Whoops, I lied. This is the last posting before my computer hiatus.

Disclaimer: I do not own the world, only these events.

This works as either a oneshot or a sequel to both Infiltration and Operation. It is also the last of this loose trilogy.

(twitches) Apparently, many of you don't understand the terms "oneshot" and "ending." ¬.¬ Let me be perfectly clear: I have no continuation planned. All plotbunnies on this tangent have been already been rounded up and typed up into stable form. (And the last time I listened to you people and continued, I ended up with Dissociation, which has taken on a life of its own.)

This is just for the people who really want to know exactly what happened. I personally like ambiguity, if you hadn't noticed, but Jackie G and manzanita made me feel I had better clarify what I was thinking.

(Edited 11/05 for clarity. As per my new policy, anonymous reviews get answered in my profile.)

Conan had not been expecting to get shot. Most people don't when they're walking through a park on their way to somewhere else.

All he knew was a sudden crack and an impact that spun him part of the way around, and then pain. Much pain.

Stunned, he fell to the ground, unable to do much else. Through his shock he managed to put a hand the spot where he had been hit, his fingertips coming away wet. Dazed, his thoughts came in fragmented flashes.

Shot…

Am I going to die…?

Who…?

Is it…did They finally catch up with me? Why now?

Instinct told him to lie still. If the shooter was trying to kill him and also trying to keep a low profile, perhaps they would go away if he played dead…

He heard footsteps approaching, and tried not to breathe. They came closer, closer, closer. Through eyelids cracked open the barest fraction Conan saw a glimpse of black shoes under black pants, and suddenly didn't need to feign being frozen still.

The footsteps came on until they were bare feet from him, and Conan had to fight to keep from hyperventilating. There was no way the person could fail to notice he was still alive…

And the feet stayed still right next to him, every second dragging out agonizingly slowly. Conan fought down rising panic and slight hysteria at the irrational thought that surely the operative could hear his heart beating. It was so loud it was obviously trying to pound its way out of his chest.

More moments passed, and then a low, smoke-hoarsened voice of a middle-aged man said, "Good."

And footsteps receded.

An instant later, a siren sounded, the Doppler telling him that it was approaching and the volume that it was very close. Even through his disorientation, something struck Conan as odd.

What…? That's too fast. Even if someone saw me being shot and called immediately, it should have taken them longer to get here.

That concern took a back seat to another realization.

So the operative left. Does that mean I'm really so badly hit there's no way I'm going to make it?

It is in a vital area. And it hurts a lot.

Funny, it doesn't seem to hurt as much as it did a minute ago. I don't remember that happening last time.

Does that mean I'm going into shock? That I'm really dying this time?

And then he noticed something.

Whatever was on his hand, it wasn't blood. Over his time as a detective he had become far more familiar with blood and how it dried than he cared to admit, and this was staying far too gooey.

His brow wrinkled imperceptibly. What in the world…?

And then a breeze blew toward his face, a scent hit him, and if his eyes hadn't been closed they would have widened in shock.

Only one person would – or could – make a cherry pie filling paintball capable of being fired from a sniper rifle.

Kaito…? What the…?

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard Satou's voice, but he was completely focused on this new twist.

We talked about – but I never thought that he would –

What exactly is going on?

His musings were cut off by footsteps, approaching rapidly this time. He got barely a slitted glimpse of black before the world abruptly whirled and it was all he could do to remember to play dead as he was hoisted and jostled as his bearer rapidly moved away from where he had fallen, making eerily little noise as he did so. Conan got a good look at the back of a black jacket in the process, though it didn't tell him much.

He continued to play possum as the black-clad man crouched next to him in the protection of a grove of bushes. The man was facing mostly away from him, but he did get a look at one of his hands. They were weathered and slightly callused, signs of wear and hard work that went oddly with the neat new black suit. Though they would be perfectly in character for an Org agent… Conan repressed a shudder. There was the voice, too, the roughened voice of someone who had knocked around a bit and was familiar with the shadier side of the docks – had participated in it, even.

But Kaito was a master of voices and disguise and would surely somehow have contacts that could provide such details…

There was time then, as the emergency personnel examined the area, and that was definitely Satou's voice in the middle of it all. He could get up, shout, run, be discovered. It would serve Kaito right if the magician was messing around. But this was one thing that Kaito would not joke about, not pulling a prank that looked like this. And it would be deadly for everyone if that was a real Org agent whose gun Kaito had sabotaged. If it really was Kaito sitting beside him…there had to be a reason he hadn't explained. Which meant they must be watched, or bugged, and it would look suspicious if the surveillance was thwarted. And so Conan kept himself completely limp, and tried not to breathe.

And vowed to himself that if this did turn out not to be serious, Kaito was in for some serious payback.

And then the other footsteps and voices receded, and there were a few tense moments of silence until motors started up and faded into the distance.

"Police are gone. Time to 'dispose of' your body. " Anyone else might have thought the man was musing to himself. He turned and Conan stayed limp as his captor rapidly removed all traces of the sticky stuff from fingers, clothes, and ground. The man got up and walked back into the clearing, and Conan heard sounds of a shovel and plastic bag. The man returned, and through slitted-open eyes Conan saw a bag of red-stained turf and a plastic shovel, both of which the black operative put into another bag.

Making sure no one, including the rest of the Org, gets an analysis of that stuff, while looking like he's just cleaning up. That has to be Kaito, right? I don't think anyone else in the Org would do that…

Conan was not expecting to be rolled up in cloth himself and slung over a shoulder and barely retrained himself from letting out a muffled squawk. It took him a lot of mental repetition of the danger he was in and that Kaito was putting himself in for both their sakes to endure the walk that followed. And that almost wasn't enough to stop him from yelling in protest after he felt himself put down and heard the unmistakable click of a car trunk closing. Then the engine started, and Conan had to resign himself to staying put.

There is very little to do in a car trunk when you cannot communicate and even less when you are rolled up in a thick cloth. Conan had ample time to decide that he did not like car trunks and did not ever want to be in one again.

Then the engine stopped, and the trunk opened. Conan heard the rustling as the bag with the evidence of his 'murder' or the lack therof was taken out. Then there was a clunk that reminded him of the sound a mailbox made when you deposited a letter, and then a sort of mechanical grinding crunch.

And then it was his turn to be lifted out of the trunk. Conan did get worried when he caught a glimpse of the incinerator sign and felt himself placed in the chute, the outside lid closing with a clunk. He had a moment of genuine panic that he had miscalculated when he heard the grinding of mechanical controls and felt the panel under him tilt, and he slid down, a blast of warm air hitting his side…

…and another panel slid out, blocking the vent to the furnace and opening a new passage. Still wrapped in the cloth and unable to alter his course, Conan fell through the gap in the floor of the chute –

– and fell –

– and landed, knocking the wind out of him.

He struggled upright after a few confused seconds and finally fought his way free of the wrappings. He found himself on one end of a small mattress in an obviously hidden room. The wall was warm beside him, and muffled clanking and whirring of machinery was audible in the distance.

Any doubts about who had arranged this vanished as soon as he started exploring his surroundings.

The room was small, but Conan didn't mind that; it was impressive enough that it existed at all. It was lit by a single fluorescent tube – always on, Conan noted, so that the energy use wouldn't change if the room was occupied. A cleverly designed partition folded out over the mattress so that sleep would be possible for the room's occupant.

Everything was white, but that didn't say anything. Neither did the cases of canned and dried food, the small hotplate, or the small but functional toilet and sink – Conan wondered briefly how the plumbing and electricity had been arranged, then decided that he was probably happier not knowing.

The digital Kaitou Kid clock and calendar was a definite hint, but it was the cabinet with shelves of costumes and disguise supplies, including a spare Kid costume in a box, and countless Kid gizmos, parts, and tools that really gave the game away. Conan's eyes lit up; he could happily spend weeks poking around those, figuring out their secrets. Kaito had probably planned that on purpose so he would be content staying put, he acknowledged with a grin. This had to have been a prepared Kid hideout in case the Kaitou needed to lay low for a while. It was really kind of touching that Kaito had decided for him to use it.

The real prize, however, was the small white cell phone he found wrapped in a cloth on the same mattress he had landed on. It made sense when he thought about it; Kaito couldn't exactly have made modifications to the room after joining the Org for fear of the secret being discovered. All he could have done without suspicion was drop a very few special somethings in. Like him.

On a hunch, Conan checked for messages. Sure enough, there was a single text message. It proved to contain only a phone number. Conan entered it and began to spin the dial on his bowtie, which he was thankfully still wearing; it wouldn't do to give Them any clues that he was still alive after Kaito had gone to all that trouble, now did it?

A sudden mischievous impulse seized him, and he changed the voice setting before dialing the call through.

The call was picked up almost immediately.

"Yes." The voice was the same rough male voice he knew from the grove.

"It went successfully?" Conan smirked as the voice of a young woman issued from the bow tie, just a little sultry.

"Yes. Your assistance in dealing with the local law enforcement was invaluable." The reply was deadpan.

Conan grinned. "That's what I'm here for."

"I trust you appreciate the necklace I left for you."

Conan looked down at the bow tie, amused, and then at the cell phone. "Oh, indeed. I'm wearing it right now. The matching earrings are a nice touch, too."

"I thought you might like them. Is the rest of your compensation to your liking?"

"Quite. The facilities are very impressive." Conan gave a slight emphasis to 'facilities.'

"Good. Lay low until they stop looking for any accomplices of mine. I'll use my other contacts in the meantime. I'll contact you if anything requiring your expertise comes up."

Conan nodded thoughtfully. "Understood."

He ended the call, and put the cell phone down on a shelf, adjusting the bow tie dial.

And smiled sardonically as he pulled down the partition and lay down on the mattress, the cloth he had been wrapped in proving a decent blanket.

He was effectively out of the game now; Kuroba had seen quite efficiently to that. It was all up to Kaito now, and the small detective wished him luck.

It's anyone's move, when one plays both the white and the black.