"I'm sure I don't have to remind anyone what we say in this room goes no further," Frank Fuller announced.

Seated around the conference table were the members of the All-Sec group; representatives of the CIA, the National Security Agency, and the Department of Homeland Security. Representatives from the State and Justice Departments had also been invited; those agencies having been the main source of the leaks.

"I know you've all been concerned," he continued, "about the amount of sensitive information getting into the hands of the wrong people. We've all been conducting separate investigations and they haven't gotten very far. Well today, we may have had a break."

The representative from the NSA looked skeptical. "What kind of a break?"

"I'll leave it to SAC Young to explain." Frank nodded toward Rachel who was standing at the head of the table. "She's the one who brought this matter to my attention. Agent Young."

"Thank you sir. Two weeks ago, Dr. Hood, the Special Science Advisor of the FBI, attended a dinner held at the Willard Hotel honoring the Director of National Intelligence."

Around the room heads nodded, several of these people had also attended the dinner.

"Today, a letter, along with some pictures of Dr. Hood," Rachel's lips twitched, "that might be termed embarrassing, were delivered to him here at the Hoover Building. What I'm handing out is a photostat of the letter."

"Where's the original?" the man from the CIA interrupted.

"At our lab, they're testing the letter and the envelope for latents and any other identifying information." Rachel responded. "We believe this letter may be the key as to how this information is being leaked."

She paused as everyone read the letter she had handed out.

'Dear Dr. Hood,' the letter read, 'I hope you enjoy the pictures of you and your charming companion. For some reason, I don't feel your superiors at the FBI would be pleased to learn a man with your security clearance has been sharing pillow talk with a woman of, shall we say, questionable virtue? I suggest you call me at 703-555-2409 to discuss this situation.' There was silence in the room as everyone digested the contents of the letter. Then the questions came, fast and furious.

"Did Hood give you the letter voluntarily? Are you sure he only got it today?"

"Do you think Hood has already leaked intel?"

"Have you traced the phone number?"

"Where is Dr. Hood? Why isn't he here and what does he have to say for himself?"

Rachel patiently addressed the group. The letter was delivered today. Since Dr. Hood was in the field, his mail was being dealt with by an administrative assistant; it had been brought to her attention immediately. They hadn't requested he attend the meeting, the situation he was dealing with was delicate and a matter of national security. And despite what the letter implied, they were positive there was no leak. As for the phone, it was a burner cell, purchased from a convenience store in Dupont Circle. There was no way to trace it further.

"How about the pictures? Have you isolated the woman, run her image through facial recognition software? If we could find out who she's working for it would be a major step forward." The man from the CIA leaned forward, she was clearly skeptical about Rachel's assurances no harm had yet been done.

A ghost of a smile passed over Frank's face. "There's no need. We already know who she works for." He looked at Rachel with raised eyebrows. "You're gonna have to show them the pictures sooner or later."

Rachel nodded her head, a small grimace twisting her lips. She wasn't going to find this pleasant. She knew these men had a tendency to discount her opinions, to downplay her contributions to any discussion. She had carefully kept her private life from them, she didn't want them to use her childcare responsibilities or marital status as ammunition against her. She felt instinctively if they knew her husband was a close friend of the director they would assume she only obtained her position through his influence.

Opening the folder in front of her she leafed through the pictures. Frowning slightly, she slid one photo under the folder; the remainders down the table. Eager hands reached out to retrieve them. There was a moment of startled silence as heads swiveled toward her and more than one mouth dropped open.

The representative for the State Department cleared his throat nervously. "Err, SAC Young, these seem to be pictures of you and Dr. Hood, um, making out. Why did the letter imply he was with a, er, a prostitute?"

"I believe Dr. Hood was tagged by the bartender as a suitable candidate for blackmail. He must have misunderstood our conversation."

"I don't understand," the man persisted. "How in the world could he have thought…?"

"I think," Frank interrupted, "whatever SAC Young and her husband get up to in their private lives is not relevant here. The only thing that matters is this blackmail attempt, misguided as it is, is a credible lead into these leaks."

"Her husband?" squeaked the man from State. Once again heads swiveled in Rachel's direction and mouths dropped open.

"If you ask me, it's proof we're not dealing with whoever is behind these leaks." The man from the CIA tossed away the photo in his hand dismissively. "Too many mistakes have been made. They send the letter here without making any attempt at insuring he's the one to receive it, open it." He flicked finger at the pictures, "then for Christ's sake, they send pictures of him and his wife." He sneered at Rachel. "It's obviously a clumsy, amateurish attempt at blackmail." There was a murmur of agreement.

Rachel stuck her chin out stubbornly. "I disagree. They did make an attempt to insure he would be the one to open the letter. It was marked personal and confidential. Targeting Dr. Hood was a mistake, but it was only because he lives such a private life. Whoever is behind this would have to look long and hard to discover not only that he's married, but married to me. I don't use his name professionally and we don't lead the kind of social life that gets our names or pictures in the paper." She shrugged, "whoever was behind those pictures has a lot of people in his pocket. And that kind of assistance doesn't come cheap."

"What assistance? Someone with a cell phone could have snapped those pictures." the CIA agent scoffed.

"Trust me, there was no one with a cell phone anywhere near us." Rachel's tone was frosty. "Those pictures were taken in an elevator and a hallway at the Willard, we were quite alone. No, whoever is responsible for sending those pictures, letter, has quite a few employees of the hotel, maybe other hotels in the city, on their payroll."

The man from Homeland Security seemed to be taking Rachel and the situation seriously. "How many people are you talking about?"

Rachel began ticking off possibilities on her fingers. "The bartender for sure. He was the only one who could have overhead what we were saying to each other, who knew Jacob was not only an FBI employee, but one with a high security clearance." She flushed slightly, "Plus, the assumption I was a prostitute had to come from him. Then someone with access to the security footage; there's no other way they could have gotten those pictures. And someone either from the front desk or the accounting department; someone who could confirm the name from the billing information. I doubt the bartender recognized him."

"Are you sure?" someone objected. "Maybe he used a credit card in the bar."

Rachel rolled her eyes. Even with the evidence right in front of them, they refused to acknowledge she might know what she was talking about. "No, we each only had the one drink, paid for them with cash.

She looked around the room. "When you put it all together, it really is genius. You pay a bunch of hotel employees for information that's embarrassing but not sensitive, nothing that would seem like a security risk. Nothing to make them think they're doing anything really wrong. Shit, people sell stuff like this to the tabloids all the time; I'm sure the staff is used to turning a blind eye to a lot of stuff."

"I think her theory has merit. It's one of the few scenarios that makes any sense."

Everyone in the room scrambled to their feet, except for Frank Fuller. They had been so intent on the pictures, the conversation; they hadn't realized the Director of National Intelligence had entered the room. Frank nodded to the newcomer.

"I agree Warren. I think we've been handed a major break here."

The Director took a seat at the table, gathered up the pictures and a copy of the letter. Pursing his lips he read the letter, flipped through the pictures several times. He looked at Rachel with open amusement on his face; she braced herself for his remarks.

"It's nice to see Dr. Hood's many absences aren't interfering with your happy marriage." He winked at her, "or would it be more accurate to say his many absences enhance your happy marriage?"

"Uh, yes sir." Rachel hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt.

Taking pity on her, the Director brought the conversation back to business. "Well Frank, I'd say it's only fair since the FBI brought us this break, the FBI take the lead role in the investigation." He looked around the table with raised eyebrows, "as I'm sure we all agree."

The others looked rebellious, but they had no choice but to nod their heads.

The Director continued, "And while I have no authority to dictate your staffing." He grinned at Frank who acknowledged his point with wave of his hand, "I'd suggest you put Young here in charge of the task force."

"Excellent idea, Warren." Frank turned to Rachel. "What's the first step? Should we bring in the bartender for questioning?"

"Not yet, sir." Rachel was decisive. "He's a little fish. Bringing him in will only alert the ones higher up in the food chain we're on to them."

"What do you suggest?" the Director asked.

Rachel's lips curved up. "We're going to let Dr. Hood be blackmailed."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I don't understand," Jacob looked from the pictures in his hands up at Frank and Rachel. "I mean, how can I be blackmailed over pictures of me kissing my wife?"

"I dunno Jacob," Frank, grinning openly, leaned down and plucked one of the pictures from the stack Jacob was holding. "Looks like you're doing more than kissing her in this one."

Jacob grabbed the photo back, a blush staining his cheeks. "I think you're a little out of line," he snapped. "I don't make remarks about what you and Karen….."

"Could we please get back on task," Rachel asked through gritted teeth. "As I've been trying to explain, whoever sent them assumes you'll go to some lengths to keep their existence from the eyes of the Bureau. We need you to make the call, to find out exactly what they want from you."

"Oh come on, Rachel," Jacob protested. "I can't believe this. I mean, even if they weren't pictures of us, how damaging are they really? Ok, so I picked up a woman in the bar," he smirked a bit. "That's more your business than the FBI's. Why should they care?"

Frank and Rachel exchanged glances. Frank cleared his throat. "Uh, Jacob, yeah, I'd have a big problem if I thought you were picking up whores in hotel bars." He raised an eyebrow, "and no, it's not because you're a married man. You may not think about it, but you happen to have a damned high security clearance. If you put your mind to it, you could access all kinds of sensitive shit."

Jacob looked taken aback. He had never given his security clearance a second thought. He took it for granted he would have access to the information he needed to solve any problem he investigated. While he realized first Rachel, and now Terrance, kept a close watch on any files they were given, he had never wondered why. If asked, he would have said they didn't want to misplace them. In retrospect, he recognized they were actually keeping the contents of those files secure.

"Ok," he said reluctantly. "What do you need me to do?"

Rachel gave a sigh of relief; Jacob was finally taking the situation seriously. She handed him a cell phone; one specially prepared for him. This phone would automatically record his calls without alerting whomever he was speaking with. It also contained a small, powerful bug. Even when kept in his jacket pocket, it would pick up and transmit his conversations.

Carefully Jacob punched in the phone number specified in the letter. "Yes, this is Dr. Hood; I believe you've been expecting my call?"

As Frank and Rachel monitored the call, Jacob made arrangements to meet with the blackmailer. Rachel had a bad moment when Jacob objected to the location the man proposed. She began waving her arms, trying to signal to him that he should be more agreeable. Jacob pursed his lips and shook his head. The original proposal was to meet in the Constitution Gardens. Jacob objected saying it was too secluded a place. He suggested they meet on the Mall. It was a high traffic area; it wouldn't look odd if anyone noticed him there, unlike the Gardens. The man on the phone, after a brief hesitation, agreed to the change of location. He specified, however, he would call Jacob the next day to set up the exact spot where they would meet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Two days later

Sitting on a bench on the Mall eating an ice cream cone, Jacob looked around in idle curiosity. To an on-looker he appeared to be a solitary tourist, or perhaps an employee from one of the surrounding museums, enjoying his lunch break. In reality, he was passing the time wondering how many of the people surrounding him were genuine tourists and how many were members of the surveillance team.

He hadn't realized how fierce the inter-agency rivalries were; he had thought all that nonsense had gone out the window after 9/11. He had been especially amused by how disgruntled the CIA member of the task force had been when he realized he would be relegated to a watching brief. Rachel had been rather gleeful when she had informed the man under federal law he was ineligible to take part in this action. Jacob stiffened briefly when a man, also eating an ice cream cone, sat down on the other end of his bench. He flashed a small smile at the man, but relaxed when his slight overture was ignored.

Finishing his ice cream, Jacob took a quick look at his watch. He frowned; it was almost ten minutes past the time the blackmailer had specified for the meeting. He wondered if the man had changed his mind, if he suspected he was being set up. He glanced at his watch again, deciding he would wait ten more minutes.

"I would have expected a world-class scientist to be more patient." The man at the other side of the bench chuckled. "But after your performance the other night and now today, I am obviously mistaken."

Jacob immediately recognized the voice as belonging to the man on the phone. He studied him thoughtfully for a few moments. The man was non-descript; medium build, medium coloring, and judging from how he sat on the bench, most likely medium height. He was also wearing oversized sunglasses which hid most of his face. Jacob doubted he'd be able to accurately describe him later.

"What you lack in patience you seem to make up for in caution," the man continued, looking around approvingly. "It's a very good meeting place, we must use it often."

"I chose this place for my convenience, not out of caution," Jacob answered coolly. At the man's raised eyebrows, he continued. "I didn't see why I should go out of my way to let you know you've made a mistake." His lips twitched. "My meeting you is a courtesy, I was tempted to ignore your letter."

"That would have been a mistake."

"Why?" Jacob shrugged. "So you have pictures of my indulging in some, uh, public displays of affection with my, uh, date. Who cares?"

"Don't be naïve," the man shook his head gently. "You know as well as I do, your superiors at the Bureau would take a dim view of a man with your security clearance consorting with known prostitutes. Ask the boys at the Secret Service if you doubt me."

"She's hardly a prostitute; she was my date for the evening."

"A date you picked up in the bar after the dinner was over? No, she was a prostitute."

"I still say you're making a mistake." Jacob raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a wealthy man; I can't afford to pay you much for those pictures."

The man smiled inwardly. The fact Hood went from denial to negotiating terms so quickly meant he was well aware of the threat those pictures were to his career.

"You have something much more valuable to me than money, Dr. Hood. You have access."

Jacob took a quick breath. He realized they had reached the point in the conversation Rachel had carefully outlined for him how to proceed. Any suggestion he provide sensitive information as payment of the blackmail could not come from him. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to put this bastard in jail as he deserved.

"Access? I don't know what you mean." Jacob gave a small huff of laughter. "I'm the Special Science Advisor for the FBI. I investigate abuses of science."

"Don't be coy. I understand you were once a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Physics. I'm sure you know exactly what I mean."

Jacob cocked his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not being coy. I don't have access to anything special. There's nothing secret about my work."

"I'm sure you're being modest, I've checked, you have an exceedingly high security clearance."

"Well, yes, but that's just a formality, to allow me to investigate as I see fit. I only have access to what I need to do my work."

The man smiled faintly, maybe this Hood was naïve. "That may have been true forty years ago, but not now. Everything is computerized. You have to be aware your security clearance gives you the authority to access to a wide variety of FBI resources."

"Well, yeah," Jacob shrugged. "Theoretically…."

"There's nothing theoretical about it," the man snapped. "And unless you get me the information I request, you are going to regret it."

"What do you mean?"

"I assume you enjoy your position with the FBI. Your cooperation will assure you are allowed to continue to do so. I already know how you pay me for my benevolence. The counter-terrorism division of the FBI has been developed a new security plan for American embassies located abroad I want a copy of that plan."

"I can't do that." Jacob protested.

The man stood and smiled unpleasantly. "I suggest you try. I expect to hear from you shortly. Either you have a copy of the plans within the week or those pictures go straight to the director of the FBI ." Turning, he walked off quickly and was soon lost in the crowd.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I don't understand," Jacob protested. "Why didn't you arrest him? I got him to say all the right things."

The members of the task force rolled their eyes. Now he had completed his part in the sting, they couldn't understand why Young was letting her husband hang around. Several of them shot Rachel annoyed looks.

Rachel responded soothingly. "We needed to follow him, see who he was in contact with."

"Why? You should pull him in, now. I'm sure you'll be able to convince him to tell you what he knows."

"Because your little wifey doesn't have enough for a decent interrogation," snapped the man from the CIA, "right now he could claim the whole thing's a joke. After all, how do you blackmail a man with pictures of him making out with his wife." He looked at Jacob witheringly, "how do you expect us to break him? Waterboard him?"

Jacob bristled at his insult of Rachel. "I'm sorry, but when did the CIA become so concerned about human rights violations? Or even basic human decency?"

"Now Jacob," Rachel chided, "that was uncalled for." Her rebuke was spoiled by the smirk she couldn't keep from her face. She turned to the others. "How has the trace gone with the other leaks? Have any of you been able to tie any of them to functions held at hotels?"

"Yeah, it turned out you called it," the man from the NSA was grim. "I have to admit, I didn't buy your theory. But I decided to trace back one of the more obscure leaks, investigate everyone who had access." He looked around the table. "One of the four people who had that intel were present at a fundraiser held at the Fairfax. We're holding off questioning him about the blackmail; if he is he might get desperate and tip the bastard off."

Rachel nodded; gratified at least some of the men were now taking her and her theories seriously. She turned to her colleague from Homeland Security who had been tasked with following the blackmailer after his encounter with Jacob.

"Did our blackmailer do anything interesting after he left the Mall?"

"You better believe it. First thing he did was head off to Embassy Row. He dropped in for about a half hour or so at the missions for both Sudan and the Cote d'Ivoire."

Heads snapped up at the mention of two countries that were suspected of harboring terrorists.

"Then he headed straight home. We caught a break though. He had the sunglasses off when he left the Sudan mission and we were able to get a clear picture of him. The super in the building ID'ed him, his name is Richard Valero. The super also let us into the empty apartment right under his; we've not only got eyes, we've got ears on him too."

"Any record?"

"Yeah, we ran the name and it turns out he has a rap sheet, embezzlement and fraud. We're running his financials now."

Rachel nodded in satisfaction. They were building a solid case against Valero. Once they picked him up they would have enough leverage to make him reveal the extent of his operations. She was about to adjourn the meeting when a cell phone buzzed. It belonged to the CIA agent.

"What?" he asked sharply. His eyes widened and his face showed a mixture of shock and excitement. "You're sure about that? That good a percentage? Ok, yeah, keep me posted."

He ended the call and announced, "we've picked up some interesting chatter. It seems Saif al-Adel is heading for DC. Word is he's in the market for information on U.S. security measures. You realize this changes everything. We need to get to the heart of Valero's organization and we need to do it quickly. If it turns out he's only a middle-man, we might not be able to follow the him and the blackmail material all the way back to his boss. We could lose al-Adel."

For a split second they all sat stunned, this case of blackmail could end in their capturing the head of security for al-Qaeda. Then the room erupted. This was a chance of a lifetime and they needed to act on it now. Most the people in the room thought they should pull Valero in immediately. They looked to Rachel to make the decision, she was, after all, put in charge of this operation by no less than the Director for National Intelligence.

"No," she said slowly, "if we pull him in now and he's working for someone, it would tip them off. We need to find a way to get him to tell us about his operation."

"How? We don't have time to set something up." said the man from Homeland.

"Actually, we have the perfect set-up," Rachel smiled.

The plan she outlined was simple. She would call Valero claiming Hood had tracked her down, accused her of being in on the blackmail scheme. She would tell Valero she had calmed Hood down and persuaded him to pay the blackmail. In exchange, she wanted a cut of the money. She would go on to suggest they team up; by working with her he could get much more effective blackmail material. As a show of good faith, and to prove what she could bring to the table, she would offer to meet with him the next day with a new blackmail subject wrapped up in a nice, neat package. Valero's reaction would go a long way to telling them what they needed to know. If he agreed, it most likely meant he was an independent operator. Plus, since they ears on him, they would be able to monitor any calls he might make; if it turned out he wasn't in charge of this blackmail operation.

The CIA agent looked at her in reluctant admiration. For a plan developed on the spur of the moment, it had an excellent chance of succeeding.

"I'll send my AA out to get a burner cell to make the call," Rachel announced. "That shouldn't take…."

"Here use this one," the CIA agent tossed a cell phone to Rachel. He shrugged as the others looked at him with raised eyebrows. "It's standard procedure at the Agency."

Everyone in the room held their breath as Rachel made her call. It went smoothly; Rachel was able to disarm the man's suspicions. At first he claimed he didn't know what she was talking about, but he quickly changed his tune as he realized Rachel was making a potentially lucrative business offer. He agreed to meet her at lunch the next day to discuss her proposition.

The others around the table nodded their heads approvingly. The only obstacle anyone could see was finding a suitable potential blackmail victim. They needed a legitimate public event and a plausible victim to allay any suspicions Valero might have. Some at the table began to roll their eyes again when Jacob hesitantly began to speak, but they snapped to attention when they realized what he was contributing.

"It's not political," Jacob said slowly, "but the National Science Foundation is sponsoring a dinner tonight honoring the candidates for the Waterman Award."

"What's the Waterman Award," the man from Homeland Security demanded. "Why would that dinner attract the kind of people Valero targets?"

"It's a research grant for scientists under thirty-five." Jacob explained "and the former winners are always invited. A lot of them continue doing research for the government. Some of them," a faint smile touched his lips, "work directly for the government." He raised an eyebrow, "there will be plenty of people there tonight with who work with classified information."

Rachel put into words what they were all thinking. "How do you know that?"

"I was invited." He shrugged. "I'm a former Waterman winner. I declined the invitation but I remembered the dinner's tonight." He added thoughtfully, "and now that I think about it, there are at least three former winners with security clearances as high as mine, or higher."

"Perfect!" Rachel exclaimed. "Someone Valero can Google to prove he's a legit target." She turned to Jacob. "Since you know these guys you can help us pick out an appropriate candidate."

A quick call to the NSF produced a list of those expected at the dinner. Without hesitation, Jacob selected Ian Baird. At thirty-five, he was not only the youngest man on the list, he was also the most likely to agree without asking to many questions. He was known throughout the scientific community as something of a rebel. He made no secret of his impatience with academic traditions and bureaucratic red-tape. More importantly, his latest research was being funded by DARPA.

Jacob felt an adventure like this would be right up his alley.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"This is so cool," Ian grinned at Jacob and Rachel.

Jacob had been right about the man. After making the call, Ian was brought to the Hoover Building to meet with Rachel. He had listened carefully to Rachel's explanations and theories. When he realized exactly what was expected of him that evening, he burst out laughing.

"You mean," he continued, leering at Rachel, "we get to make a sex tape?"

"Don't be offensive," snapped Jacob. "Honestly, Ian, this isn't a game they're playing. You do realize this man is asking me to commit treason? That he plans on selling sensitive government information to terrorists?"

"Oh come on, Jacob, lighten up." Ian protested. "I know this isn't a game, but shit, I mean, it sounds like something out of James Bond." He looked at Rachel mock solemnity. "I fully appreciate the seriousness of the situation and I'm more than willing to do what I can to help." He snickered, "I just never thought I'd be helping my country by letting a hot chick pick me up in a bar."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "And a grateful nation accepts your sacrifice," she said sarcastically. Her cell phone buzzed at that moment. She looked at the display and grimaced. "I have to take this, wait here for me, both of you."

As she left the room, Jacob folded his arms across his chest and glared at Ian. "You need to treat Agent Young with more respect. She's a decorated, highly trained federal agent, not some blond bimbo."

Ian looked at Jacob, exasperated. "Christ Jacob, when did you get such a stick up your ass? You've been hanging around with…"

He was interrupted by the opening of the conference room door. Ian broke off, prepared to greet the very attractive Agent Young with a double entendre. He was surprised to see a black suited FBI agent entering the room with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and a baby in his arms. He was further surprised when Jacob's reaction was to check his watch and utter an exclamation of dismay.

"Damn, I'm sorry Terrance; I didn't realize it was five o'clock already." Jacob held out his arms for the baby.

"That's ok sir. We're ready to go as soon as you are." Terrance replied as he handed Jacob his son.

"Who's this?" Ian asked, poking the baby.

"This is my son Isaac," Jacob's lips twitched and he nodded his head toward Terrance. "And that is Agent Terrance Mason, my FBI handler."

"Cute kid," Ian said dismissively before resuming his complaints to Jacob. "Look, just because I hit on Agent Young doesn't mean I'm not taking this situation seriously. Haven't you ever heard of mixing business with pleasure? And it definitely will be a pleasure to let her get me into a compromising position." He smirked, "I bet we can produce some very blackmail worthy pictures."

Before Jacob could reply, Rachel re-entered the room. Ian moved to intercept her. "Agent Young, or can I call you Rachel? After all, we are going to get to know each other pretty well tonight."

To his chagrin, she ignored him; her attention was caught by the infant in Jacob's arms. He rolled his eyes, he wouldn't have thought a tough federal agent would be gaga over babies. He needed to get Jacob and his kid out of the room so he could embark on a campaign to get the lovely Agent Young into his bed for real and not just for some phony pictures.

"I appreciate your getting me involved in this Jacob, but I think Agent Young and I can take it from here." He looked pointedly at the baby, "isn't it time for you and the kid to head home?"

"Yes, I suppose it is," Jacob murmured. He held Isaac out to Rachel. "Kiss mommy good-bye."

"Mommy, you mean, she's, she's your wife?" Ian stammered.

"Yep." Jacob nodded in satisfaction at the look on Ian's face; he wasn't looking quite so cocky. After kissing Rachel, he, Isaac and Terrance headed for home leaving a rather subdued Ian behind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was shortly before midnight when Rachel finally let herself into their apartment. She was grateful the only light burning was the nightlight in the hallway; Jacob had already gone to bed. She hadn't been looking forward to his questions about her nights' work. She shook her head, remembering the disapproving look on his face when she had stopped home to change for her upcoming encounter with Ian. He hadn't liked the very tight, very short, red dress she had donned for the occasion.

But the dress had done it's work. She had created quite a stir when she walked into the bar of the Mayflower. The Waterman dinner had just ended; Ian, along with a few of the other attendees, had adjourned to the bar to continue to gossip and catch up with the latest news. Ian had followed her directions flawlessly. Rachel was confident no one would have suspected their encounter was anything other than a high-priced call girl picking up a little business in the tony bar.

He was less enthusiastic when it came time to stage the pictures. He blushed when Rachel told him to take off his shirt and pants. He almost became apoplectic when she slipped out of her dress. It was only when she crossly told him if he didn't relax it would take twice as long to get some decent pictures that he began breathing normally. Using the mirror and the time-lapse feature on her small digital camera, Rachel soon had several pictures that seemed to show them in various stages of a sexual encounter.

She slid into bed carefully, trying not to wake Jacob. She gave a small sigh of relief when he stirred only briefly, long enough to gather her into his arms, before falling back asleep. If her plans worked out, they would both be having a busy day tomorrow.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Richie Valero spotted his luncheon companion as soon as he entered the restaurant. He silently congratulated her. In her black and tan dress, with her blond hair pulled back in a chignon and discreet pearls at her ears and throat, she looked like a lobbyist or a lawyer, not a prostitute. He approached her table confidently.

"Hello, Rachel, I believe you're expecting me?" He was amused by the appraising glance she ran over him. "We spoke yesterday, you had a business proposition for me?"

Rachel smiled at the man and extended her hand. "Yes, I think we might be able to join forces very profitably, Mr…?"

"Call me Richie." Valero sat and waited until the waiter was out of earshot. "I'm curious, why do you think you could make my business more profitable?" He smirked a bit. "I'm doing fine working solo, so to speak, why should I consider a partner?"

"What do you mean, so to speak?"

"I've told the staff at a the most exclusive hotels I work for a tabloid, pay them for pictures of the rich and powerful acting indiscreetly." He smiled, "as I'm sure you and our mutual friend discovered."

"Hmm, yes, I figured those pictures came from the security footage. You know, though, you're lucky our friend is so…skittish." Rachel shook her head dismissively. "Those pictures aren't that shocking, he could have easily passed them off, passed me off, as his date."

Valero shrugged. "Maybe, but the fact is, he didn't. I knew as soon as I got his call he was rattled, would agree to play ball."

"You had to take a chance, though, he could have ignored your letter." Rachel tilted her head. "Now I can guarantee you pictures that will make your mark sit up and take notice." She handed her small digital camera over. "These were taken last night. The subject is Ian Baird, he does some work for the Army, intelligence I think, and more importantly, he's recently become engaged. I'm sure he'd be willing to pay big bucks to keep those pictures from his fiancée."

Valero's eye's widened a bit at the pictures. "How in the world did you get these shots?"

Rachel smirked. "Practice. Plus, you wouldn't believe how many guys will agree to appear in their very own private porno movie. The suckers never think of the consequences."

She held out her hand for the camera. Rather than hand it back to her, Valero put it in his pocket. "You know something Rachel, I think you're right, a partnership between us will be very profitable."

Rachel smiled broadly and poured Valero some wine form the cooler besides the table. "Let's drink to a rewarding new venture."

They spent the rest of the lunch hammering out the details. Rachel pushed Valero hard on the topic of other partners in the blackmail scheme. She passed off her interest as wanting to make sure she was getting her fair share of the profits. By the time they parted, she was satisfied Valero was working solo. There was no reason not to bring him in.

Back at the Hoover Building, Rachel gave the orders that set the wheels in motion. The man from the CIA confirmed they had intel that placed al-Adel on a plane bound for the United States. Jacob was given a dummy copy of the security measures that had supposedly been put in place for the foreign embassies and told to arrange a meeting with Valero. The agents would pick the man up after Jacob handed off the material; that way they would have an air-tight case against him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob looked around nervously as he sat on his bench in the Mall. He had been given strict instructions by Rachel as to how he was to behave. He was to walk away from the bench as quickly as possible after handing the material over. They had no reason to believe Valero would resort to violence, but she had insisted Jacob be some distance away before Valero was arrested.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Hood, I'm happy you decided to see reason and cooperate."

Jacob gave a start. He had been so intent on remembering Rachel's instructions he had not noticed Valero's approach. He had to bite back his retort, he had almost involuntarily used Valero's name. He hoped the man would pass off his stutter as nerves.

"Umm, ahh, yes. I have the material you requested." He held out a folder. "I assumed you'd want a hard copy, to verify what I was handing over."

"How very insightful of you." Valero took the folder and carefully checked the contents. "Yes, this seems to be in order." He stood and held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Jacob ignored the man's outstretched hand; instead he turned and quickly walked off. His jaw clenched at the sound of Valero's laughter behind him. The laughter was cut short as federal agents quickly surrounded him. Jacob turned and watched with satisfaction as agents subdued Valero and placed him under arrest.

Valero glared at Jacob. "You son of a bitch," he spat out. "If you think I'm going down alone, you're crazy." He turned to the agent who was cuffing his hands behind his back. "You might want to bring in that bastard Hood. This isn't the first time he's sold me information. He's been selling me stuff for months."

"Don't worry, Dr. Hood will be accompanying us back to the Hoover Building." Terrance Mason looked over at Jacob, "isn't that right sir?"

"Oh yes," Jacob answered with satisfaction. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob stood in the observation room watching as a bored agent stood guard over Valero. Rachel and the man from the CIA were also there and they were intent on what Valero had to say. Even though the agent ignored him, Valero kept talking. He reiterated over and over that Hood was the real villain of the piece. Valero claimed he was merely a pimp; Hood was a customer with expensive tastes in whores. When he had run short of money, he had offered Valero sensitive government information in exchange for access to prostitutes.

"Why are you letting him ramble on like that?" Jacob demanded. His was very uncomfortable with the picture of himself Valero was attempting to paint.

Rachel looked at him in amusement. "I'm not ready to go in there yet. Let him dig his grave a little deeper." She looked at her colleague from the CIA. "What's the latest on the chatter."

"It's solid. al-Adel is in the DC area and ready to make a purchase."

Rachel smiled wolfishly. "Good, now I'm ready to go in there."

Her hair was still in a chignon, but she had changed from the dress she had worn at lunch to a severe black suit and white shirt. Her black reading glasses were sliding down her nose as she read the file she held in her had. Even so, Valero had no trouble recognizing the woman he had thought was his new business partner.

"Shit, you, you're…" he stammered.

"Special Agent Rachel Young," she announced crisply. "And I think you can stop trying to peddle that crap about Dr. Hood." She plucked the blackmail letter out of the folder and threw it on the table in front of Valero. "We both know better."

"This is entrapment. I'll testify this whole blackmail scheme was your idea, that letter's a fake."

Rachel silently raised an eyebrow. She pulled a recorder out of her pocket and pushed a button. Valero's voice, clearly threatening Jacob with exposure if he didn't cooperate was loud and clear. Realizing the feds had him dead to rights, Valero collapsed. He began wheedling Rachel, begging for a deal. He offered to turn over his blackmail files, identify others who had sold him information in exchange for a lighter sentence.

"No deal," Rachel said coolly.

"Fine," Valero snarled. "Then I want a lawyer, I'm not saying another word until my lawyer gets here."

Rachel raised both eyebrows this time. "Lawyer? What makes you think you get a lawyer?"

"I know my rights. So, honey, you just get on the phone and get me my lawyer."

She gave a bark of laughter. "I like that, you're ready to sell this country out and you still try to claim its protection. Well, I've got news for your Mr. Richard Valero. The moment you walked out of the Sudanese mission you were added to the terrorist watch list. You have been formally classified as an enemy combatant in the war on terror."

"What, I'm no terrorist!"

"Really? I hate to disillusion you but anyone who sells information to terrorists is one." Rachel leaned across the table, getting in Valero's face. "Basically you have two options here. You cooperate with the FBI, plead guilty to corrupting a government official, turn over your files, assist us in the capture of al-Adel, and then spend the next twenty years or so in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary."

"Or?"

Rachel sat back with a smile. "Or I turn you over to the CIA as a suspected terrorist and you disappear into Gitmo, or worse. Maybe you'll see the light of day again, maybe not."

Valero paled at the mention of the CIA. His shoulders slumped, "all right, what do you need me to do?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Valero looked around the Constitution Gardens bitterly. They had been a favorite venue of his, a perfect place to meet his blackmail victims. He wondered if that bitch Agent Young knew that, if that was why she had insisted he meet with al-Adel here. He watched as two gardeners began weeding the flower beds, well aware they were undercover FBI agents. He wondered where the others were stationed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel watched the surveillance feed from a van parked outside the gardens. This is when she most regretted her promotion from field agent; when the hunt was on and she had to sit on the sidelines and watch as others took down the bad guys. She found herself holding her breath as al-Adel came into range of the cameras. But Valero played his part; soon the al Qaeda operative was surrounded by federal agents. He was taken into custody and whisked away. Satisfied with a job well done, she picked up her phone and punched in a familiar number.

"Sir, Young here. It's over. We got him."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Good work Rachel." Frank Fuller hung up his phone and took up the glass sitting on his desk. He toasted his visitor. "We got him Warren."

The Director of National Intelligence raised his glass in return. "A good day's work." He gave a small huff of laughter. "Who would have thought, because your Science Advisor couldn't keep his hands off his wife, we end up capturing a major al Qaeda operative."

"She did a good work on this one Warren. It wasn't easy either, not with those pictures…"

"Hmm," the Director agreed. "She did a fine job." He raised an eyebrow. "In fact…."

"Forget it," Frank interrupted. "She's staying right where I need her."

The two men clinked glasses, in silent agreement that SAC Young had a bright future at the FBI.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Well?" Jacob looked up expectantly as Rachel entered her office. "Did everything go all right? Was there any trouble picking up al-Adel?"

"Nope, everything went off like clockwork. Valero handed off his documents and we moved in fast." She shrugged. "He's a pro, he knew we had him, didn't try to resist." A smile of satisfaction came over her face. "Even if we had to cede custody of him to Homeland Security, this was a real coup for the Bureau."

"The hell with the Bureau," Jacob objected. "This is a coup for you. You're the one who cracked the blackmail situation and ran the operation that brought al-Adel in. I hope those guys you work with finally learned their lesson."

"What do you mean?"

Jacob smiled smugly and put his arms around her. "That sometimes," he whispered in her ear. "The right man for the job is a woman."