Josh dreamed of trout fishing, on a perfect summer morning in a cool, clear mountain stream. The trout were everywhere, waving flashes of greeting with their speckled sides, reflecting low morning sunlight off of iridescent scales. Upriver, another man was fly fishing, wearing deep wading boots and a trench coat. He looked like a flasher out to scare a trout, but his fishing was his own business - Josh's basket was wiggling gently at his side with the weight and motion of captured fish yearning for the cold freedom of the stream, heedless of their bread crumbed fate.

The staccato burst from the other fisherman's M-1 Thompson came as a surprise, breaking the peaceful morning with a roar of gunfire. Trout screamed in panic as they swam for cover. Water was splashing everywhere as the lunatic aimed at the deeper hollows where the trout were likely to hide and shot like it was Valentine's day in Chicago.

Josh woke as the mountain stream massacre resolved into his darkened bedroom and the chatter of the radioteletype replaced the M-1. A little bleary eyed fumbling and a click filled the sparsely furnished bedroom with light. A glance at his wristwatch revealed the time to be 4:27.

The brunette in bed beside Josh slurred, "Wha da hell ish makin' dat racket." Rubbing his eyes with one hand and patting the girls bottom with the other, Josh answered, "Nothing, doll. Just boring government stuff."

Josh stumbled out of bed, ripped the report off the radioteletype, and turned off the light before making his way to the apartments poor excuse for a kitchen. He put a got a pot of coffee going a nearly antiquated stove before before looking at the teletype ribbon.

MISSING PERSONS: GRACIELLA RIBIERO, JOHNATHAN BEDFORD STEWART. LAST SEEN AT 1:00 AM 8 12 1940 TOGETHER. LAST PRESUMED LOCATION: MILE MARKER 23, ROUTE 260, NEW MEXICO. CONTACT LUNA COUNTY SHERIFF GEORGE WALKER FOR CASE PARTICULARS. REPORT EXPECTED.

That last part, "REPORT EXPECTED," was the sort of redundancy that only an organization as monolithic as the FBI was becoming could produce. No individual would say something that stupid.

It wasn't even six thirty back in Washington. That meant that someone must have coming in to work early looking for brown nose points and found the report which would have come in during the night. The question was did the disappearance of Ribiero and Bedford have something to the strange occurrences or did the eager beaver just not realize that the teletype was meant for restricted communications.

Well, in any event it would be nice to have some company on the trip out to Luna County. Agent Reid wondered who all his team would be early risers.

Josh quickly polished off his cup of coffee, washed his highs and lows, shaved, and got dressed in one of his better suits. In was a quarter after six when the lawman exited his apartment building. A morning person by nature, Reid smiled as he breathed in the cold Phoenix air.

Talking to empty street the cowboy turned g-man said, "Well, I guess the best way to learn who my early risers are is to wake them all up and taking them to Luna County,"

* * *

Moriarty and Chow had relocated to a modest downtown apartment suite after receiving their first government paycheck -- two sleeping spaces, shared living space. It raised a few eyebrows but not many, as their behavior in public was beyond circumspect. When the buzzer for the downstairs door alerted them, it was Mercedes who'd answered it, then pressed the button that would allow Reid entrance into the building.

Wu had greeted the sunrise with his regular morning preparations. He set the herbs brewing then began his physical practice, slowly and quietly flowing through the dance-like motions that fell a dozen or more silent invisible foes. He smiled as his last form ended perfectly on time with the gentle sound of the rocking lid of the brew pot. Giving a final salute to his ancestors and family in China, he then turned to attend to the brewed herbs, pouring them into a delicate white cup before taking them in to his favorite patient.

She'd answered the door to their suite clad in a white satin negligee and peignoir, blonde hair loose about her shoulders. In any other woman in might have been a seduction, but there was something about the petite blonde that didn't signal she'd welcome a pass, not exactly. Wu Long joined them a few moments later, already impeccably groomed for the day, though not yet having donned his creamy white jacket. He handed her a small cup with a few words in Cantonese; uncharacteristically, she wrinkled her nose at him before she drank it -- then took a large gulp of hot coffee just afterward and obviously counted the scalding a relief.

It was the most emotion Reid had ever seen Mercedes show.

They offered coffee politely but Reid had many others to contact that morning, not all of whom could be reached by telephone, the use of which they also offered. They agreed to meet him at the Luna County Sheriff's office by 9am. Wu Long escorted him to the door.

"Missing persons," Mercedes murmured when he'd gone. "But no circumstances. We should prepare for the unusual, Wu Long."

Wu Long nodded sagely, "Some might say that a wise person is always prepared for the unusual. Then again, 'some' are not wise. We are not as much faced with that is simply unusual but with that which is decidedly unknown. Always a difficult prospect. I think I will bring my staff in addition to my bag in case there are things that require persuasion and yet do not recognize the authority of a badge or a firearm."

Wu let his eyes travel over Mercedes' form admiring the view with a slight smile. Feeling a moment of sympathy for the G-man he commented, "I doubt that Agent Reid was prepared for you to greet him in such a manner Mercedes."

"I wasn't prepared for him to come knocking at our door at seven in the morning," she replied, lighting a cigarette. "We do have a telephone, and I gave him the new number. So there was a reason Agent Reid came in person."

Logic and reason -- even where sex was concerned, it always applied. She didn't even have to pause to consider it as smoke curled upward toward the ceiling. "He was snooping."

Wu Long's smile broadened as he spoke, "Of course Mercedes. However he was probably doing so for professional reasons as much than for personal ones. Agent Reid is intelligent enough to believe that success in his current assignment requires a better understanding of the people he is tasked to work with. Furthermore, I expect that given this morning's encounter, he will personally be more likely to 'snoop' on you whenever possible."

***

Insomnia, by definition, was about having an inability to maintain sleep. Somehow, that didn't seem to fit Cobb's predicament. Not quite.

Charles sat at the edge of the bed, staring forward into the darkness. Outside, the morning sun was peeking its bright eyes over the proverbial fence, brightening the world around it in hues of orange and luminescent gray. The sky wasn't blue, but it wasn't black anymore either. It was somewhere in between.

He'd seen it many times before. So many that he could count. Fact was, it was easier to say he'd never missed it. Charles didn't sleep; he'd never had to, and instead, spent his nights gazing at the dim-lit walls of wherever he was, putting data into information.

The doorbell rang. Charles stood, put on his white dress shirt, and headed for the door.

There, Agent Reid greeted him. Charles smiled politely.

"Good morning, Agent Reid."

Cobb gave Reid a very fast once-over.

"I'm going to assume business, given the manner of dress and the time of day?"

Yes, that would be a good assumption," acknowledged the lawman. "There is a missing persons case in Luna County, New Mexico, that may have something to do with our investigation. Luna County is a good size drive from here and I wanted to get an early start. So if you could be a the Sheriff's office and ready to go at say nine, Professor, it would be appreciated."

***

When the phone call came, Yanaha grumbled and swore in English, Navajo and Spanish. She looked at the bedside clock and swore even louder. She'd only been asleep two hours. Damn conscience, anyway, she sighed inwardly.

She dragged herself out of bed and answered the phone. "Yeah?" Pausing and listening to Reid, she sighed. "Okay, yeah. Sheriff's Office, 9 o'clock. I'll be there," she answered gruffly, in a voice still hoarse from sleep. The receiver dropped back into the cradle and Yanaha made her way into the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready to work on the day.

***

Sherman always slept lightly. So lightly, in fact, that for most purposes he didn't appear to sleep at all. It was more like meditation, or 'resting his eyes' than sleep as white men knew it. Or white women--such as the woman sleeping next to him.

He had been listening to the sound of her breathing and the occasional faint sighs and the sound of flesh against fabric when she shifted position. He'd been listening to the ticking of a grandfather clock in the living room. The brief rapid drumming of the dog's leg against the floor as he scratched, and the tinkle of his collar. The occasional creak of the structure around him. So he'd heard her husband coming long before she did.

By the sound of it he was driving a large--and old--pickup truck up the long graveled drive from the road. The brakes squealed, the truck crunched to a halt and the engine sputtered for a moment before falling silent. And still she slept.

Sherman sat up and gazed down at her for a few moments, admiring her body and remembering the pleasure they'd shared. She'd been more skilled and aggressive than he'd expected. This was clearly not the first time she'd jumped the fence. It was too bad there wasn't time for one more go.

The hinges of the truck door squealed. Sherman was pulling on his pants when she jerked awake and then sat up. The truck door slammed shut and she turned her head sharply, listening. "Oh my god," she said urgently, "It's my husband!"

"I figured," Sherman said. He slid his feet into his moccasins.

She realized abruptly that she was naked and leaped out of bed to grab her nightgown. Not, Sherman suspected, because she was feeling modest now--but because her husband would be expecting her to be wearing it. As she pulled it on over her head, she whispered, "You have to go!"

Sherman left, going silently out through the open window. "Did you hear me?" she asked, frantically. "You have to--" A pause. "Where did you go?" came faintly to Sherman's ears as he moved quickly away. Then the sound of a body leaping back into bed and the flap of bedclothes.

It was a few miles walk to his campsite. Sherman arrived about the same time Agent Reid did. "What can I do you for, Agent?" Sherman asked.

Agent Reid noted Blackstone's arrival corresponding with his own and the fact that the man's bed roll showed no sign of being slept in, but chose not to mention these things. Instead he said dryly, "You need to have a telephone installed out here. Save a man a drive."

"A couple people have gone missing in Luna County, New Mexico, and the Bureau seems to think that this might be related to our little investigation. So the plan is for everyone to meet up at the Sheriff office around nine," Reid drew a line in sky from the suns low position to where it would be at nine o'clock as he gave the time, "and for us all to take a little road trip."

Sherman grinned. "What would I want with a telephone? They make it too easy for people to disturb your rest for no good reason. If someone really wants to speak to me, they know where to find me." Sherman raised both hands to gesture at Agent Reid. "Case in point."

Sherman secured his few belongings. "Ready when you are, chief."

OOC: continue to your hearts' contents. I <3 you all.

*********************************

Sheriff Walker was a clean shaven white man seemingly carved from stone. His eyes were cold and tended towards a squint, scanning the horizon even inside. His affect tended towards a matter-of-fact tone, like there was nothing left that the world could offer that would surprise, frighten, or upset him.

They were standing on the front porch of the Luna County sheriff's office. The office was a wooden fronted building on the town's main drag through Deming. Deming itself was slowly creeping its way into the twentieth century, but the town itself still had a dusty frontier feel to it, in spite of the railroad that was supposed to turn Deming into "New Chicago" so many years ago.

"Fine day for a picnic," he said flatly, noting Josh's varied entourage. He did not make eye contact with any of them - they weren't the man in charge as far as the Sheriff was concerned, and therefor not beneath notice but not necessary to talk to.There was no contempt in it, but no regard either. The Sheriff did not bother himself with such things as status, however real they were to him.

"I wired the Bureau just yesterday. I didn't expect they'd send somebody so soon. Glad you could make the trip." He didn't seem altogether happy about wiring the Bureau, but he extended a hand to shake just the same.

"We've got two missing persons and one body we can't identify," he continued. "We found Jeb's stake bed out on 260, on it's side in the middle of the road. He and Gracie weren't there, and no one's seen them since the 12th. The body, which might be one of 'em, was about twenty yards in front of the truck, on the road. You want to start with the truck, the body, or the crash sight?"

Well, how about we start with a little information. We're either Miss Ribiero or Mr. Stewart associated with the new air force base that you folks have here?" Agent Reid drawled.

"Nope. Neither." The Sheriff's answer indicated that he'd already asked those questions, and the curl at the corners of his mouth was as close to a positive review of Josh's questions as he was likely to hear from this man.

"J.B. worked out at Bill Powell's spread in the east county. Gracie's a beautician here in town. Maybe she was seein' some of the brass workin' out how the wherefores of the base, but nobody who knew her thought she was running around on J.B. They were too busy fighting to find time for it. Happens when the hands date the greasers."

Yanaha's eyes narrowed, but since she was on the extreme fringes of this group, rather overshadowed by them all, it wasn't likely noticed. She played it smart and kept her mouth shut and as firm a control over her temper as she ever had. She wasn't going to let a gabacho like him have that kind of satisfaction and validation.

"Perhaps we could split up," Mercedes said, barely phrasing it as a suggestion. "Dr. Chow will no doubt have an interest in the body." He knows my methods, and thus will furnish details no one else would think to find. "I'd like to see the crash site, and then the truck if that's possible. The rest of our group could take on the tasks that would provide utility for their respective talents."

Realizing that Sheriff Walker was likely to either simply ignore Mercedes or say something so unthinkingly condescending as to offend the detective, Agent Reid inserted, "Yes, it would be good to see the crash site first. Though if you have a deputy free to escort them perhaps Dr. Chow and Professor Cobb could go look at the body. I already filled this years quota of looking at corpses back in March."

"I'll call down to Earl at the funeral home, tell him to expect a few folks," the sheriff said. He glanced at Cobb and the stunning blonde before continuing. "He's our coroner for the county as well, mostly because he's got a cooler big enough to keep a body fresh. Fresher anyway. I don't really have a deputy to spare to escort you, and Earl doesn't like too many loose chickens down in his work area. 'Sides 'at, Billy lost his lunch when we found it the first time."

"Yeah," Charles offered with a nod, looking out in to the blue sky. "I think I could do the most good looking at the body.I must admit, I am curious to see what state this body is in that you couldn't tell if it was one of them.

"I have to presume, given you information, that you don't know the gender; you've been qualitatively specific about other details, including the status of the vehicle, it's location on the highway, and the personal relations of our two subjects. For you to have not referred to the body as 'him' or 'her' indicates to me not that you're holding your tongue, but rather, that you don't know.

"Of course," Charles said, looking at his shoe and shuffling his toe through the dirt slightly. "that's just a guess."

The pale, blue-eyed glance he received from Mercedes was almost admiring. A man with a precise mind. Father would have approved.

Wu noted Mercedes' reaction to the Professor and inwardly shook his head. When you notice his failings, and you will Mercedes, remember that to be human is to be fallible. Outwardly he nodded in silent approval of the current plan.

With a quizzical look he questioned the county lawman, "Do you know if some type of services have been performed for the victim? It would be well to know as much as we can before we 'cluck' around Earl's domain."

"We can't tell if it's a Mexican woman or a white man. It's a closed casket affair, that's for sure. We don't even know what family to contact or release it to yet. So I don't think there's been any been anything done to it if that's your question. Earl could tell you that better than I could."

Sherman said, "I'll go wherever you like. Makes no difference to me. If the bodies and the crash site are related, there'll be plenty of sign to link them."

"The crash site is up 260 at marker 23. Not much to see, but it's up there. The truck is over behind the Saucony-Mobil station, Dale's the man in charge over there. I'll give him a call for you, too." The law man did not give the Apache the usual hairy eyeball that he had come to expect from most white authorities. Out in the county as he was, there weren't enough people to get to particular about who looked like what. Redskins were different, but different was legal.

"You want to look at the crash report now, or after you've had a look for yourself?" Sheriff Walker offered a subtly appraising look with the question.

"I'll take a look at the site first," Sherman said. He'd be very surprised if the report told him anything about the crash he couldn't discern from the signs there.

The day was clear and growing hotter by the minute. A light wind would turn sweat to salty dust on the skin, but it wouldn't cool a person down much. It was a typical high desert day in high summer, an incredibly hot day to spend out in the sun.

"Would it be possible to take the report with us? We will of course return it to you when we are finished."

The Sheriff looked at Reid briefly with annoyance, but only for a microsecond. "Sorry, ma'am," he said politely enough. "It's an ongoing investigation with some kind of foul play expected, I can't risk losing a bit of it, especially not before I even know what part is useful."

"Well, that's understandable Sheriff," Reid conceded agreeably. "Though maybe the good professor could take a quick gander at before going to look at the body. The man has the most amazing memory, and there might be something in to help him make some sense of the happened to person in Earl's cooler."

"Sure, sure. You all can look at the file inside to your heart's content," Sheriff Walker said. He looked at the verbose and slight professor for an appraising second. "I'm guessing he can figure out the crash report without my explaining it."

"Did the truck actually belong to Mr. Stewart, or did it belong to Mr. Powell's ranch?" Yanaha finally spoke up. "And what kind of shape was it in? Burned, like the body you found, or unharmed?" She didn't expect an answer from the Sheriff, so she looked at Reid with eyebrows raised. He knew her abilities and knew that she needed that information for her own abilities.

"Oh, no, miss, the body wasn't burned and neither was the truck." The sheriff "It's Powell's truck, and it's a little banged up. Needs a new radiator and the engine didn't care to lay on it's side is all. Body got a little uglied up, but it's a farm truck, it wasn't gonna be the parade anyways."

The young woman frowned, then shrugged. "Okay, then. I just didn't understand, I guess. No big deal. I guess the crash site for me would be best. Did you find anything that belonged to one of 'em?"

Be polite, chica, she reminded herself. Don't get pissed off about the little stuff.

"Well, lets drop the doctor and the professor off at the funeral home and get on to the crash site. The day is not getting any younger," said the FBI agent. He had grown use to conducting his investigations by himself and having all these other people chiming in was not agreeing with him much more than with Sheriff Walker.

OOC: The date is 8/15/1940