Part 4

     Admiral Calavicci was livid, but he did his best to stay calm.
     "Yes, sir.  We went to high school together," the young MP
told his commanding officer.
     "I understand that, but why did you feel compelled to tell him
the nature of his surroundings?  Only I can authorize such actions."
     "I apologize, sir.  Permission to speak freely?" John requested.
     The Admiral nodded his approval.  "Speak."
     "I know Jack.  He looked calm as can be but he was probably
scared to death on the inside."
     "But don't you think knowing what the truth is scared him more?
     "No, sir.  He's the type of person who would rather know what's
going on, no matter how crazy it is."  John gave a small smirk, and Al
didn't approve.
     "What's so funny?  I didn't give you permission to laugh."
     "Sorry, Admiral.  It's just that..."
     Al cut him off.  "What?  Speak, soldier."
     "He seemed angry at the idea of Dr. Beckett sleeping with his
     Al laughed on the inside, but kept a stone appearance.  "I guess
I can understand that.  But there still is the matter of your conduct."
     "We have rules around here, and those rules specifically state
that you don't speak about anything pertaining to this project.  These
rules are in place to protect the security of all that goes on here.
Do you understand?"
     "Yes sir."
     Al thought about dropping the hammer on one John M. Kyle,
Military Police, but he thought the better of it.  He remembered when
he was in his twenties, a hot shot pilot who's ego wrote checks his
body couldn't cash.  He risked more lives with crazy stunts in the air
than this kid did by simply easing his friend's anxiety.
     "Restricted duty, effective immediately.  Now get out of here,
     "Yes sir."  And he was gone.

     Admiral Al Calavicci left the confines of his office and headed
for the elevator which would take him to the Control Room.  After he got
off, he headed toward the mainframe computer, better know as Ziggy.  Al
offered his palm on the control panel.
     "Good morning, Admiral," a sexy female voice sounded.
     "Hello, Ziggy."
     "I wouldn't worry about this so-called security breach, Admiral.
I don't think our young Mr. Vescio will tell a soul."
     "I think you have the hots for him, Ziggy."
     "Oh, Admiral.  You have the most vivid imagination.  Well, on
second thought, he is kind of cute."
     "Cut it out Ziggy.  I need you to tell me where Sam is."
     "Dr. Beckett?  He's in the car with Paul Michaels and the two
     Al was stunned.  "What two gentlemen?  They were supposed to be
     "There are two gentlemen in the back seat of Mr. Michaels' car.
They are pulling into a warehouse of some kind."
     "Oh, man.  I better get to Sam.  Gooshie, keep things in order
while I'm gone."
     "You got it, Admiral," the little guy with bad breath replied.

     Paul Michaels drove the S-10 Blazer into the warehouse, which
seemed to be abandoned, and Sam thought that this was all too stereo-
typical.  He seemed to know where they were as he recognized the street
where he came across a burning vehicle only hours before, at least to
him.  He saw a sign that said: "Welcome to Carnegie" which told Sam that
he indeed was in the suburbs, and this was the perfect place to hide if
you are involved in some sort of wrongdoings.  He hadn't seen a police
car since entering the town named after the dead tycoon, and he wondered
if he would anytime soon.  Just if...
     "Get out," the man with the gun said.  He was the one behind
Jack on the passenger side.  The other man, who looked like a relative,
hadn't uttered a single word.  They didn't look like typical "degos," as
Paul had so eloquently put it in the restaurant earlier.  They were
dressed conservatively, in Dockers and polo shirts.  No white on white
ties and slick hair.  Sam wondered if they were even Italian until the
one who had been speaking said: "Hey, Frankie.  What should I do with
them?" and Frankie responded in a think New Yawk accent with: "Tie them
up in those two chairs."
     After the bookie not known as Frankie finished tying up Sam and
Paul, he went over to Frankie, who was talking on a cellular phone, or
maybe it was digital, since that's the craze nowadays.  But who cares!
Sam has to figure out how to get out of this or Jack will be killed as
well as Paul. 
     "Sam!  You okay?!"  The observer finally arrived.
     "Thank God!  What's gonna happen?"
     Paul was stunned at this behavior.  "Who the hell are you talking
     "Nevermind," Sam said.
     Paul was too frightened to argue, as Sam noticed by the puddle
of fluid on the floor at the usually overconfident singer's feet.
     "Sam, listen.  I'm getting a readout here that says..."
     Al was cut off by Frankie, who finally decided to speak to his
kidnapees.  "You know your uncle owes us a lotta bread.  We've warned
him several times, but he never seemed to get the message."
     Sam tried to stall him.  "How much does he owe?  I mean, you guys
are obviously businessmen and business affairs can be worked out peace-
     "Not when it's fifty g's," Frankie responded disenchantedly.  "No
one gets away with that much.  Not when it comes to Frankie Parsoni."
     "Killing us won't get you're money back," Sam said hoping to talk
some sense into this vile excuse for a human being.
     "Yes it will.  You see, old Saullie stands to gain quite a bit of
dough from Paul's demise.  He gives it to us, and everything is peachy."
     Sam replied angrily: "But Paul and I will be dead!"
     "You said we were businessmen, right?  Well business is war, and
all wars have casualties.  You are merely casualties of war."
     Just as he said this, an army of SWAT officers busted through the
door of the warehouse.  Frankie and his associate immediately dropped 
guns and put up their hands.  One SWAT officer cut Sam and Paul loose.
The still frightened but relieved pair of musicians turned near 
of business were lead outside, where the man Sam figured to be in charge
spoke to them.
     "Sorry we took so long," said the SWAT commander.  "Thank God the
two of you are alive.  It was good thinking on your part, Mr. Vescio. 
What made you think these two shitheads would come after him today?"
     Sam looked at Al and smiled.  "Just a hunch."
     "Oh, is that all I am to you?" Al replied.
     Paul was still bewildered.  "But how did you guys know where we
were?"  Just as he said this the man they all knew as Matt McCrackin
appeared from the crowd of SWAT officers.
     "Matt!" Paul bursted with excitement.  "But..."
     "Jack called me this morning.  He told me to tail you guys and
call the fuzz if anything happened."  Matt loved to use 70's slang, and
Paul and apparently Jack loved that about him. 
     "That's fuckin' awesome!" Paul said, again not eloquently put.
     Sam desperately wanted to talk to Al, so he feigned illness and
pretended to go to the side of the building to regurgitate.
     "Hey, don't talk to yourself over there," Paul said in good humor.
     "So what happens to them, Al?"
     "Well, Frankie and Johnny-I'm not kidding-are charged with
kidnapping and aggravated assault.  They both do some hard time.  And 
gets Saul into a compulsive gamblers program.  Like I was trying to say 
the readout said that Jack and Paul lived.  You did it simply with the 
call to
     "Does Saul get to keep the club?"
     "Sorry, Sam.  The bank still forecloses."
     "It doesn't always work out perfectly, Sam.  You should know that
when you take away consequences sometimes you only create new ones."
     Sam was stunned at his friend's philosophical observation.  "Very
nicely put, Al.  So what happened with that MP?"
     "I put him on restricted duty until we're sure he doesn't know
anyone in the Waiting Room.  He has an excellent service record, so I'll
give him the benefit of the doubt."
     "That's very noble of you," Sam responded.  "But I have a feeling
I'm not through with Jack Vescio."
     "What makes you say that?"
     "A hunch."
     "I never said that."
     "Real funny, Al."
     "So, you ready to go, kid?"
     "Yes sir, Admiral Calavicci."
     After all was said and done and the bookies were in jail and Saul
was broke but recovering from an addiction and Paul and Jack were alive, 

Dr. Sam Beckett was gone.

     A hospital waiting room.  Sam could tell right away, being that
he's a doctor.  They all look the same to him, like rooms in a Holiday
Inn.  Sam was struck by a little girl being carried out of the office.
She had had some blood work done, and the pain was too much for the poor
little soul to bear.  She absolutely couldn't stop crying.  Her mother
tried to comfort her, but the effort was in vain.  Just then an 
voice came to be heard.
     "Damn, Matt.  That nurse was rough as hell."
     Sam looked at the man coming toward him.  He couldn't believe it.
It was him.  Jack, the man he had inhabited not one but three times on
separate occasions was now standing in front of him.  Sam turned around,
looking for any reflective surface he could find.  Was he indeed Matt
McCrackin, the man he called on to save his ass?  A pain of glass now
faced him.  Matt McCrackin, he was.
     "Oh, boy."