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"Defying Gravity"A Romance in Three PartsWritten By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, yaoi, some language Summary: A multi part story of romance starting
with a turning point vacation, developing throughout a dangerous UC
mission, and moving ahead through the unexpected challenges of a summer
vacation. "Part Two: It's Back to Work"
Chapter 17
Wufei's charged POV as new arc revs up. Nothing I had heard before I left headquarters had really prepared me for this alternating persona, Maxwell-substitute who met me at the gate in the airport upon my arrival. The brash pilot in all-black or greasy overalls or his Preventer's uniform, I knew, and, while I could get used to seeing him decked out in designer suits, this Scythe character had beads in his braids, dozens of braids all braided into one fat rope dangling at his back, and a cream, linen jacket over a midriff-bearing t-shirt. When he met me at the gate, wrapping his arm around me most inappropriately, I pretended not to know him, which he seemed to treat as my usual arrogance. In the past, he might have been loud, out-spoken, and a tease, but never did he degrade himself. He had pride. He fought to rise above his L2 roots, to dispel the image that attached itself automatically when you put L2 and gay man together. Not that he was inhibited, but he had never before appeared or acted morally lax. Naturally, I'd heard things were worse at the UC house before Yuy came. I knew Maxwell was in character as Scythe, but that didn't prevent me from being deeply embarrassed by his sluttish appearance and demeanor. He kissed Winner on the lips in public, moved over and licked Barton's neck and chin on his way to sucking on his ear, before flopping into Yuy's lap and making out in an unseemly way. I ordered him to sit down and behave or I would leave. It was a wasted effort, however, since my shame was totally lost on him. Scythe seemed oblivious to his effect on anyone around him or the attention he drew. I would have easily passed by Winner and Barton, only peripherally noticing them, had Maxwell not led me to their table. Their similarly long, center-parted, red-toned hair lent them a "twins" quality. Yuy, in his colored sunglasses and styled hair, had given me pause, but his posture never changed, so I could identify him once I stood close enough to touch him. Scythe was cold and cynical; he made me miss Duo Maxwell. Yuy turned his back on the others, while containing his quiet laughter. I was most impressed with him. I knew his feelings for Maxwell, even though I found them bewildering, and how much the new exhibitionist version of Duo must be causing him pain. That he could stand by him was a tribute to Yuy's character. (o) I will not talk about the shopping trip. There are, however, a few details I should get out of the way, and then I shall drop the subject. Winner wears Italian pastels well; he always has, but he would look even more spectacular if he had his natural hair color back. When he came out wearing an Italian designed and tailored, butter-soft Canali, the fitter exclaimed: "Like a breath of the French Riviera to carry you through until spring," or some such nonsense. The truth was that our friend simply looked, as Barton put it best, "breath taking." Barton has grown taller, approaching 5'10", I'd estimate, and carried off a charcoal colored Bottega Veneta suit with an Ebano Riga Ombra gray-striped shirt so well I was drawn into the rack. But I was told, "no;" I hadn't the "stature" to pull it off. I am nearly 5' 7". Naturally, Maxwell gravitated over when he heard that—as if he were that much taller than I! He was fully two inches taller than Yuy, I noted, when Yuy stood close and keep cricking his neck, unaccustomed to looking up to his boyfriend. Anyway, to my delight and satisfaction—if I couldn't even look at the rack Maxwell shouldn't either-- Yuy stopped him immediately. No, Maxwell was not a "Veneta" man either. Barton accessorized with a Nero VN belt ($350), Punta Ebano Brunissable Calf York shoes ($760), and the Anthracite felt hat ($350). Well, not the hat. Winner laughed and Maxwell flung it Frisbee-like into the air, returning it without a hitch, of course, to its perch on the hat stand where it belonged. Yuy, I learned that day, knew far too much about fashion, fabrics, and fit than was right for a man of his temperament and background ought to. I thought this, but my narrow-minded opinions did not matter. In the end, Yuy had a fashion affectation whether I thought it became him or not. He had perfect taste, in fact, when he had no reasonable right to have any taste in clothes at all. Look at his attire throughout the war! Spandex shorts and a tank top for God sakes! Oh, well, at least he was not taller than I. Dear gods... He had a gold ring through his nipple. He caught me staring at it; I was appalled. "Duo and I got matching ones," he said. I winced as I watched him give it a tug. "Why?" I asked. The corners of his mouth twitched and a wry smile spread from his mouth to his eyes. "It is very...arousing," he said. I am certain he was amused by my embarrassment. He never shared his sexuality with others, although he didn't hide it. He always seemed above and beyond sexual awareness, as stupid as that sounds. Obviously I knew more about what went on in the bedroom he shared with Maxwell than I wanted, but Yuy was usually in control, curbing his excesses-- as was correct in polite society. That was why his little digression shocked me. He finished buttoning his shirt, saying nothing and stifling the urge to laugh, I'm sure—something his loud-mouthed, unrestrained boyfriend wouldn't have done-- and waited for me to evaluate the fit of his jacket from the back, which was why I'd been standing there in the first place. Now, I looked very good in a blue Giorgio Armani, but Yuy looked sleek, sophisticated and deadlier in the same midnight blue suit, so he bought it and found me something he thought suited me 'better'—in all understandings of the word "suitable." And, yes, all these designers do expensive off-the-rack designs and, yes, on-the-site, while-you-wait tailoring is available at a price. For all the money our salesmen were making off of us that day, the tailoring should have been thrown in. My dark slate, wool, three-button front Gucci suit at $3,000 needed an appropriate shirt, which turned out to be a $250 poplin Armani and a $105 woven Italian silk John Barlett tie. To his credit, Yuy introduced me to Dolce & Gabbana. As Maxwell put it: your upper body alone costs over a grand, you can't cheap out with the shoes. Sigh. Slip into Dolce & Gabbana's black calfskin leather loafers and you'll be breaking the bank from head to toe; price tag: $540. The total cost of my ultra-trendy, designer-built outfit was $3,895. Oh, just toss in the underwear and make it a round four grand. I wasn't the worst. Yuy dressed Maxwell in Italian Kiton summer weights in light greens and golds for, well, if the total came to under $5000 I would have been surprised. While not exactly "sensibly priced," Kiton's off-the-rack suits are a bit more reasonable, though still pricey enough to keep the company on top. Having seen the man in black-resale most of our time together, Maxwell was hardly recognizable; he could pull off international playboy with no problem. "Man, you don't know how many jokers would wanna clean my clock if I walked out onto the L2 streets looking like this," he said with a chuckle. "You look sophisticated and handsome," I told him. "There is no reason to pretend you don't like it or to be embarrassed." He closed his mouth, looking as baffled as I have ever seen him. Perhaps my worldly wisdom was getting through. "HA!" he laughed. Alas, I had been incorrect in my analysis of Duo Maxwell's mind. "You called me 'handsome.' Sure you're not even the least bit 'bi' there 'Fei-man? I mean--" I didn't wait around to hear him say what he meant. He was only teasing and I'm not particularly adept at taking stabs at my manhood, no more than any man, I assume. On our way to the hair boutique-slash-salon, we enjoyed describing what we thought the expression on Commander Une's face was going to be when she read our expense reports. She could probably staff the all of Preventers for a week for what it was costing her to outfit us for this mission. Hair salons are detestable places, although the little girl who provided my manicure was efficient and skillful. That is all I will say on the subject of shopping. Well, except that I adjusted the purchases so that the final sums were comfortably "lucky," mystifying the others, I'm certain. Good, whether one believes in lucky numbers or not, it's best to be safe. Besides, they all have quirks I suffer through; I can have one of my own. (o) "Here is how the roles can play out, as I see it," Zechs said. "Quatre, you once worked in a house of a rich, prominent merchant, which explains why you are well educated and know art." The intelligent, blue-eyed-blond-turned-green-eyed-redhead agreed with a nod as he toyed with his heavy, gold, heirloom bracelet. The Fatamid Era piece was museum quality, adorned with elegant calligraphy and arabesque designs. It made a brilliant prop, complementing his exotic background. He gave it one last twirl then flipped through his note cards until he found the name of the art dealer. "I accompany the sculpture from the 'purchase' location, to the 'loading' destination. We believe the Italian-based Royal Fine Art Trading Company is the fake art supplier and the destination is in New Germany someplace near Gunter's drug production facility, the precise location unknown still," Winner said. "Gunter will supply the details, but I'd like to ferret out that information ourselves to place surveillance operatives. Whether or not that happens, Duo will accompany you as your business partner. He'll be wired and have complete infiltration instructions. We need to nail Royal. Records of transactions, names, dates, and amounts are important." "Gotcha, boss," Duo said with a salute. "Quat's the class and I'm the thief." "Luckily," Zechs said, smiling, "you both are intelligent, clever, tough, and tenacious. You make a natural team." I knew better than think their pairing was "natural," and I had numbers to back me up. I hoped that perhaps for a short mission with a clear objective the two could get past their unlucky number combination. "Are you certain you mean Winner and Maxwell?" I asked, archly. Zechs didn't look up from his notes to see the amused exchange of expressions. With a hand, I covered a smile threatening to crack through my serious façade. I was still in awe of the changes manifest in my colleagues; their altered appearances were shocking. Maxwell's eyes flashed and fists knotted as he prepared to defend his honor. Before my eyes I could see the fight going on in his head—Scythe against Duo. Winner felt the undercurrent of humor and unrest, with that curious empathic sensibility of his. He touched his friend's arm to redirect his attention. "Wufei was joking, Duo. I think we work well together, don't you? I'll feel safer with you watching my back-- I know I will." "Huh?" Maxwell said retracting all his mental attacks. Zechs cleared his throat and shook the papers in his hands. "Chang, you are from China, the youngest son of an illustrious clan who is sent to work for his drug lord uncle. This explains your martial arts training and experience as a guard." "Drug lord uncle?!" I snorted. "I grew up on L5. I know nothing about current Earth's China that couldn't be torn to shreds in any interview. I could have thought up a more likely set of connections." "I heard you got connected to a certain medical practitioner-- by a pair of handcuffs," Barton said in a conspiratorial manner. "You thought that one up?" "That was an accident, and Doctor Po explained it all to you one day in unnecessary detail," I shouted. "When did she do that?" Maxwell had not heard this story, apparently. "I missed a juicy story, or whatever, and it sounds kinky, 'Fei-man?" "You may wipe that perverted grin off your face, Maxwell. What happened was far less interesting than what you are thinking." "You know me that well?" "Your overactive imagination, I am familiar with." Once again, Zechs interrupted the barbed-wire-edged, yet humorous, banter. "Then, you will be from L5. Sadly for your illustrious family, its history and connections were all lost in the war." "Hey, that's a background even you can't foul up," Maxwell said, laughing. I ignored his comment as much as possible. "I work alone?" "No," Zechs said with a widening smile. "Had I known how well you and Maxwell got along, I might have paired the two of you." Maxwell had a field day with that one, laughing like a maniac. "'Fei's face is a portrait of horror. Munch's agoraphobia-anxiety ridden painting 'The Scream' comes to mind. What do you think Mr. Art-expert?" Winner knew Zechs and Maxwell were both joking, of course, so he just laughed, but I noticed Barton observing the two friends. "Studying up on your art?" he asked Maxwell. "Yeah," Maxwell admitted with a shy smile, dropping his eyes. "Not one of my strengths. Got as far as Graffiti 101 as a kid." Yuy's attention had never for more than a split second diverted away from Maxwell the minute we gathered at the kitchen table for this meeting. He appeared to study every reaction, each movement for a clue as to what the man was thinking. He should talk to Winner more. I'm sure Winner had a very good idea what made Maxwell tick and would tell Yuy, if the man asked. Then, maybe not. I believe that Winner harbored deep-seated feelings for Maxwell. Barton, too, for that matter. Even Zechs seemed strangely intimate with him. I guess I was the only one not in love with the man. Devoted. Call me devoted. "Well," Zechs continued, enjoying our reactions, I think, "You are a fast learner and the better sneak, so you accompany Winner. Moving on to Yuy--" "What about my partner?" I pressed. Zechs could be more slippery than the eel on toast I'd had at the bar last time I ate. "Not forgotten. Yuy, Gunter suggested that I find a way to include you specifically. Let me put this in his words; he called you 'the beautiful Asian boy who carried out Scythe in his arms like he was weightless.'" Heero's eyes narrowed as if he were tuning into the conversation for the first time, which possibly he was. "He suggested I do what?" "That I lend you to him. I told him, instead, that I had a job in mind. You were the son of a long-dead assassin, and are now a ruthless mercenary in my employ. You and Chang will ensure the drug transfers from its source into the artwork and then follow it to its final destination." "Ironically, I performed the opposite task in the bust a month ago," I said to no one in particular. "And get those army base locations," Zechs emphasized, staring Yuy down. I could tell then that Zechs didn't think he had Yuy's undivided attention on this mission. Both men wanted command and neither were used to taking orders from the other, not to mention Yuy's obvious concern bordering on obsession with his lover's state of mind. Zechs gave up trying to bend Yuy's will, and continued talking. "In trade, Gunter will get us into the upcoming trade show, including limited financial backing for us out of the drug profits, whatever it takes." "He sounds desperate," I said. "He is and so are we. This trade conference is like no other. It is an invitation-only event that brings together the movers and shakers in the boy-trade. The difficulty will be to carry out the drug transfer without interference from the local police or some other organization carrying out orders to bust the ring. We must use this opportunity for what it is, the chance to prove that you boys are the best and most reliable armed guards available on the market." "And Trowa?" Winner asked. "You said none of us would work alone." His caring for the other man was so transparent I ached for the both of them. I could not look at either Winner or Barton, instead, choosing to see how Zechs dealt with their relationship. "I will partner with him," Zechs said. "Gunter times his moves all at once, it seems, so I expect he will move the remaining boys at the house as soon as word is out that the drug transfer is successful. Trowa and I will conduct the boys to safety." "Won't that completely mess with the mission?" Maxwell asked what we all were thinking. "Not if I play it correctly. By holding the boys for my own use, as insurance against his refusing to complete the deal, he will fold. He's powerful, but I will know all his secrets and be holding the cards." For the first time in my life, Milliardo Peacecraft impressed me, but not Maxwell, apparently. "Oh, well, give the man a rim shot... badda badda bash!" Maxwell said with finger drumming accompaniment from Trowa. "What if Alric-baby doesn't bow to the prince, eh? What if he sends his thugs after Trowa, or any of us, and just blows us away?' "You will be armed and informed should the plans change," Zechs said evenly. "But they won't." "You may have that fancy-ass psychology degree to hang on your wall, but you don't know shit about Gunter. The man is layered deep. I won't be a trophy in this game. I suggest you come up with a plan B or wait until we're at that flesh show until you have agents do the extraction." "He will move the boys before the show," Zechs insisted. "Trowa can get tracing devices to them, like he did before. Have the local Preventer agents earn their paychecks. They sure have been eager to get some action, nagging me just about every day for information. Include them. Let Trowa set them up, then get him the hell out of that fucker's house before he's fucked up or dead. Say you need him to roll druggies or be a bad-ass antiquities guard with me." I nearly agreed with Maxwell. He had a good point, but as we all sat there he up and plopped himself astride Zechs' lap, wiggled his butt, and kissed the man, hard. Shocked and disgusted with the display, I did nothing but gape. I fully expected Yuy to make a move, but when he turned his head away, I exploded. "Dear God, Maxwell, what are you doing?! You are practically married to Yuy!" I yelled, forgetting that Zechs probably wasn't privy to that information. Lucky for me, Yuy had already broken that news to him. I grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him off his perch. "It is bad enough that I've been dragged into this mission, that I must pose as drug smuggler, dress up like a rich tart, and live with the lot of you under impossible conditions, but I will not sit here while you carry on like some cheap whore in full view of everyone—" I awoke a few minutes later, Barton clicking his tongue and changing the cool washcloth on my forehead. "Where am I?" "Your bed. Futon in the office. Get acquainted with it awhile longer while Yuy cools down." "Ah." I determined that Yuy punched me. "But I was defending him." "You insulted Maxwell. Believe me. Keep it to yourself." "They are both insane." Barton smiled that quick little smile of his like it might stick to his face if he held it an instant longer. "In love, undercover too long, and stressed to the limits. Yeah, insane. Zechs isn't too crazy about Maxwell's aggressiveness either, he says, but they have spent several months together pretending to be semi-lovers. Yuy's got it under control, most of the time." "I can't wait to leave." I moaned and asked hesitatingly, "So, what happened after... I passed out?" "I carried you here. Oh, before that, Zechs agreed to consider Maxwell's ideas. The guy can be persuasive." I winced. "I hope you mean that on an intellectual level, Barton. I would hate to imagine you two twisting in the sheets to make points." Barton chuckled. "With Winner in the house?! Not likely. He would kill me; Quatre, that is. No, Chang. Maxwell and I've danced and kissed as the job's required, but that's it. Maxwell's hot, though. Yuy's got his hands full." I must have made a sour face, because Barton chuckled again as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Yes, this mission was going to be the death of me, or possibly of our friendships. (o) We hadn't long to wait. Gunter called the next day with places, names, and dates. Zechs reminded him that he was also in the arms business, and so, turned down any offers to loan us guns and ammunition. We had superior weaponry, but there was no reason to gloat to Gunter, or even scare him off. I was relieved to hear that Winner and Maxwell were to leave the next day to the Royal Fine Art Trading Company. This was the business which had been founded by Giacomo Medici, the convicted Italian art dealer, and was now, we believed, the meeting place for the upper echelon of our drug-dealing enterprise. I was studying the surveillance feeds from next door with Quatre typing at the computer beside me, when the clicking stopped. "Look at this!" he shouted. I studied the photo of a grouping of middle-aged men. A partially visible, Roman-style column stood behind them. Sunlight. Flowers. "Over exposed," I concluded. "It's what I've been searching for! Look at the faces! That's Count Franco Giopinno, Frank Georgio, who we arrested buying the little boy named Jimmy. But that man beside him is his younger brother, Raphael Medici." "I don't recollect his name coming up before," I said. "That's because you haven't been researching New Germany art dealers. Duo and I have. Mr. Raphael Medici is known here as Franz Frolich. After his older brother, Giacomo, was arrested, he changed his name to protect his legitimate art businesses. Now, does that name ring a bell?" I was on the secured line immediately. "Get Maxwell in here," I said to Winner. "Who are your contacts at the local agency?" "Duo knows. Here he comes." "Who has the fingerprint data from next door?" I asked Maxwell. He didn't even ask why. He contacted the local Preventers agency office, and handed the phone back to me. Meanwhile, Winner showed him the photo and named the faces. Maxwell stared at the photo on the monitor then pointed to the lower left corner. "What's the date on this? About twenty years ago? Okay, see that kid with the woman? Ten-to-one that's his son and the boy's name is Raul," Maxwell said. "Yes, sent in by Agent Duo Maxwell. The man goes by the name 'Raul Frolich,' but we think his surname is really 'Medici.' I'll wait." I looked over at Winner and Maxwell. "The fingerprints were clear, but Raul Frolich hasn't any on record; in fact, they haven't anything on a Mr. Frolich." "No surprise there," said Maxwell. "They are running the comparison for the name 'Medici' now." "Might as well get packed," he said, stretching and exposing more skin than I needed to see. "Good thing we did our shopping in town already, right Quat?" "Yes. I had no idea we'd be well-heeled boy-toys guarding mock-art," Winner said. He ran a hand through his silky hair and tried to divert his eyes away from Maxwell. "Being the President and CEO of Winner Corps is sounding better everyday of this mission." "Aw, Quat, you can't mean that. Think of the boring meetings and piles of paperwork!" "Hmm," he said, smiling. "Sounds terrific. Boring, safe, normal. I could take that. Oh, well," he sighed. "You're right about the packing. We have a job to do. Even knowing about this connection, we still have to have proof of involvement." I listened as the two close friends continued to converse on their way out of the room. They were interrupted by the entrance of Barton and Yuy. Winner's low chuckle bubbled up in response to some suggestive comment from his lover. The two walked hand-in-hand to their room next door. I reached to turn up my music in time to catch a tender moment between Yuy and Maxwell; another pair of lovers soon to be torn apart for the mission. I silently wished them all a good night so that they might heal their frazzled bonds. Barton would stay on part-time at Gunter's. As he explained it, when new boys arrived, he would demonstrate how to swallow the transmitters and when then show them where he had hidden the tiny pills about the room, should he not be there when they are moved. He always promised them that freedom would come, but that they would have to continue to be patient, silent, and strong. Much like him, I thought to myself. Later, according to the plan, Zechs would pull Barton to join us all for the drug loading, signaling the local Preventer's agency to trace, intercept, and secretly stash the boys in a new, safe location. The young boys would be used temporarily like hostages, but be free from molestation and eventually returned to their homes. Barton would be safe and Gunter would not know who was responsible. It wasn't the best scheme, but it would have to do. I knew Yuy and I would plan our operation the next day, after the others had gone. I would train him how to behave like a drug seller, what to say, while pretending to be one thing and carrying out another. This was getting far more complex than initially planned. Par for the course, as Maxwell would philosophize. I didn't feel social, so I called it an early night. (o) A few days later, we received word from Winner that the art replica had been purchased. "You should see Hermes and Dionysius; cast in plaster with good dimensions: full-size cast taken from the original; 170 centimeters, 5'6.9", high. Hermes (no Dionysius actually remained) here is rather more human than divine, with a languorous dreaming face. His body modeling is soft with almost effeminate, unpronounced muscles." Maxwell tagged on his own comments. "The guy's hung, which made this statue more interesting than the other choice: Venus at her Bath." To which Winner protested, "My choice was not an aesthetic one. Venus was only full-size cast of the original; 110 centimeters, 3'7.3", high with far less interior volume!" Maxwell sent another message filled with more nonsense and photos of the two sculptures, which Yuy ran through his decoder. Embedded into the complex digital pictures were files of stolen data. I was once again impressed with his ingenuity as he messaged back and forth with Maxwell, collecting more information with each transfer. "Wish I was there. Send travel pictures.—Wing." "Oooh, baby! I got loads. Hope you have oodles of disc space. I got a few X rated of Sand for Tamer. —Scythe." Yuy seemed to understand him to mean the encrypted files would be sorted by importance, "X" rated being the most important and the first to decode. "Will forward. He will want see those. How's your knee?—Wing." "Knee's fine. Forgot my hair conditioner. Sand says see you soon.—Scythe." "What's that all about?" I asked Yuy. "Old code he and I used to monitor one another's injuries. 'Fine' means no one is hurt, but 'forgot' means they had a close call. The 'see you soon' means that they are done and awaiting notification of their rendezvous point." I watched as he downloaded more transmission, forwarding the "X" files to his personal laptop. He opened the first file in another window. We looked at a photo of Maxwell with his arm slung over Winner's shoulder; both were smiling and standing in front of what looked to be a flower shop. "That's Royal Art with its front entrance inside that shop," Yuy said. "I wonder who shot that?" I asked. The answer was in the next picture. "That's Raul Frolich, the heavy from next door that started showing up around the time Strom was shot," Yuy said. "That must have been their 'close call.' You don't think that Raul could link either of them with anything suspicious, do you?" Yuy shrugged and clicked on the next file. "No, but I wonder if Gunter knew he'd be there or if he's got his own agenda. I don't need that worry." He closed the file. "We need to get at the embedded data stream. One more look and I start the analysis." The next photo was of Winner, and very theatrical looking. I wondered if Maxwell took it, and if so, if he knew how talented a photographer he was. In the picture, Winner was leaning back in his chair. He had withdrawn and lit a slim, pastel lavender cigarette from a rainbow pack of Nat Sherman "Fantasias" and was smiling at the camera through a scrim of smoke. "This is loaded with data," Yuy explained. "The smoky image is double embedded. This will take awhile to decode." "You mean the photo was taken with the purpose of having a large field to store data?" I asked. "Yes, Duo would have thought of the need." "But it's a brilliant photo! Didn't you notice?" "Is it? Barton will like it, but otherwise, no, it's okay." "It's brilliant, Yuy! Not just 'okay' as you say. Maxwell is a genius!" He looked at me with a woebegone expression. "Please do not tell him that." "Why not? He could use a fun hobby...or maybe a job taking pictures," I wouldn't let this go, as if I was an agent who'd discovered a new talent, which, I suppose I was, literally. "Shall I relay these headquarters?" I asked. Yuy nodded, lost in a network of numbers. I decided that I would talk to Maxwell at a later date, whether his possessive boyfriend did or not. I heard the phone ring and moved to answer it as another cell phone buzzed behind me. Zechs was in the front room and reached that extension first. He signaled me to silence when I entered the room. Yuy crossed the threshold right behind me holding his cell phone. "Barton just called. He says Gunter moves the boys tonight," Yuy said. "Then, that must be Gunter talking to Zechs now with our orders," I said. I gestured for Zechs to listen a moment, and he placed a hand over the mouth piece. "Yes?" "Barton just called; he's moving all the boys tonight." Zechs looked thoughtful a moment then said, "Gunter wants us to move tonight as well. Transfer drugs to a storage location where the art will be arriving and awaiting loading. I have an idea." He returned to his conversation with Gunter while Yuy and I waited apprehensively. "This it too important to take chances, Gunter. I want Tamer for the drug transfers. Send him over so he can pack." I watched, tempted to run over and pull Barton immediately had Yuy not been standing there blocking my route to the front door. Zechs' grimace became a wry smile. "That would be satisfactory, Alric. Yes, I agree, he'd do well as a camp leader. Yes, I have the locations. I'll keep you informed. Good bye." "Gunter argued then broke down to explain how he needs Tamer to accompany a few 'needy' boys to camp. His excuse is that he recruits these street kids and sends them to camps, trains them for jobs, etcetera. Nice guy," Zechs said, pressing his lips together into a grim line. "Which means precisely what?" I asked. I wanted everything clear. "Trowa stays with Gunter, alone? I won't permit--" Further explanation was disrupted by another phone call on the secured line. I took that one. "That was a call from headquarters. The encoded data Maxwell downloaded from Raul's stolen CD has been decoded. There are locations, some dates, but mostly banks, objects and people transfers, marked separately because of differing transportation requirements. The data is being prepared for sending to us. Yuy, do we have a free computer to handle it?" "Hn," he answered. "I'll take care of that." Zechs jotted a few observations in his notebook beside the orders from Gunter. "These are the coordinates Gunter gave me for tonight's pickup and also the drop off points here... where you will be meeting up with Winner and Maxwell... and here where Trowa, the boys, and the final drug transfer will take place. All of you will accompany the sculpture containing the drugs and the 'recruits' to one of the 'camps.' Get back on the phone with headquarters and see if there are matches from the decoded data to these we've been assigned." I took the notepaper from Zechs and connected again to the secured line to Preventers headquarters. Fifteen minutes later, we had matched one of the encoded locations with that of our final destination, which we believed would be one of the army training base locations. They were in the process of establishing satellite surveillance over those locations as we spoke, and they would continue to search for the other locations throughout the file and call us back later with the results. Fine. I let them think they were helping, although the truth was they were wasting their time. I knew Yuy would get us that information faster once he received all the downloaded data. Zechs silently moved closer to the computers and scanned the room feeds until he located Barton, who was walking down the hall and through the living room. When he entered the kitchen, where there were no cameras, we lost him. "Now, we need the kingpin, and that will take getting that invitation and meeting the top man in charge of buying and placing boys in training camps. I promised Gunter safe delivery of the drugs in transit and the boys currently in his house in return for the highest ranking admission. Gunter agreed, if all goes well. As soon as you and Yuy depart, I'm joining Barton over there. He needs to come back here to pack, but after that I'll be with him until he links up with the rest of you," Zechs said. "I will tell Winner and Maxwell. I am certain they will be relieved to know that, sir." His eyebrows shot upwards into his silvery bangs. "I believe that's the first time any of you have called me 'sir' in this house." It was the proper thing to do. He had gained my respect. I even bowed slightly before turning to my own packing needs. We received another call relating the non-news that confirmed that Raul Frolich was the son of New Germany master art dealer, Franz Frolich, who, in turn, had been born Raphael Medici, the younger brother of Giacomo Medici the jailed art stealer/trader who was an longtime friend and associate of the jailed Count Giopinno. What a nice association of underworld scum to work with, but beyond that I had no idea what that information did for us. We would in time.
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