"Phoebe tucked the collar of her sand-colored double-breasted raincoat underneath the curls of her long, shoulder length red hair and cinched the coat's belt at her waist. She adjusted the sunglasses that she was wearing, even though the sky was overcast, and held her newspaper folded in quarters in her right hand. She started walking purposefully, her head facing forward straight in front of her, the sound of her shoes reverberating through the empty piazza. Empty, that is, except for the dozens of pigeons congregating in her path. They dispersed as she approached them and then, as soon as she had passed, returned and stood about as if they had never been disturbed.

Phoebe had almost crossed the entire piazza when, turning her eyes but not her head, she spotted Stuart some twenty-five yards off to the side. He was standing in one of the identical archways that lined the entire left side of the piazza. Seeing him raise and then lower his trenchcoat collar, she continued walking.

She came to a small café at the piazza's far edge and looked at the name on the sign above its doorway.

Námĕstí Kavárna

Café on the Square, Phoebe thought, remembering the rough translation of the Czech name she had been given and what she had been told about it - one of Prague's smaller cafés, somewhat out-of-the-way, where it was less likely that 'they' would be looking for her.

Satisfied, Phoebe sat down at one of the three square tables that was nearest to the café's wall. Despite there not being any bright sunlight, the low hanging green and orange table awning had been deployed. Though her back was to the piazza, Stuart was still visible to her from the corner of her eye.

Phoebe ordered a cappuccino, then partially opened her newspaper, leaving it folded in half. Acting as if she was reading the front page, which of course she wasn't as she did not understand Czech, she took something small from her coat pocket and slipped it into the newspaper's fold. The waitress brought the cappuccino and Phoebe moved the newspaper to the right side of the table, making room for the waitress to put the cup down in front of her.

"Thank you," Phoebe said, but then remembered the two Czech words she had learned. "Dĕekuji váám," she repeated and the girl gave her a small smile in acknowledgement.

Phoebe began slowly drinking her cappuccino, a few sips at a time. After a moment a small man emerged from the café. A stubble of a beard on his dark complexion cheeks, his large, bulging eyes darted nervously across the piazza's expanse. Seemingly satisfied at what he saw, he took a few steps towards Phoebe's table. Seeing her newspaper lying on it, he motioned with his hand if he might look at it. Phoebe nodded and the small man sat down at the side of the table to her right. The low hung awning obscured his face from the piazza though from his chair he could see anyone who was there.

Phoebe drank some more of her cappuccino, staring ahead at the café and ignoring her table companion. As the man took the newspaper, he put his hand into the fold, removed what Phoebe had put there, and discreetly held it below the table's edge on his left thigh. The small, square translucent object fit easily into the palm of his left hand. A yellow light was pulsing quickly in the square's lower right corner.

The man turned the square clockwise and the light moved to the right side of the square. He moved the square closer to his right pants pocket. The light turned red and was pulsing so rapidly that it appeared to be steady. He put his right hand into the pocket and pulled out a small ruby.

Satisfied, the small man put both the ruby and the square into his pocket. He looked up and scanned the piazza, then looked to his right at the café. Seeing no one approaching, he took out a small, folded over manila envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Moving the newspaper closer to him, he placed the envelope inside its fold. He flipped the newspaper over as if to read the lower half of the front page, sat that way for a minute, then replaced the paper on the table as it had been. He stood up and bowed his head slightly to Phoebe in a courtly 'thank you'. She gave him a polite smile and as he walked away, went back to her drink.

Finishing her cappuccino, Phoebe moved the newspaper closer to her, discreetly took out the manila envelope and placed it inside her coat pocket. She stood up, took the newspaper and left some money on the table. From the corner of her eye she saw Stuart raise and lower his coat collar, giving her the ‘OK’ signal again, and she began to walk back through the piazza.

Phoebe was halfway across the piazza when she heard a cry from behind her. She turned around and saw two tall men in dark suits holding the small man from the café up against the café wall. A light crackled from the hand of one of the men to the small man's chest. The small man screamed again and collapsed to the ground. The two men starting going through the small man's pockets.

Phoebe turned back and resumed walking. But presently the sound of her steps was joined by the sound of other feet. Feet that were running. She looked over her shoulder and saw the two men running towards her. She turned her head back and started running away from them. She reached the edge of the piazza and ran to a small red Citroën parked at the curb, pulled out a key from her pocket and jumped inside. She started up the car and with a screech of tires pulled away.

The two men had run two-thirds of the way across the piazza when they saw Phoebe drive off. They stopped and one of them pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A photograph of a large black sedan. The two men placed their right hands on either side of the photograph, holding it between their palms. Suddenly the picture began to expand in three dimensions. A real car began to form. They each stepped backwards to give it room and in five seconds a full car stood between them. They jumped into the black sedan, drove across the rest of the empty piazza and took off after Phoebe.

The red Citroën was tearing down one narrow curving street after another. Phoebe barely slowed down as she turned right on a sharp corner. Both left wheels of the car lifted off the ground and the car began to tip over. But suddenly it righted itself and the wheels hugged the street again.

The black sedan was following Phoebe and now it was gaining on her. Two teenage girls started to cross the street in front of Phoebe and she swerved, barely missing them. The girls saw the black sedan racing down the street and, realizing it didn't care about them, jumped back just in time to the safety of the narrow sidewalk.

Phoebe turned right at the corner, racing the red Citroën down another narrow street. She had driven less than a block when she saw, in her mirror, the black sedan turning onto the street behind her. The sedan's driver thrust his left hand out of his window and a bolt of energy shot from his hand towards the red Citroën. Phoebe saw it coming in the mirror and swerved. But a second bolt of energy followed and destroyed the side mirror next to her.

"EYYE!" Phoebe screamed, startled. She floored the gas pedal and zoomed passed an intersection. She drove another block and as she passed the next corner, a white van pulled out from the cross street behind her and blocked the intersection. Stuart jumped out of the van and ran back down the cross street he had come from. He was not ten yards from the intersection when he heard the crash. He looked over his shoulder and saw the car and van enveloped in flames. Then he turned his head back and kept on running away.

Stuart ran another block, then turned right and ran another half block until stopping by a small grey car. He jumped into it, started the engine and pulled away. He made two right turns and then a left turn, pulled up at the back of a warehouse two-thirds of the way down the block and waited with the motor running. In a moment, the red Citroën turned onto the street from the opposite direction, made a sharp U-turn and pulled over to the curb in front of Stuart. Phoebe hurried out of her car and jumped into the passenger side of the grey car. Stuart floored the gas pedal and they sped away.

It began to drizzle as they drove quickly through the narrow streets of Prague's Stare Mesto section. They sped across the Legions Bridge into the city's Mala Straná section, getting away from the area where they had run into the demons. Umbrellas began popping open on the narrow sidewalks. Stuart had to slow down because of the rain-slicked streets but in a few minutes they pulled up to a small brick structure attached to larger buildings on either side of it. Phoebe stared at the garage door painted on the small building's wall.

    "Door that is gone but was here before,    

      Be briefly again and open once more."

The painting shimmered and transformed into a real garage door. Then it opened and Stuart drove the grey car into the garage. As Stuart shut off the motor the door closed behind them, then changed back to being just a painting. Phoebe pulled off her sunglasses and red wig.

"I got it," she said, pulling the folded manila envelope from her coat pocket.

"Perfect," Stuart said. "Including dressing for the part with that spy disguise so you wouldn't be recognized by any demons afterwards. Just the way Hollywood would do it."

"Not quite," Phoebe said. "In Hollywood, they would have shot a few closeups of me sitting in the Citroën. In post-production, they would have edited them in before, during and after the car chase to make it look like I was driving. Which I wouldn't have been. A stunt driver would have really been driving the Citroën. And he would have controlled the car better than I did. I had to use a spell to keep its wheels on the ground and not roll over on those wild turns." She stopped and exhaled.

"And in Hollywood," she added, "they wouldn't have been really trying to kill me."

"Here's one thing that I know Hollywood would have us do after this kind of chase and intrigue," he said with a small smile, "especially when we're wearing trench coats." He leaned over, turned his head to her and gently kissed her.

"Well," Stuart said, "maybe after this you won't need a stunt driver back in Hollywood."

"If we ever get back to Hollywood," Phoebe said, staring at the manila envelope and fingering it in her right hand. "If we ever get back to Hollywood alive."

Phoebe took off her coat as they came into the small flat above the garage and threw it onto the sofa, along with her wig and sunglasses.

"I've seen this white-van-blocks-pursuing-car so many times in movies and on television," Stuart said as he locked the door behind them. "To think that this over-used chase-scene cliché actually worked..."

"Life imitating Hollywood," Phoebe said.

She carefully opened the manila envelope and took out a CD. She went over to the cabinet, unlocked it, took out a laptop computer and started it up.

"My spell to make that square find precious gems really worked," she said. "Vadim tried it before he gave me the disc."

"A lot of good it did him," Stuart said. "They killed him."

"Ruthless evil," Phoebe said.

"Ruthless evil," Keir said.

It was two days earlier. Two days before Phoebe's cappuccino at the café. Two days before her life and death car chase through the five-hundred year-old, narrow winding streets of the Czech Republic's capital, Prague. They were in the house with the bagpipe and the pictures of the girls dancing the Highland Fling, the house with the park and walking oval outside. The house they had been brought to the day they had met Melinda Warren.

Now they were there again, sitting on the sofa, opposite Keir who was standing in front of the fireplace. Whatever humbling he had experienced at their previous success in defeating Salem’s Abigail Eames was not evident, Piper thought. He was as supremely self-confident and dogmatic as he had been the first time. And he looked and sounded even more like Donald Sutherland to her this time, if that was possible, though the condescending tone was gone. Short, rotund and balding Meriwether, in the same ill-fitting black suit he had worn when last they saw him, sat off in a corner.

They were listening to Keir tell them about who they would have to vanquish. Only this time it wasn't a time-traveling witch from Salem.

"That's the difference between these demons and the ones you've been up against until now," Keir said. "These demons don't need a reason to torture or kill someone. They do it as normally as you breathe."

Piper exhaled. She was getting a bad feeling about where this was leading.

"And the other difference is that these demons work clandestinely," Keir continued. "They're much more hidden and secretive in using their powers than are normal demons."

"Clandestine, secretive, torture," Stuart said, with a hint of a smile. "It almost sounds like some secret spy organization...like you're talking about the old Russian KGB."

"I am," Keir said. He stared coldly at Stuart who quickly dropped the smile.

"Demons need to insinuate themselves into mortal society," Keir continued, "to do their evil. They need money for clothes and for places to live so that they can fit in. And they're willing to invest time and effort for that. Working their way into the KGB was worth it to them.

"The KGB gave them the money they needed to live like normal people. And just as important, it gave them the access to mortal societies and the opportunities to do their evil. Torturing prisoners in Lubyanka Prison until they died so that they could take their souls, fomenting revolutions, upheavals, assassinations...leading to more death and destruction."

"You're saying the whole Russian KGB was made up of demons?" Phoebe asked.

"No, not all of it," Keir said, "but important parts of it. The chairman and deputy chairmen weren't demons. But some of the directorate chiefs and a good number of KGB agents were. There are at least half-a-dozen political murders done prior to nine years ago, when the Soviet Union still existed, which resulted in riots, revolutions or civil wars around the world, that your mortal CIA attributes to the KGB. But they couldn’t figure out how the murders were accomplished.

"And the reason they couldn't figure it out is because they weren't accomplished by mortal methods. They were done by KGB demons using demonic powers."

This was all beginning to overwhelm Phoebe. Spies and demons being mixed together, being one in the same. This all sounded like some scary movie. But it wasn't. The scary part was that it wasn't a movie. It was all very real. And they were being put right in the middle of it.

"When the Soviet Union imploded nine years ago," Keir continued, "major changes were happening. The KGB started being broken up into other organizations and its activities began to be scrutinized, both because of the changed foreign policy and to be sure of loyalty to the new government. Some of the demons wound up in the SVR, the Foreign Intelligence Service or in the FSB, the Federal Security Service.

"Most of the demons decided that these new services no longer gave them the facilities and opportunities they needed and so they left. But a handful stayed on. After a while, the chief demon saw that he would no longer be able to cover up these remaining demons' activities and protect them from discovery. Lie detectors were being employed and the demons could not pass them."

Keir paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

"The chief KGB demon was afraid they would be discovered," he resumed, "so he forced a warlock to cast a spell on them. A spell that made them forget that they were demons. Not having anything to hide, they could pass any investigation of them, even lie detectors, and still keep their positions. Positions that would be key to any future evil plan's success.

"Four days ago, the chief demon got a warlock named Vadim to remove the spell from those demons so they would remember who and what they are. He undoubtably has a plan for evil that is important enough to awaken those sleepers."

"Sleepers?" Leo asked.

"That's an espionage term for agents who for years do nothing at all, living perfectly normal lives, until the time comes for them to be activated," Stuart said.

"Hmmm...sort of like you," Leo said to the girls. "Your powers were bound as children. You lived normal lives and didn't even remember that you were witches who had powers until the time came for you to become The Charmed Ones."

"We lived normal lives because we never were witches to begin with," Piper muttered under her breath.

"I don't know why the chief demon chose right now to execute his plan," Keir said.

"I can guess," Piper said. "The eve of the solstice is approaching."

"Perhaps," Keir said.

"And you know about all of this through your demon spy?" Phoebe asked. "The same one who told you about Abigail Eames time traveling?

"Yes," Keir acknowledged.

"So," Piper said, "you want us to vanquish these leftover KGB demons before they can put their plan into action."

"That's right," Keir said.

"OK," Prue said. "Tell us who they are and we'll vanquish them."

"We don't know who they are," Keir said.

"What?!" Phoebe exclaimed. "Your demon spy who told you all about this couldn't give you their names? How can we vanquish them if we don't know who they are?"

"Your first job," Keir said, "is to find out who they are. And then to vanquish them."

"And just how are we supposed to do that?" Piper asked, squinting at him. Her bad feelings about all of this had just gotten stronger.

"The chief demon has a computer file with the names and positions of the three demons," Keir said.

"Demons use computers?" Prue asked, amazed.

"The demons were KGB," Keir replied. "They've been using technology all along. It's perfectly natural for them to keep their demonic information that way."

"I wonder if there's anything in the Book of Shadows about vanquishing demon computers," Phoebe quipped.

"The chief demon offered Vadim something big for reversing the spell," Keir said. "But Vadim was suspicious and checked around. He found out that the warlock who cast the spell to make them forget was never seen again. Vadim realized that the chief demon wasn't leaving anyone around who knew who these demons were and that the same thing would happen to him after he removed the spell. But it was too late for him to back out of it. He already knew too much for the chief demon to leave him alive.

"The chief demon had a copy of that computer file on a computer CD," Keir continued. "Vadim had planned how to escape after removing the spell. When he did, he also stole the CD. He's offered it to us in exchange for something that will let him become rich enough to go someplace far away where the chief demon won't find him. And live there comfortably."

"What does he want?" Leo asked.

"A way of locating precious gems," Keir replied.

"That's all?" Prue asked. "Why didn't he ask for something bigger."

"He did," Keir answered. "We told him no deal. He negotiated with us through an intermediary. But he knows that this CD will be worthless once the demons' plans are used and so he settled for the gem finder."

"Do you have such a thing?" Phoebe asked.

"No," Keir said. "That's another job you have. To come up with a spell to give some innocuous object this ability."

"Is that all," Piper said, with sarcasm.

"No, it's not," Keir said and Piper squinted at him again. "Then you have to deliver it to Vadim and carry out the exchange for the CD."

My bad feelings about all of this were right, Piper thought.

"Look," Prue said, "those demons may have been KGB spies but we aren't. We don't know anything about acting like spies. We're just...witches."

Keir stared at Prue silently for five seconds.

"You're experienced," he said flatly. "You can play the parts."

At those last three words Phoebe and Piper turned to each other. Play the parts? Piper thought. Was that merely a figure of speech? Or did Keir purposely choose those words? We never did figure out last time whether or not he knew who we really were.

Experienced, Phoebe thought. Did he mean as witches? Or as actresses?

"You'll handle the exchange," Keir said. "Vadim is terrified that the demons will discover he has the CD and find him. He refuses to travel anywhere lest he be spotted by one of them. It has to be brought to him. And it has to be done by a witch who could handle the demons if they did show up."

"Where is he," Phoebe asked.

"He's in Prague," Keir said. "You leave for there tonight."

"Prague?" Prue repeated. "What's he doing there."

"That's where he's been hiding since he stole the CD," Keir said. "It's not in Russia but it’s not that far away from it, either. He apparently had connections to secretly get him there."

"Wait," Piper said. "We have to go to Prague where we don't know our way around and where the demons who are trying to kill Vadim will probably come after us to kill us, too?"

"No," Keir said. "You don't. And neither does Prue. Only Phoebe is going."

"What?!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Vadim doesn't trust us, either," Keir explained. "He's afraid we'll send a witch who'll use her powers to steal the disc from him. And he can detect witches' active powers. If he senses either of your sisters' powers there he'll run away. And we won't get the CD. But your power is not active. It can't do too much so he won't care about it."

"Thank you," Phoebe said. "I certainly know who to come to when I need a boost for my morale."

"We are not letting Phoebe go halfway around the world to meet a warlock who the demons are after all by herself," Piper said with a steely look.

"She won't be going by herself," Keir said. "Your mortal friend, Stuart, will be going with her. He won't frighten off Vadim. And there may be some things that he will be able to do for this.

"Charmed spies, KGB demons," Phoebe said, as she slipped the CD into the laptop's drive. "Brad Kern would never write an episode like this. It would be too far-fetched for Charmed's viewers to accept."

"With everything that's happened to us the past few weeks," Stuart said, as he hung up his trenchcoat in the closet, "and with what we're in the middle of now, we've learned that truth is a lot stranger than Brad's Charmed fiction."

The laptop clicked as the CD began loading.

"Well, at least we got to see some of Prague," he said,  "even if we were trying to escape from demons while we saw it."

"Here it is," Phoebe said as an image appeared on the laptop.

On the left side of the screen was a head shot of a middle-aged man in a military uniform. On the right side of the screen were lines of words. There were two words on the first line:

Сергй Количов

"It's in Russian," Phoebe said, "as we suspected."

"Had all of this been part of a Charmed episode," Stuart said, "the writers would have come up with some lame excuse for everything being in English so that we, and the audience, could read and understand it. But this is real life. These demons were KGB. While I've no doubt they speak English, they have no reason to write in it." He stared at the Cyrillic-written words on the screen for a few seconds.

"Sergei Kolichov," he read. "Directorate K, SVR.

"It's a good thing you have some knowledge of Russian," Phoebe said.

"I can read names, titles and places," Stuart said, "And I can get the gist of descriptive sentences with my limited vocabulary. But in conversation I'm pretty weak. The Russian-English dictionary we loaded down on the computer will help fill in the rest."

Stuart looked down the rest of the screen and his expression suddenly changed. He became silent as his eyes fixed on two words near the bottom.

"What is it?" Phoebe asked, realizing it must be something bad. Stuart pointed to the words.

химическое оружие

"Khimicheskoye oru-zhi-ye," he read and exhaled. "Chemical weapons."

The two words sent a chill down Phoebe's spine.

"What is this demon planning on doing with chemical weapons?" she asked. Stuart shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied. "It doesn't say. But there's a name just below it." He pointed to it.

Полковник Илья Лобачевски

"Polkovnik Ilya Lobachevsky," Stuart read. "Polkovnik means colonel. Whatever Kolichov is going to do will somehow involve this army colonel."

"What's that word under the name, on the last line?" Phoebe asked.

"Novichok," Stuart said.

"What does it mean?" she asked. Stuart shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "We"ll have to use the downloaded dictionary for this one."

"OK. But let's have a look at the next page, first," Phoebe said, and pressed the down key.

Владимир Петроков

"Vladimir Petrokov," Stuart read. "FSO - Federal Protective Service. They operate underground command centers and protect strategic facilities."

Stuart looked down the screen at the rest of the Cyrillic text.

"There it is again," he said. "Chemical weapons. And below it..." he paused for a second, trying to make out the words.

"Militziya baza...uh, that means army base," he said. "Novgorod. That's the name of a city."

"Must be a base that's near it," Phoebe said. "Anything special about it?"

"Not that I know of," Stuart said. "Novgorod is somewhere in Russia but I'm not even sure where."

"This is getting to be...really...frightening," she said, slowly.

"Demons and chemical weapons," Stuart said. "A recipe for a really big disaster."

"This certainly fits in the ‘major destruction’ category that we were brought here to stop," Phoebe said.

"It does," Stuart said. "But to stop this we need to know just what ‘this’ is. How they're planning on using these weapons. It would have been helpful had there been some reference to this on
The Demon Dimension."

"Maybe there's something more here that will help us," she said, and pressed the down key again.

"Wow!" Stuart said. The waist up picture of the blonde woman caught him by surprise. She was in her mid-thirties, slim, her hair falling attractively across her forehead. Stuart thought her high cheekboned, slightly oval face was beautiful, her lips sensuous, her expression one of complete self-assuredness and self-confidence, complemented by a sense of strength imparted by her army uniform.

But her eyes...her eyes were the coldest, most merciless eyes he had ever seen in a girl.

Despite that, Stuart found her to be very seductive. And found himself being seduced.

"Attracted?" Phoebe asked.

"Intrigued," Stuart answered, fudging the truth.

"Who is she?" she asked.

"Ivana Zhinovsky," Stuart read. He stared at her picture silently for a few seconds, finding it difficult to look away from her.

"And?" Phoebe prompted.

"Uh..." he said, finally managing to shift his attention from the picture to the text beside it.

"She's in the FSB - the Federal Security Service," he continued, "in its Counter-Intelligence Department."

"There's a lot more written here than on the prior screens," Phoebe said. "What's it all mean?"

Stuart looked at the text for a moment then slowly shook his head.

"I can make out a few words here and there," he said, "but not enough to interpret it all. It's time for the dictionary."

 

Stuart had finished writing the translation on the computer and Phoebe looked at it as he displayed it on the screen.

"Use spell to launch chemical weapons cannisters through the air," Phoebe read, "open up when over major cities and pour out the weapons over the populace." She stopped as the dimension of the demons' plan hit her.

"This isn't just major destruction," she said. "This is...annihilation."

"This Zhinovsky’s got to be one powerful demon to be able to do that," Stuart said.

"Entire stockpile of chemical weapons will be available," Phoebe said, reading the last line on the screen.

"How will they get the weapons, when will they do this...and how do we stop them?" Stuart asked. "Those are the questions we need answers to."

Phoebe exhaled and stared at the screen.

"The sooner we get back home to The Manor," Phoebe said, "the sooner we can start trying to find those answers."

 

"Hello, Darryl," Prue said.

"Prue," Morris said, looking up from his paperwork. "What brings you here?"

"I need your help," she said, sitting down on the chair to the left side of his desk. "Big help."

"What's wrong?" Darryl asked, getting worried. "Did something happen to Piper or Phoebe?"

"No, no, it's not them," Prue said. "They're OK. At least for now. It's...everyone else."

"Everyone else?" Morris repeated. "Prue, what did you get yourself into this time?" He stopped and looked at her. "I know I'm going to regret asking you that question."

"You have connections in Washington," she said.

"Connections?" he repeated.

"Uh, huh. Andy told me," Prue said, making it up. It was never explicit in a Charmed episode, she thought. But it was plausible, even logical that in the Charmed past Morris had been given by The Elders he would have worked with or would have known people in Washington. At least, she had to take the chance that it was logical.

"He did?" Morris asked. "Why...would Andy even talk about that?"

"It...just...came up in conversation one night over dinner," Prue said.

"Andy was talking shop with you on a date?" he asked, in surprise.

"We were in a restaurant and...the service was slow," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Uh, Darryl, it's really important. I need information."

"Information from Washington about..." he said slowly, bracing himself. Prue took a deep breath.

"Russian chemical weapons," she said. "I need to know if there's anything that's supposed to happen to them."

Morris stared at her motionless. He wanted to say something but was too taken aback.

"Uh...I must have not heard you right," he finally said. "It sounded like you said...chemical weapons."

"I did," Prue said, with a slight grimace.

"You're involved with-" Morris stopped, gave a quick look around the room and lowered his voice. "...with chemical weapons?"

"It's important that they don't fall into the wrong hands," Prue said, in a way of explanation.

"The...wrong hands," he repeated, staring at her again.

"And you want me...to get you information about them?" he asked, with incredulity.

"Yes," Prue said, then hesitated. "I need to know if there's anything unusual that's happened to the Russian ones, or if anything is supposed to be happening with them."

"Oh," Morris said, "is that all."

"Uh, no...actually, it isn't," Prue said. "I also need information about a Colonel Ilya Lobachevsky in the Russian army. I think he's connected to their chemical weapons program."

Morris sat motionless for a moment, silently staring at Prue in disbelief.

"Look, Darryl," she said, "I can't explain it this time-"

"You never can explain it," he said.

"But it's very important," she said.

"It always is," he countered.

"Darryl, please," Prue said, "there isn't much time. Millions of lives are at stake. Any information you can get from your contacts on the Russian weapons and Lobachevsky will help."

"Russian weapons," Morris repeated. "American chemical weapons aren't good enough?"

Prue shook her head.

"Prue," Morris said, "you want to me to start asking questions about things that are not only none of my business, but that must be so top secret classified that their none of anyone else's business, either."

"But if you try I know you can find out," she said.

Rrr...ring...ggg   rrr...ring...ggg

Morris turned to the telephone on his desk and picked it up.

"Morris," he said into the mouthpiece.

"Then you are going to try, aren't you," Prue said to him.

"Yes," Morris said into the telephone.

"Good," Prue said, and stood up. "Thank you."

"Uh, no," Morris said. "Uh...I didn't mean no," he said into the telephone. "I mean yes to you,"

"I know I can depend on you, Darryl," Prue said as she hurried towards the door.

"Uh...wait," Morris called after her. "No...I don't mean you should would wait," he said into the telephone. He watched Prue walk out, then leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

 

Prue was sitting at the table in front of her laptop as Stuart came into the conservatory.

"I thought I could find information on Internet about chemical weapons that would help us," she said. "But there isn't much out there. And the little there is in highly technical terminology that I don't understand."

Stuart sat down next to her and briefly glanced at the screen.

"Wendy could help," he said.

"Who's Wendy?" Prue asked.

"Wendy Zyczek, a girl I..." Stuart began, then hesitated for a second. "...I knew a while ago in New York. She was on her way to becoming a chemist. She really understood this stuff."

"You had a relationship," Prue said, sensing it in his tone. Stuart nodded.

"How close?" she asked.

"Not as close as we thought it was," he said, "or at least not as close as I thought it was. We had been seeing each other for over five months. They were really...really good months. I've never felt so secure...as when Wendy was lying next to me with her arms around me." He stopped for a second and gently exhaled.

"But then Wendy decided that though she felt it had been good and that she liked me," Stuart contined, "but that long-term isn’t wasn’t going to be...’right’. Whatever...'right'...meant to her."

"You still think about her?" Prue asked. "Uh, no...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's OK," Stuart said. "Sometimes I do. Because I get reminded of her."

"By Phoebe?" Prue asked.

"No, by Piper," he said. "There's some resemblance between them. Similarities in the shape of their faces and their features. They're almost the same height. And they even wear their long, dark brown hair the same way."

"Breaking up must have been hard on you," she said.

"It hurt," Stuart said, simply. But from the look on his face, Prue knew that it had hurt him a lot more than he was saying. And still did.

"But there were no bad words or bad feelings," he said. "We split up on good terms."

"Good enough that you could call her to get information on these weapons?" Prue asked.

"Yes," Stuart said, "I could have. If the real world hadn't been altered. But in this Charmed modified reality, Wendy doesn't know me. I'm nobody to her. I never existed for her." He stopped and exhaled. "I never existed for anybody."

Prue heard the melancholy in his voice. And she realized that the whole time they’d been in this changed reality she hadn’t heard it before. She took hold of Stuart's hand.

"You exist for us," she said, squeezing his hand. Wendy's wound hasn't healed, she thought, and it's triggered his melancholy about his not really being himself here.

"We may not be everyone you ever knew," Prue said. "But you belong with us and we care about you."

Stuart took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Since we got here I've been trying to be strong for the three of you, to give you support about what's happened to you. I'm...I'm sorry, I had a weak moment."

"According to Connie Burge and Brad Kern,” Prue said, “I'm supposed to be the strong, oldest sister who supports Piper and Phoebe. But I miss my...my existence, as Shannen Doherty, too. We each have our weak moments. And we help each other get through them."

Stuart looked at Prue and squeezed her hand.

"Thanks, Prue," he said, and she gave him a re-assuring smile.

"So," she said, "we don't have Wendy to help us."

"Umm, maybe we do," he said. "As she became more involved in chemistry, Wendy, along with some of her budding chemists-in-the-making friends, became interested in chemical weapons. Wendy did a lot of research and compiled the information she found on a website she created for them to share. But she felt that some of this information was not safe for the whole world to see. So she set it up to require a userid and password to access the site. Each of her friends had one.

"I didn't really have an interest in it," he continued, "but given our relationship..." he paused for a moment, the words stirring up the memories again."...given our relationship, Wendy gave me a userid, anyway."

"This is going to be great," Wendy said. She was sitting next to Stuart on the sofa, the PC on a small table in front of her. She was wearing a tailored maroon blouse, charcoal grey pants and black loafers, the outfit Stuart liked her in the most.

"We're going to be able to understand a lot of what's really going on with all of these chemical weapons," she said.

"Is it really a good idea to have all of this information?" Stuart asked. "I mean, the wrong people could learn things they wouldn't otherwise have known."

"It needs a userid and password to get in to it," she said. "I've giving them only to my trusted friends who are in this with me. And I'm giving one to you."

"To me?" Stuart asked. "Uh...do you think I should have access-"

Wendy turned to Stuart and gave him a coy smile. Then she swung her left leg over his thighs, turning herself around as she did, and sat herself squarely in his lap facing him, her knees hugging his hips, her long dark hair swinging freely into his face, her lips and her eyes very close to his.

"If I can't trust you and give it to you," Wendy said, "who can I give it to?"

She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer to her. Her eyes smiled at him as their lips met, locked and kissed.

"Stuart," Prue called to him. "Stuart."

Stuart’s eyes were staring off into nowhere.

"Uh...uh..." he mumbled.

"You were back with her in your mind," Prue said.

"Uh...yeah," Stuart said and sighed. "I was...back with Wendy."

"So," Prue said, bringing Stuart's mind back to the present, "your userid would have given us access to the site and the information on it. But since your relationship...didn't happen in the changed reality, you can't logon with your userid."

"No," Stuart said, then hesitated for a moment. "But I can logon with Wendy's userid. I know her password. If it didn't change along with all the other things that changed when Charmed became real."

"Since the three of us don't know her, neither as our real selves nor as The Halliwells, it should not have been affected in this reality," Prue said.

"But I know her," Stuart said. "And despite my not being part of The Elders' plan in making Charmed real, I am here."

"We have to try it, Stuart," Prue said. He hesitated, then nodded his head, turned the laptop slightly to him and typed in the website address. A screen came up requesting a logon.

"OK," Stuart said, "here goes," and typed in chemist1 for the userid

"Now the password, l-o-n-e-l-y." He said each letter as he entered it.

A new screen popped up. Welcome to Wendy's Web World was prominently displayed on it.

"You did it," Prue said, "we're in."

"Wendy used to tell me," he said, "that I gave her a reason to change that password. But she never got around to doing it...and then we broke up." He exhaled. "It seems she hasn't found anyone else to give her a reason to change it."

Prue put her hand at the nape of Stuart's neck and gave him a supportive squeeze.

"Come on," she said, "let's see what Wendy can tell us."

 

"Novichok may be the most powerful nerve gas in the world," Prue said. Phoebe and Piper were listening carefully as Prue explained what she and Stuart, sitting next to her on the sofa, had found on Wendy's website.

"It's called a V-gas," Prue continued, "because it has some similarities to a chemical weapon agent called VX-gas, which had been thought to be the most lethal nerve gas agent around. Until the Russians secretly developed this one."

"Novichok," Stuart said, "Russian code name Substance 33. No other country has it. It's classified as a persistent agent, meaning that it remains effective and dangerous for about a week after its release."

Piper's expression turned unpleasant.

"The thought of demons possessing this..." Piper said, her voice trailing off without finishing.

"Or any other chemical weapons," Stuart said. "The plan for Petrokov didn't refer to Novichok so there are probably other types of chemical agents involved."

Piper closed her eyes for a moment then looked at Prue.

"This is...this needs...other people," Piper said.

"Professional secret agents," Phoebe said, "who know how to deal with such things better than..."

"Better than three actresses turned witches," Piper said, finishing Phoebe's thought. "But...we couldn't tell them how we know this, nor that they'd be up against demons."

"And they wouldn't be able to go up against these demons," Prue said.

"And we can?" Piper asked. Keir had arrogantly and un-caringly thrown them into this, she thought. It was a more dangerous combination of evil than anything they'd been up against in the five and a half weeks they’d been there - Russian KGB demons.

Piper closed her eyes again. In her mind, she pictured her ranch, her horses in the stable, and the garden surrounding the main house, beckoning her. She wanted so much to be there now, to be just Holly Combs, to get away from all of this. She wanted to jump into that picture she saw in her mind and not look back.

But she couldn't jump into it, any more than she could get away from where she was. She had to look back. She opened her eyes. Innocents, she thought. The Charmed Ones couldn't turn their backs on innocents. Especially when the innocents were the whole world.

The world had to be saved from these demons. And, she sadly admitted, if there was a chance that it could be saved, it was going to take three witches, including one named Piper Halliwell, to do it.

 

"I'm afraid this is where I must say good-bye, Mr. James Bond," the evil looking heavy set man said.

"Pity," Bond said, his hands securely fastened by metal u-shaped rods attached to the wall. "We were having such a stimulating conversation."

"You don't have time for any more conversation," the man said. "See that small skylight above me? The sun will soon be shining through it. When it does, its rays will strike the chemicals in that dish on the table causing it to produce a most toxic fume that will fill this room. It works very quickly,
Mr. Bond, so you won't suffer. At least, not much.

"As for the microdot with the plans for the super missile warhead, it is safely locked up in my desk. A shame you won't get to see the destruction it will produce."

"Neither will you," Bond said. "You will never use that weapon against the world."

"Ah...your sense of superiority and total self-confidence are legendary, Mr. Bond," the man said. "But even that will not help you this time. Good-bye."

The man motioned with his head and his two henchmen followed him out of the room.

Bond looked up at the skylight. He could see the sky brightening and the sunlight approaching. He wiggled his left hand and with his pinky managed to reach his cufflink. Pushing it onto the metal rod holding his left hand, he pressed the cufflink and a small laser beam came out of it and began burning through the rod.

The sky was getting brighter as the rod split in two and fell to the floor. Bond pulled his left hand over the other rod holding his right hand and aimed the laser beam again. The first rays of the sun were beginning to peep over the edge of the skylight.

The second rod fell as the sun's rays became more visible. Bond dashed over to the table where the dish with the chemicals sat. In one motion he grabbed the dish and dove with it to the floor near the wall, just as the full rays of the sunlight shown through the skylight and onto the table where the dish had been.

"Phew," Bond said, calmly standing up and dusting himself off. He tried the door's handle, slowly opened the door and walked into an office. He hurried over to a desk and looked at a drawer with an electronic lock.

Bond took the other cufflink from his right cuff, pressed a small button on it and aimed it at the lock. The cufflink began to hum and resonate as it connected to the lock's electronics. After ten seconds, the drawer popped open. Bond saw the small plastic circle with the microdot inside of it. He grabbed it and put it into his pocket just as the evil man's henchmen came into the room.

The first henchman threw something curved and sharp at Bond but he quickly lifted up the desk chair. The object sliced through the chair but it deflected the object’s trajectory and it landed off to Bond's left. He dove for the object and threw it directly back at the henchman, slicing him straight across the chest.

The second henchman pulled out a gun and fired. But Bond rolled over and over across the room, the bullets just missing him each time. He finally reached the body of the first henchman, pulled the gun from the dead man’s pocket and shot the second henchman squarely in the chest.

The sound of gunshots brought the evil man with more henchman running into the room.

"Stop him!" the evil man commanded.

Before the henchmen could reach him, Bond pulled two tabs on the back of his extra-thick pants belt and pulled two straps over his shoulders and attached them to the front of his belt. He ran to the large picture window and jumped through it, the glass shattering.

With bullets flying, Bond pressed a button on his belt and a large, multi-colored canopy opened up. Attached to what was now a harness over his shoulders, it immediately halted his fall. Bond manipulated it away from the side he had jumped from and he slowly descended the mountainside to a waiting speedboat on the shore below.

"That's easy for you," Piper said, looking at the TV screen. "You have actors, stuntmen, special effects crew - and a director using a nice script where everything works out in the end."

She squinted at the image on the screen.

"I challenge you be a secret agent in real life, Double-O-Seven," she said, "with real Russians, real intrigue, real major destruction weapons - and real demons. Try shaking your martini and doing what you do with all of that without a safe script."

Piper leaned forward and placed her elbows on her thighs. She cupped her chin in her hands, watched Bond escape safely and exhaled.

"I wish we were in Hollywood doing all of this from a safe script," she said, wistfully.

 

The cell phone rang just as Prue reached the top step outside The Manor. She paused for a second in the nighttime darkness under the porch light and pulled the phone out of her pocket.

"Hello," she said into the phone, as she opened the front door and walked inside.

"Prue, it's Daryl," the voice on the cell phone said. "Don't go home. Stay away from The Manor. They're waiting for you."

"Too late," Prue answered, tersely. She closed the cell phone and put it back in her pocket. Whoever it is who's here heard me come in, she thought. There's no getting away now.

The Manor was pitch black. Prue took a deep breath, placed her hand on the light switch and flipped it. Nothing happened. Cautiously, she made her way in the dark towards the living room.

"That's far enough," a voice commanded. A man's voice.

From the sound of it, Prue thought, he's not a young man. Probably someone in his fifties. And from the voice's direction, he's sitting in one of the living room chairs.

"Who are you?" Prue asked.

"I'm the one who'll be asking the questions," the voice said.

"Not in my house," Prue countered.

Prue detected an authoritarian tone in the voice. Someone used to being in control and getting what he wants, she thought.

The voice continued slowly and deliberately. "Why are you so interested in Russian chemical weapons?" he asked, ignoring Prue's response.

Prue said nothing. Neither did the voice. For a moment there was absolute silence in The Manor, each one using the silence as a display of being in control. Each trying to out wait the other in a silent match of strength and patience.

"I'm doing a story on chemical weapons and I need information for it," Prue finally said, deciding that conversation to find out who he was, was worth her submission. "I work for a magazine."

"Four One Five," the voice said, in a knowing tone. "You've been there for less than a year. Before that, you worked at Buckland Auction House. Your father walked out on your family when you were six, your mother died when you were nine and you were then raised by your grandmother. After she died two years ago your youngest sister Phoebe moved back here from New York, even though the two of you didn't get along. You had an on again/off again relationship with Inspector Andy Trudeau before he was killed. You were once arrested for decking a neighbor on your block."

Huh? Prue thought. Where did that come from? The writers never included my doing that in any of Charmed's episodes.

"You often turn up in the middle of unsolved murders, without any logical connection to the victims," the voice continued. "And you were the target of a professional hit woman for reasons still unknown".

"You seem to have taken a lot of interest in me," Prue said, toughness in her voice. "The only thing you've missed is the tattoo on my left ankle," she added, fibbing.

"You don't have a tattoo on your left ankle," the voice said confidently, then exhaled.

"You do nice work," he continued un-rushed, "even though you have no professional experience in photography." He paused. "But you're a photographer. Not a writer. You're not writing any story about chemical weapons or about anything else.

"So I'll ask you again. Why are you digging around the Russian chemical weapons?"

"Which side are you on?" Prue asked.

"The side that wants to know what you're up to," the voice answered brusquely.

"I should think both sides want to know that," Prue said.

"Don't play cutesy with me," the voice said.

"Oh, but I so love to play cutesy," Prue said. "I always play cutesy with someone who breaks into my house."

"I didn't break in," the voice said, matter of factly. "The front door was un-locked."

"Hmmph...right," Prue admitted. "I have to get the writers to change that. They always have us leaving the door un-locked so the storylines can have someone walk right in to The Manor and threaten us."

"What's that?!" the voice asked, reflecting a little confusion mixed with a lot of annoyance. "Listen Halliwell, I don't have much patience. And what little patience I do have you've already used up. If you think we're not going to get the answers out of you...think again."

Prue heard a noise to the left of the voice. Someone else was in the room. And he was doing something. Even in the Manor's darkness she could detect some motion. She sensed the other person was coming towards her. Was that something in the other person's hand?

"Think again?" Prue asked. "OK, I will. And you want to know what I think? I think you're CIA. And you've come here to try to bully me. But you can only do that outside of the U.S. It's illegal for you to be nosing around domestically. So you want to stay in the dark so I can't see you and you can deny having been here.

"Well, let's do something about that."

Prue aimed her hand at the bulbs in the lamps and made a turning motion. Then she waved her hand at the switch and flipped it up. The lights in the living room came on.

"What the..." the man started to say. Prue could see him clearly now. And, she thought, her analysis was on the mark. He was sitting on the chair, a bulge below his arm under his dark grey suit betraying his gun. His worn, somewhat weathered slightly long face and thinning brown hair put him in his mid-fifties.

The second man standing on the left was younger, in his late twenties, about six feet tall, dirty blonde hair, handsome features but with a take-no-prisoners look in his eyes. And he was wearing a dark, three-piece suit. For a second a smile crossed Prue's face. Is it because of Charmed's becoming real, she thought, that he looks exactly like the standard Hollywood version of a bad-guy government agent? All that was missing from the TV stereotype were the sunglasses, which she now found herself half-expecting him to be wearing, even in the dark room at night.

But her smile evaporated when she saw the syringe in his hand. And he was standing only three feet from her.

"You'd better put that away," she said to him. "You might stick yourself."

The younger man stared at Prue then took a step towards her.

"No!" the man in the chair said, firmly. The younger man continued staring at Prue, then carefully capped the syringe and put it in his pocket.

"Care to show me identification?" Prue asked.

The man in the chair gave Prue an icy stare, exhaled, and stood up.

"I thought not," she said.

He approached Prue and placed his face just inches from hers.

"If I find out that you had anything to do with the missing chemical weapons..." he said, then paused. "Or if anything...anything at all happens to stop their turning over the rest of them to us, I'll be back for you. And with more people and more IDs than you can imagine. Only you'll be out of here and locked up so fast you won't have time to read any of them."

He motioned with his head to the younger man, brushed past Prue and walked towards the front door. The younger man followed and as he passed Prue she stared incredulously at something sticking out of his vest pocket.

Sunglasses.

The middle-aged man walked outside and the younger man followed him, not bothering to close the door behind them. Prue went to the door, stood in the threshold and watched them walk down the steps.

"Good night to you, too," she said in a confident, slightly superior tone. Satisfied that they were gone, she stepped back inside and closed the door.

"The heck with the writers," Prue said, and locked the door securely.

 

"Well, your little encounter with the CIA last night confirms that some of the chemical weapons are missing," Stuart said, then finished the last of his breakfast pancakes.

"And the demons must have them," Piper said, taking a bite of her muffin.

Prue took a sip of her coffee and put the mug down on the kitchen table.

"But there are more weapons that they don't have yet," she said.

"That the Russians are supposed to turn over to someone," Phoebe said. "The demons are going to want to get those, too."

Ding-dong.

"I'll get it," Stuart said, getting up from the table.

"Maybe that's why the spell on the demons was removed now," Prue said. "They need to get the weapons before whatever is supposed to happen to them happens."

"And we don't how or when they're going to use them," Piper said.

"Good morning, Darryl," Phoebe said, as Morris and Stuart came into the kitchen. "You're up and about rather early, aren't you?"

"Good morning," Morris said. "I'm glad you're all right, Prue. I couldn't stop them from coming. All I could do was try to warn you. I checked afterwards that they hadn't done anything to you. They came after you because of my asking for that information. It made its way around Washington and stirred up a hornet's nest. I warned you what you were asking about would cause problems."

"It can't be helped, Darryl," Prue said. "That's the risk we have to take."

"They're still keeping an eye on you," Morris said. "Honestly, I don't know how you managed to get them out of here. Those guys make their own rules and work in the shadows."

"Let's just say I threw some light on them," Prue said. "Did you find out anything?"

Morris nodded his head.

"There's a guy in one of the agencies who I helped out a few years ago," he said, pulling out a notepad from his pocket. "I gave him some assistance - and cover - for something he was doing. It wasn't exactly within his jurisdiction, if you know what I mean. He was actually on the wrong trail and I helped him find the right one. Some people in those circles can have short memories but he hasn't forgotten what I did for him. He's the one Andy told you about."

"Andy told you?" Piper asked, somewhat astonished, knowing that could never have happened.

Prue gave her a discreet half-wink. Phew, Prue thought. He does have a contact. There really is some logic than can be used in what The Elders did to reality.

"He has a friend in the DIA - the Defense Intelligence Agency," Morris said. "They have a list of key Russian army officers that as a matter of course they keep tabs on. This Colonel Ilya Lobachevsky is one of them." Morris stopped and flipped a page in his pad. "He heads up one of several army units that are responsible for the maintenance and deployment of chemical weapons."

"And the weapons his unit was responsible for are missing," Prue said.

"You know this already?" Morris said, surprised and a little disappointed.

"It was an assumption," Prue said, "but this confirms it. Is he under suspicion?"

"Not as far as his DIA friend can tell," Morris said. "He told me the Russian military is not the most open to outside investigations. This Lobachevsky hasn't done anything to point to him being involved. And besides, the Russians don't really care. They're a signatory to the Chemical Weapons Convention, a treaty to eliminate chemical weapons that they ratified a couple of years ago. Russia is officially getting rid of it's stock of chemical weapons by turning them over to us for a verified disposal. So they're not interested in a few cylinders that disappeared."

"When is this turnover supposed to take place?" Phoebe asked.

"Tomorrow," Morris said. "At an army base near a place called Novgorod."

"Bingo," Phoebe said.

Prue glanced at Phoebe and silently exhaled.

"Did he tell your contact anything else?" Stuart asked.

"Just that there was one odd thing," Morris said. "There's a diplomatic reception the Russians are throwing tonight in conjunction with this turnover, to burnish their international image. It's for all high level consular officials and their military attachés in Moscow, as well as those of any other country that's a signatory to the treaty. High level Russian officers will also be there."

"What's odd about that?" Phoebe asked.

"He had a list of the invitees," Morris said. "Lobachevsky's name is on the list, along with one of his junior officers."

"That's still not unusual," Prue said. "They were probably invited because of his involvement in the turnover, before his weapons disappeared."

"That's what the DIA guy also thought," Morris said. "But there are two lower level Russian officers who aren't related to chemical weapons and were also invited. But they shouldn't have been. They don't have any connection to the turnover."

"Somebody pulled some strings to get them invited," Stuart said. "But why?"

"Did your contact give you their names?" Phoebe asked.

"Yeah," Morris said, "but I don't remember them. He was afraid to stay on the phone too long. I was writing down what he was saying as quickly as I could and didn't get those names down. I remember he said they weren't regular army. They're from some alphabet group, S-V something."

"SVR," Stuart said, "the Foreign Intelligence Service."

Prue looked at Stuart. Their eyes locked for a moment and then she turned back to Morris.

"Could one of the names have been Sergei Kolichov?" she asked.

Morris thought for a minute.

"Yeah," he said. "That was it. Kolichov."

"Double bingo," Phoebe said. "Kolichov was getting the chemical weapons from Lobachevsky. We thought he had already gotten them."

"But maybe he hasn't," Prue said. "Maybe Lobachevsky got Kolichov invited to the reception to give him the weapons there."

"A trade," Stuart said. "Lobachevsky wouldn't give them away. He'd insist on getting something in return."

"Money," Prue said. "He's selling the weapons to Kolichov. And using the reception as a cover to make the transaction. A safe place with lots of people around."

"So they don't trust each other," Piper said.

"We can use that to our advantage," Prue said.

"Prue," Morris said, "you're not thinking of getting in between these Russians, are you?"

Prue just looked at Morris silently.

"Uh...Piper, Phoebe...talk some sense into your sister," Morris said. "You've already got American agents ready to pounce on you over this. You don't want to have the Russians after you, too."

"You're right, Darryl," Piper said. "We don't want to have the Russians after us." She paused for a second. "But we don't seem to have a choice if we want to save everybody from these weapons falling into the wrong hands and being used."

"There you go, too, about falling into the wrong hands," Morris said. "Look, you're not secret agents. You can't get involved in something like this."

"We're already involved," Piper said.

"Then tell the CIA, the DIA - tell anyone in the government," Morris said. "Tell them what you know and let them take it from here."

"We can't," Prue said. "They wouldn't believe us. And...we can't explain how we know what we do."

Morris looked at each of them in turn, then exhaled.

"Well," Morris said, "the reception is at seven-thirty. At least I know you can't possibly make it to Moscow from San Francisco by tonight." The girls responded with silence. Morris slowly looked at each of them. "Don't tell me you..." he started to say.

"No, Darryl," Phoebe said, "we won't tell you. And you don't want to know, anyway."

"Here, at least, I can try to protect you," Morris said, "with whatever influence I can muster. I can't protect you if you're...uh...uh..."

"We know you would help us if you could, Darryl," Phoebe said. "Thank you for caring about us. But we'll be fine."

"We will?" Piper asked. "I, uh...mean, we will," she said, forcing a half smile for Morris' benefit.

Morris turned to Stuart.

"Try talking some sense into them," Morris said to him, then exhaled in frustration. "I'm making you responsible to watch out for them and protect them."

Protect them? Stuart thought. It's the other way around. They usually wind up protecting me.

"I'll do my best," Stuart said.

"I don't understand what you're doing," Morris said. "But whatever it is...just be careful!"

 

"We don't have much time," Prue said, after Morris left. "The reception is tonight."

"And the turnover of the other weapons is tomorrow," Phoebe said. "And Petrokov is going to be there to get his hands on them, instead."

"First things first," Prue said. "What time is it now in Moscow?"

"San Francisco has a...a nine hour time difference," Stuart said. "So it's a little after six o'clock in the evening there. So we're going to go to the reception and take the weapons?"

"It's enough we're going to have Kolichov and his demons looking for us once we do this," Prue said. "We don't need to have Lobachevsky and half the Russian army after us, too. We're going to do this with finesse."

"Well, that would certainly disappoint Keir," Piper said sarcastically.

"Stuart," Prue said, "make up a list of words in Russian that could refer to a bank account. Lobachevsky will want a lot of money for stealing the weapons. It's unlikely that Kolichov would risk carrying that much cash to the reception. And he doesn't have to. Former KGB demons probably have something like numbered Swiss accounts set up for things like this. They could let Lobachevsky transfer it if they give him the password and account number."

"But Lobachevsky would have to bring the weapons with him," Piper said. "Kolichov wouldn't make the deal without getting them first."

"This Novichok doesn't take up much room," Stuart said. "It might even fit in a large attaché case. Which would not raise any suspicions at a reception with lots of high level military officers, some of whom might well have need to be carrying their own attachés."

"Piper," Prue said, "we're going to call Leo. He's going to escort you to the reception. Do you have something appropriately designer-class to wear?"

"I do," Piper said, "in my closet, back at my ranch. If The Elders want to send me back I'd be happy to get them. Piper Halliwell's wardrobe is decidedly less fashionable."

"On Charmed," Stuart said, with a small smile, "the writers usually have Piper and Phoebe borrowing your clothes, Prue, for special occasions."

Prue gave him a squinting look. She thought for a second, then exhaled.

"Go through my wardrobe," she reluctantly said to Piper, "and pick out something that will fit in at a diplomatic reception. Phoebe, come up with a way for Piper to verify if the chemicals are real."

 

"Wow!" Stuart exclaimed as Piper came down the staircase. It was all he could manage to say as her appearance left him speechless.

Piper was wearing a red, satin-like strapless gown. Her hair was done up high, with a single curl coming down the side of each ear, reaching her ear lobes. A golden linked necklace with a center diamond was around her neck.

"Wow!" he said again, and Piper gave him a smile. Phoebe and Prue came bounding down the staircase behind her.

"I had to use a spell to make the necklace," Phoebe said. "We didn't have anything that looked right with the dress. But I set it to be undone in twenty-four hours so we don't risk having any personal gain from it."

The light began to form and Leo, wearing an army uniform, appeared.

"Wow!" Leo exclaimed, looking at Piper.

"That seems to be everyone's favorite word here," Prue said. "Can we try some other words? Like, the other things that we need now. Are they ready?"

"Here's the list of words in Russian," Stuart said. He handed it to Leo and he put it in his uniform’s pocket.

"I came up with the potion," Phoebe said. "Pour a little onto whatever Lobachevsky has and hope it turns green." Piper took the vial from her and placed it delicately into her bosom.

"Uh, Leo...what are you wearing?" Prue asked.

"My old army uniform," he said. "You said I have to look like I'm in the military and Piper is accompanying me."

"Leo," Prue said, "you were in the army in World War II. That uniform is over fifty years old. It's not used anymore. They'll spot you not belonging there right away."

"It's the only uniform that would fit that I could get on such short notice," Leo said. "Besides, who's going to notice one uniform among so many?"

'Leo's right," Phoebe said. "They"ll be a hodge-podge of uniforms at the reception. With so many different countries' military represented there, and each one's uniform different from the next one, they"ll just think Leo is from yet some other country."

"Let's hope you're right," Prue said. "It's seven-thirty now in Moscow. Ready, Piper?"

Piper nodded her head. Leo walked over to her and put his arms securely around her.

"Piper," he said looking into her eyes, "may I have the pleasure of escorting you to the Moscow reception?"

Piper felt herself melting in his arms.

"Yes, indeed, Leo," she said, gazing back into his eyes.

"Leo!" Prue exclaimed. "You're after demons and chemical weapons. You're not taking Piper on a date!"

Leo paid Prue no heed and his smile widened as he and Piper disappeared together in the light.

 

Piper could not help but enjoy herself. She had been the object of more than a few men's approving looks, which also helped to keep their attention away from Leo and his uniform. The hors d'oeuvres were delectable and the caviar, of course, first class. The champagne was delightful, though she refrained from taking more than a few sips so as to keep her mind clear.

And of course, she was with Leo. He looked so extra handsome to her in his army uniform. No reticence, no questioning, she set her feelings about Leo free and happily submitted to them.

They had spotted Kolichov almost from the moment they had discreetly orbed in. At first, he and the Russian officer presumably with him had stayed more or less on one side of the ballroom, which made it relatively simple for Piper and Leo to keep tabs on them.

But at a quarter past eight, the two Russians split up. Kolichov remained where he had been, enjoying another drink, while the other Russian seemed to be taking a tour of the ballroom. Leo remained near Kolichov while Piper moved amongst the guests trying to follow the other Russian officer.

But then a handsome tall man in a tuxedo, a drink in his hand, stepped in front of Piper.

"Buona sera," he said, his eyes smiling at her. "Piacere di conoscerla. Mi Chiamo Gavino Santavenere." He paused for a moment and looked Piper over.

"Come sei bella," he said. "Come si chiama?"

"Uh...I'm sorry," Piper said, trying to keep one eye on the Russian. She didn't understand what the man had said but it sounded Italian. "I don't speak Italian."

"Oh, you are American," the man said. "Pardon me. I am Gavino Santavenere. You are so very beautiful. I am pleased to meet you. What is your name?"

"Uh...uh...Holly," she said. She was getting frantic. She couldn't see the Russian anymore. "Uh...excuse me. There's someone I'm looking for. Uh...nice to have met you."

Piper left the somewhat startled diplomat and made her way to the other side of the ballroom. She looked all around her and started to panic. She had lost the Russian officer.

 

Leo, seeing Kolichov put down his drink and start towards the staircase, moved across the room towards Piper. Getting her attention, he nodded his head and Piper quickly made her way to the staircase to follow Kolichov. As she reached the top of the stairs she saw him turning the corner at the end of the corridor. She hurried to the corner, peeked around it and was relieved to see the other Russian soldier with Kolichov approach the last door at the end of the hallway. He must have gone up ahead of Kolichov to see that it was clear, she thought. As Kolichov raised his hand to knock on the door Piper raised her hand, too.

She rushed to the two frozen Russians and quickly began going through the pockets on Kolichov's jacket. But there was nothing in the outside pockets. Piper eased her hand inside his jacket and felt around. There were upper and lower inner pockets on both the right and left sides.

Why do Russian uniforms need so many pockets? she thought. They're too small to fit guns in them. All they can put into them are little pieces of paper that I can't find. Urggh!

Having finished with both inner pockets on the jacket’s right side, Piper was up to the inside bottom pocket on the left side when her hand felt something and she pulled it out. It was half of a standard sheet of paper folded in two. She unfolded it just as Leo turned the corner.

"No one followed you or them," he whispered. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket and held it for Piper to see.

The paper Piper had taken from Kolichov's pocket had one word on it, followed by a set of numbers. She glanced back and forth between it and the paper Leo was holding, trying to see if one of the words on the list Stuart had written for her matched what was on the paper she had taken from Kolichov.

"There," she whispered, "the third word on the list. That's it. Now get these two out of here before they unfreeze."

Leo nodded silently, then grabbed Kolichov and orbed out. After a few seconds he returned, took hold of the other Russian and orbed out again.

With them gone, Piper took a deep breath. She was about to knock on the door when Leo orbed back in, startling her.

"I just wanted to tell you," he said, "not to be nervous about your role. You're going to be fine. You can do anything you set your mind to do. I know that if you had set your mind to become an actress, you could have been a very good one."

"Could have been?" Piper said, her reflexive indignance making her forget to whisper. "What do you mean could have been?" she added, squinting at him.

Seeing the confused look on Leo's face she caught herself. I'm Piper to him, not Holly, she remembered. But I have to be Holly Combs again when I go through that door.

"Go," she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. "Go."

Leo looked longingly at her as he orbed out. Piper turned to the door, took a deep breath and cleared her mind. I'm an actress again, she thought. And the set is just beyond this door.

She raised her hand to the door and knocked twice. After a few seconds the door opened partially. Just enough for her to see a large face and part of a Russian uniform jacket.

"Uydi-te!” (Go away!) the Russian barked and tried to close the door. But Piper, anticipating his action, had wedged her foot in the doorway. Now she pushed back the door against the Russian. He had not been prepared for that and with her leverage Piper pushed both him and the door back into the room.

"Major Kolichov sends his regards," she said, and confidently walked passed the Russian and into the room.

"Amerikanskiy!" (An American!) the Russian exclaimed, in surprise.

Piper walked over to the sofa, sat down and surveyed the room.

The Russian standing by the door was big. Big shoulders, big chest, big face. He appeared to be about sixty. He was wearing a full military uniform, with a series of medals pinned onto his jacket, but was without his cap, which lay on an end table. At the other end of the room a young, slim blonde Russian soldier in his mid-twenties, also in uniform but without his cap, sat at a computer laptop set upon a small table.

The younger Russian stood up and glanced at the older Russian.

"I think it would be best if you closed the door, Colonel Lobachevsky," Piper said to the older Russian, with a hint of a smile. "Don't you agree?"

Lobachevsky eyed Piper carefully. He closed the door without taking his eyes off of her, walked over to the sofa and looked down at her.

"Kotoriy vih? Gdye Mayor Kolichov?" he asked, then stopped and exhaled. "Who are you?" he asked again, in a heavily accented English. "Where is Major Kolichov?"

"I'm Holly Combs," she replied. "Major Kolichov felt it would be best if he remained at the reception until we've concluded our business."

"Hmmph," Lobachevsky grunted. "Kolichov does not trust me. He fears for himself. But he sends a defenseless woman in his place."

"I'm not defenseless," Piper said, with a steely look.

"No?" Lobachevsky asked, looking her over. "What could you do to defend yourself against us?"

"Trust me, Colonel," Piper said. "You don't want to know."

Lobachevsky looked her over again with an experienced eye, taking her measure. This was a beautiful and, in that red dress, sexy girl, he thought. She has a lot of bravado, coming in here as if she is in control but with no weapon to support herself.

He nodded his head slightly and sat down in a chair opposite her.

"You have account?" he asked.

"I do," Piper said. "Show me the merchandise."

Lobachevsky gave a single nod with his head. The young soldier went over to a narrow closet in a corner of the room and opened the door. He removed a black case, brought it to Lobachevsky and placed it on the floor between the Colonel and Piper. The case was almost square, about eighteen inches in each dimension, and well padded. A chain was attached to one corner of the case. An open bracelet dangled from the other end of the chain.

Lobachevsky undid the two buckles on the side and opened the case. Piper saw three black cylindrical cannisters inside. On the end of each cannister was stamped a bright yellow Н

Novichok, Piper thought, recognizing the Н as the Cyrillic letter for ‘N’, as Stuart had shown her. The deadly V-gas in its liquid form. At least, that's what was supposed to be in the containers.

Piper put her hand inside the bosom of her dress and pulled out a small vial.

"Of course, I have to test it," she said. "To be sure."

"Test?" Lobachevsky asked. "Test...you cannot test this."

"But I can," Piper said. "Mixing a little of this with the agent."

"Nyet!" Lobachevsky said firmly. "This is dangerous chemical, Novichok."

"That's exactly what I want to make sure," Piper said. "That this is Novichok."

"Nyet!" Lobachevsky said again with more emphasis, getting nervous. "You cannot open container. You cannot put anything in container. Novichok will escape into air and kill us!"

"This will not activate the agent," Piper said. "It will only confirm what it is. You'll be safe."

"Nyet!" Lobachevsky said again, and closed the black case.

"Da!" Piper said forcefully, 'no' and 'yes' being the only words in Russian she knew. "Or we have no deal."

"You are unarmed," Lobachevsky said, pulling out his gun from beneath his jacket. "You do not make demands."

Piper squinted at Lobachevsky and raised her hand. She stood up, took the two steps that separated them and took the gun from his hand. She sat down again on the sofa and looked at the gun for a second. Then she crossed her legs, looked at Lobachevsky and raised her hand.

"What were you saying about me being unarmed?" she asked.

It took Lobachevsky a few seconds to react. He stared incredulously, first at his empty hand, then at his gun that was now in Piper's hand and aimed at him.

"Chto?!” (How?!) he exclaimed. The two Russians looked to each other in disbelief.

"How...how did you do that?" a shaken Lobachevsky asked.

"I warned you, Colonel," Piper said. "You don't want to know what I can do. Nor how I do it.

"Now, we will test the agent. Take out the right cannister."

Lobachevsky stared at his gun in Piper's hand. Sweat broke out on his face and forehead. He swallowed hard, then slowly re-opened the black case and moved his hands to the right cannister. Carefully, he lifted it out of the case and set it down on the floor.

"Open the lid," Piper commanded.

Lobachevsky stared at Piper, took a deep breath and did as she said.

The liquid inside the cannister was colorless. It could pass for plain water, Piper thought. But she hoped it wasn't. How strange, she thought, that she didn't want it to be something innocent. That instead she wanted it to be the most dangerous chemical agent in the world.

Piper removed the stopper on the vile with her right hand even as she kept the gun pointed at the Russian. With her left hand she poured about half the vile's content into the cannister.

Piper saw the fear on the Russians' faces, then glanced down at the cannister. The colorless liquid was turning a bright green. The chemical agent was real. It was Novichok.

"OK," Piper said, "the test confirms that it's V-gas. Close the cannister and put it back in the case."

Lobachevsky gingerly replaced the lid. Piper put the stopper back on the vile and returned it to her bosom as the Russian slowly lifted the cannister and put it gently back inside the case. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Here is the account number," Piper said, handing him the piece of paper.

Lobachevsky glanced at the paper, then back at Piper. Without taking his eyes from her, he stretched out his hand to his left. The soldier took the paper from him, sat down at the laptop and started to type on its keyboard.

Lobachevsky was silent as he stared at Piper. His earlier Soviet army training and his more recent Russian army command of a chemical weapons regiment had left him experienced at analyzing his enemies, analyzing his adversaries...analyzing anyone who posed a challenge to him.

But Piper was an enigma. He looked her over carefully, trying to find some clue as to who, and what, she was. His mind raced through all sorts of possibilities. But it was to no avail. He could not reach any satisfactory conclusion. Piper remained a beautiful, confident - and powerful - enigma.

"Sdelano, Polkovnik Lobachevsky (It is done, Colonel Lobachevsky)," the soldier said, looking up.

"Khorosho (Good)," Lobachevsky replied. "Done," he said to Piper.

"Good," Piper said. "I'll take the case, now."

Lobachevsky closed the buckles on the black case, then lifted the chain and open bracelet. Piper stuck out her left arm and Lobachevsky placed the bracelet around her wrist. He removed a small key from his pocket, locked the bracelet and extended his hand with the key.

"We trade now," he said.

Piper looked at the gun she was holding. She gave it a good twirl around her finger, then handed it to Lobachevsky as she took the key from him with her left hand. Lobachevsky looked at his gun and felt it in his hand. He stared at Piper for a few seconds, then exhaled, and put the gun back in its holster.

Piper put the key in the bosom of her dress and motioned towards the door. Lobachevsky got up from the chair and walked to the door, opened it a crack and looked out into the hallway. Satisfied, he opened it fully and Piper walked over to him.

"It's been a pleasure, Colonel," she said, with an enigmatic, self-confident smile. She stepped past him into the hallway and heard the door close behind her.

"Phew!" Piper said.

She walked quickly down to the end of the hallway. As she turned the corner Leo orbed in.

"Got it," she said to him.

"I told you you could do it," Leo said."Now I'm tempted to go back downstairs with you to the reception. It's not every night that I get to take you to such an affair."

"Hmmm...that does sound good," Piper said. "But this case chained to my wrist makes me conspicuous. Especially when Kolichov and his friend get back from wherever you left them and start looking for it."

She sighed. "We'd better get this out of here."

Leo exhaled and nodded. He placed his arms around her, holding her even tighter than before, and looked into her eyes.

"Then we’ll have to do something to make up for it," he said.

"That works for me," she said and smiled as they disappeared together into the light.

 

"Darryl didn't know what time today the turnover would be," Piper said, "so we may already be too late."

"I know," Prue said, "uh...we just have to hope we're in time. And remember the plan."

"It's not much of a plan," Piper said. "We see Petrokov and I freeze him. Unless he's out in the open that's too big to freeze and he's about to do something. Then you wave your hand at him to stop him. In front of the Russians, the CIA and whoever else is there. And then they’ll all know that we’re witches and come after us."

"OK...OK," Prue said, "uh...let's hope it doesn't come to that. Maybe, somehow, this transfer will really happen."

Crouching between the small open Russian Army trucks parked at right angles gave Prue and Piper some cover. Beyond the trucks in the army bases's parade grounds to their right were two larger Russian trucks, their backs enclosed in camouflage canvas, parked alongside a low, rectangular barracks building. Some fifty feet parallel to them was another large army truck, this one sporting American flags on its fenders and sides.

American and Russian officers and a few civilians were standing together by the two Russian trucks. The canvas was lifted from the first truck and the group examined its contents. Piper could just make out large cannisters stacked in the back. After about ten minutes the group moved to the second truck and repeated the examination.

"Where is Petrokov?" Piper asked. "I don't see him anywhere."

"Maybe he isn't here yet," Prue said.

"Maybe some other witch got to him first and vanquished him," Piper said, half seriously.

"Wishful thinking," Prue said. "That would make things easier for us. But at this point Keir wouldn't dare send someone else after Petrokov without telling us." She paused, looking around at all of the soldiers. "Truthfully," she said, "with what we could be up against here, I wouldn't mind it if he had sent another witch."

The group completed their examination of the cannisters in the second truck. Piper could make out some nodding of heads. Then one of the Russian officers gave an order. Half a dozen Russian soldiers approached the first truck while another soldier rolled over a high dolly to the truck's back. The soldiers then began carefully unloading the cannisters from the truck onto the dolly.

When the dolly was fully loaded, the soldiers began to roll it away from the truck.

"There he is!" Piper exclaimed. "On the side of the other truck."

Prue looked over at the truck with the American flags. Petrokov was standing to the left side of the back of the truck, watching what the soldiers were doing. Prue saw his right hand begin to slowly twist.

"We wanted to avoid using your power," Piper said, "but it's too big an area for me to-"

Before Piper could finish the sentence a fire suddenly appeared above Petrokov. It quickly enveloped him and he gave a short scream. Then the fire consumed him and he was gone.

Prue and Piper slowly stood up and stared in disbelief at where Petrokov had just been.

"Uh...what...uh..." Prue stuttered.

"It...looked like...uh...someone...vanquished him," Piper said slowly. "But...who..."

They looked all around the parade grounds. The Russian soldiers were still rolling the dolly. All of the officers and civilians were carefully watching them. No one was out of place. And no one else was around.

"Uh...how?..." Piper asked.

Prue started to shake her head. Then realizing that they were exposed, she grabbed Piper and yanked her back down again with her.

"I don't know," Prue said.

From their crouching position, they watched the Russians roll the dolly to the American truck, then carefully unload the cannisters and place them in the truck. Then the soldiers went back and repeated the process with the remaining cannisters from both Russian trucks.

The transfer completed, there were handshakes and salutes between the Russians and the Americans. Camouflage canvas was pulled over the back of the American truck and tied securely, so that the truck's load was not visible. Some documents were placed on the dolly and two Russian and American officers signed them.

Two Russian soldiers emerged from the barracks. Each tied down the camouflage canvas covering each of the now empty Russian trucks. Then each soldier climbed into each truck’s cab and got behind the trucks’ wheels. Two American soldiers got into the cab of the American truck containing the chemical weapons while the other Americans hurried into two black cars and a second truck parked on the other side of the grounds. The Americans made their way towards the base's exit. Clearing the guardhouse, they turned onto the road that led away from the base.

Having waited for the American convoy to depart, the two now empty Russian trucks started up and slowly made their way out of the base.

"I don't understand what happened," Prue said.

"What happened," Piper said slowly, "is that Petrokov was stopped and the transfer made. The chemical weapons are safely in American hands for disposal. But...I don't understand how."

"Neither do I," Prue said. "Let's get out of here."

 

"The Chemical Weapons Recovery Team reported back that they are in control of the weapons and are proceeding as planned," Morris said. "Given what they did with you the other night, Prue, I was able to pry that information out of them."

"Thanks, Darryl," Prue said into the telephone. "And thanks for all of your help. I owe you."

"No, you don't," Morris said. "You and your sisters are my friends. I...I didn't want you to get hurt. I hope this is over now."

"It...may be. I'll be in touch," Prue said and hung up the phone.

"So," Piper asked, "where are we?"

"The Recovery Team reported everything is secure and under control," Prue said.

"Petrokov is vanquished," Stuart said.

"And we have the Novichok," Phoebe said.

"We do," Piper said. "And we really need to do something about not having it. Like turning it over to the CIA."

"When we're done," Prue said.

"What's left to do?" Piper asked. "Zhinovsky is still around but without any chemical weapons the demons' plan is finished."

"Maybe," Prue said. "But something...something isn't right."

"Petrokov?" Stuart asked.

"I checked," Leo said, "and neither Keir nor The Elders sent, nor know of, any other witch who was there at the army base."

"So who vanquished him?" Phoebe asked.

"I don't know," Prue said and exhaled. "And that’s what’s bothering me."

 

"Phoebe, Stuart wake up!" Prue shouted in the hallway, then turned towards Piper's room. "Piper!" she called, then hurried down the stairs.

In a moment, Phoebe and a half-asleep Stuart came down to the living room.

"Leo! Leo!" Prue shouted as Piper came down the staircase. Then Prue saw that Leo was just a step behind Piper.

"Uh...you, uh...orbed in...quickly," Prue said, staring at him.

"I...uh..." Leo stammered.

"Spent the night with me," Piper said, emphatically and squinted at Prue.

"Uh...uh...oh!" Phoebe said, raising her eyebrows and making an oversized smile at Piper.

"What's wrong?" Stuart asked.

"Plenty," Prue said. "Morris just called. The chemical weapons are gone."

"Gone?" Phoebe asked. "Gone from where?"

"From the American army truck," Prue said. "The Recovery Team went to show it to someone this morning. When they opened the truck there was nothing there."

"Someone stole it during the night?" Leo asked.

"It was under heavy guard the whole time," Prue said. "Morris' contact told him they used some sophisticated equipment to examine the truck. And there wasn't a trace of anything relating to chemical weapons. It was as if they had never been there."

"Petrokov," Stuart said.

"We saw him vanquished," Piper said.

"Maybe what you saw...didn't really happen," Stuart said.

"What do you mean?" Phoebe asked.

"Remember that Charmed episode...uh, Chick Flick," Stuart said, "the parody of teen slasher movies? Where you ran around screaming like...like cliché Hollywood frightened girls."

"Episode? Parody?" Leo asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, Leo...just ignore that part," Piper said. "And don't ask me to explain it. Because I can't."

Leo looked at Piper with a confused expression.

"Just trust me, Leo," Piper said strongly, then turned to Stuart and squinted at him. "You were saying?" she said to him, equally as strong.

"That...uh...time..." he said, getting Piper’s message, "uh, that you had a run-in with the demon who could get into the movies. You followed him to the movie theater and you said a spell, Phoebe, and it looked like he had been vanquished."

"Only...he wasn't," Phoebe said, the episode coming back to her. "But he was able to make it appear to us as if he had been."

"But Petrokov didn't even know we were there," Prue said.

"He couldn't have seen us," Piper said. "We were well hidden."

"And even if he had seen you, he wouldn't have known who you were," Phoebe said.

"Then maybe he wasn't doing it for you," Leo said. "Maybe...it was just part of something else that he was doing."

"What something?" Piper asked. "You said yourself there weren't any other witches there."

"No, not witches," Prue said, slowly. "But there were Russian soldiers, American officers and CIA agents who were there."

"What's the connection?" Stuart asked. Prue was silent for a moment, thinking. Then her expression changed and she exhaled.

"I think you're right, Leo," Prue said. "Petrokov didn't know that we were there. But he did know that all those army officers and CIA agents were there. And he had to get the weapons without them stopping him." She hesitated for a moment.

"Remember that demon who was killing witches by making their fears seem real?" she asked.

"The Fear Demon," Phoebe said.

"That Charmed episode-" Stuart stopped and squished his face. "I mean, that time with the demon who could make witches see or feel what they feared most. It was all real to them."

"That was the demon who almost made me drown because of my fear of drowning like Mom," Prue said, looking at Leo as she carefully chose her words. "He could make us see and feel what we didn't want to.

"Maybe the opposite can be true, too," she continued. "M