The elevator dinged and the polished brass doors slid open. Hobbes stepped into the car. "So, is that true, what you said about the gene pool of tigers getting too small?"

New topic. Hobbes just had to bitch for a minute. Fawkes followed him. "Oh, yeah. See, because they're dying out so quick, they're losing new genetic material…"

The next morning, Dr. Praktuproli wanted to go to the botanical gardens. At Mrs. Praktuproli's request, Hobbes and Fawkes were invited along for the ride. It was a perfect day-sunny, breezy, not too hot, not too cool. She wore a long sky blue dress and had wrapped a soft yellow scarf around her head and shoulders. She smiled brightly and took Fawkes' arm. He was polite and deferential during the whole day, strolling beside the woman, chatting with her. Dr. Praktuproli seemed more relaxed and was bent on teaching Hobbes about botany. Hobbes had no clue what the old man was talking about, but he nodded and murmured the occasional "Uh-huh" and "I see". Just around lunchtime, Dr. Praktuproli visibly sagged. His wife said they should return to the hotel so that her husband could eat and rest before his lecture.

With the doctor sequestered in his room, Miramontez had all available agents prepare the ballroom. Metal detectors were set up at the entrances. Everyone was issued an ID tag and instructed to keep it visible at all times. Backstage was secured and guards were posted. Every millimeter of space was inspected and cleared. No bombs, no hidden assassins. Just a large room filled with chandeliers and stiff-backed banquet chairs. Hobbes disappeared about an hour and a half before the lecture and reappeared thirty minutes later. He handed a headset and transmitter to Fawkes.

"Thanks. "Fawkes clipped the transmitter to his belt and fitted the earpiece into place.

"One thing, though. "Hobbes said. He lifted Fawkes jackets out of the way and pointed to a tiny switch on the box. "Position A, we're linked to the rest of security. When you go to B, it's just you and me."

"Cool. So, if I get the urge to whisper sweet nothings to you, I just ask you to go to channel B?"

Hobbes looked pained. "Ha ha. You're quite a comedian. We've got internal perimeter, funny guy."

Guests were starting to arrive and the volume in the hall rose dramatically. "Huh?"

"We're keeping to the outer circular hall that surrounds the ballroom," Hobbes said louder. The metal detector nearby shrieked. The guard manning the gate sent the startled older man back through and instructed him to empty his pockets. Everyone streaming in seemed to definitely be the tweed and pipe set. Or lab geeks. For a second, Fawkes wondered how anyone could take these folks seriously as a threat. Then he reminded himself that things were not always as they appeared. The older man made it through the detector without further incident and proceeded to put his personal effects back into his pockets.

Hobbes leaned toward Fawkes and the taller man bent down to hear. "But, as long as we're here, I don't see why you can go see-through and snoop around."

Fawkes nodded his agreement when the metal detector screamed again. They snapped both their heads to see what happened this time, but no one had gone through. The guard had his hand out, holding a thin woman all in black back from the gate. The guards exchange confused glances.

"They probably have it set too sensitive," Hobbes grumbled, walking away and putting the earpiece in position. But something nagged at Fawkes. He watched as the guard monitoring the equipment checked all his settings and nodded to the guard by the gate. The guard let the woman through. No beep. Fawkes carefully looked around him. He had a weird feeling. Almost like he was being watched.

Hobbes stood just inside the main door to the ballroom. Up on the podium, a really tall, really skinny guy was telling the audience that they were about to be blessed with the keen intelligence of the one and only Dr. Rajinan Praktuproli. Hobbes barely heard. He was busy scanning the high walls of the ballroom, looking for any place an assassin might hide. A ballroom in name, but with a few changes, it could become a little theater. The whole thing was ringed by a tall, narrow hallway that served as an anteroom and a way for performers to get around the audience. Inside, the ceiling was 20 feet from the floor. There were lots of little rooms, used for storage and techs, that would serve as a perfect hiding place for a killer. Fawkes was going to be checking those.

His earpiece crackled as various agents and police in various locations checked in and declared the all clear. Things had gone too well. Not a hitch or glitch. No sign of this super assassin that had the Official so spooked. If something was going to happen, Bobby Hobbes was ready to bet his life it was going to happen tonight, and soon.

"Fawkes, you got B?" he whispered into his mike, slipping out of the ballroom and into the cold tiled circular hall.

"Yeah. Hold on…" was the static-filled reply. He heard a click and he hit his own switch. "Hobbes?" Fawkes came though, loud and clear.

"Anything?"

"Nobody here but us chickens."

"Keep looking."

"You got it."

Fawkes picked the latest lock. It was hard to do quicksilvered. He never realized how often he relied on being able to see himself. He had to settle for letting the picks go visible. The heavy sound of feet behind him made him freeze. He saw a large agent patrolling the hall and approaching. Fawkes held his breath. The agent paused inches from him, scanned the area, then moved on. Fawkes waited until the agent disappeared around the bend and exhaled with a relieved sigh. He heard and felt the tumbler give. With one quick check, he pushed open the door and stepped in. He shed the quicksilver and looked around. Another tiny room in a series of tiny rooms. Though, this one had three small windows that looked into the main ballroom. Fawkes peeked through one of the opening. Probably a light booth for when the ballroom was used as a theater. The audience roared with applause and he could just make out some movement by the podium. Dr. Praktuproli had no doubt just taken the stage.

If it weren't for that weird feeling, he would have said that what they were doing was a big fat waste of time. But his gut told him something was up, so he proceeded around the hall, breaking into room after room, burning through a lot of quicksilver because there were many agents patrolling this upper hall.

Making sure the door was locked again and he was invisible, Darien headed for the stairs. He'd check the rooms on the lower level (where he was supposed to be), so he wouldn't have to saran wrap. He went down, carefully looking around the turns in the stairs to make sure he didn't collide with anyone coming up. The hall was deserted. This led to the main doors. Where was everybody? He listened to his earpiece, hearing the same crackle and talking that he heard before. A voice he didn't recognize was saying "Twenty A? Twenty B? Report. "Nothing. Fawkes felt a chill that had nothing to do with the quicksilver. Twenty A and B were supposed to be guarding this hall. He crept along, straining to hear. The voice asked for A and B to report again, then asked Twenty F to check it out. The weird feeling was back with a vengeance.

"Hobbes?"

"Yeah," came the reply.

Fawkes started to jog. "I think we have a problem. "He came around the curve and skidded to a halt. Twenty A and Twenty B, formerly known as Bob Gardner and Mike Fitzsimmons, were sprawled on the floor. Their throats had been cut. Blood was everywhere. He fought a wave of nausea, not wanting to look at the gory display, but not able to look away. Gardner's face was turned toward him, the look of surprise a sharp contrast to the meaty mess that had been his neck. Fawkes took a deep breath and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. He could smell the blood. He could practically taste it. The puddles were still bright red. This had just happened.

Stepping away from the bodies, he broke into a run. "We definitely have a problem!" The main doors were easing into view. One started to crack open. Someone coming out? Fawkes poured on the speed. The door was swinging further open, but he couldn't see anyone coming out. Right before he got to the doors, he thought he detected…something. A shape? A glimmer? Nothing concrete, but he could have sworn-

He slammed into something. The impact knocked him back on his butt and scattered the quicksilver. Fawkes shook away the daze and looked up. A woman crouched ten feet away. She was just climbing to her feet. He tried to take it as much as he could. She was tall, gaunt, and pale. In dark clothes. But when he got to her eyes, Fawkes froze. They were red. All red. It gave her a strange, alien appearance. Worse yet, he's seen those eyes before. A couple of times, looking in the mirror.

She smiled an ugly, cold smile. A gun broke into his line of vision, appearing between him and those red eyes. It was big and black and looked like a cannon. Fawkes gathered enough sense to quicksilver and roll away.

"Hold it!" Hobbes barked. He came from the other direction, his gun with a steady lock on the woman. She twisted to see him, smiled horribly again-and melted from sight. Hobbes lowered the gun slightly. Fawkes was barely able to make out a shape. It was moving, raising an arm…

"Hobbes! Get down!"

Hobbes hit the ground and rolled cleanly just as the gun muzzle flared. Fawkes heard an annoyed growl, then the main doors were shot open again. He fumbled to his feet and grabbed the door just as it was about to shut. He pulled himself into the ballroom, still invisible. People seated toward the rear of the ballroom had heard the shot and were uneasily stirring in their seats. A spectator on the aisle got out of his seat and was immediately knocked aside by a force not visible. The crowd gasped as his seatmates tried to catch him. Fawkes sprinted straight down the aisle.

It wasn't until he was on her again that he could just make out the shape. She stood, feet braced, both hands together, pointing as Praktuproli. Fawkes launched himself and prayed he wasn't throwing his body against empty air. The collision confirmed his eyes weren't deceiving him. He gripped hard and went down. He landed on his side, knocking the wind from his lungs and the quicksilver from his body. The fall did the same for the woman. Silver dust scattered from them both as the hit the carpet. The shot went wide, easily missing the doctor.

People screamed and started to scramble out of the ballroom. Two Secret Service agents were immediately at Praktuproli's side and hustling him from the podium. Hobbes fought the human tide to get to Fawkes and his prisoner.

The woman began flailing and struggling to get away. Fawkes tried to hold her but a well-placed kick to his shin made him yell and let go. The woman rolled to her feet and backed away. She had an unpleasant, feral expression. As if she would like nothing better than to kick him to death. Hobbes managed to free himself from the crowd and trained his gun on her again.

"I said hold it!" He edged to Fawkes, who was trying to regain his feet. "You okay?"

Shouts of alarm sounded over the radio and two police officers stormed into the room, guns ready. "Yeah, nothing a splint won't fix. "Fawkes held his side, still out of breath.

The woman hunkered lower, like a trapped animal looking for escape. Her red eyes flicked around, looking for a way out. Hobbes kept his sites right between those eyes. More agents burst in from the other side. She looked about wildly, then turned to Fawkes, and laughed. It was a dead sound that made the hair on his neck stand up. Then, quicksilver stole over her body and she began to fade.

"Don't move!" Hobbes yelled, releasing a shot. The bullet bit into the pulpit without finding a target.

"Shut this place down!" Fawkes hollered at the increasing numbers of agents and police. "Don't let anyone out!"

One of the agents on the far side of the room became airborne. Hobbes pointed and said to Fawkes, "Go."

The yelling and orders on the radio were firing through in an irritating wave. Fawkes tore the earpiece away and he raced in the direction of the downed agent. He hit the outer hall and had to stop. Hysterical people and frustrated agents were clogging his progress. But he soon saw a path being made by an invisible force. People were squawking and yelling and being forcibly moved. Using his arm as a wedge, he dove into the crowd and made for it. At this point, stealth was the least of his worries. He quicksilvered his eyes and scanned the crowd for the odd subtle disturbance. Not as bright as he once thought it would be, but it was better than nothing.

After what seemed like forever, he broke through to the other side of the crowd. One of the glass outer doors sprang open. He ran for it. Outside, he made himself stop and listen. Footsteps. To his…right. He headed for the end of the building. A commotion just around the corner made him slow down, however. The sounds of a scuffle and a woman's voice shouting, "No!"Had the rest of the security force caught up with her? Just as he came to the corner, a black van nearly flattened him as it sped by. He got a glimpse of movement-someone being pulled in? -and the back door was pulled shut. No license plate. No markings at all. Very neat.

Fawkes let the quicksilver fall from his eyes as he went around the corner, walking slow now, panting for breath. His leg, where he'd been kicked, was really starting to hurt. He cast about where he thought the fight had occurred. Something gleamed dully in the street light. He bent down to pick it up. A tranquilizer dart with bright yellow fletching. He was still staring at it when Hobbes caught up to him.

"Anything?"

Fawkes held up the dart for him to see, then handed it to him. "No. They got away in a black van. No plates."

"'They'?"

"Unless she can drive while unconscious, yeah, I'd say it was 'they'."

Despite Fawkes and Hobbes' assurances that the would-be assassin was gone, Miramontez insisted on detaining the guests and interviewing everyone before allowing them to leave. A vast majority of the people just recalled hearing shots. A few people saw a man and a woman tussling on the floor. A couple of those recalled that the pair appeared "out of nowhere". But no one got a good look at the woman. Fawkes had given him the most usable description. Gardner and Fitzsimmons had long since been removed to the ME's office. Around midnight, the ballroom was clear and police were poring over the shooting scene. The police had two bullets and, more importantly, the assassin's gun, knocked from her grip when Fawkes tackled her. They were confident that they would have an ID on the attempted killer very soon.

Dr. Praktuproli and his wife summoned the duo to their suite. They were effusive with their thanks and gratitude. Mrs. Praktuproli offered to make them tea, but it was working on 1:00am and both Hobbes and Fawkes were exhausted. They had to promise to return the next day to see the couple to their plane for the rest of their trip to Washington. Fawkes had to hand it to the old guy. He was nearly killed, but still ready to do what he had come there to do. In fact, the doctor was still wide awake and talking a mile a minute. Adrenaline. Fawkes had worn out his supply about two hours before.

They shuffled slowly to the van parked in the hotel's underground garage. "You sure you're okay?" Hobbes asked.

Fawkes looked at him, beat. "Yeah. Why?"

"You're limping."

He looked down at his leg. "Our invisible gal pal kicks like a mule."

"You should have Keep look at that."

"Nah. It's okay. Just a bruise."

Hobbes unlocked the passenger door, allowing him to climb in. Once he had taken his seat behind the wheel, Hobbes allowed himself a moment to sigh and rub his hand over his face. "This is going to be real interesting tomorrow."

Fawkes knew exactly what he meant. The morning debriefing with the Official was going to be interesting indeed.

They waited in their chairs before the Official's desk. The Man wasn't in just yet but would be in a couple of moments, if Eberts was to be believed. It gave them time to get ready. The two had already discussed how they were going to play this. Fawkes had an early suggestion on punching the fat man in the nose, but cooler notions prevailed. So they waited.

Soon, the Official trundled into the office, followed close to heel by Eberts. The men waited quietly for their boss to take his seat, hands folded on laps, expressions of nonchalance. Eberts was holding a small box as he took his position behind the Official's right shoulder.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the Official greeted.

"Good morning, sir," Hobbes returned with a nod.

"Morning," Fawkes said.

"I understand you two had an interesting night."

"Interesting?" Hobbes asked, as though trying to decipher what he meant. "Oh, yes, we did, sir. We had a very interesting evening."

"Care to tell me about it?"

Hobbes looked at his partner. "How is your leg, by the way?"

"It's a little sore," Fawkes replied calmly.

"Did you put ice on it last night like I suggested?"

"Yeah, that seemed to help. Thanks."

The Official did a slow simmer. They were playing him and he didn't like it. A fight was brewing and he didn't like that either. He didn't much care for having to explain himself. He'd had to do a lot of that lately since putting these two together. "All right…"

"You know, you could have a hairline fracture," Hobbes continued.

"You think so?"

"Can't be too careful."

"All right," The Official growled.

"You might want to consider an X-ray," Hobbes continued blithely, as though the fat man weren't even in the room.

"You know, you could be right. This might be a claim for workmen's comp."

"All right!"

"I'm sorry, sir. What was that?"

Fawkes opened his mouth and the Official shot up one finger and delivered a glare. The kid was a smart-ass but had enough sense to shut his mouth and keep it closed. "Now you know why I wanted the two of you there."

"Why do you think that was?" Hobbes asked Fawkes.

"I think it was because of the invisible woman."

He'd had enough of this game. He roughly cleared his throat and waited for the two of them to look back at him. "Are we done now?" he asked gruffly. "I got a tip and decided to keep any investigation low-profile. I wasn't sure about the claim of invisibility. I wanted someone in there who knew about it, would be able to recognize it or see it as a scam. And who are my resident invisibility experts?"

Fawkes leaned forward in his chair, all earlier pretenses gone. The kid was not at all happy. "You could have, oh, I don't know, told us what we were up against."

"I didn't want to prejudice your findings. In case the tipster was pulling my chain."

"Pulling your. . ? Prejudice. . ? Two agents died last night, sir!" Hobbes sputtered.

"Yes, I know. The law enforcement community lost two very fine-"

"Do you actually have any feelings at all?" Fawkes demanded. "You didn't see those guys. I did. They were ripped open."

The Official leveled his ice blue eyes on the young agent. "Son, I've seen things that would turn your hair white."

Fawkes eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into a straight line. "Have you seen a crazy person, armed to the teeth, who could turn invisible?"

"Oh, yes…" He gestured to Eberts, who immediately produced a plastic bag from the box. The Official held it up for them to see. A gun securely wrapped in a police evidence bag.

"I thought local PD had that," Hobbes said.

"So did they. After your phone report last night, I made sure it was…liberated from their property room. I thought it would be better if we did the forensic work on this."

Fawkes was flabbergasted. "So, you're not only a bastard but above the law?"

"We'll save the ethic discussion for another time. We lifted prints. We know who your shooter is. "He snapped his fingers and Eberts handed him a thick folder. He tossed it onto the desk toward Hobbes. After a moment, the senior agent picked it up and flipped it open.

He read for a minute, his eyes getting wider. Fawkes craned his neck to see. Finally, Hobbes read aloud. "Brenda Kozlowski, 35, and, up until four months ago, an agent with the ATF."

"What?" Fawkes was out of his seat.

"The Bureau of Alcohol. Tobacco, and Firearms. "He handed the folder to Fawkes and stood. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at the Official. "She was a Fed."

"A decorated Federal agent, yes."

"And now she's an assassin?"

"It would look that way. But I need you two to find out for sure."

Claire insisted on checking Fawkes' leg. He barely noticed as he sat on the table and read the file. The picture looking up at him was familiar and, yet, unfamiliar. The basic description in the file matched. 5'10", brown hair, blue eyes. But there was no way the spectral figure he'd seen last night was 155 pounds. The picture was of a young, robust woman in full health. The woman he'd seen last night had been more of an advertisement for dead. The pale, pasty skin, the dark circles under the eyes, the bony countenance. And the chilling eyes. He got a cold feeling in his gut just remembering them.

Hobbes had already skimmed the file and now he paced the Keeper's lab. "I thought there was only one gland," he said.

"Obviously, there's more," she murmured, gently pressing the edges of the bruise.

"But the Official said there was only one."

"The Agency only had one made. "Satisfied that his leg was all right, Claire took Fawkes' arm and lifted his watch to check the tattoo. Half red. "It would appear that someone has made another one. "She let go of the arm and said to Fawkes, "I want you to lay off the invisibility for a while."

He made a non-committal noise, still engrossed in the file.

"I thought that was impossible. I thought the only one who knew about it was Fawkes' brother and he's-"He stopped short. Fawkes merely glanced up from the file for a moment.

"Someone's worked it all out then. "She crossed her arms impatiently. She knew Hobbes was just bouncing ideas of her, trying to figure it out. She knew more about the quicksilver gland than anyone in the room and even she didn't know the intricacies of Kevin Fawkes' work. The fact that someone had the genius to figure it out was exciting. And terrifying.

"So, who would have the ability to make another one?"

"No one, as far as we know."

"What about this Arnold Feel guy?"

"Arnaud du Thiel. No, I doubt it. He worked with Kevin and helped him perfect the gland, but he still didn't completely understand it. That's why he wanted Darien. And Darien's uncles paper."

Hobbes paced faster, absently pulling on his lower lip. "What kind of resources would someone need to make another magic gland?"

Claire did some quick calculating. "If they were starting from scratch, they would need a great deal. Time, money, labs, test subjects-"

"Uh-uh," Hobbes rejected. "They didn't start from scratch."

"How do you know?"

"The kid here has had his for just over a year. That wouldn't be enough time for someone to come up with a gland that does the exact same thing. Someone had access to the files, to the research."

"I told you, I have everything here-"

"Notice anything weird about the lab lately? Anything seem out of place?"

While he might have been on the right track, Hobbes paranoia was getting the better of him. "This is a secured facility, Robert. No one gets in without the right codes, keys, and passes."

"Not upstairs. Anybody can walk in."

"But down here, they can't. "She decided to redirect the conversation. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that somehow, someone got a hold of the research. They grew another gland. They used Agent-" she glanced at the file quickly for reference "-Kozlowski here for a test subject. That still doesn't explain why she killed those other two agents and tried to kill Dr. Praktuproli. To what end?"

"Gardner and Fitzsimmons? That's easy. They would have sounded that alarm. They would have seen the doors open and checked it out. Plus, she took care of them in the quietest way possible. No gun shots or shouts to alert anyone. As for Praktuproli, who knows? I saw her eyes. She's full-blown wacko. Who knows why nut jobs like that do the things they do?"

"It was the quicksilver madness, from what you and Darien have told me. Besides, she didn't implant the gland into her own brain. I tend to think there was someone else behind her."

"Well, maybe she sold out," he said stubbornly.

Claire fixed him with an impatient glare. "You think she would choose to subject herself to QC madness?"

"Maybe she got tired of a Fed's salary and wanted to make some more cash."

"That doesn't make any sense," Darien injected quietly. Claire and Hobbes had become so caught up in their conversation over him that they'd nearly forgotten he was there.

"It happens every day, my friend," Hobbes told him, jabbing the air between them with a finger. "Cops go bad. They put their ass on the line, day in and day out, and all they see is the bad guys getting richer and fatter. One morning, they wake up and say, 'Why am I getting myself shot at? For what? 'The money looks good and pretty soon, they're walking on the dark side. "Dramatically stated, but he had a point. Still, when Hobbes stopped for a minute, he wondered why his partner and his partner's Keeper were looking at him like he was a new species of bug. Or that he had lost his mind. "What?"

"Do you actually…hear yourself when you say this stuff?" Fawkes wanted to know.

"What? You don't think I don't know?"

Fawkes swung his legs off the couch and held up the file. "You read this, right?"

Hobbes stopped to put his fists on his hips. He tilted his chin, defiant. "Yeah."

"Then what you're saying doesn't make any sense. I mean, look at this. "He flipped open the file and burrowed through the pages. "She graduated with honors from high school, then straight into the army. The last year of which, I might add, she spent performing as an MP. She then uses her G. I. bill to put herself through college, getting a degree in law enforcement. She is actively recruited by the DEA, the FBI, and ATF. She starts out with ATF in the Arson unit before moving to Firearms almost five years ago. She is hand selected to work on a task force that brings down an arms dealing ring in Miami. She gets a commendation and a promotion out of the deal."

Hobbes saw where this was going, but wouldn't admit defeat. "What's your point?"

"Christ, Hobbes, she's more For God and Country than you! There are letters and recommendations stuffed into this file. From her trainers, supervisors, co-workers. Did you read these?"

Hobbes shuffled his feet. "I didn't get into all the details…"

Fawkes went to the first letter. "'Outstanding'. 'Highly professional'. "He referred to the next letter and the next. "'Unsurpassed loyalty'. 'A credit to her unit'. 'Keen insight' Another 'outstanding'. All of these people can't be wrong. She probably sleeps wrapped in the flag."

Real offense tugged at Hobbes' mouth. "Watch it, pal."

"You get my point. Until four months ago, Brenda Kozlowski here was the model government employee."

"Ha!" Hobbes shouted, seeing his opening. "Then she quit! She got offered more money and she split Uncle Sam's payroll."

"No," Fawkes told him with force patience, "she asked for a leave of absence."

Claire leaned over his shoulder. "Can I see that?" she asked, holding out her hand. Fawkes handed her the file and got to his feet.

"Quit, leave of absence, whatever,"

"Actually, it is a big difference," Claire murmured as she paged through the contents.

"Oh yeah? How?"

Good God, Hobbes was obstinate. "If she had simply quit, that would indicate her possible motive, according to your scenario. A leave of absence shows that she had every intention of returning to her post. "She hefted the folder and looked at Fawkes. "This is an awfully comprehensive dossier. Eberts got this put together in one night?"

She had put her finger on something that had been nagging at Fawkes. "Hey. Yeah. Eberts is efficient, but this-"

"Is a file we've had for quite some time."

All three snapped their attention to the doorway where the Official stood, shadowed by Eberts.

"What are you talking about? ' Hobbes asked.

The big man entered and pointed briefly to the paper's in the Keeper's hands. "We're very familiar with Agent Kozlowski."

Fawkes leaned a hip against the couch, folding his arms, suspicion clouding his face. "Would that be the Agency 'we' or the royal 'we'?"

To read the next installment of this exciting story, please click continue.