by Sheila Paulson

Originally published in Ouch 3

At the sight of him, Winston jerked as if he'd been sucker-punched. It wasn't usual for a spirit to pop in at Ghostbuster Central. Usually the team had to be summoned out to bust them, but tonight, as they sat around the TV watching a Knicks' game, eating popcorn, their little ghostly mascot, Slimer, had suddenly given a shriek that would bend metal and disappeared into the popcorn. The spirit had materialized slowly, assuming form and feature, allowing time for the four Ghostbusters to race madly for their proton packs, to power up and level throwers at the invader. That was when Winston saw the invading spirit clearly.

"Winston, you dropped your thrower," Ray cried in alarm, and Peter moved sideways to cover him until he could retrieve it.

"Get ready, he's going to move," cautioned Egon practically, aiming his P.K.E. meter at the specter to take readings. "Hmm. Class three, just as he appears. Trapping it won't be difficult."

"No, wait, guys," Winston blurted, eyes huge with shock. He jumped between his buddies and the ghost, arms outstretched to keep them from firing.

"Let me guess. You know him," Peter ventured. It didn't take much of a leap to make that connection; sure the ghost was a surprise but Winston's face was shadowed like a man taking part in a nightmare, and he wasn't the type to panic at a spirit invasion, at least not at a simple class three. "Don't you?"

"Doug Hemphill," Winston breathed in stunned surprise. "My god, it's Hemphill."

"Winston." The spirit's voice didn't sound ghostly, just thinner than the voice of a normal, living man. He knew where he was and whom he was facing. His visit to Ghostbuster Central was deliberate.

"Doug, buddy." Winston shivered, then he controlled himself and took a step closer to the spirit while the other three spread out behind him to cover him in case the ghost's intentions were less than honorable. "What brings you here, m'man?"

Intrigued, Egon took additional readings, and Ray leaned closer, ready to be sympathetic. Peter edged in at Winston's side, his thrower gripped firmly at ready. Just because Winston had known this one when he was still alive didn't mean he wasn't here for mischief.

"Reynard," Hemphill's ghost said as if announcing the end of the world. "He's back."

Winston blinked. "That guy in the jungle?" he blurted, stunned. "The one who shot that reporter--what was his name? Markham? You saw him again?"

"He killed me, Winston. I think he wants to kill us all. Everybody thinks it was just a drive-by shooting. But just before he fired, I saw his face and he had that same cold expression as when he killed the reporter. It wasn't personal; I was in his way. He took me out the way most people swat a fly. He was older, of course, but I recognized him, that icy glint in his eyes. He nodded at me as he fired, then he held up his hand and made a chalk-mark in the air. He was saying, 'That's one.' I know he was. He's gonna try to kill all five of us. I had to warn you. I had to."

"Shit, shit, shit," groaned Winston. "You mean he's going to come after all of us?"

"You were the only one I knew how to find," Hemphill said. "I've seen you on TV and in magazines. When it dawned on me I was...dead...I had to come here. I think it's only been a day or two, but it's hard to be sure. I knew where to find you so I came here."

"So how'd you get here, man?" Winston asked.

"I don't know. I...couldn't rest. It tore at me, knowing he'd tracked me down and finished me after all that time. And knowing the rest of you might be in trouble, too. I concentrated as hard as I could, and then I was here. Just like that." He shrugged wryly as he must have done in life.

"Typical. A task left unfinished," Egon murmured in an aside to Peter, who nodded. It often worked that way. Ghosts of Hemphill's type stayed behind because of a strong purpose, a responsibility only the spirit could discharge. Once the task was completed or the problem resolved, such entities usually dispersed peacefully. But Hemphill's face remained troubled.

"I didn't know where the others were, but I knew how to find you," he said. "Zed, you've gotta warn them. You've gotta find them, tell them, let them know. None of you would expect him any more than I did. You can be on the lookout for him, stop him."

"Easy, buddy, I'll tell them," Winston soothed. "I know where two of them are. I ran into Allen and Ryder last year out in California. We were out there for a paranormal conference and they showed up because their other partner likes that kind of thing. "I'll call them now, warn them."

"You have to, Zed. You have to warn them all. What about the other one, Hawke?"

"Now that's gonna be tougher, Doug." Winston's face was grave. "Far as I know he was MIA when the war ended. Still is."

"But it's 1987," Doug insisted.

"I know, man. There's still guys missing. Only good thing, he's safe from Reynard."

Doug shook his head. "Unless Reynard took him out him over there and that's why he didn't come home."

Winston nodded. "I always wondered. Ryder and Allen are private eyes out in California. That means they already know how to watch their backs. It's all right, Doug. You warned me and I'll warn them. I'll see if I can find out anything from the military on Hawke. An old army buddy of mine works at the Pentagon. I'll give him a call. But I know where Nick and Cody are. I have their address."

"And we'll watch Winston's," Ray insisted with stubborn determination. "This Reynard guy--he never went up against the Ghostbusters. He tries to take us on, he'll have a nasty surprise."

"He just gunned me down in cold blood, no hesitation," Doug said, touching his blood-spattered chest. "They found out the car was stolen, but it turned up burned to a cinder, in a salvage yard in St. Paul. No clues. He's good; he's not afraid, and he doesn't leave loose ends. That's why he killed that Markham, remember, because the reporter had something on him. Reynard didn't hesitate. I used to dream about that moment for years, when we saw him take that bullet between the eyes. Hawke said Reynard was like a jungle phantom, remember?"

"Well, he doesn't know this jungle like I do," Winston countered, with a gesture to encompass all of New York. "We'll stop him, Doug. I give you my word on it."

"And you'll tell Allen and Ryder?"

"I'll call them now."

"Don't let him kill again," Hemphill pleaded, stretching out a ghostly hand toward Winston.

"I won't."

The spirit shivered then, abruptly, he was no longer there. No fade out, no shimmering into transparency. He simply disappeared. Not one of the Ghostbusters thought he'd dispersed peacefully. He wouldn't rest until Reynard was gone. Peter shivered slightly. Reynard did not sound like the kind of company he wanted to have drop in.

"Oh man," groaned Winston, dropping down on the back of the couch, his mouth drawn tight in a grim line. "Oh, man. This is not good. Not good at all."

"Who is Reynard, Winston?" Egon asked.

"A behind-the-lines black market king," Winston said. "Maybe worse. Hawke said he was selling secrets, even peddling flesh. He had a counterpart, they said, on the other side, and they were profiteering, making major bucks out of the war. We don't know exactly what he was up to, but none of it was good. Hawke said he thought the guy was covert ops gone bad, only nobody knew he'd gone bad. But then I think Hawke was covert ops himself. He'd been a POW, considered MIA for a couple of years before we ran into him. The day we ran into Reynard."

Peter sat beside him and clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder, worried because Winston's muscles were rigid as steel beneath his comforting hand. "You want to tell us about it, buddy? Sounds like old trouble is coming home to roost, and we need to know all we can so we can protect you."

"Reynard is like a ghost himself," Winston replied, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Man, I used to have nightmares about him, too, about the cold, hard look in his eyes when he shot down Markham in cold blood right in front of us. He didn't hesitate. He didn't even telegraph what he was gonna do. He was so cold; just brought up the gun and shot him without a second's hesitation. And when he saw us...." Even after fourteen years, Winston couldn't repress the shiver that shook his frame.

"Tell us from the beginning, Winston," urged Ray. "Then we can call those other two guys and warn them."

"Okay. It was early in 1973. What happened is that I was out on recon with my squad in the bush out of Bien Hoa; we ran full tilt into a firefight that went wrong and I was separated from the rest of my unit. Trying to work my way back to my lines I walked right into half a dozen Charlies--North Vietnamese troops. They grabbed me." His voice trailed off.

"You never said you were a prisoner of war." Egon pulled up the nearest chair and sat facing them, pushing his glasses into place and eyeing Winston with great concern. The tension in the room escalated dramatically.

"That's 'cause I wasn't really, or only for a couple of hours," Winston replied, brushing aside that particular aspect to deny even that much had happened. "The Cong didn't have time to play any of their nasty little games on me other than whacking me with a rifle butt a couple of times to make sure I wasn't too happy with the idea of running. They took me to a temporary camp, along with three other guys they picked up. One was Hemphill, a green kid from a little town in Minnesota, a real newby, still wet behind the ears, didn't look a day over sixteen--then there were, a couple of Louies, Nick Ryder and Cody Allen--you remember, those two guys I met when we were out last year to L.A. for that convention, the one where Egon met those twin blondes and Pete's old buddy McCormick hired us to bust that ghost."

Peter vaguely remembered Nick's two friends, guys that resembled beach bums, though he'd envied the tans they had. "You said they were private detectives?" he prompted.

"Still are, last I heard. Cody sent me a Christmas card." He hesitated, then returned to the story. "Ryder was a Huey pilot, ran into trouble at an LZ. The two of them were already buddies then. Anyway, the four of us were herded into a temporary camp, way remote in the bush. They had a prisoner already, guy name of Hawke--never did find out his first name. He'd been a POW before, but he'd escaped and even if he never said, I think he was working covert ops in the jungle, maybe even breaking out other guys, or going after creeps like Reynard. I think he had to be a spook; he clammed up the minute any of us tried to find out about him. Anyway, the guys that grabbed us weren't very organized and Hawke broke us out of there. We didn't have any weapons other than a bone knife he'd carved for himself and a bola he made once we were away from the transit camp, but he knew the jungle better than the rest of us--he'd been in country a long time--and we made good progress toward our lines. We knew Charlie was after us, so we took to ducking into shelter whenever we heard anyone coming. We weren't in very great shape; Doug had been hit over the head with a rifle butt and was half out of it, Allen had a scrape down one arm that had bled a lot, Hawke looked like one of those poster refugee kids, thin as a rail, huge eyes, and I'd twisted my ankle, though I could still run.

"We heard movement on the trail so we went for cover behind a fallen tree. It was one guy; a reporter, though what he was doing out there on his own was anybody's guess, maybe he'd been separated like I had or maybe he had a lead and snuck away to track it down. Allen knew who he was; his name was Ethan Markham, a hot-shot freelance type, came from a rich family in New England and bought his way into a lot of situations to get his stories. He was expecting somebody. We were just about to go out and confront him when up pops Reynard. I've gotta tell you, I had never met anybody made my blood run cold just seeing him before, but I felt it then. I'd met killers; some guys over there got hung up on the killing, bought into it, even liked it, kept a tally of how many 'Gooks' they personally wasted, but this guy wasn't like that. It was like he was utterly indifferent to it. He didn't keep score, not really. But I wouldn't have trusted him. The minute I saw him, I tried to dig myself under that fallen tree and hope I could keep my heart from thumping loud enough for him to hear it." He gazed around at his three teammates. "It's not that I never saw anybody nasty before; I ran into drug dealers a time or two out there, even hot shot kids in my old neighborhood, didn't care what messes they got into. Amoral types, some of 'em. They didn't care about anybody but themselves. But this guy was in a class by himself. Maybe a terrorist would feel like him, or a mercenary. I don't know. But out there in that jungle with the heat and humidity pushing 100, it felt like a load of ice had been dumped down my back.

"We all felt it, all five of us. You say since there were five of us we could have taken him on, but we didn't know what was going down. And he was armed. He had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder on a strap, a Colt in a holster on his hip, and a Bowie knife in his belt. And another gun, we didn't see right away. A little thing, not Army reg. Hawke thought about using the bola, but the guys was American; he had on parts of a uniform--we didn't have any reason to think he was a threat to us, other than that feeling we all had that he was trouble."

"Then what happened," Peter prodded when Winston fell silent.

"Then Markham said, 'I know all about it, Reynard. And so will everybody else. You're washed up.'

"And Markham purred, 'You think so?' just as smooth as silk. I can still remember how his voice sounded, the way it made me shiver because I could almost see it coming, what was about to happen. Hawke could tell too. He grabbed Nick's shoulder to keep him down--Nick was the most hotheaded of us and he had the same feeling I did and was all gung ho to intervene. And I knew we couldn't do anything. We didn't have guns, most of us were banged up if not actually wounded. Hawke pulled out the bola but there wasn't time to use it.

"What bugged me was Reynard's body language. He didn't give any sign what he was going to do, but there was a wary caution about him that didn't leave the outcome in any doubt.

"Markham said, 'It's too late, Reynard, and you know it.'

"'Yes, I know it.' And before we could do anything, he pulled his hand up and shot the photographer right between the eyes, so fast Markam barely saw it coming. He fell right over, and Reynard holstered the gun and stood there listening. I think all five of us held our breath.

"The whole jungle held its breath; birds and insects went quiet, and that's when we heard distant shouts and knew Charlie was coming. Reynard heard, too, and he turned and went down the trail the way he'd come. He didn't even hurry.

"And then Doug moved and he hit a branch that cracked as loud as the gun had. Reynard turned around and he saw us. He stood there staring at us all, and then he started toward us, already raising one of his guns. If it weren't for the VC coming over the rise and taking potshots at him, he'd have killed us where we lay. Hawke threw the bola and it hit Reynard's arm, but he grabbed the AK-47 anyway. But he didn't have time to waste us. Instead he pointed at us, and it was like he was saying, 'you're next.' Then he ran, and we ran in the opposite direction. Hawke led the way; he knew the jungle best, but in the one-sided fire fight that followed, we were separated. Hemphill took a shot to the leg just below the knee; it was bad; he couldn't run. I did what I could for him and then I carried him the rest of the way. Hawke decoyed them away from us, and we lost Ryder and Allen in the process. They went one way, I went another. Hawke just disappeared into the jungle. I think maybe they grabbed him again." He shivered. "God, I was just a green kid myself, just turned eighteen. I always thought I was tough, but I was so scared I all but kissed the first troops I saw." He shivered. "Doug wound up losing his leg below the knee, and I spent the next three days trying to explain to anybody who would listen what happened out there.

"They kept telling me they'd deal with it, but I had the feeling they just wanted me to shut up and drop it. They did tell me Cody and Nick had made it out but they said I couldn't have seen Hawke--denied there was anybody who matched the name in the entire region. They said the only Hawke they knew of was dead and had been dead a long time. So I figured he was working for them undercover. Maybe he was even after Reynard. He might have gone after him and wound up like Markham, I don't know."

"What did you find out about this Reynard?" Ray asked, his eyes wide.

"Not much, and not from any officer, let me tell you. But some of the guys had heard rumors about this character, they called him the Jungle Fox, you know, Reynard means 'fox' in French. They said he was out there and he could take on a whole squad and walk away without a scratch. They said he was selling people into slavery. For everything they thought they knew, they had a dozen rumors each one wilder than the next. The feeling I had was that it was a lot safer to pretend it never happened, but I started watching my back every minute of the day, even in the shower. Just as well. One day a zapper sneaked into camp under cover of a shelling, and nearly took out the whole command post."

"Zapper?" asked Peter.

"Guy with a lot of explosives strapped to his body. They'd try to work their way in when there was a lot of shooting going down and everybody was dug into cover; and unless they were wasted or hurt too bad to move, they'd just keep going until they reached where they were headed--usually the headquarters--and then they'd blow it up, and themselves along with it. Like Kamikaze only they came in on foot. Anyway, I was in the shower when the attack started; most of the other guys just went for cover, but I grabbed my gun first; it'd be crazy not to. I was half afraid Reynard would come in under cover, so I saw the zapper when nobody else did, and I...took him down." He grimaced. "Never liked killing, but it was the only way." Disgust filled his face. "I was given a medal for it. Man, I hate that, being rewarded for killing."

"It was war, Winston. You had to," Peter soothed.

He shrugged. "Doesn't make it right. Just because it's necessary doesn't ever make it right."

"No, but there are times when you have no choice," Egon told him with quiet understanding. "And I'd far rather have a man like you defending us, a man with a conscience, than those men you told us about who kept score."

"Did you ever seen Reynard again?" Ray asked quickly, sensing Winston's discomfort with the whole subject. This was the most he'd ever talked about his Vietnam experience.

"No, never did. When I bumped into Nick and Cody last year, I asked them if they had. Turns out they'd been fed the same run-around I was. Cody wondered if the brass didn't know what a scumbag Reynard was but they covered for him because he was useful to them. Could have been. All I know is, nobody ever went after him--officially. And Hawke is probably still MIA, unless Reynard killed him like he did Markham. If his name was even Hawke. Maybe it was another code name." He shivered, then collected himself. "Don't know why Reynard would decide he wanted to take us down after all this time."

"Maybe he ran into Hemphill by accident," Peter theorized. "You know, lives in the same town; gonna run for office and knew once his face was before the public eye, Doug would spot him and sound the alarm."

"That could very well be, Peter," Egon returned. "After all this time, he must have something to lose for him to take the risk. Even if it's not as much risk for him as it would for the usual man in the street. Winston, call your friends in California. Maybe they would have theories."

"Okay." Winston started for the phone. Slimer popped up out of the bowl, leaving it empty of all but ectoplasm, and Peter noticed, muttering to himself.

*****

"Oh, man, I am so bushed," muttered Nick Ryder, flinging himself down at the table on the Riptide, his partner Cody Allen's boat. How many nights in a row did we pull those stupid stake-outs?"

"Six," said Murray Bozinsky, taking Nick's question literally. "It's a good thing the Roboz picked up that conversation or Mitchell and his men would have gotten away. When you jumped Mitchell, I was sure he was gonna blast you."

"No lie," Cody Allen agreed. "You want to give me heart failure, Nick, that was a good way to do it. I don't even want to think about how close you came."

Nick shivered reminiscently. "Tell me about it. I felt that bullet go past. It went right through my hair."

"We thought they'd blasted you, Nick," Murray put in.

"Yeah, and Lt. Parisi just about went right through you," Nick remarked, probably in an attempt to change the subject from his reckless maneuver and to distract the other two from the worry at the near miss. The faint amusement of his tone suggested the fact that Lt. Quinlan's replacement had always shown a soft spot for Cody. She was a real change from Lt. Quinlan, their former nemesis at King Harbor PD.

Cody ignored that as beside the point. "She should have read you the riot act." Cody had seen the near miss and for a second, when Nick dropped, he'd thought his friend had been hit in the head. It had been way too close.

"I never saw her so steamed," Murray said with a reminiscent smile. "She must have been worried about you, Cody."

"About all of us," said Cody quickly. "She's engaged, guys, remember?"

"Well, we did it, we bagged the guys, and she didn't have a leg to stand on." Nick headed for the refrigerator to pull out a can of beer. "Guys?"

Murray shook his head, opting for a soda, but Cody took one and popped the top. It would be good relax, put their feet up, and unwind. This one had been way too close for any of them. He had just taken a long swallow when the telephone rang. Closest to it, he reached for it. "Hope it's not a new case, I could use a break," he said. "Hello?"

"Cody? That you?" The voice was vaguely familiar but he couldn't put a name to it.

"Yes, this is Cody."

"This is Winston Zeddemore, calling from New York."

"Hey, Zed," exclaimed Cody in surprise. "Nick, it's Winston. You met him last year, remember, Mur."

"Boss," exclaimed Murray, who had developed a fascination for the Ghostbusters when they had visited Los Angeles and had driven Cody and Nick nuts for weeks afterwards with theories on how the Riptide detectives might bust ghosts in between busting bad guys. "Are they in town?"

"We have a problem, Cody," Winston's voice was grave, then he said something that sent a chill down Cody's back despite the warmth of the Southern California night. "Reynard's back."

Cody hesitated for just an instant, a certain day in the jungle leaping vividly into his recollection. He hadn't thought about Reynard in years, except for the conversation with Winston at the paranormal conference. He hadn't thought of any consequences of that incident carrying over into his real life, but Zeddemore's tone sent an uneasy flutter going in Cody's stomach.

"What's wrong?" Nick abandoned his beer and came over to stand in front of Cody, alert, as he always was, to Allen's moods. His face was expressive as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

Gesturing for silence, Cody spoke quickly. "Did you see him? What happened?" He spared a reassuring grin for Nick, but how reassuring could it be? From Nick's expression it was clear he wasn't reassured.

Zeddemore sighed. "He killed Doug Hemphill. Shot him down in cold blood. Just a couple of days ago."

"My god," Cody breathed. He opened his mouth to say, 'You're kidding,' then closed it over the words. People didn't kid about things like that. "How do you know? Did they catch him?"

"Doug told us tonight," Winston replied.

At that unlikely answer, Cody held the receiver away from his ear and stared at it, not quite sure he'd heard Winston correctly.

"What's going on?" Murray fussed. He'd caught the tension in Cody's arrested pose and shocked face as surely as Nick had.

"What do you mean, tonight?" Cody demanded. "I thought you said he died two days..." His voice trailed off as it dawned on him what the answer would be. Winston Zeddemore was a Ghostbuster. His job brought him into contact with ghosts on a daily basis, or so he'd claimed. Cody had trouble with that in spite of the one ghostly encounter he'd had with Martin Stonewall. Nick didn't believe, even now, that he had been a real ghost, and Cody wasn't sure, though Murray would have sworn an oath in court on a stack of bibles that his friend had been from the spirit realm. For such a brilliant scientist, there was an edge of gung-ho gullibility in Murray that time and a number of crises had never been able to crush.

"His ghost came here," Winston explained. "Come on, Cody, don't freeze up on me. It does happen. I thought like you did before I was hired for this job. Didn't believe in anything I couldn't see, hear, taste, or touch. Well, I've seen ghosts, heard em, been touched by nasty things that almost make Reynard look tame. But this time it was just a simple routine ghost. Doug Hemphill. He came to me because he knew where I was. And he was a ghost because he couldn't let it go. The Fox blasted him just like he blasted that reporter in the jungle, and Doug thought he would come after us next."

"My god, why? After all this time?" Cody slid over the ghostly part. He could deal with that later. But if Hemphill was really dead--they could check that. Murray could find answers with the computer. But why? After so long, what would be the reason for it? Witnesses to a crime that had happened in the heart of a war, Cody had always felt there was more to the story than they'd seen. But after he and Nick had left active service and nothing had ever come of it, he'd forgotten the incident. They'd talked to the authorities at the time, done all they could. Cody had even tracked down Markham's wife when he returned home and told her about his death. That had been a hard one, but he'd known Markham in passing before the war; they'd gone to the same high school though Markham had been a few years older. He couldn't let it go and Mrs. Markham deserved not to wait for years and years believing him missing.

But if Hemphill was really dead, and dead at Reynard's hand, that could mean trouble. Cody had only seen Reynard for a few minutes, but he could still call up the man's face, those ice-cold eyes. Reynard wasn't the type to leave loose ends. If he hadn't done anything about the five witnesses to the murder he committed before, it wasn't because he hadn't been able to find them. It must be because he had something to lose now. Cody didn't know what it was or understand how five guys who had mostly lost touch when the war ended could threaten one man. But he believed with all his heart and soul that Reynard was capable of tracking them down and killing them in cold blood.

"Doug didn't have any idea, and I don't either," Winston replied. "But he found Doug. Didn't come after me first, and I'm more in the public eye than any of us. Maybe that's why. Maybe he'll save me for last so as not to warn the rest of you. You have any idea what happened to Hawke?"

"Never knew his first name, but when we were debriefed, we mentioned him and nobody ever picked up on it. I wondered at the time, but never heard anything. Hard to deal with it, when all you've got is a last name stitched on a jacket."

"They told me there wasn't anybody by that name missing," Winston replied. "But they were funny about it. I figured he was a spook."

"You're probably right. God, this is a mess. Listen, Zed, let me talk it over with Nick, and I'll get back to you."

"Call when you can. Maybe we should team up."

"I'll think about it. I'll call you back tonight or tomorrow."

When he hung up he turned to face his two teammates.

"Who's dead?" Nick said. He wrapped his fingers around Cody's wrist in an attempt to offer comfort if it were a person who mattered.

"Doug Hemphill's dead, and according to Zed, Reynard killed him."

Nick's mouth dropped open and his face hardened. Murray glanced from one to the other of them. "Who's Reynard? Who's Hemphill?"

Seconded by Nick Cody explained quickly to Murray, filling him in about the incident the day they had been captured and then escaped. Boz listened, wide-eyed, shocked at the description of Reynard that Cody and Nick threw at him.

"Cold blooded as an alligator..."

"As soon blow you away as look at you..."

"...thought he was the most dangerous man I'd ever seen...."

"And he just killed that reporter guy in cold blood?" Murray burst out, horrified. Working for the Riptide Detective Agency had not begun to harden him. Such stories were always a shock.

"Shot him with as much emotion as I'd use combing my hair," Nick replied. "That guy made my blood run cold. I saw a lot of guys out there who got hardened. They'd talk about how many of the enemy they'd 'wasted' like they were keeping score, but that could be a defense mechanism. It was like a pinball game, not like shooting down real people. Only this Reynard, he didn't have one shred of, what is it, empathy. He didn't care about anybody but himself. People were like counters to him, chessmen to push around and dispose of when they got in the way."

"Nick's right," Cody told Murray. "This one is really dangerous. If Reynard's coming after us because we saw him commit murder, then we're in major trouble."

"Wait a minute," Nick interrupted. "How does Zed know Reynard killed Hemphill. If it's such a big secret he means to kill to keep it, there's no way Winston could know what happened. How would he even know Hemphill is dead unless they stayed in touch?"

"Hey, yeah," agreed Murray.

Cody wasn't eager to tell that part of the story because it was the part he had trouble with himself. But Zed had always been steady and reliable, and look what line of work he was in. If anybody else had told Cody such a story he'd have dismissed it out of hand. But because it was Winston he couldn't, not entirely.

"Hemphill's ghost appeared to Winston and told him," Cody admitted.

Nick's face changed drastically. "Give me a break, man! You got us all worked up for a phony story like that?"

"That's really boss," Murray breathed, accepting it completely. He gave Nick a nudge with his elbow. "Come on, Nick, I saw the Ghostbusters at work when they were here last year. They're for real. This is great, a warning from beyond the grave." When Nick's face didn't change, he gave a bray of uneasy laughter. "Tell him, Cody."

"Yeah, tell me," Nick insisted. "Come on, Cody, give me a break here. Even if it was true, which I'm not gonna grant you, how would Hemphill's ghost know to find Winston?"

"Because he's famous," Murray offered. "There's always an article about the Ghostbusters--"

"In the tabloids," Nick finished. "I've seen those pictures, too, in the supermarket check-out lines. Weird blobs that look like they were created with holographic projectors. Giant marshmallow men. Demons. Give me a break."

"Yeah, and you've seen Nancy Reagan shaking hands with aliens there, too, and she's still first lady," Murray pointed out. "Just because the tabloids run weird stories doesn't make what the guys do a fake. I've examined their equipment. It's legitimate. If anybody would know, I would."

"I give you that, Boz, but you're the most suggestible of us," Nick insisted. "And you know it. If their technology sounds right you're sure to believe."

Murray's face hardened slightly. "I'm not stupid, Nick. I know about computer equipment and that kind of stuff. I had them send me the specs and I went over it all. It's not designed to make fake light shows. It really is designed to do what they claim it does--detect ectoplasmic residue. I made a gizmo like one of their P.K.E. meters with a few modifications I dreamed up. It's boss. It really works." He caught Cody's eye and then continued. "I know you're a skeptic, Nick, but think of this. Just because you don't like the way the story came to us, you can't disregard it because if there's even one chance in a thousand it's true, you and Cody are in danger."

"He's right, Nick," Cody said. He reached out and clapped his friend on the arm. "I want to be a skeptic, too. I saw those same tabloid stories you did and I think they're ridiculous, just like you do. But Zed's not the guy to feed us a load of B.S. If he's right, then Hemphill probably warned him from beyond the grave because he knew where to find Winston. He didn't know where we were."

"So if Winston's in the public eye, why didn't Reynard take him out first?" Nick challenged. He still wasn't buying it but he was thinking, and that was a good sign.

"I think he'd take Winston out last," Cody said and realized he'd worked it out in his mind. "If he hits Winston first, the rest of us might have seen it in the papers and became suspicious. I think he took out Doug first because he'd checked it out and found out that Doug was the easiest to take out. We're private eyes and Winston's a minor celebrity."

"Okay, I can understand that," Nick said, still grudgingly. "But why now? After nearly fifteen years? What's the point?"

"I don't know, and Winston doesn't either. Maybe we're loose ends. Maybe he has public plans that doesn't dare allow for loose ends."

Nick frowned. "All of us told the story when we were debriefed."

"And nobody believed a word of it," Cody reminded him. "Nobody did anything. I called Markham's wife when I returned home. She'd had no official notification of her husband's death. I thought about it a lot then, right before we teamed up. I figured either Reynard was a rogue agent they didn't want to admit had gone bad--or that he hadn't gone bad, that he was acting under authority. Not necessarily in shooting Markham but in protecting something bigger. By that time I knew nobody was going to do anything, and there was nothing I could do, so I let it go."

"Nothing else you could do, buddy," Nick said hastily. He'd realized dropping the matter had always bothered Cody. "You tried. We all did. Okay. If Reynard is back, and really means to kill us all, what do we do about it?"

"Get together with Winston?" Murray offered. "You know. So we can all watch each other's backs?"

"He's not after you, Boz," Nick told Bozinsky. "You can take off for a few days, visit your Silicon Valley pals, go somewhere safe till we nail him."

Murray was both stubborn and affronted. "No way, guys. We're a team. If you're in trouble, you might need me. I can assemble snooper equipment to help us watch out for Reynard. Set electronic traps. Besides, if he's as good as you say he is, he won't take down innocent bystanders. He'll make it look like an accident..."

"Yeah, and a bomb on the Riptide won't be selective, Murray," Cody reminded him. "He could even come on board and doctor the boat when we're not here, rig it to blow up. Set it so there's a gas buildup and we'd go up at the first spark."

The three men glanced around uneasily and Nick sniffed the air for the scent of a gas leak. Nothing. But they did a quick search of the boat that didn't turn up any evidence anyone had been there.

"What about a bomb attached to the hull," Murray said. "That happened before and we barely found it in time."

"We're sitting ducks here," Nick decided.

"Then what?" Cody asked him. "Go to New York and be sitting ducks in a strange place?"

"Go to New York and have more people to watch each other's backs," Nick replied. "Maybe they can set their ghost detectors for people and tell when anybody comes too close." He grimaced. "I don't want to believe any of this. It's too crazy. Ghosts giving warnings...."

"Then why go along with it?" Cody asked.

"Because if you're in danger, I can't ignore it," Nick said, almost angrily. "If there's any chance Winston is right, we have to take precautions. Even it we show up and Murray checks out their equipment and we find they're just one big hoax."

Cody smiled at him. "Then we'll head for New York in the morning."

"All of us," insisted Murray. "I'll start pulling my equipment together." He hurried off excitedly.

Nick looked Cody right in the eye. "You don't really buy into this, do you, Code?"

Allen shook his head. "I don't know, Nick. That's the thing. I just don't know. So I can't take the chance it's a hoax. Winston believed it."

"Ghosts," said Nick in tones of great scorn, then he shook his head and started for the phone. "I'll call the airline," he said.

Cody watched him go and smiled fondly. Whatever happened, he knew they'd face it as a team.

*****

Ray woke up with a cold. Peter had heard him sneezing in the night, but when he rolled out of bed, Ray was still in his, curled up in his blankets, his eyes puffy, his nose plugged up, the picture of abject misery.

Peter walked around his bed in a half circle. "This is not a good sign," he remarked.

"I dow, Peter," Ray said thickly. "I felt okay whed I wedt to bed."

"But now you feel like the world is sitting on your chest." He shook his head. "It's all these wild parties, late hours, and fallen women, Ray. They'll catch up to you every time."

"But I dever--" Ray protested automatically, then he caught himself and grinned. "You should be id bed, Peter," he said. "You're the ode who..."

"Don't let him bug you, Ray," Egon said, coming into the bedroom, already suited up. "Peter, we have a job, so get dressed quickly. It sounds like a bad one."

"I'll get up," Ray volunteered, breaking off to sneeze six times in a row.

"No, you will stay in bed," the physicist insisted. "Winston's bringing up a giant glass of orange juice for you and your cold pills. If you're not better when we return, I'll make up my mother's cure-all for you."

"Now there's an incentive if I ever heard one," Peter called from the bathroom door. "Have you ever tasted that stuff? No self-respecting virus would stick around one second longer than it had to once you drink the cure that's worse than the disease."

He heard Ray wail a protest as he closed to door and hopped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, slightly damp, but clean and shaved and dressed, Peter presented himself downstairs and discovered Janine suited up in the pink jumpsuit she'd ordered for herself after a couple of experiences in busting. "Egon says Ray can't go," she told Peter when he lifted an eyebrow at the secretary. "So I'm going. It sounds like a bad one, a demon in Central Park."

Peter grinned. "Oh well, what else can you expect. Muggers, drug dealers, gangs, all hang out in the park. Why not a demon or two? That place isn't safe."

"Not with a demon there," Winston agreed, joining them.

"Any word on that guy from Nam?" Peter asked him.

"No, but Cody and Nick were going to catch the redeye out here. They ought to be in town by ten."

"Good. Might help to have a P.I. or two to help us watch your back. You be careful today. Out on a bust's a good time for a sniper to get the drop on us. We'll be busy and there'll probably be a crowd for him to blend into."

"I thought of that," Winston said wryly. "I'm not that keen on being a target, Pete, but we have to bust this one. Maybe I can call your old pal, Inspector Frump, and borrow a bulletproof vest."

"He's no pal of mine," Peter groused, frowning at the memory of his least favorite policeman. "He'll probably cheer this Reynard on. He hates the Ghostbusters."

"He hates crime more," Egon pointed out. "Perhaps we should call him. I'll do it. He doesn't seem to hold a special grudge against me, at least no greater than he does the rest of us. If Peter calls him, we won't get anywhere. But we should report this. I'll call him as soon as we finish the bust." Winston nodded in agreement. They exchanged a worried gaze. Maybe they should have made the call last night.

They headed for Ecto, Janine jumping into the back seat beside Egon, and Winston taking the wheel, leaving Peter the coveted 'shotgun' position. He turned to Winston as soon as they backed out of the garage and headed north for the park.

"So, Winston, you hear anything from that army buddy you called, about that guy you thought might still be MIA?"

Winston shook his head. "Not a word. Course it's pretty hard to track down a guy when you don't know his first name. Still, Hawke, with an 'e' isn't the most common spelling in the world."

"More common than any of our names," Peter reminded him. "Though I came upon an artist named Spengler the other day."

"No relation," Egon replied at once. "The only other Venkman I ever encountered was your father, Peter."

"We're a unique bunch." He grimaced suddenly. "Your buddies from California--they're not bringing that little Murray guy, are they? I still remember that ghost-repellent spray he had. Made me sneeze." He paused. "Hey, you don't think it would work on Slimer, do you?"

"No, Peter," Egon replied patiently. "At least I doubt Dr. Bozinsky would use it on the little spud."

"Aw..."

"I think Cody said they were all coming," Winston replied. "They thought it would be safer to send Murray away till Reynard was caught, but he wouldn't have any. Said he was part of the team."

Peter could understand that. Winston might be Reynard's only target among the Ghostbusters but the other three wouldn't let him out of their sight until the problem was resolved.

*****

The 'demon' in the park proved to be a mere class five, bigger than Slimer and spookier, but no more dangerous than the spud. He was lurking near the Shakespeare garden, but he took off like a shot at the first sign of the Ghostbusters, hovering high overhead.

"Thats not a demon," said Egon in disgust, checking his meter and then raising his eyes toward the sky. "It's only a class five."

"No, and they dont think so either. They wouldn't still be here if it had been a demon." Peter gestured at the crowd that had gathered, indifferent to the threat of the big, purple creature who zipped in circles overhead. Knowing they were watching him, the psychologist waved enthusiastically, winning a smattering of applause.

"When youre quite finished...." Egon said pointedly, prodding him with his elbow.

"PR, Egon. Very important," the psychologist defended himself. "Get the crowd on your side. Besides, Im hunting for this Reynard guy, too. What about it, Winston? See him?"

Zeddemore had been scanning the crowd too. "Not yet," he said wryly. "And, believe me, I've been checking. Man, bad enough I need to watch for the purple people eater up there, Ive gotta keep my eye out for this crazy sniper, too."

"Hed hardly do it in public," Janine soothed, casting a narrow eyed glare at the crowd, defying any of them to try anything. "Not with all these witnesses, anyway. Come on, lets bust this creep and head back to the firehouse."

"It is kind of public, isnt it?" Peter drew his thrower and powered it up. "Lets take it down," he said in his pep rally voice, speaking loudly enough for the crowd to hear. They cheered again, enthusiastically this time, and Peter beamed. Could he get away with a bow? Maybe with the crowd, but Egon would never let him live it down.

After that he was too busy to pay attention to his fans. The ghost was quick and loved to lob balls of slime at the hapless Ghostbusters and Janine. It didnt take long for Peter to receive a healthy coating of slime, and to express his opinion of the experience vociferously.

Finally Winston managed to draw a bead on the entity, and with a, "Yahoo!" of triumph, he summoned the other three. One by one, they pinned the ghost in their streams, Janine coming in, late but determined, to put the cap on it. Winston tossed out a trap and stomped it open, and the ghost slid neatly into its containment, to the accompaniment of cheers and whistles from those of the crowd who had managed to keep up in the mad chase around the park.

Peter clasped his hands over his head, Rocky-fashion, and acknowledged the approval, eating it up. Egon took a few quick readings to make sure there were no other spirits lurking nearby, and Janine, emulating Peter without realizing it, lifted a hand to make sure her hair was in place. This left Winston to do the practical thing, and pick up the trap. As he bent over to grab its cable, two things happened so nearly simultaneously Peter didnt instantly sort them out. Janine gasped and clutched at her side, and a sharp crack of sound rang out, scarcely audible above the noise of the groupies. Peter blinked, then his eyes widened in horror as he saw the secretary stagger, blood glistening a vivid red between her pressing fingers.

"Down!" bellowed Winston, flinging himself flat; of all of them he was the only one really accustomed to being under attack from anything other than ghosts. He knew he'd just heard a weapon fire.

"Janine!" screamed a bass voice in Peter's ear as the red-haired woman collapsed in an inert heap and lay still.

Peters heart stampeded up into his throat as he saw Egon charge for her, right out in the open.

"Spengs, get down!" Peter caught himself in midair, feeling his muscles twinge at the abrupt movement, and threw himself at Egons knees in a flying tangle. Another crack of sound rang out, this time much more noticeable because the crowd had realized something was wrong and had fallen silent to draw startled breath. Recognizing the shot for what it was, people screamed and stampeded, and a police whistle shrilled. Peter felt Egon jerk and then they were down in a tangle, with people running in all directions and a siren sounding nearby.

"Egon?" Peter breathed, scared to death that the physicist had been injured, too, or worse. "Talk to me, big guy."

Egon tore himself from Peters grip and scrambled sideways like a crab to the secretarys side. "Janine." This time his voice was a hushed whisper. Peter didn't remember ever seeing him so pale.

"Winston, stay down," Peter directed urgently. It had to be Reynard, aiming at Winston in the very second hed bent over, then trying again as Peter and Egon landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Hes long gone by now," Winston muttered. "Oh, man." He raised his voice and bellowed, "Anybody have a cell phone? Call 911!"

Janine lay unmoving, not even wincing when Egons hands probed the wound in her side. "Egon?" Peter asked uneasily, edging up next to him.

"Shes losing a lot of blood," Egon said without turning his attention from the unconscious woman. "Quick, give me something to use as a pad."

Winston and a police officer offered him white handkerchiefs, and he took them automatically, lifting Janines blouse to expose the wound. Peter stared at it in shocked disbelief as Egon pressed the folded handkerchiefs over the injury. This couldnt be happening.

"Theres a rescue squad on the way," a cop said, thudding up to join them. "I called it in just now. The snipers gone. Got clean away in the panic. I never saw him; I heard both shots, and looked around, but I didn't pick him out. I called in backup. Well try to find witnesses, see if anyone saw the shooter." He gestured futilely at the half dozen people remaining, now pressing closer since the danger seemed to be past. Maybe one of them had noticed Reynard.

"I'm a nurse," said a middle-aged woman, approaching and kneeling opposite Egon. "We have to try to stop the bleeding." She was trim and compact in a jogging outfit, a competence about her that relaxed Peter, if only slightly.

Winston stared down at Janine, his expression hard and bitter. Peter didn't remember an expression like that on his face before. He said, "Officer, I think I know what happened here. I'll tell you all I know." Leading the policeman a short distance away, he explained about Reynard.

Abruptly Peter discovered all the blood wasnt Janines; Egons forearm was bleeding freely from a long scratch. The physicist was completely unaware of his own wound, his face frozen in panic as he and the nurse worked on Janine. Automatically Peter scooted up beside him to help, and found himself holding the pad in place. "Keep a firm pressure, Peter," Egon directed in a voice Mr. Spock would have envied, so devoid of emotion was it. But Peter, once he was sure he had the pressure right, gazed up into Egons face and saw stark fear in the blond mans eyes. Egon's emotions were there all right, on the verge of breaking through.

"Egon, youre hurt, let somebody bandage it," Peter told him. "You cant help Janine if you keel over from loss of blood."

"Im not hurt, Peter," Egon said automatically, and it was doubtful he even realized what he was saying.

"Keep that pad in place, and I'll deal with Dr. Spengler," the nurse instructed Peter before she turned to confront the physicist. "Roll up your sleeve, young man."

Her tone was so commanding Egon obeyed automatically, revealing a long, shallow groove that was bleeding freely. "It's not serious," she said to Peter, since Egon was paying her no attention. She took a gauze pad from her purse and tore away the sterile wrapping, covering the graze and taping it into place. Then she turned her attention to Janine again, displacing Peter from his position and checking the pad. Blood was already saturating the folded handkerchiefs.

"Will she be all right?" Egon asked uneasily without raising his eyes from Janine's motionless form. Peter lifted his free hand and clasped his friend on the shoulder.

"I don't know," the nurse said, her voice sympathetic but brisk. "It will depend on the angle of the shot, what damage it did. The bullet is still in her."

Egon flinched. Freed of his responsibility Peter shifted position and draped his arm around Egon's shoulder. He couldn't tell Egon Janine would be all right; he didn't know that, not when she appeared so small and still, all the feisty spirit crushed away. But he could be here for Egon and he meant to be. At a time like this, Egon would realize how much Janine meant to him and he'd need his friends around him. Peter's eyes fell on Janine and tightened his grip. They couldn't lose her. They just couldn't. Egon sagged into the circle of his arm.

Peter lifted his eyes and studied Winston, still talking earnestly to the uniformed policeman, who was introducing him to a man in a suit, a plainclothes officer. Peter heard Winston explaining about Hemphill's ghost and saw the suit's face close away from his explanation, skepticism and doubt vivid there. Winston looked like death warmed over; his face was full of pain and blame.

"Egon, I have to help Winston," Peter said, realizing Egon needed to stay where he was. "Take care of Janine for us," and jumped to his feet. Egon made a vague, grateful gesture in his direction, glanced past Peter at Winston, and nodded, before returning his attention to the unconscious woman. He had one small hand clasped tightly in his big ones.

"If you suspected you were the target of a sniper," the plainclothesman was saying sternly as Peter joined them, "you should have called us then."

"And done what?" Peter intervened. "You guys don't like mysterious warnings from beyond the grave. You'd have said we didn't have any proof and you know it." He shot out a hand and caught Winston by the wrist. "This wasn't your fault, buddy," he insisted.

"It feels that way from where I'm standing," Winston returned, tight-lipped. "She wouldn't be hurt if not for me. If she dies...."

Peter's fingers dug urgently into Winston's flesh. "She's not going to die. She's too tough to die and you know it," he insisted, praying to a deity he didn't really believe in to make his words true. "And even if--well, no matter what, it wasn't your fault. It was this Reynard character. Did you ask to witness a murder in Vietnam? Did you ask to have a sniper take potshots? He's to blame, and that's the bottom line, right, Inspector?"

"Sergeant," the officer corrected. "Sergeant Anderson. Your friend should have called us last night."

"What would you have done last night?" Peter demanded. "Would you have assigned us an officer to cover us?"

Anderson hesitated, then he shook his head. "Probably not, not on the strength of a ghost story."

"A ghost story?" exploded Peter. "A ghost story. Next time a demigod like Gozer comes through, we'll just go home, put up our feet and say, 'Never mind, it's only a ghost story.' Okay, never mind that. You can't pick on Winston if you wouldn't have helped anyway. What's important now is making sure it doesn't happen again."

Anderson had the grace to be abashed. "All right, yeah, we probably wouldn't have done anything last night, but now we know something's really going on, we'll take precautions. It might just be a lunatic; the city has enough of them."

"This one's after me," Winston said. "And now Janine's hurt. I'm endangering my friends. If I take off, I'll draw Reynard after me. The rest of you would be safe."

"The hell you'll take off," Peter began only to be interrupted.

"Sarge, nobody saw anything," another plainclothes officer approached. "They all saw the lady hit, and some of them even heard the shots, but nobody saw anything. A couple of people claim they saw things, but the stories are too wild. One said there was a man up a tree, but there wasn't time for the sniper to come down before Nimzicki and his partner arrived on the scene." He gestured at the uniformed policeman, who had moved aside to hold back the crowd that had gathered avidly around Egon and Janine. "One witness says it was a man in a ski mask but nobody else saw this guy. It's warm enough out that a clown in a ski mask would have been noticed right away and taken for a mugger. No, whoever did it blended in."

The rescue unit arrived then, and Peter drifted back to Egon, pulling him away so the EMTs could work. "Hang in there, Spengs," he said gently as Egon resisted, then finally saw the sense of Peter's action and allowed it.

"I never dreamed Janine would be hurt like this," Egon told Peter desperately as if his words could make it untrue. He was still in shock.

"None of us did or we wouldn't have brought her," Peter said. "He wasn't aiming for her. He won't try to hurt her again."

That made Egon stare at him as his mind added up the clues he'd seen all along and hadn't considered until then. "Winston! He was aiming for Winston."

"Sorry, m'man," Winston said in an undertone, avoiding Egon's gaze.

"Sorry?" Egon's voice rose sharply. "Is that all you can say."

"Man, don't you think I know it's my fault?" Winston demanded.

"That doesn't help Janine," Egon snapped angrily.

"Hey, hey," cried Peter, stepping between them hastily "Easy, guys. It's okay. It's Reynard's fault. Bottom line. It's not Winston's, it's not ours for bringing her. Come on, Egon, you know that. So do you, Winston.

Egon had already caught himself. He was too fair a man, even in crisis, to continue in this line. "I'm sorry, Winston," the physicist said, meeting the other man's eyes. "My words were completely unconscionable. I know it was Reynard's fault, not yours." He held out his hand to Winston.

The black man stared at it, then he clasped it. "Egon, I know it's my fault," he said. "You can't reproach me more than I'm reproaching myself right now. Anderson's right, I should have called in last night. Guess I just thought they'd think me crazy, especially after Cody's reaction."

"They know now," Peter said quickly. "That's what counts. They can give you protection and find out about Reynard. He's doing this to keep something quiet. If we can expose him, there'll be no need to come after you."

"Except maybe revenge," Winston growled. "Man, this sucks. Janine wouldn't be..."

Egon turned and watched them loading Janine into the ambulance. "I'll go with her," he said, and turned quickly.

Winston took a step to follow, but Peter caught his arm and retrained him, watching Egon hurry toward the ambulance, understanding in his face, and squashing down his own worry for Janine; he could deal with that after he'd reassured Winston. "Let him. He needs to be with her. He knows how much she loves him. Right now, you're not the only one feeling guilty."

Winston stared after Egon as he climbed in beside Janine, dawning realization on his face. "You mean because he didn't love her back?"

"He does love her, he always has," Peter said with sure knowledge. "I mean because he's not in love with her, not like she is with him. He might be one day but he isn't now. And if she dies..." He couldn't complete the sentence. Janine was such an integral part to all their lives he couldn't imagine a life without her in it. She was the sister he'd never had, and in spite of all their spats, he loved her, too.

Winston nodded vaguely. The subject of love was not one either of them, or any man, felt comfortable discussing but he seemed to understand what Peter was saying. Peter heaved a sigh. He was scared, not only that Janine might die but what it would do to Egon, and to Winston, if they lost her. Egon understood rationally that it wasn't Winston's fault, but if Janine died, he wouldn't be rational about it. Neither would Winston. Peter, too, would be devastated, but his would be normal grief. Winston couldn't help blaming himself for it, and Egon might blame him too. This could tear the whole team apart.

"Come on, let's go to the hospital," Peter urged.

"What about Ray?"

Peter hesitated. Ray had as much right to be there as they did, but Ray was sick, though not so sick he'd stay away if he thought Janine needed him. "We'd better not bring him to the hospital," Peter said. "They'd never risk letting him see her right now; he could be infectious. But we have to tell him." He wanted to wait until they had news, preferably good news, but that wasn't fair to Ray.

Winston squared his shoulders. "I'd better go over and tell him," he said.

"That's a good idea," Anderson said. "If this sniper's trailing you, I don't want him showing up at the hospital. We can watch your headquarters a lot easier. I'm going to assign a couple of uniformed men to you. First I want you to come to the precinct. I want you to tell this to my Lieutenant, make a statement."

"Go ahead, Winston," Peter urged. "We can't take any chances with innocent lives."

Winston flinched, and Peter spread his hands in apology. "It's okay, Winston," he said. "You go make your statement then go home and tell Ray. I'll call him from the hospital, so he won't have to hear it on the news."

"Thanks, Pete," Winston said gratefully and went with Anderson, his shoulders bowed with the weight of a responsibility not really his. Peter stared after him, knowing he couldn't help all his friends today, and headed for Ecto.

He found Egon in a waiting room, distraught, his hair standing up at odd angles, his face full of shadows. When Peter came in, he rushed to meet him. "They won't let me see her, Peter."

"No, they're busy taking care of her right now. You have to let them. Come on, let's sit down." He guided Egon over to the ugliest Naugahyde sofa he'd ever seen and urged him down, but the minute he sat beside the shaken physicist, Egon bobbed up again.

"There must be something we can do."

Peter grabbed his arm and hauled him down again. "Come on, Egon, sit. Stay."

"I'm not a trained dog," Egon retorted before sinking into lethargy again.

"They're doing everything they can for her," Peter assured him. "Waiting's tough as hell. We've all done it, way too often."

"But we knew the risks," Egon replied.

"So did Janine," Peter reminded him, though it was no consolation. "She's been on busts before. She's even done the waiting room routine. And she knew about Reynard. She wouldn't thank you for protecting her, and you know it."

"It's just--she looked so...." His voice trailed off.

"I know," admitted Peter quietly. "I'm scared too."

That made Egon gaze up at his friend, his eyes full of pain. "What are we going to do, Peter?" he asked with helpless desperation.

"We be here for her," Peter said, at a loss himself. "And we wait."

*****

"Oh, man, whoever decided we fly the redeye should be shot," Nick Ryder groaned as he staggered off the plane at LaGuardia International Airport.

"It was the quickest flight," Cody defended himself. If truth were told, he didn't feel any livelier than Nick did. It was seven-fifteen in the morning, but that was California time. They'd all slept on the plane, but Cody and Nick had not slept well, and not consistently. Murray had probably slept the best, but the computer expert could sleep anywhere. He appeared bright and eager now, eyes wide as he glanced around the airport. One of the windows on the concourse gave a view of the distant Manhattan skyline, and Cody smiled faintly remembering Murray's eager delight as they'd flown over the city and he'd spotted the Statue of Liberty and Yankee Stadium out his window.

"New York, this is a great place," he said enthusiastically as he hurried ahead of them toward the luggage carrousels.

"Don't do a song and dance about it," Nick said sourly. "Remember, we don't even have hotel reservations."

"Winston said they'd put us up," Cody reminded him.

"Yeah, camp beds, probably. Man, I could sleep for a month. Wait up, Mur."

Bozinsky waved cheerfully but didn't slow down.

"If we could bottle that energy, I could afford that new keel for the Riptide," Cody said with a grin. "Come on, Nick. Just think. Pretty soon you'll be meeting the Ghostbusters' pet ghost."

"Pet nonsense," Nick growled. He wasn't at his best when he didn't sleep well. "Come on, Cody, this whole thing could be just nothing."

"I know. But we can't take the chance, not if it's Reynard. You can bet Winston hadn't been thinking about him for along time before this happened. Why would he pull a weird stunt out of the blue? Something happened. Remember Murray's ghost friend who hired us."

"He wasn't a ghost," Nick insisted, but doubtfully.

"I think he was a ghost," Cody argued. "Okay, so it's crazy. It goes against common sense. But Winston was no air dreamer in Nam, and you know it. Basic guy, common sense all the way. If Hemphill had called claiming he'd seen a ghost, I'd write it off in an instant. But not Winston."

"It's how he collects his paycheck," Nick argued. "He has to claim ghosts exist. It'd be bad public relations if he was a skeptic."

It was the same old argument they'd shared across the length of the continent; they wouldn't resolve it now. Cody craned his neck to see if he could spot Murray in the crowd, but Bozinsky had vanished ahead of them. "You see Boz?" he asked.

"Try and slow him down," Nick said with a grin. "Come on, let's track him down. He's probably picked up our suitcases already. Man, I wish we could have brought our guns."

They'd argued it out and realized their license for carrying concealed weapons wouldn't be valid in New York, nor would their P.I. licenses. Nick had been all for packing the guns anyway, but Cody had vetoed it. He hoped they wouldn't need them, but didn't count on it. He didn't relish the thought of his only defense being a Ghostbusters proton pack. Nick had finally muttered it would be easy to pick up guns in a place like New York if they needed them. But Cody knew they'd have to bring in the police. It was the only smart thing to do.

They took the escalator down to the luggage area and glanced around. Murray had vanished; he wasn't waiting for them there. "Now where did Murray go?" Nick wondered.

"Stopped off in the john?" Cody frowned. "I'll go this way, you go that." There were half a dozen baggage carrousels in the area, some of them empty, a few crowded with people from their flight and from a couple of other flights that had come in at much the same time.

They went up and down the area, moved among the people from their flight, paused to grab their duffle bags, and Murray still hadn't surfaced. "This is crazy," Nick insisted. "Where could he have gone? You can't get lost on the way to the bags. Even if you've never been here before, it's clearly marked." He leaned over the moving ramp, studying each face. No Murray Bozinsky.

"Got distracted?" Cody suggested. "Ran into an old friend?"

"I hope he didn't run into an old enemy," Nick said abruptly, his face hardening as he spoke the words Cody had hoped they could avoid.

"Reynard? But why? How would he even know Murray was with us?"

"We were together when we got off the plane," Nick reminded him. "This is a pretty public place for a shooting, besides, you have to go through the X-ray machine."

"We both know there are guns that can go through without setting it off. You think a guy like Reynard doesn't have access to a Glock 7? If it's too public for a shooting, it's too public for a kidnapping."

Nick dropped his bag at his feet and grabbed Cody by the upper arms. "Come on, Code, you know what the Boz is like. Friendly little guy, not a suspicious bone in his body. He's learned caution on the job, but he wouldn't expect trouble at the airport. You think Reynard couldn't get the drop on him without creating a disturbance. Man could take out one of the President's secret service guys and not raise a stir. Maybe he's gonna use Murray as bait, lure him to us, to a secluded spot, kill us face to face."

"And maybe Murray went down the wrong escalator," Cody replied, though he didn't believe it. "Oh, man," he groaned. "We should have insisted he stay home." He knew Murray wouldn't have done it; he'd have never let Cody and Nick go into danger without him, not when he considered the two of them his brothers, and he'd have felt betrayed if they had insisted.

"Yeah, insisting he stay home would be like insisting the tide stop flowing," Nick replied. "Damn it, it was our danger, not his."

"Let's backtrack," Cody decided. "Come on. Maybe somebody saw what happened to Murray."

But a crowded airport is not a good place for a search. Anyone who noticed anything out of the ordinary had already moved on, been met, picked up luggage, grabbed a cab. Swimming upstream against a sea of new arrivals, Cody and Nick paused at the little shops along the concourse, trying to find a clerk who might have seen Murray's disappearance. They met up with blank stares, impatient insistence that they'd been too busy to pay attention to anybody but customers.

"Well, he wouldn't have taken a cab," Nick decided after they checked out the third bathroom and found no trace of a Murray who had suddenly been taken ill. "Either he's still here at the airport or Reynard had a car here."

"Parked where?" Cody challenged. "Unless you're a cabby or limo driver you can't park along the ramp here. The parking lots aren't that handy either. The further he had to drag Murray, the greater chance he had of giving himself away."

"So how did he manage it?" Nick asked. They went through the luggage pickup and outside. It was a warm day for early April, perfect weather. A line of cabs awaited them, and a guy in a uniform tried to direct them toward the nearest one.

Cody waved him away. "Let's find a cop and report it," he said.

Nick groaned. "Oh, man, I hate this," he said. "We should have stuck to him."

"We'll find him," Cody insisted, though a part of him was afraid it was too late, that Murray might already be dead. Running his eyes along the curve of the building, he spotted a patrol car and set off in that direction. "Come on, Nick," he urged. "It's time to talk to the police."

*****

"I'll come over right away," Ray insisted. His cold sounded a little better, but that was probably the antihistamines kicking in. "Gosh, poor Janine. That's awful." His voice was stricken, scared. "She's gonna be all right, isn't she, Peter?"

"Ray, you stay put," Peter insisted. "I asked the doctor and he said there were enough germs floating around the hospital without bringing in more. They haven't even let us see Janine; they won't let you go in. It would endanger her."

"I know, Peter, but I could stay in the waiting room."

"You stay there," Peter insisted. "Winston's at the police station making a statement. He's going to come over and join you when he's through. They're gonna assign two men to him; they think he's a risk here too. Come on, Ray, he's feeling really bad about what happened. You can't be here, so it's your job to take care of him. He's blaming himself, and we both know it was that Reynard's fault, not his. Are you up for it?"

Ray hesitated. "Yeah, Peter, I'll do it. Poor Winston. He couldn't have stopped it. It could have been any of you." He paused to sneeze three times. "You call the second you hear about Janine."

"I will." Peter hung up and turned around, coming face to face with Sergeant Anderson. "What are you doing here?"

"Warning you," the detective replied. "We pulled it all together. That patrolman in the park, Nimzicki? He didn't have a partner. The people in the crowd saw two cops and assumed they were together. But the other one made off with Nimzicki's patrol car just as calmly as you please right after Nimzicki called in for the EMTs. Has to be Reynard. The most anybody can remember was that he had dark hair with grey in it. A big man, thin." He shook his head. "We're working on a sketch of him now. Zeddemore is with them, so he can see if the results match what he remembers. Then we'll know for sure what we're up against."

"He stole a patrol car?" Peter shook his head in disbelief. He'd seen a couple of uniformed cops himself but hadn't paid any attention to them. Other than Nimzicki, who had been right there, he couldn't identify any of them. "Just waltzed off with it in front of all you detectives?"

"I'm beginning to believe Zeddemore's story," Anderson said wryly. "It would take a pretty skilled character with a lot of chutzpa to pull off a stunt like that. Had to look like he had the right to what he was doing. Anybody saw a cop with a gun, they'd assume he had the right to use it." He grimaced. "Inspector Frump showed up."

Peter groaned. "I was afraid of that." Frump didn't like the Ghostbusters, and his path had crossed theirs several times, never to Peter's satisfaction. The big man was abrasive enough to make enemies, and from the sound of it, Anderson didn't like him much, either.

"This isn't Frump's precinct," Anderson went on. "But he says he knows you Ghostbusters and the captain decided he could borrow him for the duration." Seeing Peter's face fall, he said, "Sorry. You had enough to endure already. At least your friend Zeddemore is safe for now."

"Yeah, when Reynard is imitating cops? I don't think so." Peter shook his head. "What about Ray? He's at headquarters all on his own, in bed with a nasty cold. Could he be in danger?"

Anderson's beeper went off. He pulled it out, studied the number, and said, "Excuse me." Snatching up the phone Peter had just used, he fed money into it and identified himself. Then he was silent a long time, his face darkening. When he spoke, it was to say, "Send McKinley over to Ghostbuster headquarters right away to stand guard over Stantz." He hung up almost immediately and whirled. "This is turning into a circus sideshow."

"What's wrong? Ray all right?"

"We're checking that now. We just had a call from LaGuardia. Zeddemore's two fellow witnesses to the original murder showed up, with a buddy. Somebody snatched the buddy." He frowned. "If Reynard still has Nimzicki's car and the uniform, he could manage it without any trouble. We've put out an APB, but if the bastard's smart, he's already in another car."

"He grabbed Bozinsky?" Peter yelped, lowering his voice when a passing nurse favored him with a warning glare. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were. This is turning into a nightmare. This ties in with Midtown's case, so we're stuck with it. Zeddemore's friends are on their way over to the precinct."

"But was there time for Reynard to shoot Janine and reach the airport in time to grab Murray? How'd he know to go to the airport anyway?"

"That's probably the easiest part. He could have had your line bugged. Did you know what flight they were coming in on?"

Peter nodded. "They called last night. They were taking the redeye. Should have landed around ten. We arrived in Central Park about eight-fifteen. I know, because it felt like the middle of the night. I'm not a morning person." He glanced at his watch. It was just after ten-thirty. "We had the ghost by eight-thirty," Peter realized. "That must be when Janine..." There was still no word of her. "Takes time to drive out to LaGuardia, but he had a patrol car. Could have used the siren. Yeah, he could have made it in time. But why grab Murray? It was the other two he wanted. I met the two of them once, in passing, but spent more time with Murray because he came on a bust with us. He wouldn't have known a thing about Reynard. He's a computer geek."

"Maybe Reynard wanted leverage," Anderson said. "I'm staying here, waiting with you. Based on this, any of you could be a target now."

"Yeah," said Peter. "And Egon's so worried about Janine, he wouldn't even notice if Reynard tried to attack him."

"He have a relationship with Ms Melnitz?" Anderson asked.

"No. She'd like it if they did, but Egon--well, women chase him like crazy, but he rarely chases back. I think one day he's gonna fall for her hard, but even with the shooting, it hasn't happened yet. He loves her. Heck, we all do. She's one of us. But now, if anything happens to her, if she doesn't make it..." Peter paused to clear his throat. "Egon will take it hardest of all. Janine's family has been notified. They're on their way here. I don't want him to have to face them alone."

Anderson's lean face was sympathetic. He must understand more than Peter was saying. "Okay, let's go track him down," he said and gestured in the direction of the waiting room.

*****

"Dr. Spengler?"

Egon bolted to his feet, whirling at a glimpse of a white coat, hoping for a doctor, but the man who stood confronting him was not a doctor. He wore a white suit, white shoes, white tie, and he held in one hand a white fedora. He wore glasses with one lens blacked over, and he had a mustache. Though he slightly favored one knee, the cane in his other hand was almost an affectation instead of a tool. His hair was fair. Behind him by several steps, also clad from head to toe in white, designer white by the look of it, stood a light-complected black woman with masses of dark hair. She carried a small briefcase tucked under one arm.

The pair were about as incongruous a sight as Egon could have imagined in a better frame of mind. But Egon's mind was in a state of turmoil because there was still no word of Janine's condition, and the white-clad strangers simply made him boggle. "I'm Dr. Spengler," he said, realizing as he spoke that the man already knew; the interrogative note in his voice had been a request for attention rather than an attempt to identify him. Forcing his concentration from the image of Janine's broken body that had lodged in his brain, he said, "Who are you?"

It was the woman who spoke, stepping forward abruptly. "This is Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III. I'm his assistant, Marella." When Egon simply stared, no further along than before, she said, "Your colleague, Winston Zeddemore called in favors with the military last night searching for a man named Hawke." Opening her briefcase, she passed over a photograph of two men, both fair haired and clad in casual clothes. "Is this the Mr. Hawke in question? Either of these men?"

"I don't know. I never saw Hawke, nor heard of him until last night. I only know of him from Winston's story. He could tell you. I couldn't."

"Where is Mr. Zeddemore? We understand your secretary was wounded in a sniper attack today. We assumed Mr. Zeddemore would be here."

"Winston's at the police station," Egon replied.

"And I'm here," said a voice behind the newcomers. Sergeant Anderson. He stalked into the room, beside Peter, who instantly came over to Egon and placed himself at the physicist's side, his face stiff and stubborn.

"I'm Sergeant Ron Anderson, NYPD," the detective introduced himself, adding pointedly, "And you are?"

The woman repeated her introductions. Tucking his hat under his arm to free one hand, the man, Coldsmith-Briggs, took out a wallet, opened it, and held it out to the sergeant, who recoiled in surprise from the ID it contained.

"What does this have to do with the Firm?" he asked, a resentful expression on his face.

"The Firm," squawked Peter, eyes wide in astonishment. "Spies? International intrigue? This Reynard must really be a big shot."

"Reynard!" echoed Coldsmith-Briggs and Marella in concert. They turned and stared at each other, all sorts of silent messages passing between them. "Zeddemore made no mention of Reynard last night," she continued almost accusingly.

"No, he was trying to find this Hawke because Reynard's stalking five guys who were together escaping from the Viet Cong during the war," Peter explained. "They saw Reynard murder a guy in cold blood and he knew they saw him. Reynard already killed one of the five, Doug Hemphill, and shot Janine." His face darkened and he cast a quick, interrogative glance at Egon to see if he'd had news. Egon shook his head. Peter gnawed his bottom lip for a second before adding, "And now he's kidnapped somebody, and we don't know why."

"Kidnapped?" Egon spun on Peter in horror. "Not Ray?" He was sure he was wrong. Peter was tense and worried but if anything had happened to Ray, Egon would have been able to tell it simply by looking at him.

"Murray Bozinsky."

"The computer man? What does he have to do with this?" Marella queried, lifting a surprised eyebrow. Peter took a second, impressed look at her and edged a step closer, smiling at her.

"That's the guy, and he's involved because his two partners were with Winston when Reynard killed a reporter in cold blood." Peter said. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Peter Venkman. I'm famous."

"I know who you are, Dr. Venkman," said Marella coolly. Turning to Coldsmith-Briggs, she said. "I believe we need Mr. Zeddemore."

"Yes we do," the man with the eyepatch replied. "Sergeant, which precinct is it?"

While Anderson gave the address, Marella returned the photo to her briefcase and closed it with a snap. Then the two of them headed for the nearest exit, Coldsmith-Briggs' bad knee not holding him back in his haste to be gone.

"Oh, man," groaned Anderson. "That's the last thing we need. What the hell does Langley want with this case?"

"I don't know why they'd want to know about Hawke--that's the one Winston said was probably still M.I.A." Egon frowned. "But it's apparent they know about Reynard."

"Yeah, and they're a lot more worried about him than they were about this Hawke guy," Peter said. "Not too happy about the big boys taking over your case, huh, Anderson?"

The sergeant's face gave the agreement to that. "We work with the FBI occasionally," he said, "but usually not with the international types. I can smell a security cover-up a mile away and that's where we're heading."

"I don't like Ray being all alone," Peter said. "If Reynard grabbed Murray it was because he was easy to snatch, he's probably gonna offer to switch him for Allen and Ryder. What if he grabs Ray to get to Winston."

"We've already sent men to Ghostbusters' headquarters," Anderson replied.

"Yeah, and how's Ray gonna know it's a real cop and not Reynard in a stolen uniform and patrol car? There were no cops there when I just called. If anything happens to Ray, I'm gonna hold you personally responsible," he snapped.

"Peter." Egon's quiet voice cut through the tirade. Peter turned to him.

"But, Egon, Ray's in danger."

"You can't personally protect him against Reynard," Egon reminded him. "You'll have to trust the police force to do it. I'm certain you'd feel better if you were there wearing a proton pack, with your thrower in your hand, but from those two's reaction, I suspect Reynard was a covert operative in Vietnam. He'll have an edge because you have no training at all."

"You think a couple of cops from a patrol car can face him down?" Peter growled.

"I don't even think so, not if he's a former operative," Anderson said. "Maybe we should place the four of you in protective custody, find a safe house."

"I have to stay here until I find out about Janine," Egon said flatly, determined to stay at all costs. "Besides, she's a bargaining chip for a man like that, too. She'll need equal protection. Even though he didn't mean to shoot Janine, he still did."

Peter gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Egon, this guy's good, but he won't come for Janine. That would be too big a risk even for him, especially when Ray's a sitting duck. Or maybe Murray's enough for him. I can't see Winston hiding in a safe house when his friends are in trouble, not when he considers it his trouble, can you?"

Egon shook his head slowly. Winston was a universal protector. He'd watched out for the other three Ghostbusters ever since he'd joined the business. Remembering Murray Bozinsky and his eager enthusiasm for life--and his lack of a hard edge--Egon knew Winston wouldn't sit calmly in safety when he was threatened. He was positive Nick Ryder and Cody Allen wouldn't either. He had not met the two men in California, though Peter and Ray had. He didn't know them. But he did know Winston said they were a real team, that they were close. They wouldn't leave their teammate in jeopardy for an instant if they could prevent it.

"Peter's right, Sergeant," Egon said. "You'll have to make sure Winston doesn't get in over his head. He's the real target here. He's the one in trouble."

*****

Surrounded by police officers, Winston hadn't felt he was in trouble at the moment, other than a lingering unhappiness because his trouble had spilled over and hurt Janine. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't his fault she was in the hospital, but his stomach didn't know it, and his heart didn't. As he and the witnesses tried to make a picture of Reynard all of them could agree on, his thoughts were never far away from the secretary. Why didn't Pete call and tell him she was okay?

"Zeddemore?" It was Lt. Hanson, Anderson's boss. "Come here a minute."

The man's voice was grim. Oh, man, Winston thought miserably. He's got bad news about Janine. His heart plunged into his boots and he stood up, girding himself to face the music.

"Someone here to talk to you," Hanson said. "You can use my office."

Peter, here to tell me himself, thought Winston, and followed Anderson grimly, only to draw back at the sight of two strangers, clad entirely in white, the man with one blacked out lens on his glasses. He was seated at Hanson's desk as if it were his own.

"Mr. Zeddemore," the woman said before Winston could ask a single question. "Come in."

"Coldsmith-Briggs," said the man at the desk by way of introduction. "We've just learned of your experience in Vietnam. Your two colleagues on that adventure, Ryder and Allen, are being brought here even as we speak."

"Why does that interest you?" Winston said, bracing himself in the doorway and folding his arms across his chest.

"We originally became involved because you asked after a man called Hawke," the man in white replied. "And that...interests me, very much."

"You know Hawke?" Winston asked, then threw in another question before he could answer. "Who are you? Not military intelligence? CIA? NSA? Man, I had a bad feeling about it at the time. Was Hawke your man? Was he after Reynard?"

The woman showed Winston an identity card, which didn't reassure him much. He should have known this would touch on espionage. He'd felt at the time that Reynard wasn't playing a private game, though his murder of Markham had felt private.

"Before we start on Reynard, can you identify either man in this picture," the woman, Marella, asked, holding out a snapshot. It was of two men, obviously companionable, possibly related because they had a similar appearance, though they were not identical in any way. One of them was a total stranger but the other one--he was Hawke.

Winston passed it back, pointing to the man who had helped him break out of that VC transit camp. "That's him. That's Hawke. Never knew his first name."

"It's Sinjin," Marella said. "And, as you surmised, he is still M.I.A. The other man, his brother, is..." She hesitated, seeking the right word, "an associate of ours. Not a member of the Firm but a man who might value your information."

"I don't have much, but I'd be glad to call him and talk to him about Hawke when this is all over," Winston said.

"You know nothing that can lead us to his current location?" asked Coldsmith-Briggs.

"I never saw him again after that day. When I reached my lines, I told them about him in my debriefing. They didn't give me anything to go on, but later on they told me there was no one of that name." He shook his head. "Was he working for you then?"

"Not then," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. Winston wasn't sure he believed him, but that didn't matter as much as the current crisis.

"Is he alive?" Winston asked.

"I would give a great deal to learn the answer to that question myself, Mr. Zeddemore. I'll be asking it of your two colleagues as well, when they arrive."

"Okay, then, Reynard," Winston said. "When you found out I'd been asking around, you came hunting for information about Hawke. What about Reynard? Do you have a picture of him in there, too?" He gestured at Marella's briefcase.

"No, Mr. Zeddemore," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. "We didn't realize Reynard was involved until we arrived at the hospital to find you. Your colleagues told us what had happened and we came straight here."

"Guess he's more important than finding your buddy's brother," Winston observed.

Marella gave a faintly knowing smile at her boss then grew serious. "Reynard is a very dangerous man, Mr. Zeddemore, no less so because he's been out of the game for a number of years."

"In fact we had information to suggest he died in Vietnam." Coldsmith-Briggs took over the narration. "Under the circumstances, Mr. Zeddemore--"

He broke off at a knock on the door, and a uniformed officer opened it to admit Nick Ryder and Cody Allen, who wore identical grim and impatient expressions. The cop withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"Winston," exclaimed Cody. "What's going on? Murray disappeared at the airport. We can't just sit here. We've got to find him."

"Reynard took him," Coldsmith-Briggs said, gesturing them into chairs. "Mr. Allen, Mr. Ryder, please sit down." It was evident he knew which was which without explanations or introductions. "The police department is aware of what has happened and how it happened. They've issued an all points bulletin."

"We're not aware of what happened," Nick growled, eyeing the two in white with heavy suspicion. "How did he know we were going to be even be at the airport."

"At this point a phone tap at the Ghostbusters' headquarters seems the most likely answer," Marella said. "He obviously knew about the team's early morning, er, bust, and was able to arrive on the scene and get off a few shots, which unfortunately wounded Ms. Melnitz."

"Melnitz?" Nick mouthed to Cody, lifting a questioning eyebrow..

"Our secretary," Winston explained. "I bent over to pick up the trap and she took the bullet meant for me."

Nick opened his mouth to ask more questions and Cody poked him in the side with his elbow. "It wasn't your fault, Zed," he said understandingly.

"I was the target, she wasn't."

"You still are the target," Marella pointed out calmly. "Our purpose here is to prevent any further attempt on your lives."

"Who are these people?" Nick exploded. "Why are we just sitting around when the Boz is in danger?"

"Because it's easier to work out the details first, Mr. Ryder, to avoid running around like a chicken with its head cut off," Marella said. "The more we know now, the better chance we have of stopping Reynard."

"They're spooks," Winston explained. "With the Firm. They didn't know about Reynard at first, they were poking around because they're interested in Hawke. When they heard of Reynard, they practically dumped the Hawke inquiry, and now it's Reynard all the way."

"Michael is a deputy-director at the Firm," Marella explained. "And while it would please us very much to locate Sinjin Hawke alive and well, it has become more...expedient...to find and stop Reynard."

"So you know about him," said Cody, interested. "We thought maybe he was covert ops gone bad."

"The problem being that no one at the time knew he had gone bad," Michael explained. "Everything I'm going to tell you now is classified, and the only reason you're hearing the portion I'll relate is that you do have a need to know, up to a point. Reynard was the code name for an agent during the Vietnam war. I can't tell you his real name or which agency he was with."

"There are so many of them," Cody said sotto voce.

Coldsmith-Briggs nodded in acknowledgment, a small grin lifting the corners of his mustache. "Precisely. He had a link with our Russian opposite numbers, leaking disinformation. On the side he ran a black market ring, did a little drug smuggling, made himself look like a pretty sleazy character. We didn't realize just how sleazy until it was too late. Somewhere along the line, he stopped feeding them disinformation and started giving them the real thing. You assume no one cared when you reported the death of the journalist Ethan Markham. Not true. People cared very much. But it was classified, and you didn't have the clearance to find out what happened after that."

"I knew they were stonewalling us," Nick muttered.

"They had to, Mr. Ryder," Marella said. "If it came out, it would have given too much away. We were scrambling as it was to protect agents Reynard sold out."

"And Markham was one of them." Cody snapped his fingers in realization. "Nobody ever told his family he was dead."

"You did," the man in white replied. "We were rather glad of that; we couldn't do it officially without being required to explain far too much. On the strength of your story we were able to see his widow received a pension."

"You'd have just let her hang out to dry otherwise." Nick wasn't willing to make any concessions.

"We would have provided for her, of course," Marella said. "It's just that it would have taken a more creative solution."

"Okay, so you have Reynard, a known agent. What's he doing popping up now and taking potshots at people?" asked Cody. "How did you let him get away with it?"

"When the war ended, he was gone. He disappeared during the fall of Saigon. Opinion was split: He'd gone to Moscow, he'd hidden out in the jungle, he'd died and his body was in an unmarked grave."

"All of which meant you could just drop it?" Nick looked like he wanted to spring from his chair. Winston understood. He wanted to be at the hospital, and the other two must be desperate to help Murray Bozinsky.

"No one dropped it," Michael said tightly. "The case was never closed. What we think happened is that he snatched the dog tags off a dead g.i."

"Sure, and returned to his unit and no one noticed?" Winston shook his head.

"He came out later, escaped through Cambodia, found a man who'd been M.I.A. for a year or two. So there wouldn't be any familiar faces. There are a lot of ways to do it. Maybe he'd found a victim with no family and killed him and kept the dogtags in reserve. We now have to assume he's been living in the states ever since, under a false identity. Either he hasn't continued in the espionage field or he's been very discreet." Coldsmith-Briggs frowned. "What perplexes us is why he would suddenly come into the open now."

"The first murder was written off as a drive-by," Cody explained. "Murray hacked into the computer files of a Minneapolis paper and we read about it."

"First murder?" Michael and Marella exchanged glances. "Dr. Spengler mentioned it. Suppose you tell us about the first murder?" the woman encouraged. "If you are referring to Douglas Hemphill's death in Minneapolis three days ago, that was reported as a drive-by shooting. Though of course we don't believe that in the face of what's happened today."

Winston explained hastily about the appearance of Doug Hemphill's ghost, his mouth tightening when Michael and Marella exchanged very skeptical glances. "How do you account for everything that's happened if I didn't run into Doug's ghost?" he demanded. "Reynard killed him, and he shot Janine, and now he's grabbed Bozinsky. We didn't imagine any of that. So either you say I took a wild guess or you buy what I'm saying."

"I have to say I was skeptical myself," Cody said. "But now--what do you think he'll do to Murray?"

"Dr. Bozinsky has seen him," Marella replied sympathetically.

"You mean he could be dead already?" Nick groaned. "Oh, man, I hate this. We can't leave the little guy hanging. We need to go out there and find him. He's depending on us to rescue him. I won't let him take the fall for us."

"Nobody's saying you have to, buddy," Cody reassured him. "We'll get him back. We've gotten out of tight situations before." He eyed the Firm agents. "Listen, you can't expect us to sit here and do nothing when our friend is in danger."

"Suppose you tell me where you'll search for him," Coldsmith-Briggs asked. "You don't know New York, you're not licensed private investigators here." He saw them react and said, "You didn't think anyone cared about your story in Vietnam. But I assure you people did care. We gained access to your names once we knew what was going on. You don't know where Reynard is. Hemphill died several days ago. Reynard's had that much time to lay his plans here. Either he bugged the Ghostbusters' telephone or used sound equipment to monitor their calls. He knew when you two were arriving, the flight number and time. He's gone to ground. Most likely he'll use Dr. Bozinsky to draw you to a location he's chosen in advance, so he can kill you."

"You think we're going to sit tamely under police protection when Murray needs us?" Cody demanded hotly, a sentiment Winston could agree with. Reynard had hurt Janine. He knew he couldn't wait calmly for rescue by the Firm or the NYPD. He had to do something, anything.

The two agents exchanged looks, then Marella said, "Would it suit Ms. Melnitz or Dr. Bozinsky to have the three of you die?"

"You might need us to get Murray," Nick pointed out.

"If so, we'd control the situation," Michael replied. "You two may be private investigators but you haven't come up against anyone like Reynard before. He's controlling the scenario."

"Yeah, but he hasn't come up against the Ghostbusters before," insisted Winston. "We could use our particle throwers. Egon knows how to configure them so we could take him out without killing him. We could take readings of the stolen police car when it turns up and find out his biorhythms. Then we could boost all our meters and set them so we'd know if he came within a block of us."

Cody and Nick regarded this plan with considerable approval; they wanted a shot at Reynard. He'd made it personal when he kidnapped their friend, just like he'd made it personal when he shot Janine. If Janine was unhurt and Murray was free, all three of them would have been content to let the intelligence community remove Reynard. Now such a tame procedure didn't appeal.

"That's an interesting plan," Marella said. "The vehicle has been found in an airport parking ramp."

"I hope you haven't had a team go through it," Winston said, imagining his plan going down in smoke.

"Not yet. We were importing experts," Coldsmith-Briggs replied. "I'll see you're taken there immediately. Do you need your colleagues to do the job?"

Winston smiled. Finally. Action. He'd like to use Egon, but he didn't think it was fair to take him away from Janine. "Ray could help. Yeah, he has a cold, but he'd overlook it for this. Can you have him meet us there? Or have the police bring him? I know he'd want to do anything to help catch the guy who shot Janine."

"We're coming too," Cody replied. "We can't take readings, but we want to help."

"You called that right, man," Nick insisted, bounding to his feet. He was never comfortable with waiting. "We need our Boz back."

*****

Murray Bozinsky hadn't even realized he'd been kidnapped when it first happened. Eagerly hurrying down the ramp at LaGuardia, he'd only stopped when a policeman fell into step with him and said, "Dr. Bozinsky?"

"That's me."

"Reynard is at the airport," the cop said.

His eyes widened. "Gosh, you've gotta warn Nick and Cody."

"There's a team stopping them as we speak. We'll take you into the city to the precinct where you'll be safe. I'm Officer Grey." The name was stenciled on his uniform. "The Ghostbusters told us your flight number. There's been an incident in Central Park, a shooting."

Murray walked with him automatically as he guided him to the door. "Who was shot? Not Winston?"

The officer's face darkened. "No, the Ghostbusters' secretary." He was a middle-aged man, brown hair going grey, and the hard face of a veteran of years of police work. "I don't think she was killed. They took her to the hospital. But that means you're a target as well. If we're lucky, Reynard doesn't know you and your friends are coming."

"Gosh, no. I don't know how he could," Murray replied. "He probably meant to take out Winston and then come out to California for Nick and Cody. I'm sure glad you're on the job."

"I thought you would be." He led Murray outside to a waiting patrol car. "You'll see your friends again soon. We thought it better to separate you since you are not a target."

"I don't want to be safe if they're not," Murray objected. He'd found the thought of Reynard pretty daunting but hadn't hesitated to come along on this jaunt. He couldn't let his two best friends go into danger without him. Maybe he wasn't an expert with guns and skulduggery, but he couldn't stand the thought of them going off on a dangerous mission and maybe being hurt--or killed--when he wasn't there. He had hoped he could convince them and the Ghostbusters to tell the story to the police or the FBI.

Now it seemed the Ghostbusters had done just that. He climbed into the rear seat of the police car at Grey's instruction, craning his neck to see if another police car waited for his two best buddies. That was funny. He didn't see one.

"Where's the car for Nick and Cody?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"They'll be taken in an unmarked car," Grey replied. "We don't want to call attention to them. You aren't a target. Even if you know the story of Reynard, which you clearly do, you can't identify him."

"No, I've never seen him or even a picture of him," Murray said, suddenly uneasy. "Would he care, though? If he could use me to lure in Nick and Cody?"

Grey started the car. "You're a clever man, Dr. Bozinsky. Perhaps too clever for your own good." He turned in the seat and smiled at him, then he pulled into traffic.

Murray had a sudden, very bad feeling. A uniformed officer and a patrol car should have made him feel safe, but that smile had not reassured. He hadn't noticed Grey's eyes before, but when he smiled it emphasized how cold and how empty they were. Murray had a sudden premonition he had just walked into a trap. Gosh, what if this guy's Reynard? I could be in big trouble.

He was sure of it when the police car turned off the road and into a parking ramp, driving up several levels until he found an area with no one in sight. He stopped the car, turned around, and climbed out. Murray braced himself to jump him, but it didn't work like that. When Grey--Reynard--opened the car door, he raised a strange weapon and fired it point blank. Murray flinched, horrified, then gasped and gazed down at the dart protruding from his chest. He barely had time to realize he'd been tranquilized rather than shot before lethargy pumped through his veins and he fell into his enemy's arms, unconscious.

*****

Ray Stantz was miserable. Worried sick about Janine and forbidden to rush to the hospital because of a stupid cold that might endanger her, he could only wish he could be with Egon, Peter, and Winston now. It wasn't fair that Janine had been badly hurt, not when she was taking his place on the team. I'm sorry, Janine, he thought unhappily. I should have gone on the bust instead of you. We should have called the police last night, he thought wearily, reaching for a Kleenex. "Why didn't we call the police?"

The police were here now. There were two of them downstairs, one on the ground floor, positioned at Janine's desk, the other on the second floor, drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Once he'd heard about Janine, Ray hadn't been able to stay in bed. The cold medicine had given him enough energy to leave his bed, and the news had left him wired and uneasy, unable to settle to anything. He prowled the lab, trying to find a way to occupy his mind but nothing worked.

Why didn't they call from the hospital? It had been hours. It was well after eleven now. Why was it taking them so long? Peter had said Winston would come home when he'd called but that felt like hours ago and Winston still wasn't here.

Slimer had sensed Ray's unhappiness and hung around demanding explanations, and finally Ray had told the little green ghost that Janine had been hurt. He'd had to take half an hour to comfort the spud, reassuring him, though he had no real reassurances of his own. Finally Slimer had vanished to console himself by raiding the neighboring trash bins, and Ray was sorry to see him go. Slimer might not be the greatest company in the world, but he was better than no company. The two cops downstairs hadn't been much help. Seeing them only reminded Ray the team was in crisis. If he'd gone on the bust instead of Janine... He could imagine Peter insisting it wasn't his fault, and he knew that, really. If he'd been there, it would have gone down differently, but there was no way to tell how. His moves would have been different from Janine's. Winston might have been killed--or Egon or Peter. Ray knew he couldn't blame himself or second guess what would have happened, but he'd spent a lot of time in that futile pursuit while he waited.

The ringing of the telephone jerked him to alertness and he grabbed for the nearest extension with a combination of relief and trepidation. What if the news was bad? What if Janine was dead? He stood there, hand clutching the receiver, forcing himself to pick it up. "Ghostbusters."

"Winston. Ray, we need you. We've got new problems."

"Janine..." Ray faltered, shaken by the note of grim urgency in Zeddemore's voice.

"No, I haven't heard anything about her yet. But Nick, Cody, and Murray arrived at LaGuardia, and Reynard snatched Murray at the airport."

"Snatched Murray?" That couldn't be, could it? "Why?"

"We think so he'd have a bargaining chip," Winston said. "The police found the car he used for the first part of the kidnapping. We want to take biorhythm readings, see if we can detect Reynard's pattern."

"Gosh, we'd have to be quick," breathed Ray. "Biorhythm fields don't last very long."

"The police are there, right? Have them bring you to LaGuardia. They can find out the exact location from Dispatch." He hesitated. "I can't ask Egon."

"Golly, no, he has to stay at the hospital," Ray agreed. "Poor Egon, I'm glad Peter's with him. Are you with Nick and Cody?"

"Yeah, they'll be with me. They're really worried about the little guy, Ray. We've got to figure out how to rescue him."

When he hung up, Ray dressed hastily. He took another cold pill just to make sure, and hurried down to tell the officers what he needed, bringing with him a couple of P.K.E. meters and his proton pack. They had to go to LaGuardia right away.

Given an important job to do, Ray felt better. If only he could detect Reynard's biorhythms with the meter. Maybe he could make up for not going on the bust. Janine wouldn't be in the hospital right now if not for his stupid cold. He had to make up for it.

*****

"How could you do this to her?" the woman demanded, her voice raising to a distraught shriek. "How could you risk her life like this?"

"Easy, Ma. They didn't mean to."

"Nobody meant to," Peter said, stepping quickly in between Egon and Janine's mother and sister Monica. "The last thing any of us wanted was for Janine to be hurt. There isn't one of us who doesn't wish he was in there in her place."

"That's easy to say," Mrs. Melnitz snapped. She was a small, slender woman whose normal calm had been superseded by her concern for her daughter. Her hair was pulled any which way into a hasty bun at the back of her neck and she hadn't bothered to change house slippers for shoes before hurrying to the hospital. Monica was only marginally better put-together.

"I know it is," Peter soothed Mrs. Melnitz. "But we really mean it."

"He doesn't," the older woman said, gesturing past Peter at the silent Egon. "He never wanted her. He doesn't care."

Even without turning the psychologist knew Egon had flinched. Peter couldn't jump in and stomp her down, not when she was Janine's mother, but nobody had the right to fault Egon for any of this, not when he felt so bad already. "Hey, come on," he soothed. "You know he cares. He loves Janine more than any of us do--and that's saying a lot, because we couldn't get along without her, none of us. I know you're scared. We're scared, too. And Egon was hurt, too." He gestured to the physicist's left forearm, that sported a heavy dressing. Egon had discarded his jumpsuit because of the bloodstains, but he couldn't hide the bandage. Although it wasn't a serious wound, Peter wanted to remind Janine's family all of them had been targets. Much as he hated what had happened to Janine, it had been a crapshoot. Any of them could have been hurt--or worse.

"You fight with her all the time," Mrs. Melnitz challenged Peter, ignoring Egon's bandage. There were new lines on her face, around her shadowed eyes.

"Yeah," said Peter, who had already considered that and come to the gradual realization that he couldn't reproach himself for that. "And Janine loved--loves it just as much as I do. Come on, Mrs. M, you know that's true."

The woman had flinched when Peter had inadvertently slipped into the past tense. Her daughter edged up close to her and put her arm around her shoulders. "It is true, Ma," she said. "Janine loves the challenge. I always thought she...halfway considered Peter a big brother."

"Brothers don't risk their sisters," snapped Mrs. Melnitz, unwilling to give ground. Peter couldn't blame her. As long as she had a target for her anger it would make the waiting easier to bear. He didn't mind being a target, but he wouldn't let Egon be one, not when the physicist had been so utterly miserable since their arrival at the hospital. Peter knew none of them was to blame for the shooting. It was all Reynard. He worried that Winston blamed himself, and maybe they'd been stupid not to call the police last night, although he doubted the police would have done anything on the strength of a ghost story. The team would have had to go on the bust anyway, whether Reynard was out there or not. Just because there had been a risk didn't mean they could allow entities to terrorize the city. They were Ghostbusters; they had a responsibility to protect New York from ghosts. Peter didn't see how the presence of a police escort could have made the slightest difference on the bust. He was pretty sure it wouldn't have scared Reynard away, not with the risks the man had taken so coolly.

"Janine knew about Reynard," Peter said. "I'm not defending us, because I don't think there's anything to defend."

"Egon looks like he disagrees with you." They both turned to stare at Egon, who stared at them without speaking, unable to defend himself or to make excuses.

"How do you think he feels?" Peter cried hotly. "A woman who loves him is hurt. Not because of him, but maybe she stayed with us because of that." He realized he'd given Egon another opportunity to reproach himself and knew that under normal circumstances Egon would do no such thing. "Maybe he isn't in love with her, quite, but he does care. He's hurting as much as you are. I know it's easier if you can blame somebody, but if you have to, blame me, not Egon. After all, I'm the one who hired Janine in the first place."

Monica gave a sputter of faint laughter. "That's ridiculous."

"I know. But I won't let you take pot shots at Egon." He was worried sick about Spengler. Naturally he was worried about Janine; that was a given. But Egon was so quiet, so willing to allow Peter to carry this fight.

Mrs. Melnitz gave a weary sigh and her anger trickled away. "Oh, god, Peter, I'm going to lose my baby."

Monica turned and embraced her. "It's all right, Ma. Janine's a fighter. She always has been."

"Yes, she is," Egon spoke at last. "I have been...telling myself that for the past few hours. Telling myself this is a reasonable time to wait. Telling myself she has to be all right." His voice caught. He never took it well when anyone was hurt, but this was Janine. He turned away and blundered over to the window, gripping the frame and staring unseeingly at the city below.

Janine's mother watched him silently, then she detached herself from her daughter and went over to Egon. He turned as she approached and gathered her into his arms.

*****

"God, Cody, this is all our fault."

Cody turned to his best friend and saw the reproach on Nick's face. They had arrived at LaGuardia and now stood, under police protection, while Winston and Ray took esoteric readings with Rube Goldberg gadgets in the abandoned police car Reynard had used to kidnap Murray Bozinsky. Cody had been watching with fingers crossed, hoping there would be a slim lead, anything that would tell them where to find Murray and rescue him unharmed. No one had touched the vehicle; the forensics team was waiting for the two Ghostbusters to finish their tasks before they moved in to hunt for clues, accompanied by a couple of mysterious suited guys who had shown identification to the cops. Probably the Firm's investigation team. Ray and Winston had orders to touch nothing without clearing it first, but they didn't need to touch anything. With all the vehicle's doors ajar, they were engaged in a minuscule testing of every inch of the car's interior, paying particular attention to the driver's seat and steering wheel. Nick and Cody had watched them in silence until Nick had burst out with his belief in their blame.

Cody turned to Nick and gripped his shoulders. "No, it's not," he said. "It's the same fault it's always been, Reynard's." He wished he could believe his own words completely. Although he didn't think it would have been possible to keep Murray from coming with them, he couldn't help wondering if they'd tried hard enough to keep him out of it. Even after several years working together, there were times when he and Nick felt compelled to protect Murray. It wasn't that he was inept or incompetent, just that his areas of expertise were different from those of the other two. He hadn't gained that hard edge Cody and Nick had acquired in Vietnam, and he was completely good-hearted and imbued with a childlike sense of wonder that made him occasionally appear vulnerable. Yet he was also endowed with a stubbornness that would rival a pit bull's, and a persistent determination to be a part of the team. Left behind, he would have pined himself into a state of sheer misery, worrying about his friends, and he might have taken it as proof he wasn't valued properly. It would never have meant that. Both Cody and Nick had learned to value Bozinsky to the point where neither of them could imagine life without him.

"We knew what Reynard was like, man," Nick replied tightly. "We knew. I don't know if Murray can even imagine a creep like that. You know how he is. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt. Even after all the scum and lowlifes we've busted, he's still an optimist. I don't think he really believed how bad Reynard is."

"No, but he could tell from our stories that we did," Cody replied. He didn't like the shadows in Nick's eyes. Nick was by far the moodiest member of the team; he'd be bent out of shape over things like this and suffer with them. Look how he'd been over the discovery that his high school buddies had gone into the drug business. He'd felt betrayed then. It wasn't in him to betray anyone, but right now he must be thinking he'd done that to Murray.

"We were the ones who knew. We should have made him stay out of it," Nick insisted. He hunched his shoulders to dislodge Cody's grip.

"Murray wouldn't have listened," Cody replied, though he felt as bad as Nick did over their buddy's capture. "You know how he is. He'd have been brokenhearted if we hadn't let him come."

"I'd rather he was brokenhearted than dead," Nick said grimly.

"Reynard will have to keep him alive," Cody said. "Because if he tries to lure us to come to meet him, we won't go unless we can talk to Murray. He'll know that."

"And the minute we hang up, he won't need Murray any longer," Nick replied. He stared unseeingly at Ray, who was busy moving his P.K.E. meter over the steering wheel of the car, and Winston, who was leaning into the back seat of the police car. "What's the use? What good is this going to do? You know what they said, that these readings of live people aren't very strong. We can't use them to track down the Boz, not unless we had a hundred of the meters and gave them to all the cops in the city. Assuming he's even in the city. He could be over in Jersey." He gave a vague gesture in that general direction. Nick had lived in the area when he was a kid, before the family had moved out to the west coast. Maybe his local knowledge would help.

"Nick, we'll find him. We'll find him because we have to find him," Cody insisted fiercely, wishing he could believe it.

"But he--" Nick broke off abruptly, burst free of Cody's grip, and lunged for the patrol car, grabbing Ray by the scruff of the neck and yanking him backward an instant before he would have climbed into he driver's seat.

Ray let out a startled squawk and said, "I only wanted to take one additional reading. I think there's something stuck down in the seat that might have been Reynard's."

"No. I've got a bad feeling about it. Out of there, Winston."

Zeddemore complied. "Bad feeling? What bad feeling, homeboy?"

The police forensics team converged and Nick turned to them earnestly. "Who's to say he didn't leave a little parting gift in there. A bomb or device. To cover any clues he might have left behind."

"A bomb," exclaimed Ray in horror, staring at the car.

The police experts took over, doing a thorough check without touching anything. It only took moments. One of the men held up a hand after he leaned down and peered under the front seat. "He's right. It's here. Pressure sensitive."

"You mean if Ray had actually climbed into the car..." Winston stared at his friend in horror. "He'd have gone boom in a big way?"

Ray paled. "Gosh," he breathed. "I never thought..." He appeared so stricken Winston went to him and slung his arm around the shorter man's shoulders.

"It's okay, m'man. Nick was on the job." He cast a reproachful glance at the police.

"I know what Reynard's like," Nick said quietly. "I was expecting trouble."

Cody smiled at him proudly. Nick had come through, no matter how he blamed himself for Murray's capture. That was Nick for you. He'd never once let Cody down, and even now he was still considering all the angles. "Nice work, buddy," he said.

"Yeah, thanks." Ray sneezed. "I'd have been hash if you hadn't been thinking. I didn't even realize."

"You saw something stuck down in the seat?" Winston asked.

"No, I didn't see it. The meter reacted. I think I have a good handle on Reynard's biorhythms now. We can boost the meters to the maximum gain and activate them all around headquarters, and if he comes even within a block of us, we'll know."

"That's great, Ray," Winston praised him.

Cody exchanged a quick glance with Nick. The meters were a great idea, but Janine had been shot from ambush. Reynard might not come within a block of the Ghostbusters' headquarters. Or he might have been in there already, when the place was deserted. If he'd planted a bomb in this car he could have broken into the Ghostbusters' office and planted one there to be triggered at a later date. He wouldn't count on that working; it could go off when Winston wasn't there. But until Reynard was captured, nowhere was safe.

"Think he planted any other bombs?" Winston asked.

"You mean at Headquarters?" Ray's eyebrows raised. "That wouldn't be very nice."

"Reynard's not nice, Ray," Nick told him soberly. "He already killed one man, wounded your secretary, and grabbed Murray. He won't play fair."

"I know, but gee..."

Winston shook his head. "Did anybody stay at the firehouse when you left, Ray?" he asked.

"Yeah, one of the police guys did. So he might not try anything while we're gone. Besides he's holding Murray. He just can't leave him. Murray's smart and resourceful. He might even get away if Reynard isn't there. If he did his homework on all of us, he can't help knowing how brilliant Murray is."

"Your firehouse is being watched," one of the Firm types told them. "You'll be under surveillance until Reynard is taken down."

Cody didn't know whether to be glad or sorry about that. On the one hand, he didn't want anyone to be hurt or killed, but on the other, he wanted to rescue Murray and he didn't want cops or feds watching over his shoulder while he did it. He knew the most important thing was freeing him, no matter who did it, that and stopping Reynard. But he had been a detective too long to be comfortable with inactivity. And then there was Nick, who could be too hot headed for his own good. Cody couldn't let him go off half-cocked. He'd have been fine if Murray was safe, but now that the little guy was in danger, neither of them was prepared to wait.

The bomb squad arrived then and made everyone move well out of range while they worked, removing the pressure bomb under the seat and checking the car for other explosives. Ray hung as close as he could and called to one of the officers, "There might be a clue stuck down in the driver's seat. My readings picked up something."

"We'll check it out," one of the men called. He spoke to his colleague, gesturing at the device Ray held in his hand.

"They don't believe we can find him with the meters," Ray said, his bottom lip protruding pugnaciously. "But we'll show 'em, won't we, Winston?"

"You called that right, homeboy," Winston replied.

Nick still looked skeptical about the Ghostbusters but Cody had a sudden feeling there was more to their work than met the eye. When one of the suited men gave a shout as he produced a slip of paper that had worked its way down into the seat, Nick turned and stared at Ray as if he'd grown a second head.

"What is it?" Cody asked, edging as close as he could.

"Might be the first stroke of luck we've had on this job so far," the man replied. "It's a receipt for a hotel, and it's dated yesterday."

"He can't carry Bozinsky into a hotel," his colleague observed.

"Probably not, but it gives us a start." He sealed the receipt in an evidence bag, and Cody couldn't help noticing he didn't mean to share the hotel's name with the Riptide detectives or the Ghostbusters--or even with the police. It didn't surprise him, but it annoyed him.

Nick started for the man but Cody grabbed his arm and restrained him. "Don't, buddy."

"But he might know where Murray is."

"If he does, he won't tell us. Listen, I don't like it any better than you do, but it's the hand we were dealt to play."

"I'm not gonna just sit back and wait when our Boz is missing," Nick insisted.

"Maybe there's nothing else left for us to do."

"Not necessarily," Ray replied. "I have a clear biorhythm reading for Reynard now."

"And I have Murray's biorhythms. We had them on record from last year," Winston replied. "We can set our meters for both of them and at least try to find them ourselves. Manhattan's long and narrow. We can do a circle of the island and then once right down the middle. It might not work, but at least we'd be doing something."

"Fine, if you want to do that," the suit informed them. "But we'll send a man with you. I know you men want to be involved. You're used to taking action in a crisis. But you're not used to men like Reynard. We'll cover you, send a car after you."

Nick muttered under his breath, but Cody nodded. He knew it was the only way they'd be allowed to try. He couldn't go tamely to Ghostbuster Central and wait for news. True, they were relying on weird equipment, but it was the only thing to rely on if the feds wouldn't share their information.

"Let's do it," Winston said.

"Okay," agreed Ray. "But let's call the hospital first. I want to find out if there's any word on Janine."

Cody saw identical expressions on the two Ghostbusters's faces. Guilt. "Hey, guys, it's not your fault Janine was hurt," he said.

"Reynard was shooting at me," said Winston unanswerably.

"Janine went on the bust in my place," explained Ray.

"Unless you pulled the trigger, you're not responsible," Nick burst out.

That made Winston pull himself together. "Just like you're not to blame for Reynard snatching Murray."

Nick opened his mouth to argue, but Ray cut in. "All that matters is that Janine's okay and we rescue Murray. I'm going to go call the hospital." He started for the Ecto-1 and its mobile telephone.

Cody clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Hang in there, buddy," he said softly. "We'll find him."

Nick cast him one quick glance then averted his eyes. He knew as well as Cody did that there were no guarantees of finding him, at least not alive.

*****

"Mrs. Melnitz?"

The quiet voice galvanized all four people in the room. Egon jumped to his feet, all color draining from his face, Peter fought down the tension that twisted his stomach, and Janine's sister clasped her mother's hand. As one, they turned to face the doctor.

He was a young man, with a thick bush of butter-yellow hair and unexpectedly dark eyes. Right now there was a gleam in those eyes as he said, "I'm Dr. Ernest Pratt. Let me tell you right up front that Janine's alive and, if there are no complications, she should make a complete recovery."

Egon sagged with relief, then he turned away abruptly and bowed his head. Peter edged up behind him and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. Janine's mother gasped, her folded hands pressed against her heart, and Monica embraced her, tears in her eyes. It was left from Peter to serve as the group's spokesman, and he said in a voice that held an element of unsteadiness, "How is she? Is she awake?"

"There was slight muscle and tissue damage, but she was very fortunate in the angle of the bullet," Pratt replied. "It managed to hit no major organs. She lost a lot of blood and is weak, but she did regain consciousness. We've just moved her from recovery to intensive care, but if she continues to improve she'll be moved to a normal room before the