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trackers, who caught it out of reflex.
    "I'm still lost." Lightstone shrugged, staring straight into the man's furious eyes.
    "Gawd damn it all!" the black man swore as he flung the coin aside. Then, before Lightstone could do or say anything else, the two men glanced at each other, then turned and ran.
    Within a matter of seconds they were out of the alley and running down the street toward the southern edge of Boston Common at a frantic pace.
    About thirty seconds later Henry Lightstone came out of the alley. He paused for a moment, looked around, and then walked over to a dark sedan parked along the curb and got in on the passenger side.
    "You okay?" Dwight Stoner, the huge, six-feet-eight, three-hundred-pound member of the covert agent team inquired.
    "Yeah, sure." Lightstone nodded. "Where is everybody?"
    "I dropped Mike off at the far corner of the park, and put Larry and Thomas out on the wings," Stoner said as he started up the car. "Larry figured that he and Thomas could probably run a little faster than Mike and I if they had to."
    "They will. Those guys are rabbits," Lightstone said as he reached for the pack-set radio on the seat.
    "Bravo Two, anybody out there?" he spoke into the radio mike.
    "Bravo Five, I'm in the middle of the park, heading, uh, due west," Special Agent/Pilot Thomas Woeshack's distinctive voice echoed within the rented sedan.
    "Bravo One, I lost them. Last I saw, they were heading northwest, toward that old graveyard," Larry Paxton responded, sounding as if he were almost out of breath. "Watch for them coming your way, Snoopy!"
    Lightstone nodded at Stoner, and the huge agent sent the sedan roaring out into the snow- and slush-filled street.
    "Snoopy"—Lightstone spoke into the radio mike—"if you spot them, give them some distance and keep your eyes open. I took away their toys, but they may have a buddy out there somewhere."
    "Bravo Three, copy," Mike Takahara acknowledged. "Haven't seen anybody yet. What am I looking for?"
    "Salt-and-pepper team," Lightstone said. "The tall one's black with a full beard. The short one's Hispanic, handlebar mustache. Both wearing boots and dark green military fatigue jackets, Vietnam era."
    "Nobody like that's been by here so far," Mike Takahara responded.
    "Okay, we're on our way," Lightstone said. "Meet you all at the corner of Charles and Boyston."
    Five minutes later the five covert agents were standing together at the intersection of Charles and Boyston streets, Paxton and Woeshack still trying to catch their breath.
    "You know, a couple years ago Ah'd have kept up with them mothers, no problem," Larry Paxton grumbled as he leaned against a light post.
    "That's the problem with getting to be the acting boss." Lightstone grinned as he and Stoner and Takahara continued to search the darkness. "A guy starts sitting in those fancy chairs, feet up on the desk, secretary bringing him coffee and doughnuts, he's bound to go soft."
    "Ah ain't got no fancy chair, and Ah ain't got no fancy desk or secretary neither," Paxton growled. "All I got is you idiots, which ain't much right about now, let me tell you."
    "Good thing you don't," Mike Takahara chuckled, slapping Paxton on the back. "Otherwise we'd probably have to talk Stoner into carrying you back to the house over his shoulder. Be downright embarrassing."
    "Somebody's got to do some work around here," the huge agent agreed.
    "Speaking of which, do we still have an operation?" Lightstone asked, turning to Paxton.
    "I don't know." Paxton shook his head, still looking disgusted with himself. "Let's go back to the apartment, check in with Halahan. See what he thinks."
    "He's gonna be pissed at us if we've blown this one," Mike Takahara predicted.
    "Yeah, so what else is new." Paxton nodded gloomily.
    "You mean we might have to start over again somewhere else?" Thomas Woeshack asked, looking dismayed.
    "That's the beauty of undercover work," Lightstone said as the agents started walking back toward the car.