Marcus was red with fury. He had yet to hit Taylor but he had hit, in no particular order, the wall, a stack of wire spools, a steel support column, and a pile of crates labeled 'Leopazudo,' whatever that was. His suit was covered in dust from half a dozen unsuccessful lunges at the boy. In one particularly pathetic attempt, his pants pocket had caught on a bolt and been torn out.

"Listen up buddy," Taylor sighed as he ducked another punch. "Either you're part of the solution or part of the problem."

"Waarlghh!" Marcus cried, with the air of one who fully intends to remain part of the problem, thank you very much. He threw a fist again, and did considerable damage to a foam mannequin that was behind Taylor and to the right.

"It's pretty obvious you aren't the one who hurt Zac. Why don't you just give up now and take me to the boss."

There was that word again, boss. The agent had been surfing on a wave of his own ego after his gravity-assisted defeat of Zac, who was supposedly the best Hanson had to offer "fists-of-fury" wise. Now he was just angry and tired. Right now the "boss" was probably kicking the tar out of that same Hanson. Of course _his_ prey was pretty much just lying there tied up. Taylor didn't show any sign of tying himself up and lying down in the immediate future.

"You shouldn't have been in Austin." Marcus wheezed. "You should have stayed home and made records. It was not your concern."

"Be a Hanson, see the world. Why did you take Zac?"

Marcus smiled at the thought of The Simple Plan. Not the Tom Paxton / Billy Bob Thronton movie from 1998, but the Marcus & Gilson effort of 2001. Neither of the agents knew in advance that Bush was going to fire Hanson that day, but it was that much better. Getting them completely out of the picture would put them back in favor with their masters at the Knights of Anarchy. All pertinent intelligence information suggested that any two Hanson brothers together were virtually unstoppable, so there was The Simple Plan. Wait for one to get alone, catch that one and kill him, and use him to lure the others to an unearthly fate as well.

As he stood before Taylor, ragged and bleeding, he tried to think about where they went wrong. Probably arranging for Taylor to beat himself up the way Zac had would have been a good move.

Taylor, not appreciating the smile on his face, decided to hit him some more.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

The cologne trail Isaac had been following was a dead end. Not the "dead end" that his brother Zac already believed him to have met, but rather, a dead end. The corner of the warehouse he was in now had been used for storage -- there were still greasy unopened crates printed with some foreign language along the walls. He hopped over a length of cable stretched across the walkway and turned around to survey.

If nothing else, this place was a great place to take a captive. Room after room, hallway after hallway, all of them almost exactly the same. Isaac's sense of direction was keen, and he had a pretty good idea where he was in the overall building layout. What he didn't know was where Zac was. This might be a good time to call Taylor, although if he had hooked up with Merchant they might be anywhere by now.

There was nothing in his line of sight but more dust, more crates, and towering walls the color of which Isaac decided to name, "Warehouse Grey."

Ike made himself comfortable on a nearby crate and decided to check his weapons stash. Some things are better done in private. He slid the action back slightly on each of the Glocks to assure that a round was chambered and ready to go. Everything appeared to be in order. He returned one gun to its shoulder holster, and the other to the pancake holster behind his back.

But there was still no Zac. Isaac dug out his satellite phone and pressed the glowing red 'T'. The phone beeped as it acknowledged his thumbprint on the button and he waited for a connection.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"Who?" Zac sneered. It took a few seconds for him to register that the duct tape behind his back had broken. Without moving his shoulders he peeled the rest of the tape away and stuck it to the wall.

"What do you mean, 'Who?'" Gilson chuckled. "How many 'Brother Isaacs' do you have?"

"Who killed him? It was you, wasn't it?" More than anything, he wanted to cross his arms in front of him. It was basically his signature stance when he was angry, but now he had an advantage and he would use it to secure his vengeance.

"It doesn't really matter. All that matters is that he's gone. You'd all be at home now playing with your guitars if you would have minded your own business in Austin..."

Guitars. The word struck the young Hanson in the face like a stone. No more guitars. No more lame jokes about Zac washing his hair more often. No more rambling non-answers to reporters. No more eye rolling when Zac or Taylor was ambushed by a gaggle of female fans. No more...

No more Isaac.

"Was it _YOU_?" Zac bellowed, regretting it instantly. His chest ached with every syllable and his mind informed him, as politely as possible, that continued shouting might result in another blackout.

"It was."

"I'm going to kill you." Somehow it didn't even sound like a threat. It didn't sound like a promise either. The way he said it was as if it had already happened--as though he were reading from 'The Book of Zac', and Zac spake unto him saying, "I'm Going to Kill You."

And yet...

"And yet I could kill you with both hands tied behind my back. Better yet. With both hands tied behind your back. Close your eyes if you like. It doesn't really matter to me." Gilson was frustrated with Hansons in general and he was more than ready to be rid of at least one of them.

"I'll do you one better," Zac coughed, even as Gilson reached for his sidearm. "I'll kill _you_ with my legs tied together." Gilson paused. That _would_ be worth watching if it was anyone but him on the receiving end. Still, this kid was clever, and he had nothing to gain by listening to clever people.

"What your hands tied behind your back _and_ your legs tied together? I don't think so. Now quit talking and start getting..."

Zac's teeth were clenched in both concentration and resilience, for he knew the pain was coming. He rocked his body forward with his legs and pushed against the wall behind him as hard as he could manage. After a short struggle for balance and a quick inward gasp by his surprised captor, he was teetering on his feet.

"Nah. I think the legs tied together will make it hard enough." Gilson was still fumbling for his weapon when Zac's head hit him in the chest.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

"Dude, you look like that guy from Monty Python's flying circus." Taylor suggested. He ducked a lazy punch and grabbed Marcus's ankle, causing him to fall over backwards. For a few seconds the man lie there panting.

"Who?" Marcus struggled to his feet and wobbled into a boxing stance. "Like Eric Idle or..." He swung again and this time found his wrist caught. Tay jogged past him and pushed back, sending his hapless opponent careening into yet another pile of crates, which collapsed.

"Nah not him. You know the guy who always ran out at the beginning and said, 'It's...' before the opening credits."

"Not really," the pile of crates moaned.

"Seriously? You don't remember the 'It's' guy?" Taylor rocked his head from side to side, loosening his neck. Isaac owed him a serious rub-down when this was over. Being the physician on the team left him with the physical therapy responsibilities as well. Marcus obviously wasn't winning--far from it. But he was nothing with out determined and appeared to be indestructible.

As if on cue, Marcus waded out of the stack of boxes, staggering from side to side. His hair was a mess, Taylor had torn an arm from his jacket, and somehow, he had lost a shoe. One eye was swollen shut but the other bored into Taylor's own with the same intensity he had attacked with throughout their fight.

"Seriously," he gurgled.

"Your loss. I think it was Michael Palin." Taylor brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Give up yet?"

"Never!" Marcus crowed, thrusting a fist into the air over his head. He held it there for a moment as he took note of the severe pain in his collarbone, which had broken in a recent crate collision.

"I'm not suppose to kill people, that's the thing. Unless they are a 'clear and present danger that may bring about substantive evil.' Are you going to bring about 'substantive evil?'"

"Bite me."

"I'm not supposed to bite you, either."

And then came another desperate leap. Arms outstretched, Marcus plunged forward, cantering like an ostrich. This time, Taylor decided to jump up and land with his elbow on the man's back. That would at least have him pinned, at which point he could knock him out or something.

Yup that was the plan. It would have worked, too, if his phone hadn't rang. The guitar riff from 'In The City' indicated that it was Isaac on the line. Momentarily distracted he reached for his phone.