Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

               ***May 25, 2026***

"Oh, Mom, you haveta come!"

From her seat at the kitchen table, Alexandra Eames Goren sighed. "Randall, you know I watch Star Trek and Doctor Who and that Babylon show because you both like it. I'm just not vibe," and she smiled fondly, "with sci-fi. I've been thinking, maybe you two should go with your dad, and I'll stay here and be a bachelor girl for three days. Hang out with Bandit, read, maybe watch Phil sub as The Wizard on Saturday."

"But you like Babylon 5," their daughter Olivia objected, hanging the dishtowel she'd finished using and plumping into her usual chair. "Garibaldi's your type of cop, you've said it before."

Robert Goren returned from the bathroom, taking his own seat at the kitchen table, having heard the conversation through the door, and their recently adopted son Randall, shifting restlessly in his own chair, appealed, "Dad, Mom wants us to go to the convention without her!"

Alex sighed, knowing what would come next; Bobby responded as predicted. "It wouldn't be as much fun without you, Eames. And we've...um...already have your membership."

Alex shrugged. "You could make someone's day. Tell the people at registration to give it to a deserving person."

Bobby regarded her pensively. Back in January, it seemed a fun summer activity: attending SpaceFest, a science-fiction/fantasy/nostalgia event in July. The memberships were reasonable; the promise of writing and publishing panels attracted him; and Olivia and Randall would enjoy the Star Trek programming. Alex had decided back then that if she could find nothing of interest for herself, she could always take the subway--the convention was outside Cambridge near the Union Square MBTA station--into Boston.

Tito's disappearance, the stormy weather, and the last vestiges of inspections before the adoption proceedings had taken more from her than expected; sometimes he detected a certain weariness that was unlike her. He wondered if perhaps it would be best to give her the downtime--but still... Bobby paused, then tilted his head to add, "Besides, they have a last-minute guest you might enjoy. I remember a very dull stakeout where we talked about favorite TV programs, and you mentioned you were a fan of Mason Wagner."

She chuckled. "Leave it to you to remember that, Bobby. And...Mason Wagner..."

The kids nudged one another as Alex's eyes became slightly dreamy. "That's a name I haven't heard in years." Then she confessed, "He was my first actor crush. I was ten and hopelessly in love with him. Don't laugh!" and she eyed Olivia and Randall with feigned sternness. "He starred in a cop series I used to watch with my dad. Michigan Avenue PD. Played young, headstrong detective Mitch Wallace under his older, wiser, cynical partner, Angelo Rizzuto. His character reminded me a little of what your Uncle Mike said he was like when he worked with Lennie Briscoe." She looked askance at Bobby. "Why would he be at a science fiction convention?"

"Because in his first series, in the mid-sixties...um...he was a regular playing the junior officer on that sci-fi submarine series Nautilus II."

"Not the one with the sea monster of the week!"

"That's it."

"Jack used to watch the reruns," she reminisced, "and I never paid much attention. I teased him so much about the funky rubber suit monsters. I never recognized Wagner--he filled out really well in ten years."

"Mom stanned Macon Wagner!" Randall teased.

"Mason," she corrected, "And I'm doing what?"

"Being a big fan of someone is stanning them," Olivia explained.

"When did we start needing a translator?" Alex complained, but a smile was playing on her lips.

"Possibly as far back as when they replaced our desktops with laptops at Major Case," Bobby joked, leaning back.

"Please, Mom, we still want you to come, even if you go into Boston for the day. And maybe you'll like it. It's a small convention, not like New York Comic Con or DragonCon." Randall looked hopeful. "Someday I want to go to both, though."

Olivia turned on the full wattage of pathos in her brown eyes. "Please, Mama?"

Bobby supplied mildly, "I assume the convention's location is why Wagner's attending. His IMDb bio says he lives in Everett."

"I'll probably be disillusioned," she declared, resolve weakening. "He's likely to have turned into Jules Copeland--a grumpy old goat in a wheelchair."

Randall frowned. "I thought you said we shouldn't be judgmental."

There was no escape. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her appealingly. She might have been able to hold out against the kids, but against Bobby was another story.

"All right, you've got me," she agreed, eyes dancing.

"Good," Bobby said comfortably, "because I've confirmed our reservations for four at the pet-friendly host hotel."

"Conspirators, the three of you," she returned.

Later, after Jeopardy had ended, Olivia ventured, "That series Mama liked, Michigan whatever, is it streaming somewhere?"

"I think I saw it on Pluto," and Bobby picked up the remote, to Alex's protest, "Really, we don't have to."

"I want to see who you stanned," Olivia countered.

"And it's 70s, with all the cringe clothes!" Randall offered, for he'd grown up watching mysteries such as Columbo and Banacek with his late mother. "Like the bellbottoms!"

Bobby arched his eyebrows. "I'll have you know...I didn't look bad in bellbottoms."

Both children giggled, and Alex exclaimed, "That goes for me, too."

"Next thing you know," Olivia said severely, "you'll tell us you wore tie-dye, too."

"But I did," Alex protested.

"Here it is," Bobby said finally. "Judging by the size of Wagner's mustache, it's a first-season episode."

"I remember that mustache," Alex laughed as the titles flashed by. "So many male actors of the 70s had one."

"Even Don Adams. Wagner's lip rug isn't quite as impressive as Stuart McMillan's, though," he reminded.

"Shhhh," protested Randall as he watched Wagner and his older partner, played by Paul Geremia, investigate a dark warehouse.

During a musical drug commercial that clashed badly with the retro series, Olivia said critically, "Well, he was awf'ly handsome like you said. Did they really wear those powder blue suit jackets?"

"It was called a leisure suit. Men did wear them to work."

"And they couldn't report in on anything except on their car radio or at a pay phone," Randall said pityingly. "It's a wonder they caught anybody."

After the episode ended, Bobby commented, "That wasn't too bad. It had a little more grit than The Streets of San Francisco--and that...um...wasn't a bad series by any means--but hadn't quite reached the early realism of Hill Street Blues. And Wagner was an up-and-coming Michael Douglas."

"It was better than the Dragnet that you were playing in the car when we went to Maine for Easter vacation," Randall said matter-of-factly.

Alex had to grin because Bobby's efforts to get the children interested in old-time radio programs wavered between success and bust. They both loved The Shadow and Lights Out, and Randall had shown minimal interest in Gangbusters, which Olivia hated, preferring the wordplay of classic comedies--"Fibber McGee and Molly" and The Jack Benny Program were her favorites.

"You don't understand what a groundbreaking program Dragnet was," Bobby countered, leaning forward as if he were preparing to defend a doctoral thesis. "You heard a few episodes of Gangbusters, and I played you some private eye shows. Lots of gunplay, Brooklyn-accented crooks, and gum-cracking gun molls. Very cliché. Dragnet...yeah, the dialog is a bit stilted and occasionally flat, but it was a series that showed the reality of police work: lots of interviews with reluctant people, the sheer ennui of pounding the pavement day after day, writing up reports and getting briefed by the captain..."

Randall was looking at him with his head bowed, eyes peering over his round-rimmed glasses. "Dad...the dialog...I can't..."

Alex was not a Dragnet fan. "I'm afraid I have to side with Rand."

Olivia declared owlishly, "I guess they don't have any sense of historical perspective, Papa."

He tapped her on the nose. "As I remember, Min, you didn't like it much, either."

Olivia grinned, "I liked the Stan Freberg version."

"That was funny," Randall agreed. "Can we hear that again?"

"Why not?" and Bobby rummaged through his sizable collection of radio series.

               ***July 23, 2026***

The Montague Inn was an average-looking gray-and-white hotel on the outskirts of Cambridge, Massachusetts, with wings at the rear containing rooms used for business conferences and conventions, and, in addition, a smaller, central wing where the guests could enjoy a breakfast bar, with cookout meals two nights a week in summer. People in fannish t-shirts were offloading suitcases under the drop-off-area pergola currently draped with trumpet vines and bougainvillea; the video billboard next to the revolving doors proclaimed "Welcome SpaceFest!" in yellow letters on a star-dotted navy-blue background; and there were already vehicles in the parking lot with custom paint jobs or dozens of fannish stickers.

"See the white car painted like a shuttlecraft--it's the 'Galileo'!" Olivia said excitedly.

"Check out the green van with the dragon!" Randall pointed, overwhelmed.

Someone already dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi was unpacking his car, and Bobby gave the young man a thumbs-up as they passed by.

"Woof!" said Sam as he pressed his nose against the back of the Honda Pilot, for someone was walking a small, long-haired dog cut to resemble a tribble.

Bobby pulled in under a tree evidently occupied by every sparrow in outer Cambridge, and Bandit began to chirp wildly from his carry box in Alex's lap in return.

"The circus is back in town," she chuckled as she unbuckled her seat belt.

Bobby's cell phone rang at that moment. After he pulled it from his pocket, his face changed. "Give me a minute," he said, and hastily vacated the Pilot. Sam immediately pushed his way to the window, his tail invading the back seat to beat against the side of Olivia's head. "Ouch! Bad dog, stop that!"

Alex watched Bobby's face darken as the conversation continued; then he hung up, and she saw him school his expression back to its previous state. He reopened the driver's side door. "I'll get a luggage cart. Prepare for an away mission, ensigns."

"Only if I can be Beckett Mariner!" Olivia called after him.

By the time he returned, Alex had Bandit's cage and Sam's collapsible crate ready to be transferred, and Sam was sitting holding the animals' supply bag in his mouth. Bobby offloaded the suitcases from the roof rack of the Pilot, then positioned the crate on its narrow end, the bagged birdcage next to it, and a folding tray table, the smaller bags, and laptops on top. Both children wheeled their own smaller suitcases, and all kept an eye on the tower of supplies as they made their way into the hotel and to the lobby.

It took them longer than usual to make it up front and then upstairs to their room, because individuals and groups kept waylaying them to pet Sam--who kept the supply bag firmly within his jaws nevertheless--or coo over Bandit, who fluffed at the attention and kept repeating, "Good bird! Hou la! Bad boy, stop that!" between strident chirps.

Alex, with Bandit in his carry box, inspected the two-bedroom suite and pronounced it good. Unlike their favorite hotel, Bridgeton Suites, this suite had a microwave but no stove, minimal cupboards, a tiny sink, a coffee maker, and a smaller refrigerator, but the "kitchenette" was large enough for their supplies and the milk they would purchase later. Bandit was soon settled in his cage with food and water on the fold-up tray watching television, while Sam settled curled up in his crate after lapping water from his travel bowl as they put up a few things. Then, for supper, it was across the street to the Silverhorn Steak House, returning the luggage cart on their way.

The restaurant was already dotted with convention people brave in fannish shirts, some in costume, and, after they had helped themselves to the buffet, Randall whispered to Bobby, "Would it be okay if I told that man I liked his cosplay?"

"That man" was alone at a table cattycorner from them, evidently in his forties, with a dark haircut in the Spock style, well-done makeup, and pointed ears, wearing a costume that Randall had mentioned was what Spock had worn in an animated episode.

"If you're very quick," Bobby said. "Try not to interrupt while he's chewing."

Randall did indeed wait until that juncture, then ventured, with his head half-bowed, but eagerly, "Excuse me, sir, but I just wanted to say I like your Spock. It's from 'Yesteryear,' isn't it, where Spock is posing as cousin Selek?"

The man smiled at him. "Yes, exactly. Are you a Spock fan, too?"

"He's my favorite," Randall said eagerly. "Anyway, I just wanted to say. I have to get back to my mom and dad and little sister."

Both their voices were audible, and Olivia rolled her eyes. "Randall really likes saying I'm his 'little' sister."

"Because he's very proud to be a big brother," Alex said warmly. "He wasn't one before, and now it's official."

Olivia quirked her mouth, but looked pleased when Randall and his plate returned, and he began talking about the man's costume and "Yesteryear." Randall waved farewell to "Spock" as they left, and they hit a grocery store to buy milk, juice, boxes of cereal for snacks, a variety of fresh fruit, and some bran muffins before returning to the room to settle in for the evening.

Alex took Sam out so both she and the dog could have their evening jog, and Randall accompanied them. This left Bobby in the room with Bandit on his shoulder, gnawing contentedly on the tips of hair curled on his neck, as he typed industriously at his laptop. Olivia, cross-legged on the carpet with a book on her lap, wasn't sure if he was working on the memoir he'd told Hastings House he'd "think about," or the young adult mystery he'd proposed to them at Christmastime.

They had stopped at a used bookstore in Norwood on the way, and Olivia had plucked her current reading out of the history section, a book of United States trivia. Now she scrambled up and dashed into her and Randall's bedroom to return with her own laptop.

Bobby, who had been seemingly oblivious, asked without looking up, "Book not as good as you thought it would be, Min?"

"No, it's that good, Papa," she answered brightly. "I want to copy some of these down. You can use them at trivia!"

He set down the laptop and slid down on the floor with her. "Let me see," and discovered she had already stuck little Post-it flags on various pages.

"Good idea," he said, checking each tab.

"You do it," she shrugged.

"Your m-mother would say you're getting more like me every day," he answered.

"Why would I mind that?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, I'm flattered," he said truthfully.

"You're a good dad," she insisted, knowing the general details of what he--and Alex--had told her about his past.

"I aspire to it," he told her, and she knew why, because his own father had been neglectful and deceitful.

So it was that Alex and Randall found them still absorbed, Bobby reading aloud the bits of trivia Olivia had tagged so she could type them, with Bandit back in his cage, singing to one of his toys. Once off the leash, Sam came panting into their faces, then flopped down at Bobby's feet.

"New game?" Randall asked curiously.

"Helping Papa with questions for the Dark Crystal."

Alex smiled down at them, and now Bobby stretched and then rose, arching his back to unkink it. "Here, Rand, you two can collaborate while I...um...give my back a break."

"What do I have to do?" Randall asked, sliding into his father's place. "Guess who was outside, 'Livia! That Mason Wagner guy! I wanted to say hi because someone was getting an autograph from him, but Mom said we shouldn't bother him on his private time..."

Alex had drifted into their bedroom to remove her sweaty running clothes, and Bobby trailed in her wake, leaving the door slightly ajar behind them. "Caught a glimpse of your old crush, did you?"

"And he's aged quite nicely," she reported crisply as she pulled off her shorts and shirt. "He must be 81 if he's a day, but fit for his age, and he was very polite to the autograph hound, so he hasn't caught Copeland-itis, either."

Bobby wrapped his arms around her, whispering in her ear, and she chuckled. "And what would I want with a fake cop when I have a real one?"

Not ten minutes later, Olivia's voice sailed into the room. "Are you two going to canoodle some more, or will someone be putting Bandit to bed?"

Bobby broke the mood with a plaintive, "Oh, Bruno, you had to teach her that one."

"Deux secondes!" Alex responded in imitation of her daughter, hastily breaking the embrace and donning a light robe. "Come close down your laptop, Agent Goren."

It was closer to an hour before everyone was ready for bed: the children, in turn, took showers, and then Bobby read to them Olivia's library book, Girl of the Limberlost. Randall had only been half listening, but still questioned why Mrs. Comstock was so unfriendly and Elnora had to pay for high school textbooks. Sam sauntered in as Bobby switched off the lights, posting himself squarely between the beds, and, after a round of good-nights that would have done The Waltons proud, Bobby left the door open a crack.

Alex, in the meantime, had tidied up the living room, and Bandit was now in his cage and covered with flannel. Kitchenette/living room lights extinguished, their bedroom lamp beckoned them inside. She peeked into the bathroom. "Walk-in shower, Agent Goren. How did we get so lucky?"

"It's what happened when I met you," he said soberly, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm glad you came."

Later, spooned in bed, she was reminded of an earlier event. "Bobby, what was that phone call? You didn't look happy, whoever it was."

He sighed, shifted a little, his left hand cupping her breasts. "It...it was- When we looked into what had happened to Micah Troyer and his brother, I was...um...unsatisfied by the answers. I was afraid the court investigators or Wilma would find more intel before...we had a chance to figure out how to deal with it, so I asked someone else...er...to dig into it."

Alex snuggled more firmly against him, troubled by the name of Randall's maternal grandfather and the thought of his brother, the man that Randall's biological father, doing time in upstate New York for drug trafficking and the drug-related death of a teen girl, suspected to be Randall's actual father, since Rosalind Troyer had already been pregnant at the time of their marriage. "Why? It was 2020, people were dropping left and right from COVID-19. The Troyer brothers must have been looking after one another--after all, Randall's grandmother had already died in 2019--and they both came down with it."

Bobby answered sleepily, "I don't know...s-something never sat right. So I asked Harry if he was busy-"

"You've called Harry twice within nine months!" Alex chuckled.

He laughed, too, remembering the simmering resentment that had existed between himself and a former supervisor as late as three years earlier, then yawned. "Doesn't seem possible, does it? But...even Harry thinks there's more to the story."

"So," she murmured, "the game is afoot."

But he was already asleep.

"Wow!" Randall said, wide-eyed. "Check the buffet!"

Olivia teased, "I don't know who's hungrier all the time, you or Sam."

"It is an impressive spread," Bobby had to admit. "Even an omelette station."

Twenty minutes later, with Randall digging into an egg sunnyside up, a waffle drenched in maple syrup, two slices of buttered toast, five slices of bacon, and a salad bowl heaped with oatmeal drenched in brown sugar, they had to admit his appetite, too, was impressive. Alex foresaw another trip to a few thrift stores and Walmart for new clothes.

Olivia, still putting a bowl of applesauce on her tray at the buffet counter, whispered to Bobby, "Is that natural?"

"It's a boy thing."

"But he's going to look like a Macy's balloon," she protested.

Fifteen minutes into their breakfast, a woman's pleasant voice commented dryly, "Well, you were the last two people I expected to find at this event."

Bobby's head jerked up at the familiarity of the voice, but it was Alex who said warmly, "Lynn! What are you doing here?"

Randall actually paused in his determined attack on the oatmeal. At the same time, Olivia stared curiously at a red-haired woman in her early fifties, dressed in a businesslike sage-green blouse and trim, sharply-creased chocolate brown pants, all topped by a matching brown blazer on which was a blue-and-white company logo, her feet shod in comfortable but stylish walking shoes. She had an iPad cradled in her left arm and a small clutch purse/phone holder dangling from that wrist, so that her right hand was free to shake Alex's as the latter jumped from her seat. "At work, actually. I'm with the security company that's keeping an eye on the memorabilia they're displaying at this convention."

Bobby, who had automatically risen to his feet, surprised both kids by ducking his head as Randall often did when faced with strangers, but in this case, even they could tell it wasn't from wariness, but from embarrassment. "Um...hi..."

G. Lynn Bishop wore a big grin. "Oh, come on, it was a long time ago. I've forgiven you." She paused, winked at Alex, and added, "Sort of."

"Sit! Sit!" Alex urged and pulled an extra chair from a row lined up in the corridor between the dining room and the kitchen. Bobby held it for her, and Bishop's eyes danced as she laid her tablet and purse down and assumed a place at the table. Olivia now had her attention fixed on the newcomer, and even though Randall had gone back to his oatmeal, he was watching her over his glasses and under his always unruly dark hair.

Bishop smiled in return. "Well, you both look wonderful, and this must be the pair I've heard so much about."

"Erm-" And to Alex's amusement, Bobby still looked uncomfortable at the woman's appearance. "Lynn, this...um...is Olivia," and the girl bobbed her head, "and that's...Randall. Olivia, Randall, this is Lynn Bishop, f-formerly NYPD."

"Are you not with the Boston police any longer?" Alex inquired, resuming her seat.

"I put in my papers last year. Twenty-five years was enough. I'm working private security now. Middlesex Secure Solutions."

Bobby asked hastily, "Could I...um...get you something from the breakfast bar?"

"Bob," she said with a shake of her head. "Chill. I ate an hour ago."

"And you're enjoying working private sector?" Alex resumed, flashing a playful look at Bobby's discomfited face.

"Very much so."

"Do...these conventions require a security team?" Bobby asked, slightly concerned.

"Oh, it's not due to the people. I've worked a few fan conventions already. The attendees are great," she explained cheerfully. "As I said, it's for the memorabilia."

"What?"

"Oh!" Olivia piped up, enlightened. "The props! Remember? It said on the website! There are props here from that series, Nautilus II."

"Exactly," Bishop nodded. "They're very collectible because they're rare."

Finally, Bobby relaxed, arching eyebrows at Alex. "Like 1950s robot toys."

She recalled the case instantly. "And Carlotta Francis books."

Bishop laughed. "I won't even ask."

Bobby noticed Olivia had put down her fork and was regarding Bishop with a gimlet eye. "Min, was there a question?"

"So you and Mama and...Ms. Bishop know each other."

Randall had continued to eat, but he was definitely paying attention. "Like...maybe from Major Case?"

Bishop chuckled and said to Alex, "You said they were smart."

Bobby explained, "We told you that your mother was a surrogate for your cousin Eddie. Finally, y'know, she couldn't go out in the field any longer during the pregnancy, so Ms. Bishop was my temporary partner." He paused, gave a wry smile. "I didn't make it...er...very easy for her."

Olivia understood immediately and giggled. "Papa's an acquired taste."

"That's for sure," Bishop said wryly, but added, "but he's an excellent detective."

"That, too," Randall added, having finished his oatmeal.

"So the studio that produced Nautilus II hired your company to protect these props?" Bobby looked intrigued.

"The props actually belong to Mason Wagner. It's one of the reasons he's appearing at this convention," Bishop corrected, leaning back in her chair. "MacKenzie Saunders Productions, the producers of Nautilus II, junked the models and other props--in fact, they left many of them in the trash bins at the Burbank studio where the series was filmed--so Wagner took them home. There was a legal battle over them in the 1990s."

"A legal battle over props from a 1960s TV series?" Alex looked disbelieving.

"There's big money in some of those props. You remember a film called The Abyss?"

"Ed Harris, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, 1989," Bobby responded promptly.

"I know that one," Randall said, wide-eyed. "I saw it with my mom. The woman drowns herself on purpose because there's only diving gear for one, then her husband swims them both through with diving gear and has to revive her. Scary, and kinda ick."

"Great suspense scene," Bishop agreed. "Anyway, it was so popular in some parts of the country that a lot of TV stations pulled sea-adventure series out of mothballs for reruns: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Sea Hunt, Primus, Swiss Family Robinson, and Nautilus II. Since there was renewed interest in the series, Mason Wagner showed up at a 1991 convention with the props, and MacKenzie Saunders Productions said the props were theirs and dragged Wagner into court.

"Wagner was smart. When it was clear the series faced cancellation in 1966, he'd asked Ken Saunders' executive secretary what would happen to the props, especially the model of the submarine. She testified at the preliminary hearing that she had asked Saunders himself what would be done with them, then passed on to Wagner that the studio planned to junk them. Plus, Wagner was smart: he used his trusty Kodak Instamatic to take photos of the props dumped into the big trash bins on the street outside Filmgems Studios. The judge ruled against the studio; he said anyone could see those props had been thrown out as trash, and anyone could claim them as their own." Bishop snorted. "Filmgems was, as you can imagine, royally pissed. Tried to buy the props back, but Wagner said no. He goes to conventions with them now, basically financing his retirement."

"Ate, no crumbs!" Randall pronounced happily.

Bishop blinked. "Um..."

Alex smiled. "I believe that's the current equivalent for 'Good for him!'"

Bishop laughed. "I can see I need to talk to my brother's kids about current slang. But...if, after you go through registration, you hunt me up at the Berkshire Room, I'll give you a preview of the exhibit. Wagner's a doll, he won't mind. If the door's closed, do...um-"

"'Shave and a haircut'?" Bobby suggested, having finally relaxed.

"That'll work," Bishop agreed, chuckling, then said her farewells and returned to her work.

"'Shave and a haircut'?" Randall was puzzled. "Isn't that from Roger Rabbit?"

"Oh, buddy," Bobby said, pulling his arm around Randall, "so much older than that..."

Now wearing badges featuring submarine-themed artwork, the quartet approached the short corridor on which the double doors of the Berkshire Ballroom opened. A lone convention volunteer sat in a hotel meeting room chair barring the way, scrolling on his cellphone, and told them, "Sorry, folks, this doesn't open until one."

"Lynn Bishop, the head of security, is a friend of ours, and said if we came by early, she would give us a preview," Bobby explained politely. "Would you let me knock and see if that's okay?"

The volunteer, in his late teens and wearing a Walking Dead t-shirt, looked dubious, but said, "I guess..."

"If anyone says anything, we'll take the blame," Alex assured him.

Bobby rapped the seven-note novelty riff on the door, and it was opened almost immediately, not by Bishop, but by a beaming Mason Wagner. "Lynn said you'd be by!" Then he called to the uncomfortable volunteer, "Thanks, Tommy, I know these guys. It's okay."

The teen nodded, relieved, as Wagner ushered his guests in.

"Lynn told me who you were, Mr. Goren and Ms. Eames," Wagner went on. "Please pardon me if I go all fanboy. I spent so many hours with the police advisors on MAPD-" He pronounced the abbreviation "mapped." "-that I get really nostalgic when actual cops talk to me like I knew the goods. It's always been a big compliment that people thought I was that realistic."

He put them at ease at once. As Alex had described, his square-jawed, "matinee idol" looks had aged well; he had deep creases in his jaw and forehead, and noticeable crow's feet bracketing his eyes, but he was still handsome, with a straight nose and a strong mouth. His eyes remained a clear brown, and while his hairline had receded, what hair was left was thick and white, combed straight back. His copper aviator-frame glasses matched his brown polo shirt and tan trousers.

"Here, come see my treasures," he bade, and led them to the rear of the ballroom and through a secured door on the left that had a small tempered-glass window in the upper half. This opened onto a smaller room for prep or storage, useful when the ballroom served as a musical or banquet venue. On wheeled display tables at the rear of this anteroom, covered in white linen tablecloths tacked down at the corners, the precious props from the television series were displayed: lined up were a control panel and switches for the submarine's guidance system; a bank of warning lights in red, green, yellow, and white; the distinctive "futuristic" sporks the cast had used in dining scenes "at the Admiral's table," paired with the unique curved plates; Admiral Hariman's "lucky cat" statue and other personal decorations from the captain's cabin; a sonar array; and the 20-inch model of the submarine used for longshots.

Lastly came Mason Wagner's dress uniform for "junior lieutenant Oswald 'Oz' Philbrick" on a wheeled mannequin next to the table holding the showpiece of the collection, the fiberglass scale model of the Nautilus II used in close-ups. Some of the paint had chipped from the distinctive faded denim-blue sub over the years, but the craft, with its memorable convex conning tower emblazoned with a chambered nautilus, was still an impressive sight at six feet long. Someone had restored the interior lighting, and the glassed-in observation deck in the bow glowed warmly. Olivia circled it with admiration, since she was the artistic one of the pair; Randall, surprisingly, was mesmerized, too, keeping his hands firmly clasped behind his back as his therapist had suggested when he was tempted to touch things.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Wagner grinned. "And she's kept the wolf from the door, too."

"Had you stopped acting after Michigan Avenue PD?" Alex asked. "I didn't see you in any other series after it ended."

"Oh, no, ma'am, but I got tired of Hollywood after two series and fifteen years of that crazy place. I'd started on stage in New York playing young people: Kurt in The Sound of Music, Neeley in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Peter Cratchit in A Christmas Carol, a member of the Jets in an off-Broadway West Side Story, and after my TV work, I realized I preferred the stage. I ended up in Chicago, joined one of the big theatre groups there. That's where I met my late wife. You may know her--Kitty Lattimeir? She did soaps--started out as one of the teen characters on Days, then did about a decade on Young and the Restless. So, because of her, I ended up back in L.A., but not working live action. Instead I lucked out in the 1990s doing voice work on Gargoyles, the animated Batman, and the others--until she got ALS."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," Bobby apologized, and Alex nodded in sympathy.

Wagner looked proud even in his evident grief. "She was...a damned good fighter. Her last few years on Y&R, nobody knew. These props... they brought in the bucks for her treatment and then for hospitalizations. Still paying off some bills with them, and I try to give a little to ALS charities. I tell Kitty's story and ask folks to donate at all my cons."

"You can be sure we'll add one," Alex told him soberly.

Bobby had his eyes on his hands as he fiddled with his wedding ring. "We...um...had a close friend whose younger son died of muscular dystrophy."

Wagner nodded. "You never quite get past it."

They chatted a few more minutes until Bishop joined them, and then Olivia tentatively reminded Bobby of the Star Trek panel she and Randall wished to see.

"Why don't you head on?" Alex suggested. "I've got your panels marked on my convention app, so I know where you're supposed to be. I'm going to stay here, hang out with Lynn." She hugged each child and whispered, "Obey the rules. Ours and theirs." She tapped a forefinger to her eyebrow. "You're in charge, Agent Goren."

"Yes, Captain Eames," Bobby replied with a left-handed salute, and even Bishop grinned.

"Are you coming with us to the panel, Papa?" Olivia asked as they left the ballroom. "I don't see that you marked it on the app."

"I don't have anything for that hour," he replied, steering them toward the meeting room reserved for science fiction/Star Trek, "and the topic appears to be justice in the Star Trek universe. I think I can manage. Hey, can I talk to you guys for a minute?"

Randall used ASL to sign to Olivia. = Knew it. =

"I saw that," chuckled Bobby. They were at the very back of the meeting room. "Sit for a minute, then we'll move up."

They formed a little huddle, and Bobby began, "I've already noticed kids your age and a little older on their own in the h-hallways. I want you both to have some of that freedom this weekend. But you have to pay for that freedom with...with caution. We've already gone through this since...since Tito vanished. You know the drill."

Randall nodded, and Olivia hugged herself as if she were cold. "You need to check in. If you deviate from what's on your schedules--if a p-panel turns out not what you expected and you want to go to the vendor room or another panel, let us know...er...or if you want to go back to the room--you need to text. No second chances if you forget." They nodded again.

A pair of teens in Disco t-shirts entered the room. "You may even make friends with some of the kids here. Don't fall for peer pressure.

"If anything makes you uncomfortable and we aren't with you, stay put and call. If you can't call, head for rooms with lots of people. Or the convention registration desk if open, or the hotel reservation desk. And since Lynn Bishop is here, you can head for the Berkshire Room as well. 'Shave and a haircut' ought to work." He took a deep breath. "You look after each other." Then his sobriety vanished as he rose from his chair. "That ends my lecture. Come on, let's have fun."

And it turned out they did, for the audience was a mixture of old and young, and one of the panelists was a retired judge. Olivia gave a happy little bounce in her chair as Bobby questioned a particular Starfleet judicial decision, and a lively little discourse on law between him and the judge ensued.

Better yet, on the way out, a blond boy her age in a Starfleet Academy uniform with a younger girl next to him wearing a My Little Pony outfit, remarked to her casually, "Is that your dad? He's pretty smart. Is he a lawyer?" and she could pipe up proudly, "He's a retired FBI agent, and..."

"...a retired NYPD detective, too," Randall added.

"That's gotta be cap," the boy said scornfully.

"No cap!" Randall practically bristled, to Olivia's amusement. "Ask him if you don't believe us."

"For real?" the smaller girl asked, and Olivia stuck out her hand, promising "Pinky swear," to be rewarded with a dimpled grin.

From then on, they had someone to "hang with," and Bobby saw them off with a smile in the company of Asher and Charlotte as he attended a writers' panel on tailoring young-adult fiction.

At one o'clock, they reconnected at the Berkshire ballroom. Mason Wagner had sent out for lunch for his security detail and had invited them as well. A big plate of barbecue pork sliders and a tray of waffle fries sat in the center of an exhibit table; he'd also ordered a grilled chicken salad for Bishop, who couldn't eat pork, and a lentil salad for Varina, another volunteer, who was a vegan.

Olivia whispered to Randall, "You'll leave some for us?"

Randall stuck out his tongue at her, and she giggled.

"It's a bribe," Wagner said frankly as they sat down. "I'm hoping I can get Bob to tell more good behind-the-scenes stories."

"Did Mama tell you all her stories?" inquired Olivia, then bit into a slider with an expression of bliss. "Even the ones from her book?"

Wagner paused in making a plate for himself. "Book? You have a book, Alex?"

On a first-name basis already? Bobby's good-humored glance made her smother a laugh. Bishop said, "That's one of the few things we didn't talk about."

"Mama's not one for promoting herself. It's about her years at the NYPD," Olivia continued, perking up. Alex had a sudden vision of her three years earlier on the book tour, sitting with them at autograph tables, her bright eyes and happy face selling more volumes. "Papa has a book, too, but not about police work, but about growing up in Brooklyn. It's brill, too!"

Alex could still hear their editor, Holly Lewin, asking, "Should we put Livvy in charge of sales?"

Evidently, they should have, for Olivia offered, "I could bring one of each from the car," and she noticed their surprise. "Zes said we should keep some books with us when we went places, in case someone asked about them. It's only the paperback copies, of course, Mr. Wagner."

"I would be pleased to have paperback copies," Wagner said agreeably, and Alex wordlessly handed her daughter the car keys, and she scampered from the room.

"I don't remember having copies in the car," Bobby observed.

Randall paused in the midst of a waffle fry. "They're under the passenger side back seat. 'Livia and I put them there Wednesday night, so we wouldn't forget."

"Maybe we should hire them to do publicity," Alex concluded.

"Mr. Wagner," Randall asked after he'd disposed of a slider, "are there any good stories about the props?"

"Actually, yes!" Wagner said enthusiastically. "You saw the admiral's lucky cat? That wasn't an original series prop, but something Walt brought on the set. Sandra Kawakami, Walt Nelson's--Walt played the admiral, Randall--his wife gave that to me as a gift after Walt passed. He served in World War II, in the Pacific--it was something he bought in Japan afterward. What a great guy he was! Consummate performer--didn't stand for any nonsense on the set--but taught me so much about acting..."

Wagner was still talking about Nelson when a commotion was heard behind the door. First they heard Tommy, the volunteer they'd met earlier, shout, "Hey, you can't go in there. Mr. Wagner and his friends are having lunch!"

A man's deep voice said insistently, "Please, sonny, I just need-"

Bishop dropped her fork as a woman protested loudly and authoritatively, "Sir, please, do not enter that room. I'm on Mr. Wagner's security detail, and no one is permitted in the room right now except for Mr. Wagner's luncheon guests. Yes, miss, you can pass."

Olivia, wide-eyed at the commotion, clutching three books to her chest, appeared as the door opened, just as a tall, thin, balding, perspiring man with a flushed, anxious face pushed past her. "Please move, kid! I need to talk to-" She stumbled back one step, and her arm struck the doorframe.

Later Randall would tell her, "Seriously! Dad teleported."

Next thing the dark-suited interloper knew, Bobby Goren was in his face, blocking his way. "Did I see you push my daughter?"

Alex was already at Olivia's side. "Min, are you okay?" The look she threw at the stranger was calculated to shred him, and he shifted left and right to avoid Bobby, while Bobby pivoted each time to obstruct his progress, hands raised.

"Only bumped," Olivia said, slightly scornfully, and now Randall was on his feet, too.

"Mac!" Wagner was scarlet. "What the f-" and because the children were present, he amended, "-heck are you doing here?"

Olivia took one last dark look at "Mac" before assuring Alex she was fine, and, with a disdainful lift of her chin, she made her way back to the table with the books.

"Let me go. I have to talk to Mase-" the stranger said, trying to circumvent Bobby one more time and discovering Alex in his path as well.

"Not until you apologize to our daughter."

"Look, this is vital, and I'm sorry if I pushed your kid-"

"Mister Saunders! Haven't we spoken already about this?" Now he had Lynn Bishop to contend with as well. Her mouth was drawn tight. "Officer Dannin-"

The stocky, uniformed woman who had challenged Saunders on the opposite side of the door said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, he feinted and made it around me and then bumped the little girl..."

"You and I will take him outside," Bishop said through her teeth, "and have a little chat with him. Bob-"

Bobby's hands lowered. "If you lay hands on either one of our kids, I will have you behind bars so fast the cell door will hit your ass."

"Or another part of your anatomy," Alex snapped as Shanice Dannin and Bishop spun the interloper around and strong-armed him out the door.

"Jesus...sorry!" Wagner said in distress. "Olivia, let me see your arm, hon. Did he hurt you?"

Olivia lifted her right arm. "It's only a bruise, Mr. Wagner."

"I'll get some ice," he said briskly and walked to the compact refrigerator the hotel had reserved for his breaks, returning with ice cubes in a cloth napkin.

Olivia wanted to get on with her meal, but she was polite and applied the ice pack to her arm. "Thank you, Mr. Wagner. It's fine, truly. Oh, and I brought you Conchie, too. Papa edited it for our neighbor Mr. Volpe," and she swallowed. "He died. He left us his house. He was in Korea, though, not World War II."

"Thank you, Olivia," Wagner said, seeing the shadow that still crossed her face when she mentioned Bruno.

"This had something to do with the props, too?" Bobby asked thinly as they returned to the table, both he and Alex checking the bruise on her arm before sitting down again.

"Yes," said Wagner with disgust, collapsing in his seat. "That's MacKenzie Saunders III. 'Mac' to friends, 'Little Mac' as a kid. Before he died, his father apparently told him the props were supposed to go to the family."

"Another court case?" Alex asked sharply. The elderly actor suddenly looked pale and tired.

"Possibly," Wagner sighed, putting his hand to his forehead. "I'm so sorry about this."

"It's not your fault someone else was an asshole," was Alex's brisk response.

The door to the room opened slightly, and Bishop called, "Bob, Alex...you want to press charges against Mr. Saunders?"

Bobby cocked his head at Olivia. "We'd have to make a statement then, wouldn't we?"

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped as she twisted her fingers in distress. "But...the Doctor Who panel is next-"

He nodded in understanding, patting Olivia's shoulder. "We'll skip it, Lynn. Min and Rand have been looking forward to this convention for m-months, and I won't ruin her afternoon by spending it at the local police station or trash their weekend for a...um...mistake." Then there was steel in his voice. "But you tell Mr. Saunders that Alex and I both meant what we said."

"Will do," she answered and shut the door.

"Wanker," Olivia muttered under her breath, but presented a sunny face to Wagner. "Randall and I need to finish so we can see the Doctor Who panel. But thank you again for the ice." She slipped two more sliders and waffle fries on her plate. "Do you watch that series, Mr. Wagner? We love the old ones and the new ones, too.. My favorite old Doctor is Jon Pertwee..."

She sparkled as she talked, with Randall offering his own opinions, and Alex smiled and shook her head as Bobby leaned back, content, to watch them.

The adults hung back on the way to the panel in question, Alex remarking, "You did good back there, just keeping him in place."

"I won't tell you what I wanted to do," he growled.

"I know," she said darkly, then added, "I had a brief and unrealistic fantasy about his junk and brass knuckles."

He snorted, "And Moran thought I was the dangerous one. As Rudyard Kipling said..."

She considered a moment, then admitted. "I must have missed your discourse on that aspect of Kipling. What exactly did he say?"

"That 'the female of the species is deadlier than the male.'"

Alex knitted her brows. "If he gets near our kids again, he'll find out that's true."

The children's new friend Asher jumped up from his seat as they walked in the door of the panel room. "Hey, guess what we saw! The cops escorted a guy out of the hotel! Real cops, not the security guard!"

Olivia said, blasé, "We saw him, just with the security guard, though. He was aw'fly upset. Wonder what set him off?" Then she turned to Alex. "Mama, this is Asher Paulson. Asher, this is my mother; you haven't met her yet."

"Cool as a cucumber," Alex said, shaking her head as they sat down, Olivia and Randall leaning sideways to hear Asher's account of the police action.

"Look, why don't you go back with Lynn? I had the feeling you were enjoying yourself. They'll be okay."

"And you?" she said lightly as she rose from her seat.

"I have my orders, too."

"See you later, then." She bowed her head so that their foreheads touched, then strolled away.

A little while later, he tapped Randall on the shoulder and whispered, "Remember!" Randall nodded. Then he wandered back into the hallway, intending to hit the dealer's room for ideas for Olivia's upcoming birthday when he saw the judge from the Star Trek panel sitting on one of the sofas lining the hallway, reading a book about the Supreme Court. The man glanced up and said hello, so Bobby stopped to talk to him and then put off his mission until later--in fact, so much later that Olivia and Randall finished the Doctor Who panel, attended a second panel on 1990s animated series (with Olivia ready to talk Daria), then sent a text saying they would be in the dealer's room--and discovered their father still deep in conversation.

"We sent you a text, Papa," Olivia said, standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back, and Randall snorted, for both Bobby and the judge--he was introduced as Judge Bolden--looked surprised.

Bobby asked, "Don't you have a second panel?"

"It's over, Dad, and we're going to the dealer's room."

Bolden glanced at his watch. "Oh, good God. I have a panel right now...nice talking to you, Bobby," and he picked up his book and satchel, hurrying down the hall to the Star Trek room.

Olivia was giggling now, and Randall had his hand over his mouth.

"As if you've never forgotten the time while talking," Bobby scoffed, ribbing his own shortcomings.

"But we get called out for it. Besides, Mama always says men talk too much," finished Olivia with a grin, taking his hand.

They had supper at Silverhorn again, then headed back for one last panel, Wagner's Nautilus II presentation, in the Berkshire Ballroom. The crowd was primarily older people, and they took seats up front; Randall was so close he could almost touch the Lieutenant Philbrick uniform.

Precisely on the hour, a tall woman with white hair, dressed in a 50s cowboy shirt and stonewashed jeans, came to the front of the ballroom with a wireless microphone. "Greetings, Nauties!"

Half the audience cheered.

"For you younger folks in the audience," she added with a big smile, "yes, that's what we classic fans called ourselves. We thought it quite...daring at the time, but it was the 60s, after all. If you've seen Nautilus II, you must think it very old-fashioned and maybe...I think the word is 'cringe'...but back then, Lieutenant Philbrick and Captain Hicks were as popular as Sam and Dean Winchester. Who could forget Hicks shirtless in 'Ghost of the Diving Bell'? Or Oz encountering the siren mermaid?

"Ladies and gentlemen," and now she opened one arm wide and shouted into the microphone, "give it up for Oz Philbrick himself, Mason...Wagner!"

The audience erupted in cheers and applause as Wagner appeared, wearing a broad grin and the infamous pink-spattered navy-blue coveralls he had worn in "The Pixie Invasion." Soon the entire room was chortling at his tales about that notorious episode and others, when, halfway through the presentation, a man seated midway in the ballroom asked about the lucky cat.

"Look," Randall whispered to Bobby, "it's the man dressed as Spock from last night." He was, in fact, still cosplaying Spock, but in his original series uniform.

Wagner carefully lifted the ceramic animal from the table.

"This is a maneki-neko, a lucky cat," Wagner explained. "They're sold all over Japan, a white cat with calico spots like this one, with one paw raised--that's what the name means, 'beckoning cat.' They're a sign of good fortune and typically can be found in stores and restaurants. This one has a slot in the top and was meant to be a coin bank. But it was something very special for Walter Nelson, who played Admiral Hariman; you see, like the admiral, Walt Nelson had served in World War II, in the Pacific on a destroyer, the USS Decatur. He joined in the last year of the war, 1945, and was a member of the occupying forces after the surrender was signed."

He took a deep breath, and Lynn Bishop, seeing his shoulders flag, picked up a chair from backstage and brought it up front for him. He apologized to the audience, who, almost as one, told him not to worry, and he continued his tale from the chair. "A lot of men after the war, after all the deaths, the shell shock, and the testimony about the prison camps, were still resentful of the Japanese people, and they showed it in their treatment of the survivors. But Walt became fascinated with Japan: its traditions, the arts, the kindness of its people, as opposed to their warmongers. He found this particular maneki-neko in a small village shop. The only worker there was a young woman whose parents were ill, although her mother still came to the shop to help her. Her brother had died for the empire. Her name was Sayaka Kawakami, and as far as Walt was concerned, it was love at first sight.

"They faced bigotry their first few years back in the United States," he concluded. "German war brides were treated badly enough, but Japanese even worse. Walt's dad never did accept Sandra, which was what she changed her first name to, but they had a long, happy marriage that only ended when Walt passed away. Sandra's gone now, too, but their story always reminds me that love can trump bigotry."

Now everyone in the audience applauded, but the Spock cosplayer still had an additional question: "Was there any truth to the rumor that the cat contained something...valuable?"

Wagner looked surprised, then shook his head. "It's just a lucky cat, one that could be bought in any of dozens of gift shops in Japan, even now." Carefully grasping the ceramic cat, he shook it. "See, no rattle, no clink. Open the rubber stopper in the bottom and see for yourself. Not sure where these stories come from. Yes, person in the superb Delenn costume, what's your question?"

"Spock" remained standing for a few seconds, his expression a very un-Vulcan look of affrontery, then sat while the woman proceeded to ask Wagner to confirm or deny a complicated fan theory concerning Mitch Wallace's romantic relationships on Michigan Avenue PD, which he patiently answered, and Alex murmured to Bobby, "Great. He doesn't have enough problems with the props lawsuit; now someone's created rumors to make one of them more desirable. At this rate, Lynn will have to put on more guards. No one will want Mason to attend their conventions if it's a security risk."

At panel's end, most of the audience hurried from the room--there was a Yule Ball event in the main ballroom that evening--but Bobby sidled next to the Spock cosplayer, who had returned to his aloof persona--his badge also identified him only as "Commander Spock"--and asked chattily in his best Brooklyn tones, "Hey, man, me and the wife were big fans of Nautilus II as kids, watched the reruns on PIX, read everything we could find about the series back then. Never heard this rumor about the Admiral's cat. Where'd that come from? Cool mystery, huh?"

"Spock" blinked. They had pegged him as mid-forties, with very un-Spock grey eyes. Then he recognized Randall as his fan from the Silverhorn Steak House, and smiled. "It was on the web. Fanlore, you know, like the woman who asked about Wallace's love life."

"Do you think it might be true?" Olivia asked respectfully. "So much of what online is rubbish."

"Not as much as you think, young lady. So much of the real truth is hidden," he said with a knowing gleam in his eyes, then glanced aside as if he saw someone outside the room. "Sorry. A friend..." and he hurried away.

"Bet he believes Elvis is still alive," Alex commented wryly.

Bishop unlocked the door at the back of the room and beckoned them into the antechamber where they had eaten lunch that afternoon. They gathered to one side while the props were transferred there by the convention volunteers, including Tommy, and that room would be secured and guarded all night by one of Bishop's entourage.

"What's the deal with the cat?" Alex asked immediately, and Bishop shrugged. Just then Wagner entered with some doughnuts and coffee, the former which went directly to Randall's heart (or stomach, Olivia looked ready to joke).

"I have no earthly idea," Wagner sighed, sinking in a chair and dumping creamer and sugar in his coffee. "I got decaf--hope you don't mind, but I figured everyone wanted to sleep tonight. Lynn, your guard--is he well supplied with food for overnight? I've got some doughnuts for him."

"He's experienced: brought his own meal and coffee. I'm sure he'll enjoy the doughnuts. I stressed Saunders' appearance this afternoon and apprised him of the cat remark. He's forewarned."

"I've heard tons of odd stuff from fans--about the cast, the crew, and even the sub model, but no one's ever come up with 'something hidden in the cat' before," Wagner said with a roll of his eyes. He twinkled at the children. "Did you enjoy my presentation?"

"Yes, sir!" Randall replied happily, having disposed of a doughnut and one of the two cartons of chocolate milk Wagner had supplied for each child. "I want to see the show now."

"I'll see if I can get you the DVD set before the con is over. But I warn you, it's no Star Trek."

"We can order a set," Bobby said hastily.

"Papa, Mama," Olivia requested after a few minutes of chatter, "please, can't we see what the Yule Ball is like?"

They took their leave of Wagner and Bishop and strolled to the other end of the complex where the event was in full swing. The music was too loud for Randall, and he remained in the doorway with Alex and Bobby when Asher waved Olivia down, and together they did, so very properly, "Neville's Waltz"--although, to her parents' amusement, Olivia's boarding school dance classes were evident, as she seemed to be leading more than he.

Then the band shifted into an ear-splitting version of the Weird Sisters' "Do the Hippogriff" before Olivia reluctantly admitted she was tired and they headed back to the room for some quiet time with the animals before bed.

Bobby's phone rang just before ten o'clock.

"Y'all havin' fun with the Trekkies, Wonder Boy?" Harry Cavanaugh asked genially when he answered.

"They're 'Trekkers,' Harry," Bobby answered in a deadpan voice. "'Trekkies' are pre-pubescent girls with a crush on Mr. Spock. You need to learn the nomenclature. So what's the word?" As he spoke, he wandered into the master bedroom and shut the door, Olivia staring after him in surprise.

"You're no fun, Goren, if I can't get a rise out of you," Cavanaugh complained. "And what do you know about Orden des Ebers?"

Bobby paused only a beat. "Order of the Boar. A German social organization similar to the Masons, founded in the 18th century in Saxony, initially by foresters. They have lodges in the United States, especially in largely German-American communities."

"Someday I'm goin' to find something you don't know."

Bobby chuckled. "Well, I do have an unfair advantage on this one."

"Oh, right, CID. Germany. So, Orden des Ebers...fraternal organization that included two brothers Troyer. Not to mention the chief of police and the medical examiner of the local township."

"Lodge brothers. Of course. So...cover-up?"

"Not enough evidence yet. But...coincidental."

"An actuary I know says there's no such thing."

"Do tell. Well, I'm just reportin' the latest. Alex bored yet, wandering among the Spocks?"

"Enjoying herself, in fact. There's someone here doing security who worked with Major Case. And the kids are having a great time."

"Good. I'll call again, but I'll have to ingratiate myself with this crowd before I can get what I need. Might be awhile."

"Harry," Bobby said as soberly as he could, "just use that modest, self-effacing charm of yours."

Cavanaugh cheerfully blew a raspberry. "Now, now, Wonder Boy--remember: make it so..."

Bobby laughed and pocketed his cell. When he emerged, the children had already retreated to their room to get ready for bed. Alex eyed him. "Interesting times?"

"Too many secrets," he said, quoting one of their favorite films.