographs or briefing they might have had--and reacted. He jumped up and snatched her into a huge hug, kissed both cheeks loudly. Still holding her to his chest, he proclaimed loudly, in French, "My delightful niece! It is so great to see you after such a long time apart." In his mind, he was yelling at her, What the hell do you think you're doing here?

Kelly Blaisdell had just barely recovered from being grabbed and swept off her feet by this unkempt stranger and was opening her mouth to yell for the local police when she looked up at the face under the broad-brimmed straw hat.

Kelly had spent the hours on the train, then on the bus, wondering what she was going to say to Peter's grandfather. She was curious and bold enough to come this far, just because he was here, and because she could. Peter's father was easy enough to talk to, but his grandfather? After attempting to rehearse several topics, she had given up; she would let him take the conversational lead, at first anyway. It had never occurred to her to give any thought to Kermit. Why on earth is he here, in Ste. Adele, of all places?

The word 'Kermit' was forming on her tongue when he popped a gummy bear into her mouth. That almost choked her, but it gave him time to say, "You must give me a chance to practice my poor English, and you can practice your French, no? Come, sit here, and have a drink. You must be thirsty, no?"

The utter surprise of finding Kermit here and the effort of recovering from the choking fit over the candy left her pliable enough for Kermit to sit her down at his table. The proprietor immediately came over to take her order. She was immensely astonished, and pleased, at Kermit's order. "Some of your local bread and cheese for the young lady and myself, and your house wine also for both of us." Her French was good enough to follow him. Even back home, she was old enough to drink, but she had not been too sure if Kermit realized that.

Kermit kept up a stream of conversation about the weather and local crops, preventing Kelly from asking any questions. When the waiter had brought the wine, Kermit changed the subject and gave her one piece of completely extraneous information. In his broken English, he said, " You asked why I suggested we meet here. Years ago, I was assigned here as part of the Resistance." He hoped he appeared old enough for the villagers to not take offense. "While here, I developed a persistent rash. Nothing I tried worked. The doctor here used a local medicine and cured me. Every so often it returns, and so I return here. It is nothing, an excuse to travel to a beautiful place; and I wanted to show my favorite niece the beautiful church at Ste. Adele."

Kelly giggled at the story, but it answered none of her questions. Several times during the meal, Kelly tried to question this mysterious stranger she knew to be a close friend of her family. He and her father had worked together as some kind of agents and as policemen for many years before her father had died. He still worked frequently with her foster brother. Why was he here? Every time she tried to ask, he would talk more-about his cousin--he has a cousin here? --about his farm outside of Lyon, about the beautiful church he had heard about here, just a few steps down the road. His monologue only served to add to her curiosity.

The food and drink were gone and paid for and the local customers of the bistro were moving on. Kermit guided Kelly toward the church of Ste. Adele. "And after the church, we will go to the clinic where I will see Madame Doctor. She is a good friend. She has let me stay the night in her spare room. There will be room for you, too. Then tomorrow, after Mass, we will both go home, yes?"

Kelly had made sure there was an inn in the town before she began her trip, just in case Peter's grandfather couldn't put her up. In the shock of seeing Kermit at the bus stop, she had forgotten completely. She let him lead for now, sure that whatever had brought him here would remove him before she left. Then she could follow through with her own plans.

As Kermit left the area of the bistro, he heard one of the three men order another bottle of wine. So they will be here a while. Good. They won't be following us. I suppose they have a list of people to watch for, people who are of interest to someone who's paying their boss. Have there been any other strangers besides us - an older Frenchman and a young student?

***

Kelly and Kermit entered the church and sat in one of the back pews, away from the doors. Understanding that she was in a holy place, Kelly kept her voice down, but she had questions that needed answers. She began with the most basic question: "Kermit, why are you here?"

Before her companion could begin to answer, an elderly gentleman entered the Church and came directly towards them. It was Matthew Caine, Peter's grandfather, leaning heavily on his cane but still looking the studious archeologist, in his dark brown suit, dusty from digs or local roads.

"I have been expecting you, Kermit, but I did not know you would have such a beautiful young lady with you."

Kermit had to look twice at the speaker to realize that the man, even though he walked with a cane, was not Kwai Chang Caine,. The resemblance was uncanny; but there was no reason that he knew of for Caine to make himself appear so old. Griffin looked at Kelly, shrugged in resigned, and rose to meet the speaker. Kelly hung back. This was the man she had come to see, but he looked too much like Peter's father.

"This is Kelly Blaisdell, younger daughter of Paul Blaisdell, whose body you found several months ago. You knew I was coming? I didn't know I was coming until yesterday."

Kermit would have continued but Matthew had held up his hand for silence. "I am under surveillance. Please stay at the church for at least twenty minutes and then come to the clinic just up the road. We can talk there. While you wait, perhaps you can study the history and architecture of our church. There is an information booklet by the door."

And he was gone.

This is unnerving, Kermit thought. He looks, sounds, and acts just like his son. Is Peter going to grow into this, too? He gave a shiver and then turned to locate his companion.

She slowly returned with two information booklets from the back of the Church. She finished reading the first paragraph and looked up. "Kermit, do you have any idea why Peter and his father came here that time? All he told us was that his father had needed him to come and that he found his grandfather. And Master Caine always seems to avoid the subject."

"You know as much as I do, Sweetcakes." He swerved to miss her mock-punch and then froze. Someone was opening the church door. His whole demeanor changed. Again he was the elderly Frenchman, talking to his English niece.

A mature-looking man, light-haired and dressed in a dark suit--not one of the three at the bistro--entered the church, moved to the fifth pew, and sat down. He looked around at the pair, nodded at them, and then faced forward toward the altar. He might have been praying, but he did not kneel.

Kermit took the copy of the tract Kelly had brought him and pointed out to her, in his broken English, "Look, it is in French and English. Can you read the French to me?"

Kelly gave him a dirty look. She still didn't understand why he kept up the pretense and she did not appreciate this forced practice of her school-learned French. The look he returned convinced her to not argue and so she began to read.

Every few minutes, her companion would interrupt her, exclaiming over a stained glass window here, a statue there, and then urge her to continue. Finally, when they had walked around the entire church, he led her outside. "For the fresh air, Cherie."

The two ambled slowly in the direction Caine indicated. It was a good afternoon for such a walk, with sunny skies and warm air with a soft breeze. The rolling hills of this region of France made for an easy stroll. Birds and children sang and played. The trees lining the road blocked the sun well enough that Kelly didn't think to ask her companion where his sunglasses were. When the stranger in the suit had appeared in the chapel, Kelly had finally realized that she had walked into some kind of danger. Now, she understood that Kermit's monologue on French agriculture in the region was a reaction to the possibility of eavesdroppers hidden within the dense foliage.

A quarter-mile down the road, they spotted the clinic on their right, back among the trees. Beyond that, they could see a large vegetable garden, surrounded by lavender. From the road, the building appeared small, but as they neared the entrance, they could see that the trees hid much of the length of the clinic. They continued along the path and through the front doors, Griffin still holding forth on the benefits of mulch and manure, and Kelly holding her tongue.

Beyond the standard clinic doors, the interior looked much as any other such facility --the large waiting area, the receptionist station, the door to the working areas. There was no receptionist now, although there was a sign indicating the bell was to be rung if assistance was needed. The waiting area was empty.

They stood in the waiting area, admiring the bright colors of the wall murals, wooden furniture, and flooring. As Kermit moved to approach the receptionist's desk to ring for Matthew, the old man opened the inner door and motioned for the two to follow him.

"The clinic is closed this afternoon, except for emergencies. We should be able to visit in private." Matthew led them down the sterile hallway, past several closed rooms, opened the fourth door on the left, and led them into a large plush, carpeted office. The room was paneled, with few pictures. A few small sculptures and busts sat on display tables around the room. A large desk stood slightly off-center along one wall, away from the wall just enough to allow for the chair.

"My friend, Madame Doctor Cesar, Angeliquè, relaxes and studies in here." He indicated the chessboard, several moves into a game, standing in a corner. "We often pass the time between patients here." He had been solemn up to this time; now a twinkle was audible in his voice.

Matthew moved to a door in the wall behind and to one side of the desk. It opened easily and he motioned his guests to enter. There was a small landing and stairs that led downwards. As Kelly reached the top step, a half step before Kermit, Matthew tapped a button and the light came on.

The three descended the stairs to a large root cellar. "Some of the staff work in the garden beside the clinic and store their produce here for the winter. You can see stairs over there that lead up to the kitchen. There is no outside access to this room. Madame Doctor uses this to get to the kitchen without interference from her staff or the patients. It is a leftover from the days of the Resistance."

Kelly was fascinated by the neat rows of canned, bottled, and dried food, all labeled with name of item and date stored. Some names she recognized easily; Matthew happily helped her with the others.

"This is fascinating, Master Caine, but why are we down here?" Kermit didn't mind the tour, but he had matters to discuss with this man, the day was fast disappearing, and he still had to make arrangements for a place for Kelly and himself to stay. He could easily sleep in his car, if it came to that, but contrary to what he had told Kelly earlier, he had no idea where she was going to pass the night.

The elderly Caine nodded in agreement. In answer, he moved over to one wall and made a small movement with his hand, after which a section of the wall swung aside. Kermit made a mental note to check behind the jar of compote for the switch if he was in this room again. "The doctor's predecessor was active in the Resistance; this hidden door has come in handy even in current times. Come, you will have your answers very soon."

Kermit shook his head as he followed. I don't even have all the questions yet.

The opening led into a much larger chamber. Matthew spoke again, "This was originally part of the root cellar. I have no idea why it is so large. During the war, the previous doctor built the false wall so agents could be hidden in here."

Kermit automatically scanned the area. He was only moderately surprised that the false wall in the root cellar appeared to be a full wine rack on this side. The echoing of Matthew's footsteps as the old man continued into the room told him that the chamber extended far beyond the lit area; later he would ask Madame Doctor more about the electrification and the extent and other possible exits of this room. For now, he observed an area within the circle of light furnished just like a hospital room-no, more like an intensive care unit, without the isolation walls.

There were two attendants: a woman, most likely the doctor-given the white lab coat she was wearing-- and a man. Kermit looked again, grinned in recognition, and slowly followed Kelly who had run up to hug Kwai Chang Caine.

"Master Caine. What are you doing here? Kermit, did you know he was here? Does your son know you're here? Is Peter here, too?" Her words almost ran together in her excitement.

Kwai Chang Caine was too busy hugging the young woman to answer her questions. Kermit took advantage of her finally taking a breath to answer for him. "No, I didn't know he was here, but I'm not surprised. Master Caine, Peter told me of your unsuccessful search for the source and model for that picture, supposedly of your wife. Since you stayed over here, I assumed you'd visit your father. Are you driving each other crazy yet?" This last was said with a broad grin but he had a suspicion that the issues working between these two were similar to those, now mostly worked out, between Kwai Chang and his son, Peter.

Further conversation was forestalled when the younger Caine stepped back so that Kelly and Kermit could see the patient. Kermit grabbed hold of the bed, sure he was seeing a ghost. Kelly was already on her knees, clutching the patient's hand and reaching to touch his face. "Daddy?" Her tremulous voice clutched at all their hearts.

A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts picked up Kermit and thrust him into a chair. He's dead … we buried him; no, we buried Annie; no, we just had her funeral-we pretended she was dead while we honored him…he's here…he can't be here… He looked at father and son, and with tears of joy streaming down his face, and with the steel and anger in his voice growing firmer with each word, asked-no, demanded, "What is going on here? Why is he here? Why didn't you tell us."

At that, the doctor cleared her throat and looked questioningly at Matthew. Matthew looked at her and then with a slight blush, said, "Ah, We are remiss. My son, will you introduce your friends?"

Kermit recognized the interruption as a suggestion for him to cool down, so he took several deep breaths as he reminded himself that there was bound to be a very good reason why this fantastic news had been kept secret.

Kwai Chang nodded to his father and then said, "Madame Doctor, Father, these are my friends, Kelly Blaisdell, currently studying International Law at Oxford, and Kermit Griffin, a police detective and friend to my son. Father, you talked to him on the phone that time." He turned to the younger people, "Kelly, Kermit, this is Madame Doctor Angeliquè … friend to my father, Matthew."

Madame Doctor drew the men to the edge of the circle cast by the light, away from the bed and patient and the young woman who was still clutching her father's hand and speaking softly to him through her tears." Your friend, Paul Blaisdell, has been here since we found him. He was shot once in the lung, but as he fell, he struck his head. He was near death when we reached him. We only moved the body because Matthew felt we needed to hide his death as long as possible. When we brought him into the clinic, we saw he still lived. If he had survived that long, there was a chance he might recover with treatment; so I removed the bullet and started treatment of the head injury. Then we moved him down here where he would not be seen. He has been in this coma ever since."

Kermit drew a slow breath, trying to relax the conflict of emotions so he could speak calmly. "He is in a coma? Will he recover?"

"We do not know." The doctor's response sounded so much like Caine--perhaps Kwai Chang had inherited that from his father? --that Kermit almost smiled.

Kwai Chang spoke up then, "My father agrees with me that his chi is growing stronger. I do not sense the internal struggle I did with Peter after his fall." Caine turned to his father to continue the explanation. "My son had suffered a terrible fall, resulting in a head injury. But his coma resulted partially from a strong desire to not return to a world where he had been abandoned so many times. I entered his Bardo to persuade him to accept the pain and start to let it go. Paul seems to have no such issues." He turned back to Kermit, "This coma is one means the body uses to heal itself. He will come out of it when the time is right."

Kermit clenched his hands; his anger at the deception had abated but not disappeared. He wanted to grab somebody and throw that person against a wall, hard--again and again! The vision that appeared in his mind at that thought, of him trying it on anyone in that room and Caine and Caine calmly twisting him down onto the floor, was sufficiently amusing that it dissipated the rest of that emotion and let the joy take over.

One question remained. "Why didn't you tell us he was alive? Annie at least should have known." Gray splinters of sorrow overlay the joy. Damn, how is this going to affect Annie? She will be overjoyed, I know that; but she's been a widow, how long? Oh, damn!

Matthew and Angeliquè looked at each other and then at Kermit. Matthew spoke first. "It was my decision, at first. If I let the family know, we would have had visitors, not just you and the family, but the police would have shown up and perhaps even another assassin. I knew that the assassin that shot Paul was part of a bigger plan. Until we knew more, it made sense to stay quiet. When you telephoned and told me that Paul had given you information, I was most surprised. It is not usual, but not impossible, for a man in a coma to leave his body and communicate with those friends with whom he has a strong emotional tie."

Kwai Chang Caine thought back to the night he had felt Paul come to Annie, the night Paul was shot. He lifted his face to speak and his friends where shocked at the look of sadness on his face. "He only told Annie he was sorry. He never said he had died, and he only told me that he had been lying there dying. His presence was as strong as if the Golden Cord had been severed, but I should have made sure. I have caused all this misery and grief. I must go to Annie and beg her forgiveness. I will leave now."

Before Kermit could move to stop Kwai Chang, Matthew put his hand on his son's shoulder. He did not have the strength to stop Kwai Chang, but knew that his son would not shake him off, lest he fall. Father to son, he said, "My son, do not go." He changed the tone, but not the loving color of his words; teacher to student, he said, "You made an error of judgment, yes. But, if you had not, would Kermit have been able to prevent the assassination of Mrs. Blaisdell? Would Peter and Kermit have been prepared to stop the plot against the Blaisdell women, even if that against Paul had appeared successful?"

The old man turned to gain Kermit's moral support as he continued talking to his son. "When Paul wakes, and is restored to his family, you will find yourself still in their hearts-although they might think you perhaps more human than they do now." He smiled as he said the last, and Kermit smiled with him.

Kermit moved around and placed his arm over Kwai Chang Caine's shoulders. Guiding the now pensive Kwai Chang toward the quiet two on the other side of the lit area, Kermit said teasingly, "Suppose two ex-gods go see how Kelly is doing."

The three men and the doctor moved back to the hospital bed. Kwai Chang put his hands on Kelly's shoulders and began to gently massage her back. After just a few minutes, he used his touch to draw the young woman to her feet. He turned to Kermit and said, "You have been down here for the length of time of your 'treatment'. You should leave the clinic now or those watching us will find an excuse to enter the building to find you."

Both Kelly and Kermit started to protest; neither wanted to leave Paul. The doctor had the final word. "It is time for his exercise and bath. You may return later."

She turned to her patient as Matthew picked up Kelly's hand and put it over his arm. "Come, walk with an old man." She giggled, but moved with him. Kermit followed, accepting Kwai Chang's logic.

Matthew showed Kermit how to open the panel from this side and the three passed into the root cellar. They went up the stairs and on through the office and clinic and on outside.

Once there, Matthew guided them to a large cottage beside the clinic, behind the vegetable garden. As they approached the front door, he said, "Angeliquè will meet us here in a little while. She always has paperwork to do, even on a Saturday. We can talk while I fix a small meal for us."

He led them inside and to the kitchen in the rear. "Angeliquè will show you around when she comes. Why don't you go down to the wine cellar and pick out a wine to go with a light meal--fish and salad."

Kermit opened the indicated door, found the light switch, and led Kelly down.

This wine cellar looked and smelled very similar to the root cellar below the clinic. The two scanned the bottles and found the white wines. Kermit helped Kelly select an appropriate type and vintage and sent her upstairs, saying he wanted to check out the Doctor's wine collection.

Kermit prowled around the room and, by the time Kelly was closing the door into the kitchen, had found the other exit. Actually, he found two, but one was an obvious door that gave into a root cellar. Kermit was sure it was the one below the clinic. The other exit opened with a similar mechanism as that from the other root cellar. It also opened into the room where Paul lay.

The two people, doctor and healer, were exercising Paul Blaisdell's legs. Kwai Chang Caine greeted Kermit with a grin as if he had been timing how long it would take Kermit to find this entrance. Then he turned back to what he had been doing.

Kermit observed for a few minutes and then returned to the house and its kitchen.

While Matthew and Angeliquè finished preparing the meal, and with the permission of the Doctor, Kermit turned on her computer and installed the same encryption software that Carolyn had. A smart geek never travels without his tools. He inserted the disk. The disk, the one that he and Peter had been captured for, that he had been tortured for, and that people had died for. The disk that Matthew had retrieved from Paul's assassin's body and kept hidden for some thirteen months-- somewhere in this village. The disk that Matthew had simply handed to him not five minutes before, saying, "You have need of this."

He was tempted to try to read the disk that had caused so much discomfort, but he had no idea how difficult it would be. He could spare a few minutes but not the hours that might be required. Since he had, just a few hours ago, suggested Carolyn as his replacement, and he knew she could handle this, he decided to let her do the work.

Kermit typed a short message, explaining the attached information. He linked the files on the disk to the message, encrypted the whole thing, and sent it, not to Carolyn, but to Captain Simms, with a special message just for Simms. He had a desperate need to let Karen know that he missed her. He included a warning that this information had far too many dangerous people after it to endanger Carolyn and her family by sending it directly to her. He was confident that Carolyn could handle her end.

Then it was time to eat.

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