"Oh God." 

Her voice is hoarse and from the sigh she heaves I know it's a common occurrence to be so wakened. 

Of course I'd know that anyway.

I move with her as she turns, moaning in resignation and disturbed sleep, the ridiculously high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets feeling like butter as they slide over my skin. I roll and stretch in arrogant comfort, gloating in the feel of them and reach for her as she groans and slams a hand down on the shrilly ringing cordless receiver.

"...yeah," she croaks out and then grunts as I burrow in, curling myself around her.  She lowers an arm around me as I sigh with pleasure and splay one hand over a span of skin and rib. 

"Huh?" She sounds somewhat less than intrigued, and when I open my own I see her eyes are still closed, dark lashes fanned out, forehead smooth, face relaxed. 

This changes immediately when I idly lift myself and lazily take a pink nipple carefully between my teeth and suck it gently in between my lips. 

One green eye pops open and peers at me inquisitively before she grunts and obligingly arches her back, sighing. 

I grin at her, nipple entrapped and she grins back, then winks albeit sleepily. 

"Cooper says hi," she happily informs the person on the other end and the shrill spill of Spanish from the receiver makes the two of us snort in merriment. 

"Goddang, she can cuss," I announce as Jinny grunts something in affirmation and breaks the connection.  "What you got?"

She wrinkles her nose at me.  "Floater.  God, I hate those."

"Yeech," I commiserate, rolling away as she slides out. 

I listen to noise in the next room as the water in the shower starts, the noise the plastic rings make as they sing along the aluminum pole when she parts the curtains, then burrow myself nose deep into four hundred fifty thread count sheets and sigh in pleasure.

Not on call.  That's me.

I wake next blinking in befuddlement. 

Someone is whistling the theme song to Bridge Over the River Kwai. 

Someone lying on the floor next to the bed.

It takes me more than a minute to ascertain it's my laptop thus tunefully calling me; more than a minute to grasp it's S'Phear. 

I turn sideways and lean off the bed, boosting myself on the palms of my hands and hit 'any key' as instructed by the annoying pop up messenger box which is whistling me cheerfully awake.

Immediately an MSN IM pops open. 

S'PhearHead : Good Morning Sunshine.

H. Cooper Finn: Piss off. 

S'PearHead:  Such language.

H. Cooper Finn: What time is it?

S'PhearHead: Is that one of those trick cop questions?  See what time zone I'm in?

I snort and roll my eyes. 

H. Cooper Finn:  Give me a break S'Phear.  Tell me something good.

There's only a brief pause before he responds.

S'PhearHead:  We're good to go.  I'm waiting on you to say 'when'.

I rock back, stunned, then slide off the bed onto the floor, grabbing for the lap top.

H.Cooper Finn:  Good to go?  For real?  Completely?

S'PhearHead: Yes. For real. Completely. You awake enough for details?

I instruct him to keep them to a minimum of geek; he does himself proud.

He's written not one, but two executable programs which will open and home run the incriminating data located on Massey's hard drive the instant a browser is opened.  The first part of the program is a worm, buried in a useless windows patch that serves a pointer to target our select audience.  Once initiated an infinite loop sequence begins targeting servers for all area newspapers, radio and television stations on line , the Governor of the state of California, the San Francisco Chief of Police, all California Universities, libraries and every judicial and criminal justice office within a two hundred mile radius . Systems ID'd with active media players will receive an MTV type glitz; cranked and spinning Macromedia Flash, a presentation complete with music and graphics guaranteed to keep the Generation X'ers talking for years... systems based on the Unix - supreme level of geekdom directory, geared to a more sober level of reality will spew out the same facts with less fairy dust. Immediately after, the second phase of the program will activate and take over the resident streaming video sending the same data to CNN, MSNBC, FOX and all affiliates on both coasts. The third wave of execution will take place a mere seventeen seconds after the first attack and will transfer the data to the DOJ, FBI, DEA, ATF and all other TLA's  and to every teletype system networked to one another through NCIC... every agency with a teletype system in every state will receive it.

S'PhearHead: There's where they'll think it's a virus, an attack. Approximately twenty seconds in. Someone will start trying to shut us down.

And then the program will begin 'nesting', he assures me. Isolating itself with every attempted keystroke, burrowing deeper and deeper into each system it's taken root, digging in. Rebooting, shutting down, restarting will make no difference~~ the Chandler-Massey show will be playing non-stop and the only way to shut it down will be to deactivate it with a 'key' and the code for that is already snuggled deep and dreaming on Massey's computer. Without gaining access to that key the computers involved are effectively shut down.

That's where I come in. S'Phear will give me the correct sequence of commands needed to shut down the flow of data from Massey's computer to the others and allow the affected systems to return to normal operation. The keystrokes will have to originate from Massey's computer although in the event he suddenly grows a brain cell and attempts to erase, reformat or physically destroy the machine the program can be deactivated by a remote command.

I sit back blinking, shocked and astounded at the scope and magnitude, brain reeling as I try to think of all possible scenarios which could go wrong, ruin things.

H. Cooper Finn: What resources does it tie up? It's not going to shut cities down is it? 911, traffic lights, etc?

S'PhearHead: No. It's not malicious. Utilities won't be affected. No power outages, no phone lines tied up, nothing. If we get our timing down right the initial onslaught of data won't last over one hundred twenty seconds. But it'll be there on every system it was sent to and it will print out on every system connected to a printing device.

Jesus. No wonder it's taken him this long to write. It's way past anything I'd thought we were going for.

H. Cooper Finn: How much of a risk are you taking? What's the odds of them tracing it straight back to you?

S'PhearHead: Tracing it back to me?  Risk is minimal.  But know anyone else who could write this? And working with you?  They'll trace that line from that point to this without even squinting.  But you're the one that's going to be sitting there, fading the heat on it. You're the one that's going to face charges when they ask who and how and you refuse to answer.

I consider telling him for a moment that I've already done county time for refusing to name him in the past, but don't.  I love that he's positive I won't sell him out and I consider telling him that also, but don't. 

As brilliant as he is, as many police resources as he's plundered, as many of my emails as he's hacked and read he undoubtedly is aware of both already. 

H. Cooper Finn:  So we're just waiting on me to tell you when to start it rolling?

S'PhearHead:  That's it, Huckleberry.

H. Cooper Finn:  Let me get with McCafferty and Sarge and start the ball rolling on the warrant for Massey's hard drive. 

"Make it look good," I tell Sarge, voice low as I recognize the arrogantly swaggering Massey approaching McCafferty's office, suited bulk turning sideways at times to avoid the desks and making no effort to not ogle backsides as he passes them.  He gives CD a generic leer and at the icy glare he receives in response he chortles delightedly, actually rubbing his hands together. 

He's in a great mood, no doubt at least partially due to the meeting about to occur between him, Sarge, McCafferty and myself.  The one where I am going to have my butt publicly chewed and humiliated.

I'm perched on the edge of Jinny's desk, arms crossed.  She and Magda are not present for the occasion being still out at the Bay in the area where the body washed up earlier.  I'm more than a little relieved they are absent; the urge to make eye contact with Jinny would be over whelming and I'm not positive I can stay in Defeated and Ashamed mode long with her anywhere near me because I am, quite honestly, feeling anything but.

I hadn't even flinched when Sarge had called me up on Jinny's telephone, hem hawing through an explanation of how McCafferty had given him the number and Dr. Weaver had suggested he try to reach me there when other attempts (my pager, my cell phone) had failed. 

I'd showered and fixed a slice of cheese toast on wheat and was wolfing it down with the voracity only experienced by the blissfully physically satiated when the phone had rung one and a half times before Jinny's machine picked up.  I'd paused mid-chew, listening and at the first uneasy clearing of throat had recognized Sarge; I'd let him muddle through an uncomfortable greeting and explanation of why he was calling Inspector Exstead's home number, grinning at the uncertainty in his voice before I'd relented and reached for the cordless. 

And when he made clear he had tried to reach me via pager and cell phone I had not even hesitated before saying smoothly, "I was... busy" and it's not until after we'd hung up I'd realized what sheer delight I'd taken in flustering him with that one little sentence. 

Magda though~~  Having Magda there might actually have been beneficial for the performance required from me.  Neither Sarge or McCafferty are particularly thrilled with me but they most definitely do not harbor the same sort of grudge or intolerance for me which Magda does. 

"Really rip into me.  I want to make sure he buys it," I say to him now when Massey pauses in mid stride to accept some fervent back slapping, punctuated by jovial grins shot in my direction.  I keep my brows lowered, my shoulders hunched, my arms crossed; I want every inch of me to scream shame, humiliation, defeat. 

"Not a problem," Sarge assures me coolly and I blink, watching warily as he strolls forward to greet Massey, back straight, shoulders rigid. 

It dawns on me I might be wishing Jinny was at least somewhere near by before this meeting is over.

I'm shaking when I finally have a few moments alone afterwards. 

I've fled as soon as possible to the nearest elevator, punched buttons at random and then retreated into the first women's room I come across. 

I grab the sink's edge on either side and lean forward to peer at myself, my stare every bit as shocked and blank as I expect it to be.  I'm irrationally close to tears and feeling very, very sorry for myself to boot. 

"That was good," I whisper shakily to my reflection, "No way Massey didn't believe that." 

No way I could think at least some of it was not honest ire and disgust on Sarge's part either.  Warranted, no doubt.  Called for. 

And I'd practically demanded it. 

"But God, it stings," I say fervently aloud and then spin as the door behind me opens. 

"You're not crying, are you?" CD asks.  "Because I hate it when people cry after an ass chewing."

"No," I say, but sniff afterwards, the sound and my tone both rather forlorn. "Please tell me you didn't come after me because he's not quite through, thought of one more thing to blast me with."

"Nope.  He's all done.  McCafferty too." She shoves a stall open and reaches inside briefly, then tosses me a roll of toilet paper.  It's government grade which means it's roughly the texture of newly poured fine grain cement.  I obediently abrade my nose with it, eyeing her.

"So why'd you track me?"

I turn back to the mirror and turn the water on, let it run soothingly over my palms and inner wrists before splashing a minimal amount on my face, watching her over my own shoulder.

She shrugs, leaning back against the wall near the paper towel dispenser.  When I gesture at it she levers out two sheets and hands them to me. 

"Make sure you were okay, I guess."

I lift my brows a little, but nod. 

"Okay," she admits, grinning at me lopsidedly.  "I promised Jinx I'd keep an eye on you when she wasn't around.  And you had this look when you came out of the Captain's office..." she drifts off, clearly searching for words and I snort ruefully.

"Nuclear explosion?" I query dryly and the tip of her tongue appears as she puts her head to one side, contemplating.

"Yeah.  That'd work.  I was watching through the glass and you sucked it up but you had this look when you walked out~~"

"So you followed me to make sure I was totally humiliated," I put in laughing and she chuckles, pale eyebrows lifting into the Nordic blonde hair framing her face. 

"Nah.  Force you to suck it up some more and warn you there's reporters all over the place and you missy are their number one targeted goal.  You step outside and you're NBC fodder." 

"Oh great."

"Jin's not going to make it back for hours; Captain's hardly the person you want to walk out with.  I'd escort you but Nate and I~~"

"~~are investigating me, yeah." I turn and toss the brown paper towel neatly into the waste basket at her hip and nod.  "Gotcha."

"You need to call a cab probably," she says mildly and I'm agreeing with her when it dawns on me I've already hired a chauffeur. 

"Somebody got laid," Avery quips congenially as I duck and slide into the Chevette's interior.

 From the rear Chloe chortles a response and kicks her legs in spastic agreement, catching the lap top's leather bag briefly with ten tiny fuchsia splashed toes.

 "Somebody got laid right," she adds, grinning at me, shooting the shades up her nose with one slim finger as she deftly eases the Chevette into reverse and begins the laborious traverse of the SFPD parking lot. 

I slide down in the seat, not as confidant in my SWAT baseball cap as CD seemed to think I should be, peering anxiously out the car's windows, watching in relief as the crowd of reporters part to let us through unscathed.

"I'm fucking miserable, I'll have you know," I tell her stoutly, sniffing.  "Don't talk to me about getting laid right."

The sound she makes is low and throaty, and utterly delighted.

"Oh you did, girlfriend.  Head to toe laid."

I snort.  "And how do you know this?"

She winks at me in answer, deep velvety eyes sleepy and slow and laughing. 

"Ex-perience, baby girl," she coos, manuvering us out of the lot and onto the access road.  "Experience."

"I think she's full of shit," I announce to Chloe who gazes seriously at the back of Avery's head then darts two scoffing brows upwards in agreement. 

"You go right on thinking that, honey," she says sweetly, adjusting the rear mirror.  "And then tell me where I'm taking you." 

Where else is there to go but Weaver's?  I've just been flayed alive in front of McCafferty; I'll have to grow new skin before I can handle her again.  I don't have a key to Jinny's and quite honestly can't handle the idea of hearing only my foot steps in the place. 

Enduring a bout of Weaver's too-genuine and raw concern coupled with Legaspi's subdued yet still obvious professional interest combined with whatever buttons it is I push for the woman is not exactly the way I'd like to spend the post-crucifixion of my afternoon.  But I've got to get in touch with S'Phear and for that I need electricity and privacy. 

"C'mon Cowboy," Avery affably prods me.  "Where to?"

"Into the lion's den," I respond dryly.

END OF SEVENTY