Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 1: Taking Stock


Miss Parker could never drive past the chain link fence that prevented the unwary and curious from venturing too close to the site of the demolished Centre Tower without slowing to a near stop and staring. So much of her life had been tied tightly to that imposing, intimidating structure that had been exploded into twisted and crumpled wreckage. Now, like the Centre itself, her life was slowly changing and transforming itself into something completely new and different after having gone through a similar deconstruction and renaissance.

After decades of struggling to find a purpose and sense of belonging to someone or something, she had succeeded past her wildest imaginations. She now had a child - a son she loved almost more than life itself - and a close-knit family of surrogate father, brother and niece cobbled together from work associates from the Centre and their families. She had friends - friends who might as well be family. And most importantly, she had the love of her life BACK in her life. Jarod - Lab-Rat, boy-genius, the Centre's prized and then escaped Pretender - had come back, discovered that her son was his son too, and ultimately stepped willingly and determinedly into the role of father and man of the house. But he had come back in the first place to accomplish a specified end, and what faced her now was the result of that end being accomplished at last.

The old regime of the Centre - started by her grandfather and continued by two men who, in their time and in their turn, had each claimed the honor of her paternity - was gone. Raines, the previous Chairman, and Lyle, his psychopathic assistant, had been assassinated by the Yakuza not long before the explosion. She, born and bred to Centre life and trained to take over the reins of the organization in time by Raines' immediate predecessor, had nevertheless for years hoped to escape the destiny her father/s had planned for her. But in a stroke of irony she was only now beginning to fully appreciate, when offered the chance to walk away with impunity by the Triumverate itself, she had instead turned about and willingly accepted her fate as Centre Chairman. In that instant she had taken all the training her father/s had given her and begun walking down the path set forth for her by her mother instead. If she succeeded in her plans now, the Centre would never be the same again.

And now, she was hurrying to make the first of her three meetings for the day, meetings that hopefully would give her a leg-up on starting the rebuilding of the physical plant in Delaware and the reorganization of the Centre as a completely benevolent research and development firm. It had taken her and her staff a week of re-establishing offices, restoring functional telephone and computer access and making personnel schedule adjustments and travel plans to even make these meetings possible - and she definitely didn't want to be late today.

Her first meeting, scheduled to start in fifteen minutes, was with the various construction foremen who would be responsible for the actual clean-up of the demolished Tower. Also at the meeting would be the structural engineers who had spent the last week inspecting and investigating the underground facility, and whose report would determine how and when the work both above and below ground would proceed. The most urgent need at the moment, organization-wise, was the excavation and retrieval from the existing subterranean facility sublevels of all documentation and hardcopy archives to a safer location above-ground. The final extent of the removal and disposal of the Tower debris would depend entirely on whether or not the structural engineers determined the underground facility sound enough to continue using or unsafe and needing demolition as well. That report was the first item on the agenda.

Immediately on the heels of that was a luncheon meeting at noon with the various supervisors of the many satellite Centre offices. She had ordered them all back to Blue Cove in order that they could bring her up to speed as to what projects they had been overseeing and any progress reports to be filed. Something told her that particular meeting would be a very stressful one, as many of Raines' extra-curricular projects had been moved from the Delaware facility to one of the outlying satellites to avoid Triumverate detection. She had asked Sam and Tyler to be with her at that meeting, in order to have a short meeting afterwards to assess any security issues posed by any of the projects still in process. She also trusted them to recognize and be ready to address any risks and possible loyalty problems that could arise from a redirection of both efforts and resources in the near future.

Finally, there was a mid-afternoon meeting with Dr. Stevens and his staff from the psychiatric sublevel regarding the disposition and status of the remaining psychiatric patients that had been housed at the Centre. Jarod would be coming in to attend that meeting as Sydney's representative, since the older psychiatrist was still the nominal head of the Psychogenics Department under the auspices of which Dr. Stevens had been functioning and needed the update as well. Sydney himself, however, was still in no condition to do much of anything in his official capacity.

Sydney's gunshot wounds had proven serious enough the previous week to land him in the hospital for surgery to address the cause of his peritonitis once and for all. Her running behind schedule today had been because she had stopped at his house for a quick visit now that he had finally been released and was recovering under Jarod's and Kevin's watchful eyes once again. The downturn in his health while everything around her was in such chaos - and while Broots continued to remain on the critical list with his own very nasty set of injuries - had rattled her badly. That morning she had needed to reassure herself that at least one of her beloved friends was truly on the road to recovery before she could focus fully on the task ahead. He had been weak but in good spirits - and his "Give 'em hell for me, Parker," whispered into her ear during her leave-taking hug had been just the dose of incentive that she'd needed to face the day.

She stepped on the accelerator of the sports car she now drove to work as often as not and steered the little racing machine towards the temporary parking facility near the end of the annex building that had become the temporary administration wing. She could see from the cars already in their places that both Sam and Tyler had arrived at work earlier than she for a change - no doubt she would be hearing about it for a day or so at least. That thought made her smile as she climbed from the little car and walked quickly and purposefully toward the annex entrance closest to her new office.

Those two - the ex-sweeper who was now the head of Security and the ex-morgue attendant who was now her personal assistant - had formed a very interesting and effective working partnership. She had a suspicion that they had also gotten together and quietly conspired never to allow her to get too full of herself in her new position of authority. In many ways, their continued injection of humor and good-natured ribbing into their private interactions with her kept her feet on the ground as the job she was attempting to step into seemed to get larger and more unmanageable without help.

"Good morning, Mei-Chiang," she sing-songed to the impeccably dressed Chinese secretary in the sky-blue cheong-sam who had taken over as her private secretary when it was discovered that Miss Parker's long-time secretary had perished in the explosion.

"Good morning, Miss Parker," the almond eyes smiled at her new boss. She had been Lyle's personal secretary during the last week of that man's life, and she had heard enough of both his excesses and rumors of his less-savory escapades by now to really appreciate her new position and superior for a number of different reasons. "You have a call on line two - Mr. Ngawe's representative."

"Notify the board room that I'll be in momentarily," the brunette nodded and pushed through the simple wooden door into the even simpler office that she had claimed as her own. This was a working woman's office, not a model of ostentation and intimidation like the office that had been destroyed. No expensive works of art covered the walls, but rather a photograph of her family hung where she could look at it across the room. Her desk, neat but occupied with inboxes and outboxes, was not massive or expensive, but it was a rather large corner unit turned inward towards her door. She settled into her chair and lifted the receiver, punching the blinking light. "This is Parker," she announced brusquely.

"Mr Ngawe would like to schedule a meeting with you today here in Dover," stated the melodious African-accented voice on the other end of the line without introduction. "He would like to discuss arrangement for..."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint Mr. Ngawe today," Miss Parker said with a glance at her calendar. "I've already got meetings scheduled to run all day long here and simply cannot get away at all. I can be there tomorrow morning, however. Will that be satisfactory instead?"

She could hear the speaker conferring with another - the voice deeper and obviously Ngawe himself - and then: "Is nine-thirty in the morning convenient?"

"I'll be there," she replied, noting the new appointment on her desk calendar. "Until then." She hung up and retrieved her briefcase from where she'd put it at her feet and headed directly out the door again. "I have a nine-thirty in Dover with Ngawe tomorrow, Mei. And for the rest of the day, hold all my calls unless they're family emergencies."

"Yes, ma'am." Mei-Chiang opened the thick appointment calendar notebook and recorded this new appointment with practiced efficiency. "They're ready for you."

~~~~~~~~

Special Agent Thomas Gillespie of the FBI stared at the board that contained all the facts and photos pertinent to the investigation into the bombing of the Centre Tower and frowned. Of photos there were plenty - most of them pointing to mysteries and dead ends. Two corpses had been found on the perimeter of the property - two men murdered by different means at approximately the same time - of which one remained unidentified. The other was a gardener in the Centre employ - that information having just been given to them by their new Centre liaison. The delay had been understandable, since the computer that had held all employee information had been one of the victims of the bombing.

The Blue Cove Police Department wasn't having any more luck uncovering motives for the murders either. The gardener had been a deaf-mute hired by the Centre years ago, whose entire life seemed dedicated to keeping the lawn trimmed to a standard height. His family had reported that he had no enemies, no drug or gambling problems - he had been a simple soul evidently in the wrong place at the wrong time. The question is, what had he run into and why had killing him been the response?

The Centre administration, while openly cooperating with both the local and federal agencies to the best of its handicapped abilities, had still been far less than helpful. The new Chairman, a beautiful and intimidating woman by the name of Parker, had seemed more than willing to answer all the questions they had thrown at her at the time. But the mere fact that she had taken over as Chairman literally only an hour or so before the bombing made it unlikely that she actually knew anything that would provide a viable lead. Her organization was in enough chaos, being the primary victim of the bombing, that it was hard to expect much from her even in the best of times.

Another mystery had surfaced in connection with the case several days earlier, when one of the survivors of the blast and subsequent collapse of the Tower had attempted suicide in the hospital. Only the sharp eyes of one of the nurses had prevented the attempt from being successful, and now the man lay in a coma - completely unresponsive after a prolonged period of extreme blood loss. Another mystery was why an associate of one of the other two Tower survivors had been in the suicide's room - the man had simply refused to answer any questions whatsoever. Since he rarely left the hospital, his whereabouts for further questioning was never much of an issue - but it had been another itch that needed scratching and remained out of reach.

"Here's the Forensics report you asked for," Agent Winters, a slender young man with a Virginia accent, said as he handed over the folder to the tall and middle-aged SAC. "Evidence of the use of plastique - and lots of it - was all over the place."

"What about that remote we found with the unidentified body?"

"Consistent with the quality of explosives used," Winters nodded. "All of this stuff was of the latest and greatest quality - the remote was practically a prototype."

"Any leads on manufacturer?" Gillespie looked up from the report.

Winters was shaking his head. "Other than it looks to be of Japanese origin, from the type and coding on the wiring used, your guess is as good as mine. The head Forensics guy is having detailed photos and wire samples shipped to Tokyo to see if anybody there has any ideas."

"Wasn't that suicide attempt a Japanese fellow?"

"Yup."

Gillespie rubbed his chin speculatively. "Why do I get the sneaky suspicion that the suicide attempt had to do with the bombing - and that maybe the African survivor knows more about this than we imagined?" His hazel eyes lit on Winters, who shrugged again. "Have we even DONE an interview with this..." he turned and browsed the information on the board until he found what he wanted, "...Ngawe person to see what he does or doesn't know?"

Again, Winters only shrugged. "We left a lot of the grunt work to the Blue Cove PD, you know..."

"Yeah," Gillespie sounded disgusted. "We may have to rethink that..."

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker looked about the table expectantly. "Well?" she asked without apology or preamble.

Hal Thorpe was a serious-faced young man with a legal pad filled with notes and comments sitting on the table in front of him, and it was to him that the entire meeting was now deferring. "Well," he echoed Miss Parker's beginning, "in a nutshell, I can say that MOST of the underground facility is in perfectly sound condition. Only the first two sublevels show any real signs of stress on weight-bearing structures."

"Is it safe to clear the stairwells so that important documents and equipment can be retrieved prior to new construction?" she asked, heading straight to the heart of the first task that needed attention.

"Yes, but it will have to go slowly because of the weakened status of the upper structure. Until SL-1 and 2 can be reinforced, there should be little or no heavy machinery used in the area unless absolutely necessary." Thorpe dragged up from a portfolio several poster board, which he propped up on the desk in front of himself and then began pointing as he continued his presentation. "As you can see from the areas colored in red, we've already had a couple of areas where the bedrock that forms the ceiling of the sublevel and the foundation of the building above it have been compromised and collapsed a bit." He lifted that visual aid and slipped it behind his next offering - a cut-away diagram of the structure of the first five sublevels. "I'm suggesting that we may need to excavate the debris from those areas, then reinforce all the damaged walls with cement and rebar up the wazoo, and finally construct a steel girder and cement slab patch to replace lost material in the areas of actual collapse. At that point, it should be safe to have workers moving in and out of the sublevels."

"How about the elevator shaft? Can we re-establish elevator service to the lower sublevels at the same time we install the upper-level reinforcement?" After all, the bulk of the information that was desperately needed was all the way down in SL-25, in the archives.

"My investigation found no serious weakness to the shaft itself, and construction of a control shed and ground-level access is, technically, possible." The young man answered thoughtfully. "However, one of the first things that will have to happen before much of anything is restoration of electricity to the lower grid. Without it, working in the sublevels will be a form of spelunking."

"All right, Jim," Miss Parker turned her attention to her head construction foreman. "Seems that other than being limited in the use of heavy machinery, it will be up to you to clean up this mess so that we can start thinking about building us a new administration building..."

"Yes, ma'am." Jim Gantry fit the stereotype of construction worker so well that it could almost be assumed that he posed for the job. He was balding, middle-aged, tended to wear faded jeans at not quite half-staff and boots that looked as if they'd seen WWII. "I'm in the process of rounding up as many jack-hammers and cutting torches as I can already. I hate to tell you how long it will take to just get the site to a state where we can even begin to consider reconstruction, though, if we have no ability to use the heavier machinery."

Miss Parker rounded on Thorpe again. "Hal? Surely the restriction on heavy equipment won't be a permanent one?"

"True," the engineer replied easily. "What's more, I can have a survey party on site within a day or two to stake out the areas where no machinery should be, so that all of the debris on secure foundation can be reached by crane and trucks. A great deal of the sublevel structure actually lay beneath the hillside that was behind the Tower, with the elevator shaft, stairwell and corridors being actually beneath the Tower itself. So cleaning around the access points will be a manual proposition, with the rest of the clean-up perfectly feasible with regular demolition procedures."

"Good. All right, gentlemen, then this is the way that I'm seeing us proceed," Miss Parker spoke determinedly. "Hal, you and Jim lay out a schedule for having the top sublevels reinforced and secured, complete with estimated materials list and manpower assessments, on my desk by this time tomorrow. Frank," she looked over at another quintessential construction worker, "you begin to organize teams to man the jack hammers and cutting torches and get that area around the elevators and stairwell cleared up ASAP - I want your estimation of time and manpower needed by tomorrow too."

"Jerry, you take your teams and begin handling the problems with the annex structures, starting with the new administration wing. I want rubble cleared and temporary walls on the ends of those buildings before the weather starts to cool down in the fall." She looked around the table. "Is there anything else that you folks feel needs to addressed today?" At the general lack of response, she stood. "Then you have your assignments. Thank you very much for coming."

~~~~~~~~

Debbie pushed open the door to her father's hospital room and peeked inside. The past few days, it had been a question of whether or not she would find her father awake or not, and a lengthy discussion with his orthopedic surgeon had told her why. The type of crushing his pelvis had sustained had driven bone fragments into his intestines, and given the amount of time between injury and treatment, he'd developed peritonitis. The antibiotic drip would soon be augmented with morphine in order to initiate a drug-induced coma to promote the healing process with as little discomfort as possible. The most recent X-rays of his legs had been encouraging, the bones were knitting as expected around the pins that had been necessary to piece the shattered femur together again.

Broots was asleep. Debbie moved quietly to her father's bedside and set the small flower arrangement on the wheeled stand arranged parallel to the bed. This was the most difficult part of her day, when all she could do was look down into her father's sleeping face and pray that all of the efforts that the medical team had expended on his behalf would eventually restore him to her as good as new.

She hadn't been to her own home for days now. In the days immediately following the explosion, she had been with her Grandpa so that the two of them could support each other. When Sydney's condition had worsened, she had moved to Jarod's and Miss Parker's at Miss Parker's insistence on propriety, but stubbornly insisted on moving back into Sydney's to help Kevin with her Grandpa's care once the older man had been released.

She also had called Amherst and deferred her first term at the college until at least the Springtime. The counselor she had spoken to had been very understanding once the situation had been made clear, although there had been a clear warning that deferring two terms might result in her having to go through the application and acceptance process all over again. Instead, she had called the community college in Dover for information on registering for a night class or two.

Throwing her long braid back over her shoulder after leaning over to deposit a kiss on her father's forehead, she pulled the nearby chair close and seated herself, then took hold of his hand. "Hi, Daddy," she began as she each and every one of these visits. "Everybody at home wanted me to tell you hello too. Grandpa's home again and feeling better finally. Miss Parker is hard at work at the Centre - and from what Sam says, she's raising Hell and putting blocks under it trying to dismantle all the stuff that used to make you so nervous. And you'll like that new assistant she has - Tyler. He sounds like he just walked off a plantation sometimes, but he knows what he's about. He and Sam have turned into quite the pair - you should see them pick on Miss Parker sometimes, it's a real hoot!

"Incidentally, I've talked Kevin into taking a night class at Dover Community with me. Even Sydney thought it would be a good idea for him to get a chance to see the education system from the student perspective - not to mention, get to know some other people our age. I like Kevin, Daddy - a lot. Sometimes it seems like he's just a little kid, all wide-eyed and curious about the world; and then other times, he becomes this thorough professional with all kinds of experience. Sam's teaching him how to drive so that I don't have to be Grandpa's chauffeur all the time, and to give him a bit of independence after a while."

She smiled inwardly. "You should have seen him last night, though. I think he's jealous of Tyler - afraid that I'll be attracted to someone other than him. Not to say that Tyler's not hot... uh... cute..." She blushed despite knowing her dad hadn't seen her Freudian slip. "He's been lots of places and done some interesting things, and he can make me laugh better than just about anybody. When he's over with the rest of us, Kevin gets this real pinched look on his face and clams up, sticking close to Grandpa.

"I hope you don't mind, but Jarod has your computer over at Miss P's now. Whatever it was that you had backed up onto it is being used as what will begin the restore process when a new mainframe is installed at the Centre. He told me to tell you that you saved him a LOT of work, keeping that stuff the way you did."

She chafed her father's hand and swallowed hard. "I know that you probably can't understand me really well right now, but I want you to know that I really miss you. The doctor says that your legs are healing well, and that the antibiotics are starting to work on the infection. He told me how many pins and bolts he needed to tack you back together, but I can't remember how many went where. He did say that you'll probably end up setting off any metal detectors you run across from now on.

"I'm still staying with Grandpa, Dad. I really don't want to be all alone in the house at night. Grandpa's still sleeping downstairs, so I have his room to myself right now. I cleaned out the refrigerator the day after you were rescued, so we haven't got anything going bad or nothing. I locked the place up tight and set the alarm. Hurry up and get well so that we both can go home, OK?"

Carefully she set the hand back down on the top of the blanket. "I also thought that it would do me some good to get a morning cashier's job over at Oggie's Market. Seems Phyllis is pregnant and is going to quit, so he'll need someone to take over her shift. I could use the money so that I'm not dipping into your checking account for gas and stuff. Oh yeah - Grandpa's helping me make sure all our bills get paid too, so you don't have to fuss about that either.

"Anyway, I have to stop by Oggie's on the way back to Grandpa's this afternoon, and after tomorrow I'll be coming by just after lunchtime. Kevin and I start our English Comp class as of next Monday too, so hopefully you'll be awake again by then and can help us proofread our papers." She swallowed hard. "You know how hard writing term papers and stuff is for me, Dad - I'm really gonna need your help!"

She rose and kissed her father's forehead again. "Well, I suppose I should head out again for the day. Like I said, I'll be here tomorrow a little after lunch - maybe I'll have Kevin with me next time. I'll let him drive the highway between Blue Cove and Dover, just so he can do a little more than putt around our narrow lanes. You keep yourself out of trouble and don't chase any of the nurses, OK?" Her voice caught slightly on the otherwise easy ribbing - right now she'd give just about anything to see her Dad chasing a nurse or an orderly. "See you tomorrow, Daddy. I love you."

She moved to the door and turned to take another look at her sleeping father in his bed. It had been long enough since she had last heard his voice that she was desperately lonely for him. She swallowed hard and decided that she might want to spend some time over at Miss Parker's that evening. Hopefully the woman who had been surrogate mother/aunt to her all these years would be able to ease some of the heartache. If not, then a long talk with Grandpa would be in order.

~~~~~~~~

With a puff, Jarod eased down from the pace he had set for himself when he'd started this jog around the park near Sydney's. A quick glance over told him that Davy had found his little wad of friends, and a game of softball was on the verge of breaking out at the park's diamond. That would be good, he decided. Davy had been almost overwhelmed by the series of events that had rocked his family over the course of the last week or so - he really could use some time and reasonable venue to work off some of his worry. That was, after all, fully part of the reason he himself had started jogging again - Sydney's condition not improving without surgery had been a disappointment and worry at a time when he really needed to focus on the task at hand.

He dragged himself over to the cement bench where, years earlier, he had bid his mentor goodbye and beneath which, just a half-hour earlier, he had stowed some bottled water and a face towel. He sat down hard, his legs spread wide in his tiredness, and drank deeply of the water, then took one end of the towel around his neck and wiped at his face and then looked at his wristwatch. The meeting he needed to make at the Centre wasn't until two - he had several hours to check up on Sydney's condition that morning then get back to the house and take a shower before heading off. From the looks of the game getting started, he might have time to do a little cheering first.

Just as he was tossing the now-sweat-dampened towel and nearly empty water bottle into the backpack he and Davy had thrown together for this little fresh-air jaunt, he heard his cell phone begin to chirp from the front pocket. Quickly he unzipped the pocket and pulled out the little instrument. "Yes?"

"Jarod?" It was his mother, her voice tight and upset-sounding.

"Hi Mom," he said, tucking the device against his shoulder and continuing to pack up the jogging supplies so that he could eventually go over and cheer on Davy. "What's up?"

"I just hadn't heard from you in a while - and I thought I might call and remind you of the family who is waiting very patiently for you to finish whatever it is you're doing over there and come home," she stated plaintively.

"Mom..." he drew out the name with a sigh. With the Centre's bombing having been all over the national news, she had started calling him every other day to inquire into whether he was ready to return to California. The last three times she had called had ended in an argument when, with Sydney recovering from surgery and Broots facing another trip under the knife, he had simply refused to discuss the matter at all.

"You promised..." she reminded him pointedly, something she never failed to do. "You said that as soon as you'd taken the Centre out, you'd be back."

"I know I did - and I will be," he reminded her, just as he had each and every time they'd spoken lately. "But not until things are a little more settled here first, I told you."

"WHEN, Jarod?" Margaret demanded.

"As soon as I can," he replied evenly, his heart heavy. In all of his many years of searching for her, he could never have imagined that the day would come when he wished she'd just leave him alone. "That's the best I can give you right now." He paused. "Mom, where's Em?"

She hesitated, and he knew instantly what was going on. He and his sister had had one long phone conversation after the repeated calls had started, and Em had promised him that she'd try to convince her mother to patience. That Em herself had not sounded entirely happy about the situation hadn't helped, but she had at least commiserated with the near-harassment complaint. Em must have had to leave the house for a while, and Margaret had seen an opportunity.

"Mom, you aren't helping," he told her in a gentle and sad tone. "You ought to know me by now, and know that I intend to keep my promise."

"But you said you were only coming back to tie up loose ends here," she complained bitterly, "and then heading back there - to THEM."

"That “THEM” you want to dismiss is my son, your grandson," he shot back, stung. "And like it or not, I still happen to care what happens to some of these people."

"You mean HER," Margaret hissed.

"Yes, she IS one of the people I happen to care about very much." He paused, having not had the heart yet to tell his mother that he'd given Miss Parker a diamond ring and asked her to marry him. "There's also Sydney, who is still recovering from gun shot wounds, and then there's Broots..."

"Tell me, Jarod, do you care more about them than about us?"

"Mom..." Again he drew out the name with a heavy sigh. "This isn't getting us anywhere, and you know that. I'll tell you when I'm just about ready - and until then, you can assume that I'm not." He ran a frustrated hand over his beard. "What is so hard about that to understand?"

"We're your family," she shot back angrily. "We should be able to expect better from you."

"They're my family too," he retorted, a little more angrily than he'd allowed before. "And until you understand and accept that, there are a lot of things that are going to give you problems." He rose from the cement bench and shouldered the backpack. "I gotta go now, Mom. Davy's in a softball game, and I want to get a chance to cheer him on a bit before I have to get over to the Centre."

"What on Earth would you want to go THERE for?" Margaret demanded again. "I thought..."

"Mom, I gotta go," he interrupted her. "I love you, and I'll talk to you later." He disconnected the call without waiting for her to say goodbye and folded the phone up with a snap and thrust it back into the pocket below his other arm. He would have to have a long talk with Sydney before going home to shower - this feeling of being literally torn in two couldn't go on much longer before it started to give him serious grief.

With one last, heavy sigh, he put the entire California part of his life out of his mind and headed off across the springy grass toward the softball diamond.

~~~~~~~~

"How is he?" Jarod asked as he moved past Kevin into the house.

"Starting to fuss again at being kept quiet, even though he knows he doesn't have a lot of energy yet," the younger Pretender smiled at his older counterpart. "You know how he gets when he starts to feel the least bit better. But I guess the surgeon let him know exactly what he can do and when he can start to do more, so he isn't doing much besides grumbling - yet." The sandy head looked carefully behind Jarod, turned around to check past himself into the house, then turned confused blue eyes to the older man. "Where's Davy?"

"Over there." Jarod jerked his head toward the front door and the park beyond. "There's a softball game going across the street at the park that he's in - from what I gather, he's the one team's regular pitcher."

"Oh yeah?" Kevin's face showed curiosity. "Softball?"

"Yeah." Jarod smiled. "Listen, I want to talk to Sydney privately anyway, so why don't you go over and cheer him on? I'm sure he could use a rooting section back..."

The younger man frowned in confusion. "Rooting section?"

The dark-haired Pretender laughed out loud. "Go on with you. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough."

Kevin smiled brightly and with a nod headed for the door and the park beyond.

"Syd? You decent?" Jarod called into the house as he moved surely through the kitchen and toward the door to the den.

"As decent as I can get being stuck in a bed perpetually," Sydney grumbled and then smiled at his former protégé. "I thought you had a meeting at the Centre today - that you were going to try your hand at being me officially for a change."

"I do. I just was hoping maybe you and I could talk for a minute. Alone."

Sydney looked a little more closely and saw the signs of strain that an hour's worth of cheering Davy and his team on hadn't managed to completely erase. "What is it?"

Jarod plopped himself on the coffee table with a sigh. "I got a call from my Mom again today."

The psychiatrist's heart went out to the Pretender. "She was insisting again that, now that the Centre is “taken care of,” it's time you came home, was she?"

"Why does she refuse to listen, Syd?" Jarod burst out in frustration. He leaned his elbows on his knees, leaving his hands still free to gesture. "I keep telling her that I AM going to go back, and that I'll let her know when, but..."

"But she resents the time you're spending here, right?" the Belgian filled in the gaps.

"Yeah." Jarod drooped in defeat. "I was kinda hoping that maybe knowing she has another grandchild here might help smooth things, but..."

"Jarod..." Sydney began, shifting cautiously against his pillows and the cushions of the couch that had become his day bed recovery center. "You have to remember that your father died not all that long ago, so her sense of family has been seriously compromised. Then you took it into your head to come back here, essentially walk straight back into the mouth of Hell itself, to settle some score that only you understood. After everything she's been through over the years, that's enough to make even the strongest person feel dreadfully insecure. You're a psychiatrist, man, you should recognize the signs of someone with some fairly large dependency issues - a good deal of it grief-related."

"But..." Jarod hung his head. He knew all this - even his father had sometimes aired a very private sentiment of feeling sometimes smothered by his wife's fears and insecurities. "I suppose she's right in a way. The Centre I came back to deal with IS gone now."

"Yes," Sydney agreed all too smoothly and evenly, with greying eyebrows soaring pointedly, "it is."

Dark chocolate eyes probed deeply into sympathetic chestnut. "What are you trying to say?"

Sydney's face softened. "You already know. Do I really need to say it out loud?"

The Pretender's expression grew fleetingly guilty, and he looked away. Yes, he did know exactly what Sydney was implying - and he didn't like it from Sydney anymore than he liked it from his mother. "I can keep finding excuses, or I can decide to go home and face the music of my decision. She already knows I'm not going back to stay..."

"You did promise her you'd come home, Jarod," Sydney's voice was gentle but firm. "And I know I taught you the principle that you don't make promises you can't keep. It was why I never made you any promises back when, if you think about it..."

"I know." Jarod's concession was grudging. At least Sydney had never strung him along - the only disappointments he had been a part of were ones against Jarod's own expectations and wishes. It had taken him years of careful analysis and SIMming of their sessions together to finally understand that little bit of integrity from his former mentor.

"Then you know what you have to do." He watched the unhappiness float across his protégé's face. "Parker knows this is coming, doesn't she." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. We discuss it every now and then." Jarod put his head in his hands for a moment then looked up, running his fingers through his dark hair with its striking silver threads. "Davy doesn't know, though."

Sydney's hand landed on his former protégé's knee. "Then I think it's about time you started preparing your son for your being gone for a while, isn't it?"

Jarod stared into chestnut pools of sympathetic understanding, then nodded slowly. "You're right." He slowly removed his glasses and rubbed at one eye. "I just worry that I'm leaving before everything's settled properly..."

"Jarod, Jarod..." his former mentor just shook his head. "You should know by now that there IS no such thing as an “ideal time” to do anything. All we can do is decide what it is we need to do, and then only put it off for as long as doing so doesn't make matters worse." He patted Jarod's knee again. "I think you're a bit past that point now, my boy. The longer you take to go back to California, the harder it will be on both ends."

"Sydney, is it..." Jarod stopped. This was a thought he hadn't even allowed himself to entertain privately - so blasphemous it seemed to his entire set of principles.

"What?" Sydney settled back, willing to wait for his former student to get to the heart of his dilemma without pushing. Whatever it was, it was tearing Jarod apart at the seams.

"Is it wrong of me to NOT want to go back?" Jarod said very softly, then looked up at his mentor with a pained expression. "For so long, it was the Centre making choices for me of who I could see or talk to, make friends with... Now, it seems that it's my mom, and Jay doing the same thing all over again..."

"Are you seeing the actions of your family in California as controlling or restrictive?" Sydney asked quietly.

The dark head nodded. "In some ways."

"And it bothers you."

"It pisses me off royally," the Pretender's eyes snapped with anger he hadn't really let himself feel until now. "Damn it, I'm a grown man who should be free to live his own life. Why won't they let me, Sydney?"

"Because they don't fully understand what it is that ties you HERE," Sydney explained patiently, feeling a little as if he were once more directing Jarod's understanding of underlying attitudes in a SIM the way he'd needed to do years ago. "They don't understand what you taught me when you found Nicholas for me - that the bonds of family aren't always limited just to matters of blood. To them, the Centre represents horror and separation - they don't understand that you have other associations with the people involved there, that you feel a sense of family HERE, too as well as have a son here." He patted Jarod's knee again. "And remember, your mother searched for you for thirty years - all of it spent on the run for her own freedom and searching for her husband as well. Now that she's found you and just lost her husband, she doesn't want to lose you again."

"I know that," Jarod grumbled, his face in his hands. "But I feel hamstrung sometimes - kinda like Parker used to feel when she finally woke up to the fact that they were never going to let her go, no matter what she did. Her very freedom was her cage. They're doing the same thing - turning my freedom to come here into a cage to drag me back."

"Well, you didn't promise her you'd come back to stay. That you won't be staying will be a disappointment, not a broken promise. But you will have to go back there and establish your independence from them now for much the same reasons you felt compelled to come back here and remove the Centre as a force devoted to controlling you. AND You will have to understand that she, and maybe some of the others, WILL be hurt by your choice," the Belgian stated with conviction. "It isn't blasphemy to realize that there is a large part of that situation that you love dearly, and yet there is a facet that you just don't want to tolerate anymore that is enough to push you away. That's just simple human dynamics - made just a little more pointed within a family."

"Damn, Syd, I'm gonna miss you," the Pretender said gently. "It's strange - I think I've been closer to you these past few weeks than I ever was before, and I'll miss not being able to just drop by and let you screw my head back on straight for me again."

"You mean you'll have to do without your own, personal, in-house shrink again for a while? Oh horrors!" Sydney chuckled, then grimaced as the action pulled at his stitches. "Well, think of it this way: at least when you take off this time, we'll be talking by phone regularly. You're not just evaporating into nothingness, nor are you cutting me out of your life again." He smiled sadly at his protégé. "But I'll miss you too, son - these past few weeks have been a time when I've been able to get to know you the way I'd always wished."

He paused, no longer quite so hesitant to voice his feelings as he had been that fateful day on a park bench. "The thing is, though, that I do understand exactly how your mother feels, Jarod - because I find myself feeling just as possessive of our time together now as I image she does. Now that I've found you again, I don't want to lose you either."

"But you won't be pressuring me to “come home” constantly..."

"Not this time, perhaps - but I did it a long time ago, for all the good it did at the time," the psychiatrist reminded him sharply. "Remember?"

Now it was Jarod's turn to chuckle. "There is THAT..."

"You know that the one who's going to miss you most is Parker," Sydney continued, "and she'll probably come hunting for you again if you don't come back in time for the wedding."

Jarod's grin grew slightly mischievous. "I think I know better than that one, Syd." He chuckled. "I think she'd shoot me for real for that one."

Sydney's chuckle became a genuine laugh, followed by a groan. "You're probably right."

~~~~~~~~

"Gentlemen, if you will all finish getting your sandwiches and drinks and find a seat, we can get this started." Miss Parker announced from her already-seated position at the large conference table that had been set up in the former workout room for sweepers. To her right, Tyler was checking the sign-in sheet of those attending against a list of Centre supervisors culled from Broots' computer the night before. Sam, on the other hand, was somewhere behind her keeping an eagle eye on all the occupants of the room - aided in his role by two more hand-picked sweepers stationed on opposite sides of the room's perimeter.

Twenty men had shown up in person for this meeting - representing the thirty satellite Centre offices. The others, from foreign satellite offices much further away, had taken advantage of the offer of teleconference links to the meeting in lieu of plane tickets - the arrangements for which had been one of Jarod's minor miracles of technology despite the current state of the Delaware facility. The faces of each of those gentlemen were on monitors at the far end of the room, while one of Broots' computer underlings controlled the web cams that sat in front of all present and would broadcast the face of anyone who spoke for the distant attendees. The attending supervisors wisely finished getting their lunches and sat down at the places they'd been assigned and, while quietly beginning to eat, gave their entire attention over to the new Chairman.

"As most of you know, I was appointed Chairman of the Centre by the Triumverate just before suffering from a saboteur's bomb. When I accepted this job, I decided that I would not just be another in a line of Chairmen overseeing a “black ops” think tank dedicated to all kinds of nefarious and dangerous projects." Miss Parker looked around the room, her grey eyes pausing briefly at each and every face and assessing the reactions. "The Centre, under my administration, will no longer be a force to be feared and despised by people of conscience, and it will be discontinuing any and all project that present the least evidence of being unethical."

"With all due respect..." A rich and basso voice from her left took the opportunity offered by her short pause in her presentation. Miss Parker's gaze quickly located the thin, greying man who owned the voice and then glanced down at a seating chart to identify him: Stewart Berringer, supervisor of the Las Vegas office.

"Yes?" she gazed into Berringer's face unflinchingly.

Berringer found the new Chairman's full attention quite daunting - he had begun his statement as a form of complaint, and now he saw that he wouldn't be able to get away with it anonymously. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. "Our reputation as an organization with clout shouldn't be something to be discarded so quickly or made subject to somebody else's code of ethics. Some of the research we do is cutting-edge, decades ahead of that being done elsewhere..."

"Your point being...?" Miss Parker settled back into her chair, nursing her mug of hot tea close to her chest, wondering just how far this Berringer was willing to stick his neck out on his own behalf.

"Why should we give up the intimidation factor our reputation has given us?" demanded the fat man to Berringer's left that Miss Parker's chart identified as Gilbert Flores from the Los Angeles office. "Some of what we're doing, if handed over to the wrong people, could cause us serious problems."

"Such as?" Miss Parker's voice was calm and smooth. A glance at Tyler reassured her that he was paying very careful attention to who was making the most noise, and who was quietly nodding agreement.

Flores suddenly glanced around the table. "Don't you think that this is an inappropriate place to talk about such things?" he shot back. "There IS such a thing as “need to know”..."

"Ah, yes," Miss Parker now sat forward, "the ever-present “need to know” concept that keeps everything quietly under the carpet and everybody else out of the loop so that accountability becomes almost impossible." Her brow furrowed. "But you're in a meeting with others at the same security rating as yourself, Mr. Flores. Surely you can take some assurance that nobody will be hearing anything from you who isn't in a similar situation themselves..."

"What about them?" Flores blustered, gesturing first at Tyler, then at Sam and the other two sweepers. "Do they need to be here?"

"Oh, absolutely." On that point, Miss Parker was inflexible, and her voice communicated that clearly. "They are my support staff, hand-picked for their suitability to attend any and all meetings with me. I trust each and every one of them with my life and the Centre's well-being. Now, quit stalling and tell us exactly what you think we're doing that could cause us serious problems if others knew about it."

"Our pharmaceutical research into the causes and degrees of chemical addiction, for one thing," Berringer broke in. "Some of the synthesized or refined drugs we've been developing from existing street drugs would be dangerous if dealers or the DEA got wind of them. As it is, the Yakuza have paid us quite well to..."

"Enough. Our dealings with the Yakuza and the mob have finished, with absolutely no exceptions allowed," Miss Parker interrupted him. "We will no longer be dealing either directly or indirectly with any openly criminal organization, no matter how lucrative past dealings have been. Is that understood?"

"Then what are we going to do about the on-going pharmaceutical R&D?" the man from Nevada demanded. "Like I said, this is cutting edge stuff we're talking about here. If not for the Yakuza, then for whom?"

"Some of these projects were at the direct request of the Triumverate," Flores tossed out with a triumphant tone. "I'm sure THEY won't be happy to note your reluctance to do the work we contracted to do for them..."

"You are overseeing this research, I take it?" Miss Parker asked in a neutral tone.

"Several of us are," Flores answered for his friend and associate. "The Southwest region was hand-picked by Mr. Raines as the best suited to conduct this kind of study with the least chance of governmental interference."

Miss Parker frowned. "I will take your project and its goals under advisement and meet with you and your associated supervisors privately tomorrow after I'm more up to speed on just what all is involved. But we will waste no more time in pissing contests between subordinate facilities and Centre administration. I didn't call this meeting to get your collective permission to run the Centre my way, gentlemen - so kindly give me your attention and learn the way things WILL run from now on."

"I will not be talked to this way," Flores blustered, pushing his plate away angrily. "I've worked for Mr. Raines and Mr. Parker - both of whom knew to ask and not make demands." He rose to his feet and reached for his briefcase.

Miss Parker had only to give a faint nod to Sam, and the head of Security had pressed a hidden button that summoned three sweepers each through each of the two doors to the conference room. Flores and those who had considered following his lead looked about the room nervously, then retrained their attention to the woman at the head of the table, who rose to her feet slowly and dangerously.

"You seem to be working under the assumption that you people are in charge here, with me here only in an advisory or coordinating capacity," she spoke softly, forcing each and every one of the supervisors to bend forward slightly so as not to miss a single word. "And that may well have been the way things worked in the past - but no more. So disabuse yourselves of your illusion of authority - and you can Sit Down, Mr. Flores."

Flores took one look at the stony face turned in his direction, and the storm-warning grey eyes that glared holes into him, and slowly sank back into his seat. Miss Parker then looked about the room with no further pretext of any easy-going nature or amicability.

"You gentlemen may also all be working under the assumption that I am just a puppet of the Triumverate. It is true that, in the past, the Centre has depended heavily upon Triumverate financing and contracts - but that too will be changing. Part of the reorganization of the Centre will be the establishment of a governing Board of Directors and the eventual public issuance of stock, which will make our reliance on the Triumverate for working capital a moot issue." She smiled coldly. "So as you can see, Mr. Flores, I couldn't give a rat's ass if the Triumverate DID order a project carried out. If it's theirs, and it isn't something that we will be doing in the future, they'll be informed where and when they can pick up the resources and documentation as of the date of closure - and then it will be THEIR problem to farm the project out to somebody else. Do I make myself clear?" She looked around the room and saw amazement on several faces, distress on several.

"Now that we have THAT out of the way, we can get back to setting out the new ground rules of Centre operations that go into effect as of right now. The top of that list is that I am in charge, and I, gentlemen, control the purse strings - where I get the money being my business and none of yours. The logical consequence of that fact, gentlemen, is that all of your funding is under my control - and that funding CAN be turned off at the source. There will be NO more independent contracting with individual offices - all contracts will be run through and made with headquarters from now on." She paused and could see the realization of their complete dependency slowly dawn on the faces of some of the slower members of the group. "Now you can bluster and rant and rave all you want - but the fact remains that each and every one of you are now directly responsible to ME and my staff. And I assure you, we will be overseeing YOUR actions on a far more intense level than you've ever had before"

"Don't you trust us, Miss Parker?" inquired the smooth brogue of the supervisor of the Dublin office from the monitor on the wall.

"I know better than to trust anybody without verification," Miss Parker answered shortly, not even sparing the man a glance. "If you people want my trust, you're going to have to earn it. Earning my trust will have its own rewards, I assure you, but I will not give it freely."

"That's a helluva way to start out your administration, Miss Parker," commented Fredrick Bryce from the New York office, "with a statement of complete distrust of your team."

Miss Parker nodded. "I realize that. I honestly wish I could do otherwise. But the fact is that I'm attempting to turn this place around entirely, make it into something we can all be proud of being part of - rather than something that hides in shadows and does its best work while frightening others into giving us respect. And I'm well aware that several of you would rather the old status quo be maintained. So until I know exactly which ones of you are amenable to change, I have to assume that all of you don't. This doesn't change the fact that the Centre is going out of the terrorism business as of right now, gentlemen - your job now is to get used to it and manage your offices accordingly."

"About time," was a stagewhisper from Bryce to the supervisor from Portland, to which that gentleman nodded his agreement. Miss Parker took that as encouragement.

"Over the course of this next week, all of your respective operations will be subject to review with an eye to assessing the projects you each have been overseeing. Mr. Tyler here has a copy of the new guidelines for Centre projects for each of you to take with you when you leave here - our overseas members will be receiving their copies by fax by the end of the day. Now, IF any of the projects you've been coordinating is deemed outside or contrary to the new scope of acceptable Centre activity, all funding for your entire facility will cease until all elements of that unacceptable activity have been eliminated. A representative of my office will be dispatched to oversee the dismantling of the project and transport of all associated documentation and resources personally. This will prevent the kind of extra-curricular activities that got Mr. Raines in so much trouble in the long run."

"Another major change in organization will be that the responsibility for ALL security measures and security personnel will now be under the direct control of the Delaware office of my new head of Security, Sam Atlee. Your offices are, as we speak, each receiving travel orders and tickets for the security team currently assigned to you to return to Delaware after their replacements FROM Delaware are on-site and fully briefed. Any member of Centre security currently assigned in the field who does not return to the main branch within a week of receiving his or her orders will be considered as having quit without notice, forfeiting any contracted severance pay."

Again she looked about the room, and took some satisfaction at the expression of reluctant respect on the faces of some who might have risen with Flores in opposition to her. Key to her gaining control over the massive organizational hierarchy that was the global Centre was to declare her position as top of the heap and then simply do whatever it took within reason to assure that there would be no coherent opposition or challenge from the ranks. She and Jarod had gone over this meeting several times over the past few days, and so far, things had gone pretty much as he had SIMmed and she had practiced.

"Finally, as I imagine was the case with previous administrations, you should be aware that I will tolerate absolutely no subordination or open mutiny from anyone at any level of this organization. That goes from satellite supervisor to lowly mail clerk. However, I do expect that if you can find GOOD arguments for disagreeing with me, or if you have an idea that you think will be of benefit to the Centre as a whole, that you will present them in an open meeting like this one. I want people willing to put their own butts on the line when they think they're right - and “yes-men” will eventually find themselves weeded out. Also, “need to know” as an operating concept for security reasons is hereby suspended indefinitely - at the management level, we ALL need to know everything from now on. If you cannot tolerate the new terms and conditions being levied on your respective offices from now on, I suggest you tender your resignations immediately who will work WITH me, rather than against me."

"Are there any questions at this time?" She looked around the room again, noting that the collective body of supervisors seemed about as tamed as she could expect from them at this early date. "In that case, I will be expecting each and every one of you to be making appointments with my secretary for private conference over the course of this next week. We will meet again as a body one week from today to discuss the practical working relationship your offices will enjoy with your headquarters here at that time. Meeting adjourned."

She bent towards Tyler. "Did you pay attention and note down who all were even remotely ready to throw in with our small rebellion from California there?" Her assistant nodded quietly. "How many were there?"

"I saw ten of 'em myself," came the immediate drawling reply.

"That was about the number I had too. I want a list of names on my desk by mid-afternoon, then, with a copy to Sam first." she nodded. "I'll be preparing pink slips tonight. We don't need that kind at the Centre anymore." She beckoned Sam to take the chair at her right, then pointedly waited until the room was cleared of all but the three of them. "I want you to assign surveillance on each of the men on the list Tyler will compile for us. I want to know if they hold a meeting without notifying Corporate, if they have dinner together, anything that might be the beginnings of an internal challenge to my authority."

"Yes, ma'am!" Sam straightened and immediately summoned his sweeper team and began softly issuing orders. Now the fun of reorganization would REALLY begin.

~~~~~~~~

"Hi!" Debbie called into the house and draped her purse on the coat rack after tucking her car keys into one of the gaping pockets. "Anybody home?"

"In here," Sydney called back. "How's your Dad?" he asked as he waited for her to join him.

"Still out like a light," she answered, stopping in the kitchen to get herself a drink of water. "You want anything to drink or munch on, Grandpa?"

He grimaced at the sound of the pain in that breezy update on Broots' condition, knowing the fact that her father was currently still unresponsive was weighing heavy now on her. "No thanks, I'm fine." He waited until she carried her glass into the den and parked herself on the end of his day bed, smiling indulgently and moving his legs slightly toward the back of the couch so that she could fit. "There are other places to sit..." he reminded her with a grin. Perhaps he could tease her a little and raise her spirits again.

"Yeah, but that's too easy," she chirped back at him with a mischievous smirk that told him his idea had been a good one. "There's no challenge in winning the space when there's no competition for it." She looked around the room. "Speaking of competition, where's Kevin?"

"At the park, where else?" The wide grin was contagious. "I think he has a standing appointment with the swing set about this time every afternoon since you introduced him to the concept of “play”." The chestnut eyes began to twinkle. "I suppose you could go join him for a while before supper..."

"Grandpa..." She drew out the name complainingly, but smiled to show him that she was well aware that he was just giving her a bad time.

"It was just a thought," he shrugged dismissively. "Did you get over to Oggie's already?"

"Yeah - I stopped by on the way home from Dover. Everything's all set for me to start in the morning tomorrow," she told him, sipping at her drink. "He wants me there at eight-thirty sharp."

"So early?" The eyebrows soared.

"I get to help him open up the store first thing in the morning, I guess," she shrugged then tossed her braid back haughtily. "Just think, you'll get a whole morning to yourself when I can't pick on you."

"Thrills." Sydney gave her an indulgent frown to go with his unexcited voice. "And what about your school?"

"First day of class is Monday - and Kevin's taking that one with me, remember?"

"I may not be able to chase you around the room anymore, young lady, but my mind is as sharp as ever," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"So you say," Deb smirked at him again. "I'm glad you're home again and feeling better," she continued with a heartfelt tone, her expression sobering quickly. "I don't know what I'd do if you had stayed so sick too."

"Hey there," Sydney carefully shifted so that he was actually sitting up properly on the couch with his legs tucked as close to the back of the couch as possible and then patted the blanket-covered cushion next to him. "Feeling a little less than secure today, are we?"

She willingly scooted closer and leaned into him, grateful for the arm that wrapped around her shoulder. "Lately," she corrected him quietly. "Everything just happened so fast."

"Everything will be OK, cheri," he soothed, wrapping the other arm around her to complete the embrace. "You just need to be patient now while your Dad heals."

"But," she drew in a breath, almost afraid of giving voice to her worst fear, "what if Daddy never walks again?"

Sydney closed his eyes. He knew it was a possibility that Broots might suffer a permanent handicap, considering the severity of his injuries, and he was no more happy about the odds and possible outcome than Deb was. "Let's not borrow trouble, ma petite," he said softly, kissing her cheek. "Let's just face each day and its challenges as they come. That's the only way I can keep from going stir-crazy, chained to this bed all this time - so I know for a fact it will help you too."

She nodded against his chest. Grandpa always knew the right thing to say to help her - or when it was best to not say anything. She wrapped her hand carefully across his chest, mindful of the bandages, and hugged him back.

~~~~~~~~

Flores tossed his briefcase onto the bed of his hotel room and with a jerk loosened his tie. "Who the hell does that bitch think she's dealing with?" he spat at the empty room, stripping his sports coat from his shoulders and throwing it down with an unsatisfying release of frustration.

He ran his fingers through his curly salt-and-pepper hair, back and forth, until he came to a decision. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he scrabbled through his coat until he found the little black book in the breast pocket and flipped it open. Then he picked up the phone and dialed an outside line, and then punched in a fourteen-digit long distance number.

"Yeah, it's me," he announced sourly when the other end was picked up. "We've got problems."

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chaper 2: Points of Departure


Chief Harrison stabbed at the intercom button absently, still involved in reading through the copy of the forensics report on the two murder victims at the Centre. "What is it, Judy?"

"Special Agent Gillespie is here wishing to speak with you," the nasal voice of the secretary announced brusquely.

Harrison sighed and put his report down on the desk. Somehow he'd been expecting this visit sooner or later. "Send him in," he directed her tiredly and closed the report cover. He pasted a smile on his face as the FBI agent pushed through the door of his office and rose to shake the man's hand. "Agent Gillespie."

"Chief." Gillespie found himself waved to the straight chair across the desk from the police chief. "I know that your time is valuable, so I will get right to the point."

"Please do," Harrison allowed, settling himself back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap.

"Have any of your officers done interviews with any of the survivors in the hospital in Dover?"

Harrison thought for a moment, then shook his head. "It was assumed that since these people were in the collapse of the building, they probably weren't out breaking people's necks or shooting 'em."

Gillespie carefully disguised a mild sigh of exasperation. "I was wondering. We're having a very hard time trying to put together any coherent leads on either the identity of the second body or a motive for either murder. It occurred to me that by not interviewing these people, we might be ignoring potential witnesses - if not of the murders themselves, then perhaps of other key factors."

"I thought one of them committed suicide," the police chief reminded the FBI agent sharply.

"Attempted it, yes," the agent corrected smoothly. "That was what got me thinking. Why would someone who survived a devastating catastrophe like that go to the lengths that man did to commit suicide?"

"You think he knows something?"

Gillespie nodded. "Could be. Anything new from your people on the landscaper?"

"I would imagine you got a copy of our report when you people joined the investigation," Harrison said, reaching out and ran a finger down the indexes of the several folders in an inbox and eventually pulled one. "Charles Dryer, age 43, address here in Blue Cove, lived with his mother. The man was a deaf-mute that had worked for the Centre for years trimming the grass. No known enemies, no money or drug problems, no gambling, nuthin'."

"It just doesn't make sense," the agent shook his head in frustration. "Tell me, Chief - why would ANYBODY kill a deaf-mute minding his own business cutting grass?"

Harrison stared at the FBI agent blankly for a moment. "You know," he said as an idea slowly gelled in his mind, "we didn't find his lawnmower close to the body. And the guy wasn't wearing overalls, like the other maintenance workers." He leaned forward over his desk. "Now, wouldn't you think that we'd have found an untended mower, or the body more properly clothed?"

The FBI agent looked at the police chief almost sideways, with one eye slightly narrowed as he too began to see what Harrison was talking about. "What if..." he began, then leaned forward himself to punch at the desktop with an emphatic forefinger, "what if this Charles Dryer was killed as a means to an end?"

The police chief's eyes widened. "Who would notice a maintenance man driving a lawn mower into the Centre shop?"

Gillespie began nodding slowly, his head slowly moving more and more emphatically. "That makes Dryer's murder a crime of opportunity. Perhaps committed by the same man or men who planted the C-4 and blew the Centre Tower into bits."

The police chief settled back again. "That still doesn't give us much to work with," he commented bitterly. "The motive is just a hunch, backed up by a little deductive reasoning."

"True," the agent agreed, "but it gives us a place to start, which is something we DIDN'T have before we put our heads together. You might want to interview the surviving maintenance workers from that day - see if they noticed anybody out of the ordinary. In the meanwhile, I'll send one of my agents to speak to the four at the hospital who are in any condition to talk. Can I make an appointment to confer with you - say, in two days' time - and we compare notes?"

Harrison punched his intercom button. "Judy, make a note that Special Agent Gillespie here has an appointment with me two days from today - same time?" he asked with eyebrows raised for confirmation. The FBI agent nodded wordlessly. "And get me Donaldson and Kirsch in here ASAP."

"Thanks." The two men rose simultaneously and shook hands again. "I appreciate all your help, Chief," Gillespie told the older man with a business-like nod.

"Don't mention it, Special Agent. I don't like mysteries in my town," Harrison rumbled back. "Anything to figure 'em out."

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker looked up at the soft knock on her door, then smiled as Jarod came through the door. "How goes it?" he asked, noting the expression of fatigue already beginning to settle on her delicate features despite it being fairly early in the afternoon.

"This place is a zoo!" she burst out, then leaned her chin in her palm. "I have supervisors who LIKE the “intimidation factor” the Centre has had going for it all these years, some who would prefer to continue doing work for the Yakuza and other similar folks... The top two sublevels need to be reinforced before we can begin to remove equipment or the archives - and no heavy machinery." She sighed. "No, check that - it isn't a zoo, it's a thousand-armed octopus; and it's MY job, it seems, to try to make sure that each arm does what it's supposed to do without getting its little tentacles into anything it isn't supposed to." She stared at him as if in shock. "I should have listened to Sydney and Sam and Broots, and told Ngawe to forget it when I had the chance."

"Going that well, eh?" Jarod said sympathetically and took a seat on the short and uncomfortable couch that had been once in the women's restroom down the hall. "And I suppose you're just raring to tackle the next meeting, right?"

"At least this one, like the first, is more informational than intrigue," she shot back, straightening and sorting through the papers that still littered her desk. "From what I saw of Dr. Stevens before, he doesn't seem like the kind of person to be trying to pull anything."

"We still need to know what was going on with those people in the psychiatric ward down there," he reminded her, "and make sure that they are still receiving quality care. AND we need to pick Stevens' brain about any ongoing research that any of those patients were being used for."

"God, Jarod, do you REALLY think..." She gaped, almost nauseated.

"That was Raines' private playground we're talking here, Parker," Jarod said grimly. "You KNOW how much he enjoyed experimenting with me, with Kyle, with Lyle, with Angelo..."

"OK, OK, you've made your point," she waved him into silence and worked her mouth as if tasting something decidedly unpleasant. "And, like it or not, I have to make peace with the fact that I'm probably going to be uncovering some of the most unappetizing projects and procedures in the next few days."

"This IS the “old Centre” we're talking about here," he reminded her. "You'll be needing to keep a strong stomach and hold your nose through a great deal of the sorting out phase of this. But it will end eventually. As for the rest of the department, I can't imagine Sydney willingly overseeing anything truly nefarious..."

"Keep reminding me that I WILL run eventually to the bottom of the sludge-bucket that is Raines' involvement in the Centre, OK?" she asked him, looking at her watch and beginning to gather up papers.

"Your wish is my command," he offered gallantly, rising. "Now, would you like some company on your way to the conference room?"

She shook her head. "You go ahead. I want to touch base with Tyler one more time before I get too busy with shrinks and their patients and forget what I want him to do." She rose, still sifting through papers. "I'll meet you there."

"All right," Jarod put up a hand and waved at her as he turned to leave the office. "Say, listen - you aren't going to have to work late tonight, are you?"

Miss Parker heard the strange tone of voice he was using and looked up at him again. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Not wrong. We just need to talk."

Her brows wrinkled slightly, then she nodded. "I'll be home on time, then - after a quick stop at Syd's to make sure he's not driving Kevin and Deb crazy."

"Good," Jarod said in an oddly resigned tone, then reached for the doorknob.

"Jarod..." she called him back.

"Don't mind me," he assured her with a shrug. "We'll talk about it when you get home."

"OK..." She watched him leave the office with a frown brewing. Then she filed her worry away in the back of her mind, remembering the task that she wanted Tyler to begin before her meeting with the Psychogenics Department staff. Each worry to its own time and place, she reminded herself firmly. Don't anticipate; don't borrow trouble.

~~~~~~~~

Gilbert Flores hunched down on the barstool, fully intending to nurse both his drink and his anger with equal care. His call to Los Angeles had been less than satisfying, the Yakuza representative there had been curiously reluctant to discuss any ways in which they could assist in the situation at all - and equally insistent that any arrangements currently contracted be carried through without fail. He also had already realized that his less than wise performance at the meeting that noon would have its consequences as well. Miss Parker might be a bitch, but she was a smart one.

But for now, he didn't care. His office had been the one Mr. Raines and Mr. Lyle had relied upon most to coordinate with the Yakuza and the Las Vegas mob for years - his security team was dependable and loyal to HIM, and not so much to the Centre per se. He smiled coldly into his whiskey sour - that bitch Miss Parker just didn't have any idea what kind of a hornet's nest she was stirring up, messing with established Centre policy this way!

"Gil." Stewart Berringer found his way across the dimly lit hotel lounge to the stool next to his associate. "Manhattan," he ordered from the bartender tersely, then turned his entire attention to the hunched-over man next to him. "What the hell did you think you were doing, going up against Miss Parker that way?"

"Somebody's gotta stand up to that bitch," Gil growled into his drink and then sipped at it. "'We're no longer in the terrorism business, gentlemen,'" he mimicked her voice sarcastically. "Hell, we aren't IN the terrorism business, we ARE terrorism!"

"Stop that!" Berringer put an arm around his associate and squeezed his hand tightly on the opposite shoulder - not enough to hurt, but enough to cut through the alcoholic fog. "This is old man Parker's brat you're challenging here, not some Cindy-come-lately just off the street. She TURNED DOWN your job before it was offered to you, you know..." He took his glass from the bartender and then scowled after handing over the money. "This is a private conversation," he hinted broadly. The bartender shrugged and headed towards the other end of the bar to wait on a new customer there.

"We can't let her get away with this," Flores dipped his head closer to Berringer's. "We've go to DO something!"

"I'm telling you that we don't have what it would take," Berringer growled back at him. "Like it or not, she has the backing of the Triumverate behind her, and her people firmly in place and in control of things while everything's in an uproar."

"Shit," Flores spat. "With everything in an uproar, all it would take would be one or two convenient “accidents,” and we'd be able to write our own meal tickets."

The thin man from Las Vegas didn't like Miss Parker any more than his California counterpart did, but he had been involved in Centre politics long enough to not be comfortable with this man's style of open, slap-dash rebellion. "Look, I admit that I'm not happy with the idea that we'll start playing namby-pamby Polly Pureheart think tank. But we can't just raise a little hell here, a little hell there, and expect everything to come tumbling down for her in short order." Berringer bent closer. "This is going to take planning - AND it's going to take help."

Flores' glass waved back and forth, the liquid within sloshing wildly. "Forget it. I called Mayeda already - there's been a firm edict from Tokyo against making any moves against Delaware."

"Yeah, but I bet you haven't talked to Santini yet," Berringer smirked.

"You know as well as I do that YOU were the middleman between Raines and Santini... I never DID know how to get in touch with him!"

"Look, let's find somewhere else to talk," the Nevadan urged his associate, "somewhere a little more private, where we WON'T be overheard." His hand clapped Flores sharply to spur the man into movement, and the two of them found their way out of the lounge.

At the far end of the bar, a man had pulled out a cell phone and began speaking as the two men were leaving. "Yeah, he met up with Berringer, and the two of them are just taking off. Flores was pretty pissed, and Miss Parker's name was tossed about a bit. You also might want to check out the name “Santini” and see where that leads." He listened. "Yes, sir. I'll stay with them." He closed the cell phone, put a twenty dollar bill on the bar to cover the club soda he'd ordered, and walked quickly to the lounge entrance, noted where the two men were headed, and continued after them once they were out of sight.

~~~~~~~~

Ueda Kyoshi frowned as he reached for his telephone receiver. The absolute last thing the diminutive former electronics engineer needed to hear right now was about more problems from the US branches of the Yakuza. His quick moves and cunning strategies after the titular head of the Tokyo Yakuza had found himself with a building falling on him had made his assumption of the top spot here at home all but assured. But he knew the repercussions of that unwise move of revenge had yet to even start to reverberate through the organization - and would no doubt impact everyone BUT the ones responsible for the debacle. THEY had had the good fortune to be killed outright.

Sometimes the gods protected the wrong damned people!

He pasted a patently false smile on his face and prayed to his ancestors that it would be discernable in his voice as well. "Mayeda-san! How long has it been?"

"Several years at least, Kyoko-chan. How are Keiko and your son, Yoshi?"

Ueda let the silence draw out ever so slightly, knowing the older Yakuza on the other end would understand that now that he was at the top of the heap, being called by his first name - and with the fond, diminutive suffix - was no longer appropriate. "They are well, Masa-san. What can I do for you?"

"I received a phone call from a representative of the Centre this afternoon - the head of the LA office. Seems that he is... dissatisfied... with the way Miss Parker intends to run the Centre now that she is officially Chairman."

Ueda frowned even more deeply. Dealings with the Centre were now very touchy subjects at best - and he was tending toward closing down the majority of the more openly illegal dealings that had been made with them anyway. "What did this person want from you?"

"Help in keeping the Centre on-track, philosophy-wise, with their former administrations," Mayeda told his superior dourly. "I told him that Tokyo had given firm directives to stay clear of the Centre or any disputes with it. That IS what you intended to happen, is it not?"

"Absolutely," Ueda affirmed with conviction. "The last thing we want to get ourselves involved in is a turf spat or power struggle within the ranks at the Centre. We have bigger problems with the Triumverate sitting on our horizon as the result of what Tanaka ordered in regards to the Centre - we do NOT need to end up in a war on two separate fronts."

Mayeda was quite for a moment, thinking things through. "In that case, do I call Delaware and let THEM know that I've been approached by one of their own?"

That gave the new Yakuza boss reason to pause. The Yakuza had lost a great deal of face, as well as influence, when it had attacked the Centre in such a honor-less fashion. That face had NOT been completely restored by the loss of the leader who had been so unwise as to order the bombing in the first place. Perhaps a peace offering, made to the new Chairman by the new leader of the Yakuza, might smooth some of the waters between the Yakuza and the Triumverate as well. Not entirely, of course, but every little bit couldn't hurt.

"Call Delaware. Ask to speak to Miss Parker herself, and tell her that you're calling as my personal representative. If you're very lucky, she'll even believe you."

"Hai, Ueda-sama. As you wish."

"Oh, and Masaji-san? Call the hospital in Dover and see if you can get an update on Fujimori-san's condition - and send a team over there to watch over him. We don't need him talking to the Triumverate."

"Hai. I live to serve."

Ueda hung up the phone with a slow hand. It's beginning, he told himself fatalistically and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was late - he really needed to get on the train and head for home. This was the third night this week that he'd not been home in time to spend time with his son before bedtime. He knew that his wife, as long-suffering as she normally was, would let him know fairly soon that he was pushing limits; and his mother had even less patience with him since her fall in the spring that had made her nearly bedridden.

Not for the first time did he wonder whether or not he could get away with finding a nice retirement home for the family obah-chan (grandma), rather than keep her within the family unit as was traditional. Frankly, the less stress from that quarter he had right now, the better...

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker nodded, and an attending sweeper took charge of the file case that Dr. Stevens had brought with him as soon as all the files had been replaced. "I'm grateful for your having the foresight to pull the files on all the remaining patients and bringing them with you from the sub-level," she congratulated the psychiatrist congenially. "And you're saying that you've had no trouble finding beds for them in other facilities?"

"No," the doctor shook his head. "Once it was known that these patients had come from the Centre, and essentially were security risks if not housed in a more formal institutional setting, we were able to get beds for all of them at the state facility outside Dover - for the time being, anyway. It IS more expensive to house them outside the Centre, but at this point..."

"True." Miss Parker gave Jarod the nod.

"One thing that your patient profile and progress folders do not seem to possess is any information about WHY these people found their way into your care - where they came from, or what Mr. Raines might have been using them for." The Pretender's voice was firm but unaccusing. "We're well aware that Mr. Raines has a history of doing his own psychogenic research projects over the years - experiments in stimulating and enhancing pathological or anti-social behaviors and conditions through various means. Do you know how many of these patients were a part of that kind of research?"

Dr. Stevens had the good sense to look down at his hands somewhat guiltily. "Mr. Raines would, occasionally, tap one or two of them to be brought out and down to SL-27..."

"I thought SL-27 had been rendered unusable!" Miss Parker burst out. "There was a bombing there about eight years ago..."

Dr. Stevens nodded. "That's what I said the first time he came down to talk to me - that I thought SL-27 was nothing but a ruin. He told me that he'd had a certain portion of the sublevel “reconditioned” - that's how he worded it. And he warned me against asking too many questions of things that were none of my concern."

"And the welfare of the patients otherwise placed in your care was deemed “none of your concern”?" Jarod asked with his dark eyebrows flying high above his glasses.

Stevens looked over at Miss Parker as if pleading for assistance from that quarter. "I had... no desires to end up in Renewal myself, Dr. Russell..."

Jarod nodded sympathetically and eased up on his attitude. "I can appreciate your position. The Renewal Wing was NOT a place any healthy person wanted to end up. But I noticed that while the files each contained detailed case histories, there were no admissions or commitment documents. DO you know where these people came from?"

"All I know is that this was the information I was given to work with," the psychiatrist answered tiredly. "I'd imagine that if there was more information, it ended up either down in the archives or else somewhere in the mainframe."

Miss Parker and Jarod exchanged a sharp glance. It was becoming obvious that those hard-copy archives were the key to unlocking many of the secrets the Centre had guarded for all these years. How much else Raines and Mr. Parker might have hidden down there!

"A question, if I might?"

Miss Parker turned to the psychiatrist with a nod. "What is it?"

Dr. Stevens turned to Jarod. "I haven't ever seen your name on any of the Psychogenics Department rosters," he leaned forward. "I'm just wondering in what capacity you're attending this meeting?"

"I..." Jarod began, only to have Miss Parker put her hand on his arm.

"Dr. Russell is a long-time associate with the head of our Psychogenics Department, as well as a long-time acquaintance of mine. And since Dr. Green is currently indisposed, and Dr. Russell is in the area, Dr. Green asked him if he would take his place."

"But he seems very familiar with Centre procedures and policies - up to and including knowing about the Renewal Wing," Dr. Stevens continued. "One wouldn't expect such a level of expertise without considerable time spent here, in the Centre."

"Your point being..." Miss Parker's voice had taken on a sharper edge to it.

The psychiatrist found himself looking into eyes as grey as a brewing hurricane. "No point, really," he managed eventually, "just curious as to why I've not met you around here before now."

"My primary practice is in California," Jarod responded easily, stepping in before Miss Parker could get any more defensive. "I haven't been involved with the Centre for a number of years now, but I spent a great deal of time here a while back, working closely with Dr. Green on his various projects at the time when I was much younger. As a matter of fact, Dr. Green's example is part of the reason I eventually took up psychiatry myself."

"Hmmm." Dr. Stevens cast another assessing look in Jarod's direction, then seemed to have been satisfied. "Is there anything else you wanted of me, Miss Parker?"

"Just keep me informed on the patient progress, and I'll let you know as soon as we have either reopened the sublevels for full operations or we have a new facility in the works." She smiled at him, although her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you for coming in."

"My pleasure." Dr. Stevens took the obvious hint and left the room, leaving the other assorted psychiatric workers staring at the two at the head of the table.

"OK, folks, now that THAT'S settled," Jarod began, pulling out a legal pad and pen, "I'd like to hear from each of you regarding the projects you had been involved with and the stage of research you were at."

~~~~~~~~

Tyler looked up as Sam poked his head through his office door. "Do you have a minute?"

"C'mon in," the younger man drawled and stretched back in his chair. "I could use a break."

"Still working on that list for Miss Parker and myself?" Sam asked, making himself comfortable in the chair in front of the workstation.

"Naw. That part of it's finished - just hadn't gotten it to you yet." Tyler picked up a folder, extracted a sheet of paper and handed it across the desk. "I was doing a little digging into our more vocally obstreperous supervisor - one Gilbert Flores."

"Good," Sam nodded. "I had a man start tailing him the moment he left the annex, and the report I just got from him is one reason I'm here."

Tyler's brows raised, and he folded his hands in front of him. "I take it that the little temper tantrum we witnessed wasn't the end of things?"

Sam shook his head. "Not by a long shot - nor did he continue alone. Mr. Stewart Berringer popped up again."

"Now why does THAT not surprise me..." Tyler leaned forward and flipped a paper around so Sam could read it from right-side up. "Seems our Mr.'s Berringer and Flores have been bosom buddies and teammates on the Raines-Lyle terrorism train from a long time back."

Sam picked up the paper, read down about halfway, and then shook his head. "Flores was Berringer's right-hand man in Las Vegas for four years until he was promoted to supervisor himself - but his promotion was prompted only when Miss.... PARKER decided not to take the Los Angeles supervisor's job?" He looked up again. "Are you thinking professional jealousy as well as preference for the previous status quo?"

"Yup." The Texan then handed Sam another paper - a photograph. "I'm also thinking that between the two of them, there is enough background and connections to make either or both of them very dangerous men to cross."

Sam looked down at picture and frowned. Obviously a surveillance photo, the scene was an office building foyer where six men stood in intense discussion. "That's Mayeda, LA liaison to the Tokyo Yakuza bunch headed by Tommy Tanaka to the left of Flores. Who are the others on the other side of Berringer?"

"The one on the far right is unidentified at the moment. The one next to him is a man named Rodriguez - one of the top enforcers for the Mexican Mafia in LA County. The one next to Berringer himself is Eduardo Santini, consiglieri to the Torzulo crime syndicate."

"Holy shit!" Sam stared at Tyler. "These two have got mob connections nine ways to Sunday - and an axe to grind with Miss P, it seems."

"I know she wants to take the Centre legit as quickly as possible," Tyler commented in a quiet voice that spoke of his unease with the current situation, "but she may have to play Centre hardball the old-fashioned way until she gets her feet firmly planted in the stirrups here."

"She's not gonna like that," Sam replied in a sour tone. "She ended up on the wrong end of that hardball far too often."

Tyler looked across the desk, his brows raised slightly. "But, you know, I'd be willing to bet you twenty that she's halfway expecting something like this to come up. She's not dumb - she probably has a pretty decent idea just how far down the corruption at the Centre goes if she's tripped over it often enough."

The ex-sweeper lifted the photo. "Do you have another copy of this?" At Tyler's nod, he folded it and slipped it into his jacket's breast pocket, along with the list of names Tyler had provided. "You see what you can do to get that other guy in this thing identified. I need to get an extra level of security assigned to Miss P and her family - and then get some direction for her on how to proceed against our mutineers."

"Oh, she's gonna LOVE that!" Tyler shook his head. He'd already seen her independent streak in action; the idea that she'd be getting round the clock protection for herself and her family too was not going to sit well."

"Yeah, well, I'll convince her," Sam assured his new colleague with a little less than complete confidence, "eventually..."

~~~~~~~~

Otamo Ngawe gazed with obvious disdain on the Federal agent. "What can we do for you?" he asked, his tone communicating patience overlaying frustration.

Gillespie decided not to let this African's superiority get him riled. "I regret the need to bother you right now, but we are investigating not only the bombing of a significant contractor for the US Defense Department, but also the murder of this man." He handed over a small photo of a dead man's face. "I was hoping that perhaps you might recognize him..."

Ngawe shook his head carefully - any movement was an invitation to agony if not considered and carried out properly. "We're sorry, but we have never seen this man before." It was the absolute truth.

"Do you have any information that might help us track down and apprehend those who set the bombs that landed you in here?"

The elderly African gentleman carefully avoided narrowing his eyes. He would have to be careful - the American had worded his question in such a way that, had he been less mindful, his drive for retribution might have had him telling everything he knew. But just as Miss Parker refused to aid in any efforts against the Yakuza in favor of seeking her justice from these suited fools, the Triumverate was going to refuse to aid in any official investigation. "We're sorry, we were just at the Centre to attend meetings when... boom!"

"Mmmm..." Gillespie wasn't fooled by the man's simple explanation. "Then perhaps you could tell me WHY you had evidently ordered a 24 hour watch on this man," he showed Ngawe a photo of Fujimori, "about twelve hours before he attempted to commit suicide?"

Hazel met ebony in a contest of wills. "He is a very valuable friend to us - is it so wrong to want to want to keep abreast of his condition?"

"You are a friend to Mr. Fujimori?" Gillespie's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"That's what we said," Ngawe retorted. "Did you not believe us?"

"Then I would imagine you were aware that Mr. Fujimori has a criminal record - as a member of the Japanese Yakuza crime syndicate?" Even Chief Harrison didn't have THAT little tidbit of information yet - the ink on the faxed answer back from Tokyo was barely dry.

Ngawe's eyes narrowed. "Our organization has done business with the associates of Mr. Fujimori on numerous occasions, Agent...?"

"Gillespie," the agent filled in impatiently, knowing full well that this man was more than capable of having remembered him having introduced himself.

"Agent Gillespie, yes. As we were saying, we have done business with Mr. Fujimori and his associates on many occasions, none of them having anything to do with any criminal activity." The African smiled inwardly. He technically WAS telling the truth - the business dealings the Triumverate had conducted with the Yakuza had been one of simple investment. HOW the Yakuza had chosen to use the influx of cash had been none of their concern, provided the rate of return remained constant.

Gillespie eyed the African with renewed suspicion. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Delaware, and part of it was lying half-paralyzed on the bed in front of him. "I just thought you should know then, since you've indicated such interest in Mr. Fujimori's well-being, that he has been taken into custody by the FBI and is now under OUR custody. You might want to recall your security man," Gillespie shrugged in a deliberately nonchalant manner, "just to avoid any misunderstandings along the way."

Ngawe knew that if he were to push the issue, it would cause questions. There were contacts within the FBI that would help keep and eye on things there, so giving in on this point wasn't a problem. "We'll be happy to withdraw our protection from the man, now that we know that your government has taken charge here. You WILL keep us informed as to his condition, will you not?"

"I'll make sure than any changes will be relayed to you immediately," the FBI agent promised - with absolutely no intention of carrying through on his word. From the look in the elderly gentleman's eye, Gillespie knew that Ngawe thoroughly understood that that would be the way things worked as well. The African was out-maneuvered, and he knew it.

"We appreciate your thoughtfulness." Damn, the man WAS good!

Gillespie made a mental note to have an agent posted nearby this survivor's room to stake out the activities there, and to have the phone in the room tapped as well. Something was definitely going on here between Ngawe and this Fujimori fellow - and he intended to find out EXACTLY what that was.

~~~~~~~~

"Well, that one went better than I had hoped," Miss Parker sat back down in her chair in the conference room once all the members of the Psychogenic Department had filed from the room. "At least anything unsavory happening in THAT little corner of the Centre Universe was something Raines personally directed and oversaw, and not something that Sydney let slip under his radar for any reason."

Jarod looked at the stack of project folders that now sat in front of him, and then back at her. "You had any doubts about Sydney's ability to handle the department??"

"That's a fairly busy part of Centre life there," she replied with a sigh. "And I happen to know as well as you do that Syd prefers to be doing research, and not paperwork."

"He still would keep enough of a handle on his department that..."

"I know," she waved him quiet again. "At worst, Raines was more than capable of figuring out underhanded and subtle ways of diverting department resources - like the “reconditioning” of SL-27..."

He shook his head. "I think that was simple abuse of authority as Chairman, Parker. There was nobody here to say him nay when he requisitioned maintenance men or supplies, or staff afterwards."

"True..." She ran her fingers through her hair and began gathering up her own papers and legal pad full of notes. "Looks like you have your work cut out for you there, kid."

"Hell, no. I'm hauling this mess to Sydney's tonight when I stop off to check on him. He may not be up to coming into the office, but he can sit up in the den or at the kitchen table sorting through this. It's going to take time to prioritize and sort all this into two stacks: what you can keep going and generating revenues, and what you would be best putting off until all your repairs are finished." Jarod was glad that he'd brought a large and absolutely empty brief case, except for the pad on which he too had taken copious notes, with him that afternoon. He had expected the number of projects Sydney had been nominally in charge of to be large, but not quite as large as it had turned out. "I think maybe we've been underestimating the amount of work he's been putting in all these years..."

"At least you'll know what you'd be facing when you take over from him when we convince him it's time to retire," Miss Parker reached behind her and retrieved her light jacket from the back of her chair.

"I suppose..." Jarod looked down at the folders he was packing and winced when he thought she wasn't looking. He knew that her concern for Sydney was that he could no longer handle the long hours and responsibility that went with his position, and that the time had come for him to settle back into a comfortable retirement and enjoy his grandson. Not to mention that he now had Kevin's socialization to manage too. But that would, unfortunately, have to wait until after his trip to California was concluded and he was back to step into Sydney's shoes.

"I'll meet you at Sydney's, then - and we both can commiserate with him when you dump all this in his lap." She looked over at the Pretender, and there was just something in the way he was avoiding looking at her that wasn't right. "Jarod? Is everything OK?"

His chocolate eyes came up to meet hers, and there was a touch of sadness in them that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "We'll talk at Sydney's," he told her quietly, "I promise."

A voice spoke softly in the back of her mind - a voice that she hadn't heard for a very long time - and her face crumbled from the capable and confident visage of the new Centre Chairman. "Oh God!" she breathed. "Jarod..."

"Parker..." He'd seen it as it happened, and it reminded him very much of how Ethan would look every time his “inner sense” would kick in and supply him with information that wasn't otherwise readily available. Helluva time for that thing to kick in for her again now... He snapped his briefcase closed and picked it up, walked over to her side and dropped it so that he could draw her into a gentle embrace. "We'll talk at..."

"Not yet... please..." she breathed shakily and leaned against him.

He took her face between his hands gently. "Listen to me! We'll talk at Sydney's. This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion." When she would open her lips to argue with him, he kissed her softly and lingeringly, then brushed his lips across her forehead and let her go. "You go now, and touch base with Tyler and Sam for any final updates for the day. I'll meet you at Sydney's. OK?"

She sighed deeply and nodded. She had known this day would come, when he would decide that he could put off his trip no longer - somehow she'd hoped that day would have been further in the future that it evidently had turned out to be. On the ring finger of her left hand was his sparkling promise that his leaving her this time was a very temporary thing - that he would be back, and back to STAY this time.

"You OK?" he asked gently, knowing full well that her mood had just taken a nosedive, but rather inquiring as to whether she could continue with what little remained of the rest of the day.

Her grey eyes that came up to meet his were sad and resigned. "You know damned well that I won't be OK until you get your ass back from California, Jarod," she said with the slightest hint of the old Miss Parker sarcasm that had carried her through so many personal setbacks on bravado alone. "But I'll make it through the rest of today."

Jarod leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his beard brushing her face with a sensation that she'd grown rapidly very fond of and would miss desperately. "I'll see you at Sydney's then,"

~~~~~~~~

"Oh good, I was just coming to see you," Sam breathed a little easier when he saw his boss coming back down the corridor toward the offices. He paused; she seemed... a little deflated. "You alright, Miss P?"

She waved a hand between them. "Don't mind me, Sam. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

"You aren't going to like what I have to say," he cautioned her as he followed her into his office and closed the door behind them.

She spun slightly and watched him move to behind his desk. "Why's that?"

"Because I want to assign you, Davy and Sydney round-the-clock protection, that's why."

"Why the Hell..." she began, then saw him simply sigh as she proved him right - that she DIDN'T like what he'd said. That put a quick end to the display of temper, and she seated herself. "OK, talk to me. Why in God's name..."

"Do you remember your little collision of wills with a certain office supervisor named Flores?" Sam relaxed a bit when the explosion seemed to short-circuit. He could see he had her full attention, which was what he would need.

"Yeah."

"Well, I had a tail on him by the time he left the complex..." Sam began.

She nodded. "I kinda figured you would," she commented approvingly.

"...AND I had a tap on his phone before he got back to his room. Just as well..."


"Who'd he call?" Miss Parker was starting to see where he was going.

"A close associate of Tommy Tanaka in Los Angeles."

That made her blink in surprise. "A Centre supervisor was contacting the Yakuza?" The ex-sweeper's dark head nodded slowly. "Well?"

The dark eyes focused carefully on her face. "He tried to rustle up some backing for a small revolution." When he saw the arched brows begin to slip toward the center of her brow in an angry frown, he added, "Of course, Mayeda turned him down flat - something about a directive from Tokyo specifically prohibiting the Yakuza from doing anything to or against the Centre."

At that, she chuckled darkly. "Oh, I can imagine the terms of that “directive.” They're looking to save their asses from getting it both from the Triumverate and us at the same time." But her humor hadn't lightened her Security Chief's mood. "That wasn't all, huh?"

"Nope. After the call, he went down to the hotel lounge and started drinking - and lo and behold, who should come in and join him but..."

"Don't tell me," she put up her hand. "Stewart Berringer."

"Bingo. Berringer and Flores were real cozy for a while, talking about you in, shall we say, less than glowing terms. And eventually they got up and left - after mentioning the name Santini." Sam reached into his pocket for the folded photo. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

She shook her head. "Should it?"

"It should NOW," he said in a clearly warning tone. He unfolded the photo and slid it across the desk and into her waiting hand. "This was taken about a year ago. You'll recognize both our Centre “friends.” The guy to the left is Mayeda, who's Yakuza."

"Who are these others?" The grey eyes meeting his dark ones were now clearly concerned.

"That one," he said, pointing to the man next to Berringer, "is Mexican Mafioso by the name of Rodriguez. The slick one next to him is Santini - Eduardo Santini, consiglieri to the Torzulo crime syndicate."

"And this one?" Miss Parker's finger pointed at the man on the far right.

"Tyler's working on getting an ID on him. But I think the indications here are pretty clear. We have a minor mutiny on our hands if Berringer is talking to Flores about bringing in help from the Las Vegas mob." Sam gazed at her evenly. "While you're here at work, it's not a problem to keep you safe - but you ARE vulnerable. All it would take would be for them to snatch Davy..." He watched her face pale, "...or Sydney, and they'd be in a position to force you to do just about anything."

"Do it." Her voice was soft but firm. "Keep it discrete, and have it in place tonight." She thought for a moment. "You still have a tail on Flores?"

Sam nodded. "I'm expecting him to check back in anytime now."

"Fine. I want one on Berringer too, as of yesterday. I also want a clear accounting of just what kind of operation we're talking about for both the LA and Las Vegas offices - number of sweepers assigned, projects being handled, the whole magilla. Start putting together plans for a clean-up of both places, to take place as soon as possible - hopefully before either of those weasels are ready to go home again." She stood, and her posture was now tight and very controlled. "I'll go tell Tyler to start a selection process for supervisors to take their places, so that by the time they're ready to go home, they won't HAVE home offices to return TO."

Sam's brows raised in concern. "You're just going to cut them loose?"

Miss Parker put up her hands. "I just got through announcing that we're no longer in the terrorism business, Sam. We can't just lock 'em up in SL-25 - hell, we can't even GET them into SL-25, much less lock 'em up down there..." For the first time, that fact was an irritant rather than a cause for celebration.

"Let me and Tyler work on something," Sam suggested. "I don't like the idea that these two get set loose to go back to LA and Las Vegas - whether they have offices to go to or not - where they have easy access to the kind of scum-ball slime that seems to be their cronies. Inside or out, they spell trouble with a capital T."

"OK," she agreed finally. "You have two days to plan out the take-down of both offices. I'll have Tyler coordinate with Mei-Chiang to move both Flores and Berringer to the very bottom of the list of interviews - that will keep them here as long as I dare without causing comment."

"You'd better warn Sydney," Sam told her. "He's a sharp cookie - he'll notice the muscle hanging around his house."

"What about Deb and Kevin?" she asked suddenly. "Or even Broots in the hospital? My family is more than just Syd and Davy now."

"I'll call the hospital security in Dover and make arrangements for a closer watch on Broots. As for Deb and Kevin, maybe you can talk to them tonight - see what they'll accept?"

"Fine." She turned and opened the office door. "Keep me posted - call me when your tail reports back in again. I want to know just what those varmints talk about."

"Yes, ma'am!"

~~~~~~~~

Sydney tapped gently on his water glass to get the attention of the others at the dinner table as the last few bites of cake disappeared into eager maws. "Jarod has something he needs to tell you all," he announced once the extraneous chatter had died away. "Jarod..."

The older Pretender looked around the table. Much had changed since he'd first come to this table weeks ago. One friendly face was missing, another had joined. Connections to all had been welded into place with a firmness that he would be depending upon in the days and weeks to come. Miss Parker's left hand reached beneath the table to land on his thigh, and he sat back in his chair and grasped her hand tightly in his.

"As most of you know, when I came back, I only intended to stay long enough to bring us all out from under the shadow of the Centre before heading back to California. Well, the Centre as we all knew and dreaded it, is gone. And so..."

Kevin stared at his older counterpart. He knew the man was devoted to all of these people, and yet now he was hearing that Jarod was leaving - leaving his family? "Are you going away for good?" he asked suddenly.

"Daddy!" Davy's yelp was painful - both on the ears and the heartstrings. "Don't go!"

"I promised my mother that I'd come back to her when I left," Jarod explained at last to the rest of his new family. "And a person should never make promises they don't intend to keep. I'm sorry for the short notice - I just realized today that I've only been postponing the inevitable and making it harder for all of us in the process. I need to go, NOW, so I can come back, SOON."

"How long will you be gone, Uncle Jarod?" Deb asked quietly, and her question brought the rest back into focus on the Pretender.

"I need to finish up a few things there - help Ethan, my brother, to take over my practice and perhaps find a replacement for me there. And I have to try to get my other family to try to understand that I really belong HERE, with Davy, and with the woman I intend to marry as soon as I get back." He lifted Miss Parker's hand to his lips. "But just as I promised my mom I'd go back to California, I'm making you all a promise that I'll be back - to STAY - as soon as my business there is finished."

Sydney knew there was but one question left. "When are you leaving, Jarod?" he asked in a sonorous voice that cut through the silence that had formed as Jarod had stopped speaking.

"Tomorrow morning." Jarod looked around the table sadly. "I'm only delaying the inevitable by waiting any longer. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can come home." Home. His eyes met Sydney's, and the word sunk in. Yes, this WAS home for him. "I spent a lot of time fooling myself that I didn't belong here. No more. I own a house in California, and half of my family lives there - but the most important part of me belongs here, and the half of my family that I can't live without is HERE. I need to finish things out there, so I CAN come home to stay at last."

Davy slammed his fork down with a muted sob and darted from the table toward the front door. Kevin started to rise and go after him, but heard Jarod call him back. "No, I'll go after him. These next few weeks are going to be hard on him. I need to talk to him myself." He looked around the table again. "I'll be right back."

The boy hadn't gone far - he was leaning against the trunk of the massive oak tree just across the street in the park, staring across the lawn at the little pond. Jarod walked slowly across the street and up to the tree, then leaned against it on the other side.

"I thought we were going to be a real family," Davy whimpered. "I thought you loved me and Mommy."

"I do love you," he told his son, struck by the betrayal in the young voice. A sudden memory of himself challenging Sydney in much the same way on a Father's Day many years earlier suddenly came to mind, reminding him of how it felt to have a major player in one's life apparently willing to walk away. "There just was no easy way to tell you that wouldn't upset you one way or the other. I made a promise to your Grandma that I have to keep - like I said, I never make promises I don't intend to keep."

"Can I go with you?" the boy asked, turning to his father with tears in his huge grey eyes that looked very much like his mother's. "I'll be really good, and I could meet Grandma and Uncle Ethan..."

Jarod squatted and held his hands out to his son, who came to him and leaned his head against the broad shoulder. "No, Davy. You have school starting in just a little bit, and you don't want to miss out on the first day." He felt his son begin to sob, and he rose with the boy in his arms. "Besides, I need you to help me take care of your Mom while I'm gone. You'll have to be the man of the house again."

"I don't wanna be the man of the house again," Davy wound his arms around his father's neck tightly. "I want YOU to be the man of the house."

"You know how sometimes, when your teacher gets sick, you get a substitute?" Jarod asked him, carrying the boy up the steps of Sydney's front porch. Davy nodded against his neck, still crying. "Well, I need you to be my substitute for a bit. Yes, I'm going away - but the important thing is that I'm coming back as soon as I can. I promise." He kissed the boy's damp cheek. "And remember, I never make a promise I don't intend to keep."

"But do you have to leave tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow or the next day, it still will be hard for all of us, Davy." He pushed through the front door and closed it behind them. "Better to get it over with, so that you can look forward to me coming home." He paused in the living room to brush the dark hair back out of his son's face. "Think you can finish the dessert that Deb worked so hard to make?" The arms tightened around his neck, but the little head nodded eventually. Jarod kissed the cheek again, and carried the boy back into the dining room and deposited him back in his seat.

"Miss Parker was just giving us HER news," Sydney explained as soon as his protégé was back in his seat as well. "Seems that she stirred up a bit of a hornet's nest today, and Sam is insisting on assigning Davy and me round-the-clock security."

That Jarod HADN'T been expecting. "Parker?" He turned to her in concern.

"Seems that some of our West Coast affiliates prefer the old regime," she explained with a plea in her eyes not to make too much of it in front of Davy.

Jarod nodded his understanding. "When does that start?"

"Sometime tonight," she answered. "The only question was how Deb and Kevin wanted theirs."

"One extra man for the two of us should do it," Kevin replied quickly. "I spend a lot of time here with Sydney - especially when Deb's out visiting her Dad or, starting tomorrow, working at Oggie's." He turned to the girl. "How's that sound to you?"

"Fine," she shrugged. "I just hope Oggie doesn't mind..."

"I'll explain it to him myself, if he has any questions," Miss Parker promised. "You tell him to call me at work and tell the person that answers that I'm expecting the call - I'll clue in my secretary the minute I get in."

"Thanks, Miss P."

"Well," Jarod said, rising, "I hope nobody takes offense if I head off early. I have a lot of packing to do."

"I'll be there soon too," Miss Parker responded. "I have a call to Sam to make to see about the security details for you three and Davy too." She rose from her seat and bent to give Sydney a hug and a kiss. "Would you mind very much watching Davy for me until school starts? With Jarod leaving..."

"You know Davy's always welcome here," Sydney put his arms around her and hugged back. "About seven-thirty?" She nodded. "I'll be ready, I think..."

"Goodnight, Grandpa," Davy mumbled to his grandfather, still very much an unhappy little boy. As Sydney tightened his arms around the boy, he knew he had his job cut out for him the next morning helping Davy cope with the loss of his father for a while.

Jarod was shaking Kevin's hand. "I'll be calling often to see how Sydney is progressing - and you too. Take care of our family for me, OK?"

The sandy-haired Pretender found that he too was distressed at this new disruption in his family structure. "I'll miss you, Prodigy."

Jarod heard the wistfulness in that old project name, and he clasped the young man tightly for a brief moment. "You'll be fine, Shadow. I'm leaving you in good hands while I'm away." He winked at he younger man. "Take care of Deb too. She'll be missing both Dad and Uncle now."

That brought back the smile. "I will."


"Uncle Jarod." Deb just stepped up and into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hurry home."

"I will, Deb. You tell your Dad that I look forward to seeing him up and around when I get back." Jarod loosened his hug and kissed the girl's forehead and looked up at Miss Parker.

"I'll meet you at home," she understood the look in his eye and grasped Davy by the reluctant hand. "C'mon, kiddo. Race you to the car?" She shrugged at Jarod when that didn't produce the desired result, and then led the two of them away after giving Kevin and Deb a knowing nod to get them to let Jarod bid Sydney goodbye privately.

Sydney slowly rose from his seat and turned to face his former protégé, who was looking decidedly distressed. "I feel like we've been in this place before, you and I," the younger man said, his heart heavy.

"We have - and more than once," the Belgian answered gently. "But each time, it was necessary."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"Of course not." Sydney sounded as if the idea were thoroughly absurd. "The difference is that THIS time you are neither running away nor breaking off ties entirely. There is this modern appliance known as the telephone that means we can talk... There's email..."

"Sydney." Jarod looked at the man who had been the only father he'd known growing up and who had come to reclaim that place in his life over the course of the last few weeks. "I..."

"I know." The psychiatrist regarded his former protégé fondly. "I feel the same way."

"I feel like I'm dumping a huge lot on you right now, when you're just out of the hospital..." Jarod looked down, feeling guilty.

Sydney shook his head. "Nonsense. The paperwork will help me feel like that I'm actually doing something useful again - and it will make the time pass more quickly while you are away. Stop worrying - I'll be fine, Jarod. The surgeon was pleased with my progress - I'm finally healing for real this time. And Parker is getting her feet under her with the Centre. Now is the time for you to finish what you need to, and then come home."

There it was again - that word “home.” "This IS home, Sydney," Jarod admitted softly. "This is where the people I love best are." The chocolate eyes came up to catch at chestnut.

The older man gazed evenly into the face of the man he'd raised in one of the worst places in the world, and who had grown up to be the kind of person any father could be immensely proud of. And remembering a similar moment seven years earlier, he put out a hand and cupped the bearded cheek in his hand. "Au revoir, my son," he told Jarod gently.

The two men embraced tightly and pounded each other on the back fondly in farewell. "Au revoir, mon pere," Jarod answered with his head pillowed on Sydney's shoulder the way as a boy he'd often wished Sydney would have allowed. Sydney closed his eyes as Jarod spoke voicing the reciprocal emotional bond between them openly for the first time, engraving the moment wherein he could admit and accept that relationship at last in his mind and his heart.

Then the older man let loose and pushed himself away. "Go now," he nodded with a small smile, blinking against a tear. "And hurry back."

And with a wave of the hand, Jarod walked away and out the door.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod pulled the door to Davy's door closed and then ran a hand down his face to stem the tears that were running. Bidding his son goodbye, even temporarily, had been far harder than he'd thought. He made his way the rest of the way down the hall to their bedroom and walked in as Miss Parker was seated on the edge of the bed talking to Sam. "Thanks, Sam. Oh, here he is. Hang on." She pulled the handset away from her ear and held it out to him. "Here - Sam wants to talk to you."

Jarod took a deep breath to steady his voice and took the phone from her. "Hey, Sam..."

"Hey there yourself, Lab-rat. Miss P. tells me you're taking a trip west tomorrow." The ex-sweeper's voice on the other end of the line was a little brusque. "I just wanted to tell you to watch yourself while you're over there on the Left Coast."

"Take good care of them for me while I'm gone, willya?" Jarod asked the man who had once been a real reason for running away. "Especially Parker. You and Tyler keep her safe for me."

"I promise," Sam swore, and meant it with every fiber of his being. His voice lowered, as if worried that Miss Parker could hear him. "Hurry back. She's gonna be a real cast-iron bitch without you around to keep her purring, I'm sure."

Jarod chuckled. "I'm sure you'll survive. You did the last time..." Miss Parker looked at him with raised eyebrows, but he only smiled at her. "See ya around."

"Take care, Jarod." The call disconnected.

He handed her back the handset. "Security measures all in place?"

"Yes," she answered, rising. The pupils of her grey eyes had dilated until it looked as if they were grey-edged ebon pools. She reached out and took his glasses from his face for him and set them on the nightstand. "And I have a Centre town car picking you up at seven o'clock and taking you to the private airstrip. You can have a Centre jet take you back to California." At his raised eyebrows, she smiled. "Being the Chairman gives me a few perks - might as well use 'em."

"Perks that let me travel in style," he smiled back, and then pulled her closer to him. "Have I told you lately that I think I'm in love with the new Chairman at the Centre?" His fingers were deftly working the buttons on her blouse.

"Is that so?" she asked, her hands pulling his shirt from beneath his belt. "How does she feel about that idea?"

The silk parted beneath his warm hands that then slipped over silken skin in search of more snaps to undo. "I'll have to ask her the next time I see her," Jarod replied in a husky voice, then brought their lips together in a blistering kiss that immediately had pulses racing and breathing quickened. Both sets of hands became instantly busier.

The blouse was only the first piece of clothing to be discarded without another thought. Soon the pile on the floor held many more items.

~~~~~~~~

The single toot of the horn told them the town car had arrived. Jarod turned to her, standing there in her robe. "I love you, Missy," he told her gently, pulling her hungrily into his arms one last time and calling her by the name she'd once given him years ago. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

"You'd better," she warned him after kissing him deeply. "I'm not the kind of bride you want to leave waiting at the altar. I'll come after you."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" he asked her with his trademark smirk.

"I still own that Smith & Wesson, you know," she reminded him archly, then leaned against him. "I miss you already," she added softly.

"Me too." He kissed her again, her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead. "Stay safe while I'm gone."

"Don't be too long," she kissed him back. "You've gotten me used to having you here - of waking up with you beside me. I don't know if I can live if you take too long."

"I promise I'll be back as soon as I humanly can." He reluctantly pulled himself from her arms and shouldered his duffelbag with his belongings in it. "I love you - remember that."

"I love you too, Jarod. More than anything else in the world."

She stood in the open door, her robe clutched tightly at the throat, until long after the town car had passed around the corner and vanished from sight. When she went back into the house, her home felt much emptier. With a deep sigh, she headed for the shower, stopping by Davy's room on the way to get him up and moving - glad that she had the time to spend a few minutes with Sydney before she headed back to the Centre again.

Jarod had left her again. And while not leaving her totally bereft this time, his departure nonetheless had made her world significantly colder.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 3: Dealing With It


A very disgruntled and unhappy Davy pushed past his grandfather's legs and made a beeline to the den and the video game. Sydney looked after him, then up into Parker's carefully composed face. "Not a good morning, is it?" The mask didn't slip, but her eyes gave her away - she was miserable. He opened his arms to her and then gathered her close. "He's promised he'd be back as soon as he could..."

"I know," she sighed, leaning. "But Davy is so disappointed and angry - at me, at Jarod..."

"I'll talk to him about it, and see if I can't help a little," he promised. "How are YOU?"

"Wishing Jarod were on his way back home, rather than out to California for God knows how long," she sighed again. "The house seems so empty now."

"At least this time you know how and where to find him," he soothed. "It isn't as if he just walked away without saying goodbye and then vanished."

"I know that. But it also isn't as if I didn't let him in to every corner of my life and now..." She blushed, even though she knew that Sydney was well aware of the direction her relationship with Jarod had taken - and frankly and unapologetically approved completely.


"He'll be back, Parker. Think of it as an extended business trip." Sydney knew he'd probably have to keep reminding her of this as time passed. He felt her hold him back and lean, seeking comfort in a way she hadn't for a very long time. "You'll get through this, and it will be OK."

She nodded against his shoulder. "Keep reminding me of that, OK?"

"Not a problem." He continued to hold her until she finally pushed herself away. As he watched, she began to carefully reconstruct a wall between her private pain and her need to function in public. He gave her the space she needed. "Got a big day today?"

"Not sure. Depends on what Sam's people had to say last night, and whether Tyler has that info. I also want to make sure the construction people get started on reinforcement and cleanup. I want to get to those archives." She kissed his cheek fondly. "I see that Sam's man is already posted outside, with Deb's in the car ready to follow her to work. So I suppose I'm leaving you in good hands." She looked around him toward the kitchen. "Kevin up yet?"

"Not yet - and Deb's in the shower." He kissed her cheek in return. "You'd better get going, though - sounds like you have enough of a full day already stacking up on you, and I have my work cut out for me between Davy and that stack of project folders Jarod left me." He gave her a gentle, lopsided smile. "Let your day be busy, Parker - it will help the time go faster."

"I'll try," she said, trying to make her reassurance sound convincing. "Thanks, Syd." His encouraging smile carried her out the door and back towards her car.

~~~~~~~~

Chief Harrison scanned the report that Donaldson had just handed him, and then dropped the pages on his desk and sat back in his chair. "Just give me the high points," he directed, leaning forward to grab up his coffee mug and then settle back in his chair to listen.

Jerry Donaldson was tall, stout and balding. He ran his hand over his bald pate in what everybody in the department knew was a gesture of either nervousness or frustration - today, Harrison had a hunch it was frustration. "Ya know we've all had our theories about what goes on in that there huge place," he began, well aware that over the years each citizen of Blue Cove not directly involved with the Centre had speculated on its purpose, staffing and activities. "I swear to you, Chief, when I got that group of gardeners all together, I began to wonder if I'd walked straight into The Island of Doctor Moreau! Half the workers there were handicapped in one way or another - one was missing a hand except for three real dinky fingers, and..."

"Jerry!" Harrison didn't have either the time or the patience for his officer's editorializing that morning. "Just tell me what you learned, willya?"

Donaldson breathed in deeply, then let it out in a huff. "I didn't learn nuthin'. Nada. Bupkis. Those guys are either deliberately blind, deaf and mute or else GENUINELY one or more of the above. Not one of 'em remembers our John Doe."

"Shit." Harrison put his coffee mug down with a thump. "That just doesn't make sense."

"No, sir, it don't." Donaldson kept his shudder muted. He had NOT enjoyed his time at the Centre.

The Chief stared down at his desk, where the photograph of the dead man's face on the morgue slab was off to the side of the officer's uninformative report, and rested his chin in his hand for a bit. "Somebody has got to know this guy!"

"Well, I think it's pretty obvious that he's no local. That means he could be from just about anywhere," Donaldson mused. "And God knows, it could be a complete coincidence that he was shot execution-style not long before somebody - probably him, the trigger WAS found next to his body - bombed the Centre and snuffed a deaf-mute gardener..."

"Execution-style," Harrison mused to himself. Suddenly he held up a finger and reached for the phone. "Judy, get me that FBI fella - Gillespie, I think his name was - on the horn, willya? Thanks, babe."

"Whatcha thinkin'?" Donaldson asked, intrigued.

"That an execution-style murder suggests mob ties. I wonder if our FBI guy has looked into that angle."

The bald officer shook his head. "That don't make sense neither, Chief. Why would the mob bring a guy all the way out here in the boondocks just to off him?"

Harrison's ice-blue eyes glittered up at his officer. "It do make one wonder, don't it?"

"Wonder what?"

"You said it yourself," Harrison pointed out, figuring that explaining his thoughts to his own officer would help him get them in focus enough to explain to the feds, "that the Centre is a weird place that only God knows what goes on there. We have an execution-style murder take place on their very property, just about the time somebody - probably our DB - takes a whole shit load of C-4 to the administration building..."

"Chief," the intercom crackled with the voice of the dispatch girl, "Agent Gillespie."

"Good." Harrison grabbed for the phone. "Gillespie, sorry to interrupt..."

Gillespie accepted a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee from another shirt-sleeved agent and settled down in front of the white board with all sorts of crime-scene photographs from the Centre incidents. "Not a problem, Chief. What can I do for you this early in the morning?"

"Something one of my officers here said got me to thinking. Have you looked into any possible mob connections here to identify our John Doe?"

The FBI agent carefully laid down the faxed translation of the report on the suicide attempt's yellow sheet from Japan. "I've just begun thinking along those lines myself," he admitted. "I got some information on one of our survivors and a couple of our victims this morning. Seems like there was a small contingent of Yakuza at the Centre yesterday."

"Christ!" Harrison shook his head. "This just keeps getting better..."

"Tell me - what is it that got you thinking this way?"

The Police Chief sat back, not having expected that kind of confirmation so quickly. "My officer called our John Doe's murder “execution-style.” We don't see that kind of stuff where there's no mob or organized crime involved."

Gillespie sipped from his white cup carefully. "You have a point, Chief. Where were you thinking of taking it?"

"Actually, I was hoping YOU would be able to do that better than me," the Chief rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You don't suppose if we put that picture of our DB on the law enforcement net, we might hear from SOMEbody who knows him, do you?"

"Anyplace specific you want me to try?"

Harrison smiled. "New York, Miami, Dallas, San Francisco, Los Angeles... Places where the mob has a sizeable presence..."

"Las Vegas, Atlantic City?"

"Couldn't hurt." Harrison sighed and took up his own coffee mug again. "Good to know we're on the same page, even when we're NOT consulting constantly."

Gillespie nodded and motioned to the agent that had brought him the coffee. "I'll let you know if I get any response, Chief - and we're still on for that meeting tomorrow, right?"

"You got it." The Chief looked up at Donaldson in triumph. "See you tomorrow." He hung up the phone. "Seems our FBI guy was just starting to come to the same conclusion - evidently there was a wad of Yakuza heavies in amongst the ones caught when the Tower went."

"Gotta love it when the evidence starts suggesting we're right," Donaldson nodded his head with a knowing, dipping motion.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod watched out the little porthole as the clouds just seemed to slide by beneath him. The little Centre jet was a comfortable ride compared to the days-long drive he'd made across the country weeks before. Miss Parker had assured him that there would be a town car to pick him up at the airport at Monterey and drive him the rest of the way to his home in Pacific Grove. He had debated whether or not to call his mother to tell her he was on his way or not. He didn't have the same qualms about calling Ethan. He looked down at his watch - still set to East Coast time - and decided his half-brother was probably awake by now. He drew out his cell phone and brought up one of the programmed numbers and waited.

"Hello?" Sounded as if he caught his brother either going into or out of the shower.

"Hey there! You running late today?" Jarod put a smile in his voice.

"Hey there yourself, big brother!" Ethan pulled the towel just a little tighter around his still-damp waist and settled on the edge of his bed. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm about two hours out from Monterey," the Pretender announced casually. "I should be back in Pacific Grove about a half-hour after that."

Ethan was silent a moment. "Does Mom know?" he asked finally.

"Not yet. You should probably warn her, though. Parker's got me booked into a Centre town car dropping me off at the house - and the sight of one of those could be enough to..."

Ethan put up a restraining hand, even though his brother couldn't see it. "Say no more! I'll stop by her place on my way to the office and give her the news." He paused again. "What made you decide to come back after all?"

Jarod sighed and landed his chin on one folded fist to peer out the porthole again. "I promised her I would," he said quietly. "I keep my promises." He closed his eyes as his son's and fiancé's faces. "I promised Parker and Davy I'd come back to them too."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," the younger Russell responded. "How is my sister?"

"She has her hands full with the Centre, I tell you! But she's handling it. You shoulda seen it when she came up from the sublevels - all the people that she'd gotten organized gathered around her, and then she talked to them. She REALLY talked to them, the poor slobs who slaved away for the Centre underground, and she had them eating out of her hand!" Jarod remembered that moment when he'd been so proud of her and known for certain for the first time that she'd made the right decision.

"How'd she take your decision to come back here?" It wasn't taking much work to open up those inner channels and feel his sister's sorrow. "She's not happy is she." That wasn't a question.

Jarod sighed. "No, she wasn't happy about it at all, but she understood. Sydney understood too - he was the one that convinced me that I should get it over with. Davy, on the other hand..."

"Unhappy?"

"Very much so." The memory of putting his son to bed the previous night could still bring a lump to his throat.

"Well, look. You're going to be here soon enough, and we can talk then. Lemme get going here, and let Mom know what's what - maybe even call Em and see if she and Mom can coordinate and welcome-home supper." He rose and began walking back toward the bathroom.

"What did I do, catch you on your way into the shower?"

"On the way out, as a matter of fact," Ethan chuckled, "and it's getting damned cold sitting here still dripping."

That made Jarod laugh out loud for the first time that day. "Go get yourself decent, little brother - I'll probably drop by the office a little more toward closing time."

"You're so kind." Ethan's dry tone still had the smile behind it. "Talk to you in a bit."

Jarod disconnected, then absently dropped the little device into the breast pocket of his sports coat and returned to watching the clouds slide evenly past beneath him.

~~~~~~~~

Siskele opened the heavy case that held much of the Triumverate's Centre-related files and found the one Ngawe had requested, then handed it to the man in the bed. The elderly African opened the folder and flipped quickly through the pages one by one until he found the one he was looking for. "It seems that much of the Centre's contact with the Japanese has come through Los Angeles lately, if not through Mr. Lyle specifically." He looked up at his aide. "We want you to send three of our best men to Los Angeles to find out all they can about any holdings, properties and personnel the Yakuza controls outright here in the States."

"Everything?" Siskele wanted to clarify the scope of the investigation. "Do you want us to include even the more marginal associates like drug runners and pushers, protection rackets and the police officers involved, and that sort too?"

"Absolutely." The older man's voice was like the echo of Doom. "We want to know the sum and substance of Yakuza business here in the US - because THAT is going to be the price they pay for doing harm to us."

Siskele nodded his bald head and hid a shudder. "Are you sure that you want to take them on in out-and-out war, sir?" he asked with less than a confident tone. "Tanaka's dead, and so are all who helped plan the attack on the Centre..."

"Except for that yellow dog now under the protection of the Americans, that is," Ngawe corrected his young nephew curtly. "We have Tanaka's father nicely penned for us in an East Coast prison - we want HIM dead. Now." Ngawe smiled sweetly, a smile that Siskele could feel freezing him all the way to the floor. "Let THAT be the first token “shot” fired in this war that we WILL win."

"Miss Parker is going to be livid..."

"Miss Parker's likes and dislikes will play no further part in this," the older man snarled, and he closed the folder and threw it down forcefully toward the foot of the bed. "The priorities of the Centre are moving out of sync with those of the Triumverate. Given the marked loss of revenue the Centre has constituted for us over the past few years, we will give her reasonable and generous latitude to reimburse us for our investments - with interest - as she brings her organization under her control." The old man settled back into his pillows thoughtfully. "Of course, if she DOESN'T get a handle on the Centre in a reasonable amount of time, we MAY find it necessary to intercede again..."

Siskele began to smile a little more comfortably. "And then we WOULD have Centre participation and resources at hand."

"Indeed." Ngawe nodded. "But we will give her enough time to genuinely sink or swim as Chairman on her own first. She has been a loyal associate to us, however reluctant her work for the previous Centre administrations through the years may have been. We have every reason to believe that she's capable of doing her job well. We will give her the chance she deserves."

Siskele moved to exit the room so he could begin coordinating the team to go to Los Angeles. "Yes, indeed," Ngawe muttered to himself as he finally had a moment's privacy, "we will give her her chance. For now."

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker rose from her desk and went to where the thermal carafe could refill her coffee mug. Outside her window, the sounds of jackhammers could be heard as the full-scale cleanup efforts got underway, and something told her that sound would be both a comfort and an irritant to her as the days and weeks progressed.

"Miss Parker?" The soft Chinese-accented voice came over the intercom.

She stepped back to her desk and pushed the button. "What is it?"

"There is a Mr. Mayeda from Los Angeles on line three for you, ma'am."

She sighed. Mayeda - that was the name Sam had given her for one of the associates in that photo with Berringer and Flores. Yakuza. Christ - what the hell did HE want with her? "I've got it, thanks," she sighed and moved around the corner of her desk and sat down again, pulling her fingers through her hair in a habitual, nervous gesture. She took a deep breath and then picked up the receiver and pushed the blinking button. "Mr. Mayeda."

"Miss Parker." Mayeda's voice held only the slightest hint of accent, and was very smooth. "I am calling you on behalf of Ueda Kyoshi-sama, who has assumed control of the Yakuza branch formerly run by the Tanaka family."

"I had a pretty good idea who you are," she informed him in fluent and unaccented Japanese, her voice tight and cold. "I'm very busy, as you can imagine, so best you get to your point quickly. What do you want?"

"Ueda-sama asked me to discuss with you a telephone call I received from one of your Centre associates yesterday - a Gilbert Flores."

"Yes?" Her voice slipped into a wary and guarded neutral tone. "Does he call you often?"

Mayeda shook his head. "No, Miss Parker, he does not - at least, not for the reasons he called yesterday. It seems that Mr. Flores is quite... upset... with the direction your new administration is intending to take the Centre. He wanted my help in destabilizing your organization to the point that he, or one of his confederates, could take the Chairmanship from you."

She settled back into her chair, her eyes narrowed. "He said so in so many word?"

"Hai." The Yakuza liaison ran his fingers over his carefully-manicured moustache. "Of course, I informed Mr. Flores that Tokyo has given me a very strict set of instructions that I am not to undertake or in any way cooperate in ANY action that might be counter to the welfare of the Centre."

"Do you actually HAVE such a directive?"

Mayeda had to admire her for having the courage to ask such a question - it put him in the position that if he lied, and the Yakuza DID eventually move against the Centre, there would be considerable loss of face if those actions worked out badly in the end. Then again, he reasoned, she had spent several years in Japan - she understood the concept of face better than most gai-jin. "Yes, Miss Parker. Such a directive IS in place."

She swiveled in her chair and looked out her rather spartan window and across at the pile of noisy rubble that had once been the Tower. "And you are saying that there is a new dynasty running your organization now?"

"Hai. Ueda-sama has... the support of the other branches of the Yakuza."

She bent forward and pulled a blank legal pad toward her. "Tell me, Mr. Mayeda, are there a large number of contracts with my Los Angeles affiliate still in effect?"

"Hai - there are. We have financed a number of cooperative efforts that center around shipping and receiving of goods." Mayeda narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem with them?"

"Are those contracts long-term?"

"Not necessarily. Most of them are negotiated as the situations arise."

She started to nod. "Very good. Then you will understand if I tell you that the business our two organizations has been doing with each other will cease through attrition. We will honor all our outstanding contracts, as agreed - but you can consider this as notice that the Centre will not be interested in renewing contracts or writing new ones. My organization will be moving to legalize all its activities, and frankly," she reached for her coffee mug, "that means no longer doing business with your people."

"Understood, Miss Parker." Mayeda thought quickly. "What about existing information about our organization that has been necessary for yours to fulfill your contracts? Will you be turning that over to your law enforcement?"

"Not necessarily. Our face would suffer in having to explain HOW we learned such things and had not shared earlier." She sipped from her coffee. "But it would probably be wise, at this point, for you to assess how much information the Centre has and make any necessary adjustments."

"Yes," he agreed, "it probably would. I will relay your suggestion to Tokyo at the next opportunity."

"And I thank you for your warning, Mayeda-san."

"Good luck in your endeavors, Miss Parker, and in dealing with your Mr. Flores."

She smiled coldly. "Thank you, Mayeda-san. My people will be handling Mr. Flores, you can be assured on that fact." She sat forward suddenly. "If there's nothing else..."

"Not at this time. Good day to you." The Yakuza liaison disconnected the call.

Miss Parker thought for a moment, the receiver still in her hand, and then she replaced it and punched at her intercom. "Have Sam and Tyler come to my office as soon as possible."

~~~~~~~~

"Leave me ALONE!"

Sydney looked up from his review of the project summaries to see his grandson storm into the kitchen and then out through the arcadia doors into his backyard - heading for the tree house that the two of them had built the previous summer. The psychiatrist turned back to a very confused and hurt looking Kevin, standing in the door to the den as if completely abandoned.

"What did I do?" the young man asked with wide and confounded blue eyes. "I thought he LIKED that video game..."

"Davy's taking Jarod's leaving very hard," Sydney told the young Pretender, "and he's taking it out on everybody - you, me, his mother..."

"I don't understand," Kevin shook his sandy head. "You'd think that he'd want to hold the rest of his family even closer."

Sydney smiled. "Once he gets over being angry, he will. But right now he feels betrayed. He had started to feel stable with a father AND a mother in his life - and now he has to get used to going back to it just being his mom and him in the house."

"But Jarod said he was coming back..."

"I know that. And Davy wants to believe it too. But Jarod will have to leave and come back again before Davy may allow himself to believe it." Sydney glanced over his shoulder and out the arcadia glass at the tree house again. "Just give him a little space and time to stew. I told Parker that I'd talk to him today - I'll probably let him work on it himself until after lunch, when Deb's back and you aren't feeling left at loose ends."

Kevin sat down heavily in one of the other kitchen chairs. "Are families always this chaotic, Sydney?"

The older man chuckled and put the summary he had been reading down at last. "Sometimes," he admitted, "although this one had been pretty calm and peaceful before Jarod came back."

"Do you think I'll ever be able to find my real family?"

Sydney gazed at the young man compassionately. It was so easy to think of him as if he'd always been a part of this cobbled-together clan rather than a complete newcomer to social interaction as a whole. If there had been one saving grace of all that chaos that had arisen after Jarod came back, it was that Kevin's entrance into their lives had been so seamless, so effortless. Still, it was no wonder that the young man would wonder about his real family.

"I honestly don't know," Sydney replied gently, wishing he could tell him otherwise. "I'm hoping that once we get into those archives in the Centre sublevel, somewhere in there will be a clue as to where to start looking."

"Do you think they got angry at me for leaving?" Kevin asked next, his voice thoughtful and a bit hesitant.

"No," Sydney assured him firmly. "I'm sure that if anything, they were frantic to get you back - just as Jarod's family was. They probably never have stopped looking for you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But, what if I'm not what they hoped I'd be?" The young man played with the crack in the kitchen table where the extension leaf would fit. "What if I'm a disappointment?"

"Why do you think you'd be a disappointment to them?" Sydney asked quietly.

Kevin's shoulders shrugged dejectedly. "I don't know - maybe because I don't know how to act right, or because I didn't turn out..."

"Look," Sydney sat forward. "If you were my son, and I'd just found you again, I wouldn't be very judgmental - I'd just be thrilled to have you back in my life again, safe and sound. It would take an awful lot to make me disappointed - I might have trouble exchanging my expectations with reality, but I'd work at it and adjust."

"Really?" The voice was even smaller.

"When I discovered I did have a son that I never knew about, it took us a long time to feel out the boundaries of our relationship." Sydney remembered some of the painful first encounters with Nicholas, and his face grew thoughtful. "Nicholas grew up thinking another man was his father - so he had a hard time accepting the truth. He even spent some time very angry at both his mother and me - his mother for never telling him the truth, and me for never being around."

"Is he still angry?" Kevin's eyes were wide - this was a side of Jarod's mentor that he'd never expected.

Sydney smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I get along with Nicholas quite well now - I even spent some time with him and his wife this past Spring Break."

"And you love him - even though he wasn't what you thought he'd be?"

"I didn't know he existed for most of his life," Sydney corrected him. "I had no expectations to adjust, except for those that told me that we'd become closer than we ended up being. Yes, I love him - and I know he loves me in his own way."

Kevin thought about what he'd been told. "What if I never find them?" he finally asked. "What if I end up alone?"

Sydney nodded and sat back in his chair to look at the young Pretender evenly. "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Ending up alone?" Kevin nodded, his face reflecting his unhappiness at the mere idea. Sydney leaned forward suddenly, mindful not to bend himself over the table where it would hit his wound, and put a hand on the young man's arm. "Can't happen, Kevin. You'll always belong here, even if you can't discover your real family."

Blue eyes looked piercingly into warm chestnut. "Do you mean that?"

"I don't make a habit of saying things like that when I don't mean it," Sydney assured him gently. "But if you want reassurance, talk to Parker or Debbie or Sam."

"And Davy?"

Sydney glanced over his shoulder again, and saw the boy's two legs dangling over the edge of the platform in his old oak tree and swinging back and forth. "Davy too, eventually. Give him time."

~~~~~~~~

The combination of palm trees and pine trees that lined the lane to his seaside home never failed to bring a smile to Jarod's face. There was nothing more contradictory than those two pieces of flora growing side by side, and nothing more fitting to frame the approach to his home. The Spanish-style home was at the end of the lane - the gate marking an end to public access on that road. Jarod leaned forward and thanked the silent sweeper who had driven him these final few miles, then climbed from the black town car and watched as it backed carefully down the lane until the road was wide enough for it to turn around in.

Jarod looked over his shoulder up the lane, to the end of the driveway that was the entrance to his parents' home - his mother's home now - and then pushed the buttons on the security box that caused the gates to move inward on silent hinges and wheels. It was a strange feeling, coming back to a place he'd called “home” for three years now and yet feeling out of place. He walked down the asphalted drive, past the two stately live oaks that had stood guard over that plot of land for hundreds of years, and up through the wrought-iron gate to his front door.

"It's about time you got here!" Margaret exclaimed, bursting through the door and throwing her arms around her son's neck. Jarod dropped his duffel bag and set his laptop case down carefully and then put his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly and picking her off her feet a bit. He could feel that she'd lost some weight since he'd left - something he'd have to take up with Em and Ethan about later on.

"Now THAT'S what I call a welcome!" he grinned at her after he set her back down on the ground.

"Where's your car?" she demanded, looking beyond him and not seeing his beloved red bomb parked in it's customary place on the asphalt.

"Still in Delaware, I'm afraid," he replied, bending over to pick up his luggage and head into the house past her. "I'll be needing it when I get back home."

"THIS is home, Jarod," Margaret tossed her auburn and silver head. "Your sister and brothers are HERE."

Jarod only shook his head and moved toward the hallway. "I know they are. My son is in Delaware. I'm needed there."

"You're needed HERE too."

He halted, sighed, then turned around to face her. His eyes ran over her beloved features, now clouded over with frustration and worry, and wondered at the change time could make in him. Eight years ago, he'd have given everything he was and everything he owned to lay eyes on her. Now...

"Mom, I'm not asking permission. I'm telling you. I have a son - an eight year old boy whom I love very much. I love you too, but you have Ethan and Jay and Em..." Margaret's blue eyes filled with tears, and Jarod sighed and put his luggage down. He walked back to his mother and held her close gently. "Let's not fight about this the minute I get home, OK?" he asked softly into the hair above her ear. "Let me enjoy seeing you again for a bit first."

"I just..."

"Mom..." He released her with his dark brows bent warningly over implacable chocolate eyes. "Not now."

He walked away again, grabbing his duffel bag and laptop on the way to his bedroom. Some homecoming, he thought to himself regretfully.

~~~~~~~~

Flores groaned as the jangling of the telephone set off a four-alarm headache. He raised his head from his pillow only with great difficulty, his dark eyes bloodshot with the consequences of trying to climb out the bottom of a bottle of tequila, and his hand flopped aimlessly at the nightstand until it finally hit the phone receiver by accident. A second swat allowed him to get his hand actually around the receiver and drag it to his ear. "MMmmgwhat! This better be pretty damned good, or..."

"Christ!" the voice on the other end of the phone was frantic and frustrated. "Don't tell me you polished off that bottle last night?"

"Who the hell is this?" Flores groaned, rolling onto his side and reaching with shaking hand for his wristwatch.

"It's me, Stu - who the hell ELSE would it be?" Berringer growled into his ear. "Wake up, Gil - fast."

"S...Stu?" Flores tried to roll up into a sitting position, but settled back into his pillow with a pitiful groan. "What the he..."

"Your meet with Santini is set - two hours from now, in the hotel restaurant." Berringer dropped the appointment on his confederate without preamble. "You owe me huge."

"T..TWO hours!" Flores made another mammoth effort and managed to get himself sitting upright. "That was quick!"

Berringer sounded incredibly pleased with himself. "I told you, you owe me huge. I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour and half so that we can put together some kind of proposal."

Flores was rubbing his eyes madly, trying to rid both them and his brain of the post-alcoholic fog. "I thought you wanted to stay in the background on this," he complained, hoping he was remembering the long discussion correctly.

"I've changed my mind," the Nevadan bit off the words. "You haven't looked at your email for the day yet, have you?"

"Of course not. You woke me up!"

"Then you don't know that your private interview with Miss Parker has probably been rescheduled, like mine was, for almost a week from today." Berringer sounded thoroughly disgusted.

"WHAT?!" Flores' ire rose quickly as well. "I have business to take care of in LA..."

"AND we've been ordered to remain here in Delaware until those interviews are finished."

The Hispanic rubbed his face and chin. "Do you think she knows?"

"Christ, Gil - think! This IS a Parker we're dealing with here," Berringer reminded his associate angrily. "God only knows what she knows, much less how she found it out."

"Hell!"

"Wake up and get your ass down here," Berringer insisted, his voice low and threatening. "We have work to do before Santini gets here."

~~~~~~~~

Deb gave a short wave to the nameless and silent man who had watched patiently over her from the back of Oggie's store. Oggie had been a little taken aback when she had explained what the man was and what he was doing coming to work with her. But once he'd heard her out, he'd declined the invitation to call in to Miss Parker and simply pointed out the corner from which the man could keep his vigil without bothering the customers very much. The day had gone well - she'd been working for Oggie off and on for most of her high school years, so she knew what he expected of her.

Her guardian had followed her home, keeping a safe and discrete distance between her little Nova and his massive black town car. He maneuvered the car into a U-turn that put him in direct line of sight with the front door of the house and waved back as the girl walked from her car to the door.

Deb pushed the door open and frowned a bit, for a moment debating calling her bodyguard. The house was unusually quiet for a day that had both Davy and Kevin in residence - normally the two of them were boisterously competing at the racing video game that had been the current favorite. "Hello?" she called carefully as she closed the front door behind her.

"Back here," she heard her grandfather's voice, and she followed it to find Sydney sitting at the kitchen table with a number of folders bearing the Centre's logo in front of him.

She went to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to prevent him from rising to greet her. "Don't get up - what are YOU up to today?"

"Paperwork," the older man grumbled as he folded his current reading material closed to give her his complete attention. "How did it go?"

She shrugged. "Same as always. I don't think Oggie changes his store around EVER, and I've been working that cash register since I was fourteen."

"Any problem with having Curt with you?" Sydney's face showed his curiosity.

"Nope," she shook her head. "Oggie didn't even call Miss P - just pointed him out to a nice corner that looks out over practically the whole store. It was like having our own private cop on duty - made me feel very safe." She looked around herself and gave a listen in the direction of the den. "Where are the boys?"

"Kevin's working at your father's computer - doing some investigation on the Internet, I think. Davy's out back in the tree house." Sydney shrugged. "Have to admit, its nice not to have the droning of those race cars leaking out of the den for hours on end."

Deb frowned. "What's Davy doing in the tree house?"

"Moping about Jarod's leaving."

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Deb breathed in exasperation. "That kid needs to get a clue." She moved as if to go past Sydney through the arcadia doors when her grandfather grabbed her arm and prevented her from continuing.

"Leave him be. I'll talk to him after lunch."

Deb sighed, then nodded. "Spoiled little brat," she mumbled under her breath.

"Deb!"

"I mean it! Wouldn't even finish his cake last night." She sighed again, then turned. "Alright! So how about I rustle us up some of that lunch you're mentioning. That oughta keep me out of trouble for a while..."

"Let me help," Sydney said and stood, stretching carefully. "I've been sitting and reading for long enough for a while. It feels good to stand and move around."

"Did I hear the word lunch?" Kevin stuck his head around the corner of the den door, then grinned at Deb. "Hey there! How was your work?"

"Same-old, same-old," Deb tossed off casually. "Say, you want to ride into Dover with me this afternoon? I'm thinking that maybe we could catch a movie after I check up on Dad?"

Kevin blinked. "You mean, watch television somewhere else?"

Sydney chuckled as Deb gaped at the young Pretender for a moment this time. "Uh, no - I mean go to a movie theatre, Kev. I wanna see something on the BIG screen for a change. Ever heard of that?"

"Yeah," he backpedaled carefully, "I... guess..."

"You'll like it, trust me." Deb sounded very sure of herself.

Kevin shot a glance at his mentor and saw that Sydney was just nodding agreement with Deb's last statement. "If you say so..." he hedged.

She turned to face him. "Look. You liked swings, didn't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Then trust me."

When she put it THAT way...

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker waited patiently until Tyler had seated himself in the chair on the other side of her desk. "Sam will be here as soon as he can - it's just you and me for now. So talk to me. You can start with that sixth man in the photo Sam showed me yesterday."

Tyler opened a folder about midway through the several he was carrying and pulled out another photograph and slid it across the desk to her. "Andrew Duncan - Flores' right-hand man. Spent 10 years as a cleaner under Berringer before moving to Los Angeles. Before that, spent 2 years in prison for assault. He has gang connections in LA and San Bernardino counties that he's used off and on to back up Centre-related efforts."

"Sounds like we REALLY need to clean house in Southern California," she sighed, tossing the photo back down on her desk after studying the man's face closely. "Any idea how much of cesspool that place is yet?"

"Flores has done quite a bit of recruitment on his own, it seems," Tyler moved to another folder and extracted a stapled report and handed that across the desk next. "He's created a sweeper force that has never seen the inside of this place at all - using ex-gang associates of this Duncan and borrowing some of his friend Rodriguez' heavies."

"And Rodriguez is..."

"Mexican mob." Tyler looked at his boss. "And most of the contracts with the Yakuza and other criminal elements were never run through this office either - seems Mr. Raines and Mr. Parker before him basically let Flores manage the whole West Coast operation. He's even “requisitioned” manpower and resources from the San Francisco office from time to time, and has been handed whatever he wanted on a platter."

"Well," Miss Parker settled back in her chair, "now we know why he was so displeased at the idea that I was going to take the Centre legit."

"Yup."

"What about Berringer?"

"I thought y'all'd ask about him, so I dug around a little. That one's a REAL piece of work. Mr. Raines recruited him straight out of the Torzulo family ranks - and worked a sweetheart deal with the Don to get his way. Berringer was an enforcer and assassin for the Torzulos, and has the Centre operations there mostly involved in gambling technology and providing muscle for protection schemes."

"Damn! Here and I thought what was going on here in Delaware was bad enough!"

"Yes, ma'am." Tyler watched his boss process the information he'd presented.

Suddenly she waved a pointed finger at the rest of the folders he had put on the desk. "What's in the rest?"

He handed her another stapled report. "Here are the personnel tallies you asked for - using the phone numbers both from the sign-out sheet at the bomb site and the data from Broots' computer, we've calculated the number of dead and missing. Forty-two known dead so far, thirteen still missing. All the dead or missing were either Tower employees or maintenance staff."

"Did we get the bonus checks cut for the folks who were stuck down below with us yet?"

"Yes, ma'am! They went out in the mail day before yesterday," Tyler assured her, "along with their regular forty-hour paychecks."

Miss Parker nodded. "Good. I don't like to make promises and not keep them." She heard Jarod's voice saying the same thing to them the previous evening and her face clouded for a moment.

"Ma'am? You OK?" Tyler had seen that momentary lapse.

"I'm fine." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's just... Never mind..." She looked up as a knock sounded on her door and Sam walked in. "Oh, good. You're just in time. Tyler has been giving me the low-down on the situation in Los Angeles and Las Vegas." She watched her burly security Chief drag a second chair from next to the wall and park himself next to Tyler. "So... Anything new from our two mutineers?"

"I got the call a minute ago," Sam said somberly. "Berringer called Flores to tell him of a meet between them and Santini in about an hour."

"Your tails have eavesdropping equipment on them, don't they?" Tyler asked, beating Miss Parker to the same question.

Sam nodded, but his face was serious. "But this time it's going to take more work to listen in. They're meeting at Pakor Frozen Foods."

"That damned place!" Miss Parker growled. "Somebody should have burned that establishment down years ago!" She glowered up at Sam. "So that means we're stuck having to wait to SEE what they plan?"

"No," the ex-sweeper shook his head, "I just said that it would be take more work, not be impossible. Pakor is Centre-owned and operated - no doubt that's WHY Berringer chose it: ease of access and the fact that such a meeting would be SOP under the old Centre regime. But..." and here the sweeper's eyes started to twinkle, "the management is loyal to whoever's in the Chair - and I've already been in touch on your behalf, Miss Parker. He'll have a couple of my best surveillance teams nicely in place by the time the group gets there, and we'll have a full transcript of the meeting."

"Provided Santini's security people don't neutralize OURS," Tyler piped up. "Someone with that much mob clout doesn't run around all by his lonesome..."

Sam smiled, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "That's why I've dispatched TWO teams. With luck, we get transcripts from both - but the odds are that if one team is discovered, Santini's people will feel they've eliminated all threat of discovery. Redundant effort can be a very effective strategy." He looked over the desk as Miss Parker. "I hate to put so much of our resources at risk here, but this is important!"

"No, no, I concur entirely!" She was quick to reinforce his idea. "These are very dangerous people we're dealing with here - we're going to have to be really on our toes to come out on top in the end. Any thoughts about what it will take to take back our LA and Vegas operations from these clowns?"

"I have one, but it's risky." Sam set his wad of folders down on the desk next to Tyler's.

"Well?" She steepled her fingers beneath her nose in a gesture she'd learned from Sydney years ago and prepared to hear him out.

"Simply put, we cooperate with the federal and state law enforcement agencies and let THEM clean house for us."

That brought Miss Parker bolt upright in her seat. "What?!"

Sam had been expecting that reaction ever since he'd received his bolt of inspiration. "It would nothing more or less than telling the truth, Miss Parker, and it sure as hell would send a message. We can make the case that you've just taken over after the bombing, and have decided to clean house. In the midst of all that, you discovered this overtly and blatantly criminal element operating out of those two satellite offices. We hand over all the info we have on these bozos, their resources, their contracts, everything - and then..." Sam sat back with a contented look on his face, "all the fireworks would be on the heads of those we'd want to get rid of anyway. You'd come out smelling like a rose, the Centre would gain reputation as an organization that no longer tolerates criminal behavior, and the feds take the heat for any collateral damage."

Miss Parker looked at Tyler, who merely looked back at her with an openly questioning look on his face, then began to smile - a smile that died quickly. "I just told the Yakuza liaison from Los Angeles that we'd honor our contracts with them - and that we'd keep all information we have about them from ending up in the wrong hands."

"Call them back. Warn them what you're dealing with and HOW you intend to do it," Sam suggested. "Refund all their deposit monies on the outstanding contracts in full, no questions asked and regardless of whether Flores made them or Raines did - and tell them to get busy and make themselves disappear. Let them know that you're doing your best to keep them out of it, and giving them as much warning as essentially you've had - but that any information on hand in the LA office might as well be considered compromised when the feds move in." Sam's expression was somber. "I'm sure they know how much they've told Flores over the years."

"We wouldn't have to call the feds immediately," Tyler offered, sitting forward himself. "We can continue to collect intelligence on people I'm sure the feds have been after for a while themselves, meanwhile giving the Yakuza time to do whatever they need to."

"You know," Sam said suddenly, "considering that the Triumverate is going to want a piece of the Yakuza fairly soon, this move on our part is going to piss THEM off too - especially considering that we'd be aiding the Yakuza and not at the same time giving information to THEM. If there's any paranoia in Africa, we'll be painting ourselves as renegades and traitors."

"Perhaps, but that might not be such a dire situation as you're fearing." Miss Parker was sitting back in her chair, her fingers steepled again. "We just got through spending a GREAT deal of time digging into Triumvirate dealings, did we not?"

"Yeah, but..."

"But nothing, Sam. We hold their American dealings by the short-shorts. That was part of the reason WHY Jarod had us keep digging even after they swooped in on Raines, you know..."

"Now, just hold on here. I know I'm just the new kid on the block," Tyler drawled out, looking carefully back and forth between Miss Parker and Sam, "but maybe y'all could help out this country boy a bit. Just who the hell is this “Tri-um-whatever” and why the hell would they be pissed at us?"

Miss Parker looked at Sam, and he simply sat back in his chair again. "You started this," he pointed out bluntly. "You hired him. YOU explain it to him. He deserves to have the whole picture - and directly from you, dontcha think?"

She looked at Tyler, then looked down at her watch, then up at him again and sighed. "You didn't have any lunch plans, did you? This may take a while..."

Tyler shook his head, not at all comforted by the expression on his boss' face. Just what the hell had he gotten himself involved with here after all?

~~~~~~~~

Sydney could hear Deb's little Nova firing up and then backing away from his garage door. He looked over at the kitchen table, cleared of its file folders and now cleared of all but one place setting. Davy's lunch of sandwich and chips and milk sat untouched - he had refused to come in when called for lunch. The three adults had eaten without him then, Sydney joining Deb and Kevin in discussing which movie they were going to see that afternoon, enjoying watching Kevin's sense of anticipation of the afternoon's activity slowly grow until his blue eyes were sparkling.

But now that he and Davy were alone, with nobody to interrupt or distract them, it was time for him to take charge of helping his grandson cope with the sudden disappearance of his father. "Davy," he stuck his head out the arcadia door again, "come in here, please."

"I'm not hungry," he heard in an obstinate tone that sounded very much like his mother's.

"David Thomas Parker, get down out of that tree before I have to come out and pull you out of it." Sydney didn't like using such an authoritative voice very often, and almost never loudly enough to carry far, which made his projected voice into a whip that snapped in the boy's ear. He moved completely out the door and waited with a full scowl on his face. "You don't want me telling your mother that I had to climb the tree myself to get you, do you?"

A hand suddenly parted the leaves, although the face stayed hidden. "You're hurt," Davy announced with a startled grumble. "You're just out of the hospital. You'll hurt yourself."

Sydney started walking across the lawn. "Do you honestly think that will stop me?" He halted at the base of the tree, one hand on a wooden rung at about eye level and one foot on the very bottom rung. "Well? Are you coming down, or am I coming up?" A dark head peeked over the edge of the access hole in the middle of the tree house floor, blue eyes wide and astonished at his grandfather's persistence. When the head made no move that looked like concession, Sydney raised his other hand for the next rung up and began to pull himself onto the cobbled ladder up the side of the oak tree. "Alright - move over, here I come."

"No!" Davy shouted, knowing that he REALLY didn't want to have to face his mother and explain why he forced his grandfather to climb a tree, and he finally moved. "OK, OK, I'm coming down."

Sydney sighed in relief - the climb would have been more than would be wise for him to attempt at the moment, but his bluff had worked. He released the rungs once his feet were firmly on the ground again, and he stood waiting for his grandson with his hands on his hips. "Into the house. Now!" he ordered, once more using a softer but no less authoritative voice the moment the boy was standing on the ground next to him.

Davy didn't look at him, but did as directed, his posture slouched and slightly rebellious nevertheless as he walked in front of his grandfather across the yard, up onto the patio slab and through the arcadia doors. "Sit down." The command was inflexible, and Davy flopped into the chair where his lunch sat waiting for him. Sydney moved to put some water on to boil for tea and watched out of the corner of his eye as Davy stared at his food for a long moment, then snagged a chip and popped it in his mouth while he thought his grandfather wasn't looking.

Sydney took his time preparing his tea silently, knowing that doing so would keep Davy off-balance enough that when he did sit down, he stood a good chance of getting through to the boy. How often had he had to use these tactics on the boy's father, after all. Sydney smiled inwardly, glad that his back was still turned to the table, thinking how apropos it was that he had to deal with a second generation of Pretender and need the same tactics. Carefully schooling his expression back to a professional neutral, however, he took up his tea mug and carried it back to the table. He took his time sitting down and then arranging his hands on the table ahead of him before finally letting his eyes meet those of his grandson.

Were it not for grey eyes that looked so very much like his mother's, Davy could have been a carbon copy of Jarod at that age. Sydney found himself wondering that he could have looked into this child's face and not known the truth about his heritage for all those years. He shook himself inwardly from his reverie and faced the matter at hand. "Just what do you think you're going to accomplish, behaving like this?" The grey gaze dropped to the food in front of him as the boy realized he had no ready answer to give. "Answer me." The voice was soft, inflexible, and nothing less than a demand.

"I dunno," Davy finally allowed in a disgusted tone and with a defeated shrug. He had never had his doting grandpa pull rank on him before like this, so he knew he'd finally gone too far. He knew Grandpa Sydney's temper was one thing even his mother feared - and he'd never once seen it himself. His mother had alluded to the one time Grandpa had gotten really angry at her and chewed her out. She had put the experience in terms that clearly communicated her true reluctance to ever do anything to cause him to get angry at her again - and so while he sat quietly at the table and projected frustrated compliance, he was feeling far from secure.

"That's not an answer I can accept." The grey eyes flitted up to meet the unusually stony chestnut gaze of his elder, and then dropped back to watch his fingers pushing the sandwich back and forth on the plate. Mommy was right - Grandpa Sydney in this kind of mood was scary. The voice stayed soft, demanding. "Try again, and think through your answer this time."

The longer the boy thought about it, the more he realized that he had not only had no idea what he'd hoped to accomplish by being angry at everyone, but that his actions had no possible justification. There wasn't a single redeeming argument in his defense that he could give to this stern man who wore the face of his beloved grandfather, but wore it without any sign of the love and acceptance that had always made the man so approachable. "N... nothing," he finally admitted, his composure completely in tatters now. "I'm sorry, Grandpa..."

"This is not the time for apologies," that firm, unbending voice stated softly. "Now is the time for you to understand what you did, why you did it, and why your behavior is completely unacceptable." Sydney took a long sip of his tea, knowing from his experience with Davy's mother years ago the power of silence to undermine confidence. "Explain yourself," was the next demand.

"I can't." Davy was shaking inside and now thoroughly miserable. A tear started down his cheek. "I miss my Daddy," he blurted out in a heartbroken tone.

"Do you think that your mother and I don't miss him because we aren't running around looking and acting miserable?" Sydney put away the stern voice, but kept it soft and neutral still. It wouldn't do to demolish the boy completely, and Davy, like his mother before him, was proving very vulnerable to this kind of discipline.

Davy shook his head, another tear falling - and then another. "Then do you think making us miserable just because YOU feel miserable is an appropriate thing to do?" Sydney persisted. The boy shook his head again, the tears running steadily down his face now. "And what about Deb - she makes you lunch, a nice dessert, and you treat her like dirt. How do you think that makes her feel, when she's trying not to worry so much about her own father?"

Davy raised streaming and tragic eyes to his grandfather. "I'm s...so s...sorry, Grandpa..." he sobbed and then looked down in utter shame and choked on his tears.

"Come here, Davy."

The boy looked up again. Where the stern man had occupied his grandfather before, his loving Grandpa Sydney had magically returned - and was holding out a hand to him. With another sob, the boy flung himself from his chair and up into his grandpa's arms, wrapping his arms around the man's neck tightly and sobbing bitterly. Sydney winced at the rough movement but hugged the boy close, murmuring soft and comforting sounds in his ear until the sobbing slowly ebbed, leaving the boy spent and limp in his arms.

"I forgive you," Sydney told the boy gently, still holding him very tightly, "but I'm not the only person you owe apologies to. You're going to have to talk to your mother, and Deb, and even Kevin - you were downright rude to him this morning, and he didn't understand what he'd done wrong."

"I'm sorry," Davy repeated again and burrowed deep into his grandfather's embrace. "I just want..."

"I know," Sydney shushed at him gently. "But your Daddy has things he has to take care of first - and then he WILL be home. He's promised us, and he's told us he never makes promises he can't keep."

"But he's going to be away for a long time..."

"But he's coming back, Davy," Sydney repeated. "That's the important thing - that he didn't just LEAVE, but he left and promised to be back as soon as he could. Every day that goes by takes us one day closer to the day he gets home."

"You won't leave too, will you?" Davy's question was asked very softly.

"Of course not!" Sydney kissed the lad on the top of the head and held him just that much tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."

"I love you, Grandpa, and I'm sorry I made you so angry..."

"I love you too, Davy," Sydney hushed at the boy gently, feeling him curl up in his arms needfully and snuggle as close as he could get. "It will be OK. I'm not angry anymore."

He closed his eyes and kissed the top of the head leaning into his chest once more. God, Jarod, don't be too long, he thought. Your son needs you desperately!

~~~~~~~~

Tyler stared at his boss as if she'd grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. Never, in all the time he'd worked for the Centre, had he thought that THIS was what the organization was all about. He glanced to his side and saw that Sam had taken in the narrative with little reaction - he's known this all along, Tyler realized with a jolt.

"So..." he started, leaning forward, "let me see if I've got this straight now. Y'all are saying that the Centre has been just as active criminally all this time as the Yakuza or mob?"

"Tell me, 'Tyler-ma'am', how many think-tanks have in-house morgues handling gun shot victims?" Miss Parker answered his question with her own, followed by a deep sigh.

Tyler's eyes opened wide at that question. To be honest, since the very first days of his employment, he'd not asked himself that question. Now he suspected that the answer would have had him running away screaming before.

"And what you're suggesting is to completely transform this place into something that is virtually the opposite of what it has been - that your crack yesterday about being out of the terrorism business wasn't just a joke?"

"Give the Texan a cigar," Sam commented dryly.

"Sam..." Miss Parker scowled at her security Chief and then turned her gaze back to Tyler. "That's right."

"And you're saying that while you won't help or hinder the Triumverate's action against the Yakuza, and while you KNOW the Yakuza are responsible for the bombing, you're still gonna give them advanced warning of this plan to turn state's evidence so they can get their action under wraps?" She nodded again. "Even though you know that this is going to piss off the Triumverate - and they're the ones who gave you the job in the first place?"

"Mm-hmmm." She nodded again. "And I'm going to refund the money the Yakuza paid to have us do things - to the penny. The Centre will take care of Centre business - and right now, that means backing away from doing business with the Yakuza in what THEY will consider an honorable fashion. What the Triumverate wants from them is their business to arrange."

Tyler shook his head and settled back in his chair. "Well, ma'am, if you hadn't told this to me yourself, I wouldn't have bought it for a dollar. You sure ain't hopin' for much, are you?"

"Are you still in?" she asked pointedly in response. "Now that you know what's what and what's possible, you still feel up to this challenge? Or do you want out?" She and Sam shared a concerned look - Tyler had proven very efficient and effective as an assistant, especially in Broots' absence. Losing his participation would make life quite difficult in the days and weeks ahead.

Slowly his head shook back and forth and he sat forward again. "Hell, no. I'm still in." His dark eyes looked up into hers and danced, and he made his drawl thick again. "Y'all are doin' something that needs doin', and y'all can use all the help you can get in your corner. So long as you keep me clued in on who's a player and on which side, and what you want me to do, I'm your man, Lobsang. The Tyler clan don't wear no yellow stripe."

Sam looked at the younger man in confusion, then glanced up to see Miss Parker's amused smirk quickly hidden behind a mask of professional decorum. "Lobsang?" he asked her quietly.

But Miss Parker was satisfied. "Then let's get to it, shall we? Sam, you keep me updated on any surveillance info - Tyler, you keep probing the LA and Vegas operations. I want to know all their current projects, who's assigned to what, everything. If somebody farts in either office, I want to know who and what they ate the night before. Got it?"

"Yep!" "Yes, ma'am!" The two male voices were almost in unison.

"Good!" She rose to her feet. "It's past one, I'm starved, and I'm buying. You boys hungry?"

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 4: Shifting Sands


"Hi, Em, it's me."

"Jarod!" His sister's voice was joyous. "You're here already! Ethan wasn't sure what time you were getting in - or where."

"I was on a private jet that came straight into Monterrey," he told her, holding the receiver against his ear with his shoulder as he began the process of unpacking. "Mom's here, and from the sounds she's making in the kitchen, I think lunch is on its way. You game?"

"Sure! And how about we all have a welcome home dinner for you at my place around seven?"

"Sounds good to me." Jarod paused. "Mom's lost weight, Em. Is everything OK?"

"It will be, now that you're back safe and sound," Emily told him firmly. "Getting her to eat at all while you were gone was a major battle. Even Jay couldn't convince her to eat more than just a few bites at any one sitting. I worry about her, Jarod."

"Me too, Em. We may need to see about getting a grief councilor for her, to help her get over Dad's death."

"Nonsense. I'm sure a lot of what has bothered her will fall away now that you're back," she said, thoroughly convinced. "God, it will be good to have the whole gang around the dinner table again! You should have heard the cheering when we saw the news reports of the bombing of the Centre! Good riddance of bad rubbish!"

A vision of Broots, lying in a pool of his own blood, filled Jarod's mind. He decided to park on the edge of his bed for the rest of the call, and hang onto the phone manually before he dropped it. "Em, people I know and care about were hurt in that bombing - one is still in a coma."

"Oh..." Emily had the good sense to rein in her enthusiasm. "I didn't think about that... I'm sorry, Jarod."

"I know," he replied with a hint of bitterness. "Nobody over here, except maybe Ethan, ever bothers to think that I have people I care about over there - that I was THERE when it happened and had to stand and worry and wonder for hours and hours about who was dead, or who was..."

"Jarod," she finally heard the pain in his voice, "I am sorry - I shouldn't have been so flippant. And you're right, we don't think about the people over there that YOU care about - mostly because YOU didn't think of them at all for all this time. Or at least we thought you didn't."

"Well, you were wrong." He pulled his glasses off and tossed them on the taut bedspread, then ran his hand over his face. "Look, it's been a long day for me already, and I'm probably just tired. I'll see you in about a half hour for lunch here?"

"Sure thing." Emily's voice betrayed that she had heard something - something that she wasn't sure of. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Jarod put his glasses back on. "Bring Sammy along too - I'm sure that kid has probably grown like a weed while I was gone."

"He's missed his Uncle Jarod," she smiled as she thought of her little boy, and the smile was audible. "Just wait until I tell me you're home..."

"Oh, let it be a surprise, Em," Jarod urged with a mischievous smirk. "Just don't tell him WHERE he's going to lunch." He found himself genuinely looking forward to seeing the littlest member of his family - and then his smile lost a little when Davy's face from the night before floated in his mind. Suddenly he had a rush of homesickness, one he deliberately set aside until later. "See you in a bit, then."

"You too," she agreed quickly. "God but it's good to have you back!" She said her farewells and disconnected.

"Jarod," Margaret's voice called from the kitchen, "I could use your help here for a moment..."

Jarod threw the phone down on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

This was his life, his family, reaching out to him to take him back into the fold - to ease him back into that comfortable niche he'd occupied for so long now. He'd worked hard to find them all and put this family together properly. It had been difficult to make a place where they all could be more or less together within their individual spaces - where they could be together and still live their own lives. A minor fortune, all of it courtesy of the Centre funds he'd squirreled away over the years, had been spent to purchase the several homes along this lane to house them all with enough space in between to preserve sanity. He'd spent years building a successful psychiatric practice, helping children cope with small and large disasters in their lives. He'd gotten a great deal of satisfaction from watching as, one by one, they grew strong enough not to need his help any longer.

Almost every person he'd ever dreamed of and fantasized being with for the greater part of his life - almost every possible facet of a life of freedom he'd always wanted for himself and them - was here.

And THIS was what he was going to turn his back on.

He'd promised.

Shit.

~~~~~~~~

Deb handed the bucket of popcorn to Kevin while she grabbed the drinks and straws. "Through there," she directed him with her nose, and Kevin followed at her side as she led him into the theatre. Somewhere, not too terribly far behind them, she knew the nameless and silent guardian Miss Parker had set over them both would be making his way into the theatre behind them - no doubt to sit fairly close so as to continue his vigil despite the dark and flickering projector light.

"There are no tables!" Kevin looked around at the stadium-style seating. "Where are we going to put this stuff?"

"We're going to hang onto them," Deb explained patiently, leading him down to approximately the middle of the theatre and then heading for center seats in that row.

"Is that a television screen?" He asked next, watching her use her rear to pull the seat down even as she seated herself and then carefully following suit.

"Projection screen," she shook her head as she handed him his drink. "Look up there..." she turned and pointed, and he followed her finger to the holes high in the back wall of the hall. "Up there are the film projectors."

Kevin looked at the barely visible lenses of the projectors that almost poked through the holes, then back at the screen, estimating the distance involved. "It's going to be terribly out of focus," he complained, looking over at her in confusion.

"Trust me," Deb smiled at him. "It will be fine. Oh, and when we get done with this stuff, we can just put it on the floor until we're ready to leave."

"Sydney doesn't like it when we leave things on the floor," Kevin remembered his new mentor's grumbling the several times Davy had walked off and left a glass and plate on the floor near where he'd been playing in the den.

Deb chuckled. "Grandpa's been after Davy again, eh?" She chuckled louder when Kevin nodded. "He's been trying to train that kid for years - hasn't worked yet..." She smiled at Kevin. "We're not going to leave our stuff - we'll pick it up when the movie's finished and throw it away on our way out. Here..." She stripped one straw of its protective paper and thrust it through the hole in the top on his drink.

Kevin looked from the straw into Deb's face, confounded. "What's THAT for?"

"It's called a straw," Debbie sighed. There was just so much Kevin didn't know or understand - sometimes it caught her very much by surprise. "You suck on it, and you get your drink - and there's less chance of spilling."

The lad carefully put his lips around the straw as Deb demonstrated and then sucked - and then his eyes widened as both a stream of ice-cold liquid squirted into his mouth and his nose was assailed by a tingling. "This is a carbonated drink?" he asked in a slightly louder and surprised voice.

"Hush," Debbie put her hand on his arm to calm him. "Yes, that's 7UP - haven't you ever had any before?" She smirked as he shook an amazed face. "Cool, huh?"

"Very cold - and tingly," he agreed readily, cautiously trying the drink again and deciding it was a pleasant change from water and the milk and tea Sydney had been giving him.

"No, Kevin," Deb sighed again and then explained. "COOL. Among us young folks, it means “interesting,” “fun,” “exciting,” “enjoyable.” Get it?"

Now it was Kevin's turn to sigh. There was just so MUCH to learn. "I'm working on it," he managed, then propped the popcorn on his lap and sampled it. "This is very good too."

"I can see I'm going to have to seriously introduce you to junk food," Deb chuckled at him, "because I know Grandpa won't do it for you."

"Junk food?"

"Shhhhh!" she put her finger to her lips as the house lights began to dim. "It's starting."

As the previews began to flash across the huge screen in front of him, Kevin sank back into the comfortable seat. "Cool!" he tried the expression, leaning toward Deb.

"Just wait," she whispered back. "This is just advertisement for stuff that's coming. Wait until we get to the main feature..."

Kevin sucked happily at his drink and popped a few more kernels into his mouth. The size and volume of the projection invaded two of his senses and gave him almost the same feeling as when he'd run more complicated SIMs. But THIS was enjoyable - pure entertainment, with no mentor steering his thoughts or perceptions. "Cool!" he muttered to himself again.

~~~~~~~~

"Unka Jarod!" the child squealed in delight and bolted from his mother's side to be swung up easily into an embrace.

"It's Sir Samuel," Jarod yelled in response, swinging the boy high in the air and making him squeal again in happiness. "My God but you've grown!"

"I'm gonna be five next week," the little boy reminded his favorite uncle with a very familiar-looking Russell smirk. "You're going to be at my party, aren't you?"

"You betcha!" Jarod hugged his nephew and then put him back down on his feet and reached out to Em while the little boy ran for the kitchen and the good smells wafting out. "Hey there," he greeted her with a warm and tight hug.

"Hey there yourself," she replied, her hug tight and warm and quick. "Must be nice to get back home, huh?"

Jarod was glad he was still hugging her, because she missed the quick and reflexive grimace. "It's good to see everybody again," he answered instead. "Mom has everything put together in the kitchen."

He would have begun leading her off toward the back of the house, but she tightened her arm around his waist and held him in place. "Jarod, I meant it when I said I was sorry about before..."

"I know, Em, I know," he hugged her again and then let go. "It's OK - it's just going to take me a bit to shift gears, you know?"

"Shift gears?"

"Yeah." Jarod breathed out in mild frustration. "From being with people who look at you folks with acceptance because you ARE my real family, to you folks who look back at them with nothing but resentment and suspicion every time they're mentioned."

Em stopped again, her face curling with mild outrage. "That's not fair, Jarod."

"Isn't it? Seems like a fairly reasonable assessment to me."

"We didn't lock you up for decades, or chase you from one end of the planet to the next..."

"No, but now Mom would like to be able to tell me who I can be on good terms with and who I can't - who I can go visit and who I can't, who I can defend and who I can't. Who I can love and who I can't." Jarod gave full voice to his frustration at last. "Tell me, Em, why is the way folks HERE want to control me and the way I want to lead my life any more acceptable?"

"Jarod!"

He threw up his hands and walked away. "I don't want to discuss this right now. Let's just have a nice lunch, OK?"

"No." Em grabbed his hand and jerked, pulling him about and leading him back out the front door, which she closed behind her. "Alright, Jarod - talk to me. What's going on here? What went on back there?"

Jarod glared into eyes that were just as dark, just as intelligent, as his own, and then looked down with a sigh of concession. "What has Mom told you?"

"Not much," Em replied, leaning back against the side of the house, "but I know that she's been really unhappy lately and complaining about how you're so willing to run off to help out these other people who locked you..." She stopped as she saw that continuing to describe the people he'd been with in Delaware in such negative terms was NOT going to sit well. "Well, how you're so willing to run off to be with these others when your real family needs you."

"What about Ethan? What has he told you?"

His sister shook her head. "Ethan's been pretty busy running your practice all by himself, Jarod. I don't think I've had more than one or two times to really talk to him since you left - and he wasn't telling me much at all. Besides, I've been busy trying to keep Mom from going off the deep end with Dad dead and you gone and still keeping my deadlines with my newspapers." She put a gentle hand on his arm. "What IS going on that I don't know about?"

"Then you didn't know that I found out that I have a son - that Parker and I have a son?"

Em's hand dropped from his arm, and her mouth dropped open in complete shock. "You... what?"

Jarod sighed and leaned against a stucco pillar. "Parker had adopted the boy, thinking that he was her little brother, after her... Mr. Parker... died. We found out that he was ours while we were digging for evidence against the Centre. Raines and Lyle and Mr. Parker... created... Davy from our genetic material. They had a whole collection of fertilized eggs left over too, on ice, just waiting to be..."

"Oh God! Jarod!" Emily was aghast.

"Do you understand now? I have a son - a very sweet eight-year-old boy that I love more than anything - and I..." How was he going to tell her about his new relationship with Miss Parker.

"I think I see it now." Em wasn't of Pretender stock for nothing - her mind had raced ahead of her brother's words. "You told me once that you'd always been soft on her." Jarod's dark eyes flitted up to hers warily, then he lowered them again and nodded. "I take it the feelings are reciprocated now?"

"I've asked her to marry me," Jarod told her softly. "We agreed - when I get back from..."

"From here," Em finished for him. She gazed at her brother, finally understanding him. "And Mom knows this?"

Jarod nodded, his shoulders slumped. "She's been rather bitter about it - brings it up every chance she gets and can't stop dumping on Parker." He looked up at his sister a little guiltily. "I guess I was working under the assumption that you'd probably do the same thing - and I dumped all my frustrations with Mom on you. I didn't mean to."

"Well," Em folded her arms across her chest, "I can't say I'm really thrilled at your decision, but it IS your life..." She noted his look of surprise when he glanced back up at her. "I'm not totally unsympathetic to those people, Jarod - especially if you have a son with one of them. I don't know that I wouldn't do the same thing you intend to do, if I were in your shoes."

Jarod sighed in relief. "Thanks, Em. I really wasn't looking forward to arguing with you about this all the time I'm here."

"It won't be me you'll have to argue with," Em told him knowingly, "it will be Mom and Jay. And you have to admit, they both have damned good reasons for their attitudes."

"I know," Jarod nodded. "Sydney was explaining Mom to me just the other day - I can see Jay's reasons too. It doesn't make it any easier..."

"And Sammy will be crushed when he finds out that you're moving away..." she added, hearing her son's cackle of laughter from inside the house. "I suppose we'd better get back in..."

"Yeah..." Jarod nodded again. "Hey Em - do me a favor, though?"

"What?"

"Let's just keep this a nice lunch, OK? Let's not ruin Sammy's mood quite yet."

Em shrugged. "If Mom takes it into her mind to..."

"Then let's both ask her to shut up." Jarod's dark eyes were pleading. "Let me have at least one day before the real fight begins. Please?"

Em nodded and then reached out to give her brother a gentle hug. "I'm still glad you're back here with us," she said softly as he wrapped his arm about her shoulders and opened the door for her.

"And I'm still glad to see you too," he answered just as gently. "I missed you."

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker looked up as both Tyler and Sam entered her office after having Mei Chiang announce them. They weren't quite smirking, but their increased good mood had to be caused by something other than the take-out Chinese they'd had for lunch. Sam looked particularly pleased with himself, so she addressed herself to him. "You boys look inordinantly please with yourselves. Wanna share?"

Tyler laid a thick bound folder on her desk, and Sam a small tape recorder. "We got two transcripts," Sam smiled at her in deep satisfaction. "The Torzulo people looked, but our Pakor friends did a good job of putting 'em undercover." He punched the button on the tape player.

"Stu - good ta see ya," spoke a nasal baritone voice.

"Eddie! Thanks for coming on such short notice." That was Berringer - Miss Parker recognized those tones almost immediately. "This is Gil Flores, the guy I was telling you about..."

"Gil," Santini greeted the newcomer. "This is Tony Rumano, my assistant - and that there is Gino." There was a grunt that could have been either one of the named Torzulo people. "Now, maybe you'll tell me what this whole mess is about?"

"There's been a turn-over in administration at the Centre..." Flores began.

"Oh, yeah, I'd imagine - considering the building they just lost..." Santini chortled.

"And old man Parker's girl has taken over..."

Now Santini's chortle grew louder. "Now THERE'S a babe I wouldn't mind “doing business” with, eh boys?"

"Do you mind?" Flores snapped.

"Gil!" Berringer obviously tried to smooth the situation. "This isn't the time for tempers, know what I mean?"

"So the babe's running the show. What's the problem?" Santini spoke, all of his humor evaporated.

"She's going to be shutting down most of our elite business contacts and jobs, that's what," Flores complained in a whiny tone. "That means Stu can't do stuff for you, and I'm stuck doing legit stuff on my end - no more Yakuza contracts, nuthin."

"The business Stu and I do tends to be ME doing for HIM lately, not the other way around," Santini sounded thoroughly unimpressed. "And I couldn't give a rat's ass about your contracts with other players."

"Yeah, but I know that there are a lot of offices across the country that you'd probably like to get info from - build your empire. If we could get rid of Miss Parker and I took over, you'd have access to a coast-to-coast operation." Flores had the voice of a salesman now, pitching for all he was worth. "Just think of the increased revenues you'd get - the increased influence you'd have - if you would just help me remove a certain “babe” from her position in Delaware."

Miss Parker looked up at Sam, her eyebrows soaring high on her forehead in what Sam used to consider the “red flag zone.” The ex-sweeper knew that were Flores in the room with them, he'd be needing diapers for the next week from the ass-reaming - not to mention be occupying a cell at the local jail.

"So... What do you want me to do?" Santini was trying very hard to sound uninterested, but his voice just couldn't hide his excitement.

"I need... diversions. Problems. I want to take her out with a domino effect of internal business failures and other difficulties." Flores sounded as if he knew exactly what he was intending.

"What kind of problems and diversions and difficulties?" Santini asked pointedly. "You want me to kill a few operatives, crash a few parties, kidnap a few kiddies - what?"

"Stu, give him the list." There was the sound of paper rustling, and then things got quiet for a while.

"Some of this is government-related," Santini's voice sounded a little less than enthusiastic. "We mess with this, and we have the Feds on our case."

"Make it look like internal incompetence, and you won't have the Feds on your ass at all - SHE will," Berringer piped up finally. "And have a few of the contracts for some of the other syndicates fall apart, and she'd have her hands full just staying alive, much less running the Centre. Take for example that Yakuza shipment coming into the docks at Long Beach day after tomorrow - if the security the Centre is providing should fail, and the feds get their hands on ALL that inventory of pirated software..."

"Shit!" What had been enthusiastic now sounded downright doubtful. "Yakuza and mob stuff - no problem. Hell, you can sabotage your own contracts without needing my help. But you've got stuff here listed as research being done for Interpol, Mossad, the CIA - with all the necessary security measures to boot. What the hell kind of resources do you think I have? My family is in racketeering and drugs - not counter-intelligence and industrial sabotage..."

"Yeah, but just think at the business opportunities you'd open if you helped us here - we could get you INTO the information industry in a big way." Flores was really pushing with his sales voice.

"I dunno..." Santini's voice was extremely cautious. "I'll have to take this back to my bosses - let them decide. This is too big for me to OK on my own. There's simply too much we'd be risking just to put you in the driver's seat at the Centre."

"Eddie, we need to start moving on this as soon as possible - BEFORE she catches wind of what we're up to." Berringer added. "She's off-balance now - she just took over and had the shit bombed out of the headquarters. Wait too long, and she gets control of things, and we're all outta luck."

"I done told you, I'm gonna kick this one upstairs," Santini snapped. "I'll be in touch."

Sam clicked off the player. "There was a little more, none of it important."

Miss Parker reached out and carefully opened the bound report - that began with a series of surveillance photographs, complete with date and time stamps, of all the men attending. She took a deep breath and paged through the transcript wordlessly, pausing here and there when her brow would furl. Finally she looked up. "Opinions, gentlemen?"

"The feds would eat that stuff up," Tyler drawled easily. "And considering the folks involved, I'll bet there would be RICO cases galore set in motion the minute we turn that tape and pictures over."

"I have to call Mayeda first," Miss Parker reminded them. "I can play him the tape, so he knows that Flores intends to double-cross him anyway - that might smooth ruffled feathers so that we don't lose so much face by backing out of our agreements. That actually, he ends up losing very little by taking back deposits paid."

"Then you had best call Mayeda," Sam suggested somberly. "I don't know how long we're going to want to sit on this before we get the feds involved, frankly - a week may be pushing it, depending on what Santini's bosses' decision is. That first Yakuza shipment Flores mentioned is due in only a day or so from now."

She nodded reluctantly and pulled the tape player toward her and started the tape rewinding. "You getting a handle on the amount and kind of business running through the LA and Vegas offices yet?" she aimed at Tyler.

"Getting there," he replied, "but not ready to report yet."

"Well, don't take too long," she warned, then nodded. "Sam, keep a tail on both our mutineers - I want to know their every move, who they talk to, what they talk about, whether it's Centre-related or not. And keep working on a separate take down of the LA office - in case we decide we want to do a bit of cleaning ourselves before we turn things over to the government."

"Got it." "Yes, ma'am."

"That will be all for now," she dismissed them, then punched her intercom button. "Mei Chiang, I need you to get me Mr. Masaji Mayeda in Los Angeles on the line."

Then she settled back in her chair and stared at the report while she waited. Her next conversation was NOT going to be enjoyable or profitable at all.

~~~~~~~~

"What I don't understand is how the heroine could be so intelligent one minute, and then completely inept the next," Kevin objected. He followed Deb back into the brightly lit lobby of the theatre and chucking the empty popcorn bucket and drink cup into the nearest trash container. "I mean, it just isn't logical that she be so coordinated that she could make that one leap - and then trip over a little branch..."

"Those are called plot devices, Kev - part of the story was keeping her constantly on the very edge of disaster. If she could run without falling all over herself, she'd have escaped easily." Deb was grinning. Kevin had been totally swept into what had been, to her, a rather formula movie plot. "We wouldn't have had half the movie we did if that had happened."

"But I thought movies were supposed to mimic real life," he shook his head, "not take liberties with reason."

At that, Deb laughed out loud. "I'll have to take you to some of the REALLY stupid stuff that gets put out, if you think THIS was 'taking liberties with reason.'"

"You mean it can be even less reasonable?"

Deb latched herself to Kevin's arm and pressed herself close to him. "Then again, maybe we can just rent “Dumb and Dumber” and show you THAT way..."

"There's a movie entitled “Dumb and Dumber”?!" Kevin gaped at her.

She just shook her head and pulled him in the direction of her car, out of a corner of her eye seeing their guardian standing on the sidewalk outside the multiplex, watching over them still. She shook her head, not even wanting to think about WHY she and Kevin had their own personal bodyguard. Instead she hugged Kevin just a little closer.

The afternoon had been as much fun as she'd hoped. With a happy smile she decided it was just as well she wasn't going to Amherst immediately. She had a babe in the woods to educate - and it would take time and careful planning to accomplish that AND to thoroughly scandalize her lovable but old-fashioned grandfather in the process.

"C'mon. I want to stop at the hospital and check on Dad before we head home," she told him as she pondered just what kind of junk food she'd want to entice him with next, and then grinned evilly as the ideal candidate occurred to her: Ding-Dongs!

~~~~~~~~

"Miss Parker - this IS a surprise," Mayeda answered his phone with raised eyebrows and accented English. "Two conversations in one day is..."

"This isn't a social call," she interrupted him brusquely in Japanese. "Something has come up that warranted me calling you to bring you up to speed with not a lot of time to react."

"Excuse me?"

"Listen to this..." She brought the tape player up to the mouthpiece of her handset and pushed the play button so that Mayeda could hear what her people had taped earlier that day.

~"So... What do you want me to do?"

~"I need... diversions. Problems. I want to take her out with a domino effect of internal business failures and other difficulties."

~"What kind of problems and diversions and difficulties? You want me to kill a few operatives, crash a few parties, kidnap a few kiddies - what?"

~"Stu, give him the list."

~Paper rustled, and then things got quiet for a while.

~"Some of this is government-related. We mess with this, and we have the Feds on our case."

~"Make it look like internal incompetence, and you won't have the Feds on your ass at all - SHE will, And have a few of the contracts for some of the other syndicates fall apart, and she'd have her hands full just staying alive, much less running the Centre. Take for example that Yakuza shipment coming into the docks at Long Beach day after tomorrow - if the security the Centre is providing should fail, and the feds get their hands on ALL that inventory of pirated software..."

"Shit!" Mayeda spat angrily. "Those ronin want to..."

"Shhh! Listen!" Miss Parker stopped the tape and then ran it back so that the taped conversation could pick up just before it had been interrupted.

~"... ALL that inventory of pirated software..."

~"Shit! Yakuza and mob stuff - no problem. Hell, you can sabotage your own contracts without needing my help. But you've got stuff here listed as research being done for Interpol, Mossad, the CIA - with all the necessary security measures to boot. What the hell kind of resources do you think I have? My family is in racketeering and drugs - not counter-intelligence and industrial sabotage..."

~"Yeah, but just think at the business opportunities you'd open if you helped us here - we could get you INTO the information industry in a big way."

~"I dunno... I'll have to take this back to my bosses - let them decide. This is too big for me to OK on my own. There's simply too much we'd be risking just to put you in the driver's seat at the Centre."

~"Eddie, we need to start moving on this as soon as possible - BEFORE she catches wind of what we're up to. She's off-balance now - she just took over and had the shit bombed out of the headquarters. Wait too long, and she gets control of things, and we're all outta luck."

Miss Parker pressed the stop button on the tape player and put it back down on her desk. "Heard enough?"

"Quite." Mayeda's voice was very tight, very controlled - very angry. "I recognize Flores' voice - who were the others?"

"Stewart Berringer, another Centre supervisor, and Eduardo Santini, consiglieri to the Torzulo crime syndicate based out of Las Vegas." Miss Parker pronounced the names carefully.

"You have my full attention, Miss Parker. I assume there is a reason for you to share your internal power struggle..."

Miss Parker closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Mayeda might only be a lackey of the Tokyo Yakuza, but he was a dangerous man to cross. Now was not a time for her to lose her temper. "When we spoke earlier, I gave you my assurance that I would see to it that the Centre fulfilled all existing contracts with your organization. This information has just come to me - and I see now that I may not be able to keep my word."

Mayeda leaned back in his chair. She had balls of steel, this new Centre Chairman, to be so bluntly honest. "I see that. What are you suggesting?"

"First of all, how much money is involved in the inventory they're talking about?" She pulled a legal pad toward her and took a pencil from her cup.

"Two million US," he replied after running his fingers quickly over a calculator.

"How much money have you deposited towards contracts that are still outstanding?" she asked next, writing down the number he'd already given her.

"One moment, dozo..." He fired off a quick order to someone else in the room with him, and then she heard him shuffling papers on his end. "Almost..." he said and then gave a sigh. "Twenty-five million, three hundred fifty thousand US. Why?"

Miss Parker took a deep breath. Her offer was taking a big risk - both financially and reputation-wise. "Because I am proposing to refund all deposit monies that you have given either Lyle, Raines or Flores - with interest - on the suspicion that those contracts will be sabotaged. I'm also prepared to reimburse you the value of the inventory, in case you can't prevent it from being confiscated. If the Centre cannot honorably discharge its contracts to you, at least it can see to it you lose very little money." She closed her eyes so as to be able to focus her entire attention on the Japanese voice that would answer her proposal. "It is the only honorable thing to do."

Mayeda was silent for a long moment. "This is very short notice on some of these..." he said cautiously.

"I know, but it couldn't be helped," she countered. "I only got the information I just gave to you less than a half hour ago myself."

"What rate of interest?"

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "It will be a reasonable one, Mayeda-san. But I would suggest that you make a concerted effort to make any information about your operation that you may have passed to Flores invalid as soon as possible. He is obviously trying to instigate a dispute between the Centre and the Yakuza, and he'll use any information he has on hand to do just that."

"Point well-taken, Miss Parker. The information we've provided this may over the years has been considerable, however. We won't be able to just “fold our tents and vanish into the night,” as the Arabs often said." He removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk in front of him. "Do you have any idea of a time frame?"

"No, and frankly, I'd expect the first problems to surface relatively soon, considering."

"I agree." Mayeda was quiet for a moment. "Looks like you have an internal war on your hands."

"I'm dealing with it, and will deal with it," she assured him in what she hoped was a tight and confident tone. "But I will be using the kind of assistance that your organization does NOT want to have sniffing up its tree. When I call them in, I cannot be responsible for any information about your organization discovered in the locales that will be raided - including the Centre's Los Angeles office. Furthermore, I don't know how long I will be able to hold off calling them in. That's another reason I'm talking to you now - so that you have a head's-up long enough beforehand that you can take corrective measures as much as possible."

Again Mayeda was quiet for a long moment, pondering the serious ramifications of the warning that he was having poured into his ear. She must be desperate, he decided, to be considering calling in law enforcement so quickly - desperate or cagey like a fox in letting the law enforcement personnel run all the risks rather than her own people. He had a suspicion it was the latter. "I'll need a definite window of time," he bartered.

"I can only give you two days for sure - any more than that will have to be considered good karma."

"Two days!" Mayeda glanced about his office wildly. Completely relocating and reorganizing in that short a time was not impossible, but certainly a daunting prospect.

"It's the best I can give you for certain." Miss Parker's voice told of her understandable inability to be flexible on that point.

"Tanaka-sama was very wrong to have done what he did..." Mayeda offered after a short time to appreciate both her situation and the one she was putting him in - no, not her, the situation in which the ball-less Flores had put him in order to get at HER.

"His argument was with Lyle and Raines, not me," she informed him coolly. "My argument, therefore, would be with him - were he still alive - and not you."

"Your offer is accepted," Mayeda said suddenly. He'd clear it with Tokyo somehow. "Deposit thirty million in the account that I will be sending you by fax, and we will consider ourselves repaid in full."

"Done." Miss Parker settled back into her chair with a heavy sigh. "Thank you."

"I wish you luck, Miss Parker," Mayeda replied, bowing in his chair to the telephone. "You are a worthy Chairman. Sayonara."

Miss Parker held the handset to her chest in utter relief. She had two days that she'd have to sit on her hands before calling in the FBI - and it had cost her thirty million dollars - but one potential troublemaker had been defused before the trouble even began. Feeling almost as if she'd climbed from the bottom of the sublevels all over again, she punched a few buttons and put the phone back to her ear.

"Tyler? Bring me information on all of Mr. Raines' hidden accounts. We're going to have to dig deep by the end of the day..."

~~~~~~~~

Jarod steered the rental car into the parking lot next to the professional building in which he'd nestled his offices and nosed the Saturn into the space that had his name painted on the curb. He'd had Em drop him at the rental agency after the tense lunch where he'd endured without comment the frustrated glares of his mother and the excited chatter of his nephew, feeling the need to get out of the house before he broke something valuable. And, he reminded himself, he'd promised Ethan that he'd show up at the office in the latter part of the afternoon.

His office was on the ground floor of the two story building, taking up the entire west side of the building on that level. He pushed his way through the front door and looked around. The waiting area had a play area set up over in the corner, where one mother kept watch as her children crawled through the maze that was the play house while another sat a short distance away, reading a magazine. Their backs were to him, so he couldn't be sure who was waiting and turned his attention to the receptionist's desk.

"Doctor Jarod!" Cindy smiled widely, the golden beads of her latest corn-rowed hairdo swinging and clattering softly together with every movement of her head. "I thought I heard Doctor Ethan say that you were back!"

"Where is he?" Jarod smiled back at her and gestured with his nose toward the offices.

Cindy looked down at the schedule, then back up at him with ebony eyes. "He's just finishing up with Ginger - he should be through in just a minute or two." The attractive girl reached below her desk and hauled up a wicker basket full to overflowing with mail. "This ought to keep you out of trouble until he's finished," she chuckled at his dismayed expression. "They like you."

"Too much, it seems," he replied, taking the basket and heading down the hallway towards his own office. He opened the door and stepped in, then looked around his own private sanctum. "Physician, analyze thyself," he mumbled to himself. Only now that he had returned from Delaware and reacquainting himself with Sydney and his former mentor's tastes could he begin to recognize the subtle ways in which he'd unconsciously emulated the older Centre psychiatrist. The walls of the office were warmly paneled in rich wood and one wall covered with a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with children's books, books on psychological disorders of children - and toys of all shapes, sizes, for all age levels and levels of complexity. Now he could see that he'd consistently been duplicating Sydney's office in the Sim Lab to a great extent.

He'd long since recognized Sydney's influence on his eventual choice of profession, but justified it away by focusing on the idea of undoing the damage others had done to his young clients as a kind of vicarious atoning for the Centre's acts upon him. He just hadn't realized before how thoroughly he had assimilated the very essence of what made Sydney something that wasn't a Centre monster - the man's warmth and presence, even through a very substantial façade of neutral professional objectivity, had become an essential part of him too. No wonder, when his own Dad had died, he'd felt moved to re-establish connections with the man who'd filled his father's shoes for so long.

The sound of a door opening, and his brother's gentle professional voice flowing smoothly into the hallway interrupted his musings, and he went to lean casually against the doorjamb as a little girl in long, dark braids and play clothes and her guardian were ushered out to make another appointment. Jarod frowned - the little face that he remembered so well had lost whatever little animation it had gained under his treatment. He glanced up, saw that Ethan had caught sight of him and was waiting, patiently, to see what would happen when Ginger noticed that her own doctor had returned.

"Don't I even get a smile hello?" Jarod asked quietly so as not to startle the child.

Ginger, her dark eyes wide and thoroughly shocked, whipped her head around at the sound of the familiar voice. Jarod watched as the emotions tumbled and crashed behind that dark and silent gaze, and then the little girl walked over to him and hugged his leg.

With a lump in his throat, he lifted the girl in his arms. "I told you that I'd be back," he reminded her gently, only to have the thin arms wrap themselves around his neck and the little head land lightly on his shoulder. Jarod gazed down into the face of the rather plain woman who had been appointed the child's latest foster parent. "I take it we're not talking anymore?"

"We're not doing a lot of things anymore," Mrs. Thatcher responded in her amazingly deep and gravelly voice. "Frankly, I'm getting ready to talk to the case worker about having her committed. I can't be watching her all the time, and I have better things to do than have to take care of her as if she were an invalid."

Jarod's brow folded as Ginger's arms around his neck tightened. "This isn't something you should be discussing in front of her, Mrs. Thatcher. She understands every word you say, even if she doesn't respond..."

"I was just telling her the same thing," Ethan spoke up finally, moving from his own casual lean against his office doorjamb. "She has enough abuse and abandonment issues already..."

"Look, I'll tell you what I told Doctor Ethan. I've got four other foster kids running me ragged between soccer practice and group therapy. She may be quiet, but she's perfectly capable of getting into trouble if I don't keep my eye on her every minute of every day..." Mrs. Thatcher's spiel sounded both rehearsed and melodramatic. "She needs more care than I can give her."

"Obviously," Jarod agreed dryly. "Make your next appointment with Doctor Ethan, Mrs. Thatcher. Hopefully by the time I see you next, I may have a solution for you that doesn't put Ginger in an institution."

Mrs. Thatcher's eyes widened. "You're not resuming her treatment, Doctor Jarod?"

"No." Jarod wrapped the little girl tightly in his arms. "What I'm thinking of requires that I not be the psychiatrist handling her treatment any longer. You go make the appointment - I'll have her with me in my office when you're ready for her." With that, Jarod carried Ginger back into his office and parked himself on the edge of his desk, shifting her weight to his lap.

"Look at me, now," he directed the girl gently, letting her weight shifting to his lap draw her head away from his shoulder and down onto his chest. "Ginger. Look at me." Dark eyes finally lifted to his, eyes that were swimming with tears. "You have to hang in there and do your best for Mrs. Thatcher for a little while longer. Promise me you'll be as good as gold for her for me."

Ginger gave a shuddering sigh and settled her head back against his chest. Jarod clasped her close. "It will be OK," he told her in a soft whisper as little hands tried to clutch at his shirt.

"Come on with you now," Mrs. Thatcher's impatient voice flooded the office suddenly, and Jarod felt the child on his lap flinch.

"It will be OK," he told her again as he lifted her up to give her a tight hug. "Be a good girl, and I'll see you soon."

Mrs. Thatcher had to practically drag the girl through the waiting room and out the door because Ginger kept her head turned and her dark eyes trained on Jarod as he stood next to the receptionist's desk.

"That damned bitch shouldn't be in charge of anybody's little girl," Cindy grumbled very softly into her appointment book, then turned a face that had hints of pink blush beneath the dark skin of her cheeks up to Jarod. "Well, she shouldn't!"

"Relax, I'm not disagreeing with you," Jarod reassured her just as quietly. "Listen, tell Ethan I'm in my office sorting through the mail when he's finished with this patient. Are there any more appointments for the day?"

Cindy looked down. "Nope - Claire is the last one."

"Good." Jarod headed back down the hallway to his sanctum and closed the door this time. Things on this front had deteriorated significantly in his absence. If this child were to be saved from the heartless foster care system - and her current and equally heartless foster mom - he'd have to put things in motion a lot sooner than he'd planned.

~~~~~~~~

Flores put the new bottle of tequila down on the little table of his hotel room next to the nearly empty one from the night before and sat down heavily. He was still tired from the night of drinking he'd indulged in the night before, and not at all buoyed by the events of the day. Stu had made it seem as if Santini would jump at the chance to help them take out Miss Parker's misguided administration of the Centre - but NO, he had to take the proposal to HIS boss and pass the buck for decision-making.

Still, he had a few aces up his sleeve that Stu had probably forgotten about or disregarded as trivial. He picked up the telephone and dialed.

"Bueno," [Hello?] answered the Hispanic voice on the other end.

"Hola [Hi] Miguel. It's Gil Flores." Flores grinned - Miguel was as dependable as clockwork. It was nearly four o'clock in Los Angeles - which meant he was at his favorite bar collecting protection money from his runners.

"Hey, Gil! What's shaking?" Rodriguez always enjoyed dealing with his old gang buddy, who never failed to make anything he did worthwhile.

"Got a little problem I was hoping maybe you could give me a hand with," Flores began with a hopeful tone.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, probably as Rodriguez drained another bottle of his favorite imported Mexican beer. "Whatcha need?"

"Look, I got this puta gringa [white bitch] of a boss, and I need a little protection for what's mine - know what I mean?"

"You mean you don't work for Doctor Death and the Man-eater anymore?" Rodriguez asked with absolute seriousness.

Flores shook his head. "No, man, they're history. And now I gotta deal with this bruja [witch] who wants to take away most of my action. Man, she's gotta go!"

"You want me," Rodriguez' voice was shocked, "to stand up to the Centre? What happened - this bruja not give you no respect?"

"I don't want you to stand up to the Centre, hombre - just keep an eye on the storefront for me for a little while, while the bruja has me by the cojones [balls] here on the wrong side of the world. AND I need you to get in touch with Ernie for me."

"Shit, hombre - Ernie had his ass caught up in a sting two weeks ago. He's doing time at County for a while." Rodriguez wasn't happy about his pet enforcer being behind bars at all. "Tell you what, I can watch the store for you - but that's about all I can do right now, hombre. La policía has been rough on us lately."

"Oye, cabrón [Listen, asshole] - you owe me."

"Tu madre [Screw you]. I've been doing small jobs for you for a while now, and I ain't seen nothing green to show for it. As far as I'm concerned, we're even. But..." and Rodriguez moderated his tone a bit, "we'll watch your place for you - providing you make it worth our while NOW..."

"Fine!" Flores threw his free hand up into the air. "Nine o'clock at the docks in Long Beach tomorrow night, there will be a ship from Singapore unloading. You get some strong muchachos [boys] and take custody of Lot 83. And watch out for any Japanese hanging about - don't let 'em see you with their dope."

"Dope?!" Rodriguez' ears perked up immediately. "What kind of dope and how much?"

"The kind of stuff that you cut and sell on the streets for six times what you pay for it, ése. [fella] Lot 83 is about four hundred kilos worth. Does THAT make your vigilance on my behalf worth your while?"

Rodriguez' respectful silence more than answered Flores' question. Instead: "You expectin' trouble, hombre?"

Flores shrugged. "That's up to the puta - and she isn't taking me into her confidences right now. Keep it low-key - I don't want anybody to know the place is being watched."

"You one crazy cabrón, ése. When you comin' home?"

"Soon as I can get free of the bruja, hombre," Flores grumbled darkly. "God-damned bruja..."

~~~~~~~~

The light knock on the office door as it opened brought Jarod's head up from the job of reading through those pieces of mail that were still timely enough or important enough to need immediate review. "So," the younger man moved easily into his brother's office and plunked himself on the couch next to the wall and sprawled lazily, "Mom said she was going to make lunch for you."

"She did," Jarod replied, setting the letter from an old university aside for later. "I called Em, and she and Sammy were over too."

"It's good to see you, bro," Ethan smiled at his older brother widely. "I know it won't last, but it will be good to have some company here in the shrink trenches again." He gazed across the desk evenly. "How's my sister and her boy doing?"

"Fine," Jarod nodded, stretching back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "I think she's gonna make it as Chairman."

"Did you talk to Em this noon?"

Jarod saw that his brother wasn't missing much - he hadn't really had a chance to relax back into his California life at all. "Yeah. She helped me keep Mom from bringing it up at lunch. I figure that best we discuss this at supper tonight, when ALL of us are there."

"You're a glutton for punishment," Ethan shook his head. "Mom and Jay will try to gang up on you, with Em probably tempted to throw in with them half the time. I'll have to sit back and keep my mouth shut because I know too much of what's going on." His eyes twinkled. "I know that you're good for Parker, Jarod. In the days since the Centre blew, she's been broadcasting “Happy” all over the map."

"Believe me, I'm happy with the way things worked out too," Jarod exclaimed fervently. "I mean, who wouldn't? Davy's a good kid any man would be proud to call son, and Parker..." His words dropped away, and Ethan smirked.

"Oh, you've got it BAD, big bro," he warned facetiously. "Every time you think of Parker, you get all gooey-eyed..."

"I'll show you gooey-eyed," Jarod crumpled some of his junk mail and tossed it across the desk at his brother on the couch.

"How's Sydney?"

Now his older brother simply nodded contentedly. "Healing, finally."

"What do you mean? I know Parker was worried, but maybe now you'll tell me. What happened?" Ethan minimized the emotions he'd felt - the fact was that there were several times when Parker's worry combined with mental images of Sydney had been almost overwhelming.

"He was shot - he was at the Centre stealing a vial of embryos from which they'd made Davy. A diversion went wrong," Jarod winced - but Ethan didn't know Angelo, "and shots were fired. One went through his upper gut. Eventually he had to have surgery to take care of the cause of peritonitis."

Ethan half-closed his eyes and nodded. "That would explain her worry," he agreed.

"What about you? Em said she hadn't been able to talk to you much..."

"I'm in fine shape, if you hadn't noticed..."

Jarod shook his head - Ethan's sense of humor took getting used to again. "I mean do you have time in your schedule tomorrow to bring me up to speed on our caseload - and discuss if you intend to keep this office open when I'm gone or want to join somebody else's?"

His younger brother stretched tiredly and sat up. "How about we have breakfast at your place early and get most of this talked out while we're both still VERY fresh."

"Sounds like a plan," Jarod agreed. "Right now I'm jet-lagged to the gills."

"Just think," Ethan reminded his brother pointedly with twinkling eyes, "you used to dash back and forth across the continent and hardly notice the time change."

"We all get older," Jarod retorted, wadding up and chucking a credit card application at his brother, hitting him in the cheek. "Some of us get wiser - but evidently not all of us..."

The paper wad sailed back in the opposite direction.

~~~~~~~~

Sonny Tanaka moved smoothly along in line with his fellow prisoners from the exercise yard back toward the cellblock. It was routine - something he'd been doing every day since he'd been sent here over nine years previous - to spend his hour slowly walking the perimeter of the exercise yard, staying safely away from the electrified fencing, and plotting his revenge. Nine years, now, he'd been waiting for Tommy to figure out a way to spring him from this hell-hole. Nine years, now, he'd been patient.

Tanaka rounded a corner and suddenly found himself pulled violently out of line and into a darkened corner - whether it was a guard or another prisoner, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that one moment he was walking back to a clean cell and supper afterwards, and in the next moment he was lying on the floor, gasping out his last breath from the killing stab wound that had pierced his heart as if it had had a bullseye tattooed on it.

It took the authorities ten minutes to figure out he was gone and then find him. By then, of course, all that was left of Sonny Tanaka was a body with a very surprised look on its dead face. Of a weapon and motive, there wasn't a single trace. The body was loaded unceremoniously onto a gurney and rolled down to the morgue for processing, and notice was sent out to the various police databases that Sonny Tanaka was no more.

Tokyo had the news within two hours.

~~~~~~~~

"What?"

"Good God - don't tell me you've started answering the phone like that again," Jarod groaned and stretched out on his couch, handset carefully tucked against a shoulder. "I could have sworn Sydney would have taught you better manners in the last few years..."

"My God but this brings back memories, although I appreciate it that you're not waiting until three in the morning before you call anymore," Miss Parker sighed, quickly wiping her hands on the dishtowel and moving to sit at her kitchen table. After the day she'd had, the sound of his voice in her ear was a balm. "How was your trip?"

"Smooth as silk - I think we skirted a storm over..."

"Jarod..." she stopped him tiredly.

"What?"

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "I suppose everybody there is thrilled to have you back?"

"Thrilled that I'm back, yes. Not so thrilled to find out I'm not staying, though Em isn't making a big fuss about it. I still have to face Jay and Nathan, Em's husband, tonight - and my mom." He doubted Nathan, who doted on Emily shamelessly, would raise much by way of commotion. Jay and Margaret, on the other hand...

"Well, just be glad your intrigues are straight-forward, and not the scheming and plotting I'm having to deal with here." She leaned her chin in her open hand. "Sam and Tyler are running themselves ragged trying to anticipate the moves those two renegade supervisors might pull and defuse them before they cause trouble."

"Did you get the security arranged for Sydney and the others?" Jarod asked quickly.

"They've all got 24/7 protection," she assured him.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" she countered. "I still have my Smith & Wesson here at the house, you know..."

"I know I'D feel better if you had a sweeper assigned to you," he urged her carefully, knowing better than to push too hard. "Humor me - please?"

"I'll think about it," she told him tiredly. "So... What are you up to tomorrow?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet - a lot will depend on whether Ethan or Jay wants this house." Jarod took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes with the side of his hand. That conversation would have to somehow get mixed into what would probably be a tense time around the dinner table tonight. "So anyway, I might be contacting a realtor in the morning, or I might not. I'm also going to have to put out feelers for a new psychiatric partner to team up with Ethan. He's been burning the candle at both ends trying to take care of a double case load - and that just can't continue. I'll probably start seeing patients myself tomorrow, just to make things flow more smoothly in the interim."

"Sounds like a full day," she sighed into his ear. "Sydney told me to keep my days full and busy, so that the time would go quickly."

"He's right, you know," Jarod's voice smiled at her. "How's Davy doing tonight?"

"Syd had him straightened right out by the time I got home," she chuckled. "I guess Davy must have been quite the handful, because after Davy apologized to me profusely for being such a twerp, he told me in confidence that he made his Grandpa mad."

"Hoo-boy!" Jarod whooped softly. "I take it Sydney's never really gotten angry at him before?"

"Uh-unh. And I can remember how Syd scared ME the one and only time he ever got mad at ME." Even now, the memory of that quiet and lethally hard voice was enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. "I'd have felt sorry for Davy except that I had been so angry at him myself this morning..."

Jarod was chuckling. "Yeah - I remember the few times he REALLY got mad with me too. Not something I would want to repeat, even now." He paused and rolled onto his side, the phone now caught by the pillow against his ear. "God, I miss you."

"I know, Jarod. I can't tell you how much I miss you!" she exclaimed in a voice that cracked slightly. "I know I'm being selfish, but PLEASE don't take too long out there."

"I'll be home as soon as I can, I promise," he repeated yet again, his eyes closed. "I tell you - I'm going to have a hard time getting to sleep tonight without you next to me."

"Me too," she told him, a tear dropping rebelliously onto a cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, Missy," he replied, his free hand to the bridge of his nose to try to stem his own tears. "I'll call you tomorrow night about this time - how's that?"

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," she promised softly. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

"Talk to you later, then."

"Yeah..."

"Jarod..."

"What?"

"Hang up."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Good night." Miss Parker was the one to finally disconnect - and the change in what had been an established pattern of behavior was not lost on her.

"Good night, my love," Jarod murmured into the dead handset, then jumped when it began to ring almost immediately. "What? Hello?"

"Jarod, Em's almost got dinner served over here," Margaret announced in a peevish tone. "I've been trying to call you for a while now. Who were you talking to for so long?"

He sighed. "I'll be there in just a few, Mom," and he hung up.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 5: Lines in the Sand


Ikeda held the little stick of incense to the candle's flame until it lit, then shook the flame away so that the end only smoldered. With a bow first, he put the stick end down into the ash bed of the incense holder that stood in front of the small metal statue of a seated Buddha. As ritual demanded, he took up the wooden stick and tapped the sides of the little golden meditation bell so that the clear sound reverberated through the room, then arranged himself comfortably on his heels in front of the low altar shelf to settle into meditation.

This morning ritual, drilled into him since childhood and abandoned as useless for so many years, had become a comfort to him in the days since his return from America. Many had been the times that he'd slyly teased Fujimori-san for his discipline and perseverance, only now to understand just how this quiet time of introspection could clear the mind. And now, more than ever, he desperately needed that mental clarity if he were going to see where his next steps were going to take him.

His position within the Yakuza organization had never phased him. He had trained for years in the use of many weapons and techniques to disarm, disable and kill - and then been given the status and opportunity to use those skills on the generally nefarious and unprincipled. He did not regret his killings, for the most part - most of those people had, by their own actions, assured their own violent ends one way or the other. He was only the instrument through which the power of Karma acted.

His passing along information on the Yakuza and its dealings to the Triumverate also had generally not phased him either. Both groups dealt with the underbelly of their societies - and neither stood on any moral high ground to claim insult except by virtue of any traditional expectations of loyalty. The Triumverate, after all, was mostly a money-dispensing agency that made it possible for its stockholders and investors to reap huge profits by the quickest and most dependable means - means that often included criminal activity. Helping the Triumverate protect it's investment in the Yakuza had never presented a conflict of loyalties before.

But the phone call that had just ended put that comfortable balancing act very much into jeopardy. He had genuinely hoped never to hear that cell phone ring again...

"Mushi-mushi..."

"Please hold for Ngawe," had come the heavily accented voice from the other end. Ikeda had sighed - it took a great deal of concentration to understand this form of English.

"Mr. Ikeda," another voice had spoken into his ear, more musical, more regal.

"Ngawe-sama, it is good to hear your voice. I was sorry to hear..."

"News will be reaching your Mr. Ueda shortly that Mr. Sonny Tanaka is no longer among the living," Ngawe had interrupted and then got straight to the point. "You will keep us appraised of any actions to be taken in answer to this event."

Ikeda had been silent. This new directive was in contradiction to the terms of the agreement he had made with the former head of the Triumverate, Mr. Mutombo, when he agreed to provide inside information to them for a hefty price. "I see," he had replied eventually in a very cautious tone.

"Do you have a problem with this task?" Ngawe had demanded, hearing the less-than-enthusiastic response.

"Yes, sir. If you will investigate the terms under which I agreed to work for your organization, I specified that I would never directly betray the Yakuza." Ikeda was in a corner; only the truth would suffice. "Your current request demands precisely that."

"You are extremely well-paid to forget the terms under which you began to work for us," Ngawe's voice had risen slightly as the elderly African's temper began to ignite.

"I recently checked my overseas account, and I note that I have yet to be compensated for the information I gave you while in America," the assassin had retorted very calmly. "In fact, I believe that I will relinquish that payment in lieu of submitting notice of resignation. I will not betray Yakuza."

"Now you listen to us, you hired gun," Ngawe had growled. "You do NOT want to oppose us right now. We intend to..."

"I wish you a speedy recovery, Ngawe-sama. We will not be speaking again. Sayonara." Ikeda had quickly disconnected the call and immediately turned off the cell phone. He had stripped the battery pack from the device and dropped the rest of it into his trash compactor with the day's garbage and crushed it.

And now he sat in front of his altar, the scent of sandalwood wafting gently through the room, and contemplated his options. Were he to report the call to Ueda-sama, at best he'd lose a thumb - at worst, he'd be wrapped in chains and dumped off the end of a dock into Tokyo Bay. He could keep his covert dealings a secret - provided that there wasn't another Triumverate mole in the Yakuza whose next order would be to betray him.

No, his future included neither Yakuza nor Triumverate.

Which, at the moment, left him nowhere to turn.

~~~~~~~~

"Here's to the conquering hero, returning from fighting the evil Centre on it's own ground," Jay toasted with his water goblet held high over his appetizingly full plate. "May they all rot in Hell."

"Here, here!" Margaret joined in the toast with her goblet raised high as well. She looked around the table, seeing the varying reactions to the toast. "C'mon, people. Let's toast our freedom!"

Em glanced at Jarod at the other end of the table and noted that he wasn't even looking up anymore. And while she was seriously tempted to join in the toast to Jarod's return, she knew that wishing everyone in Delaware ill would not sit well with her brother. "Mother..." she groaned in frustration.

Ethan merely sat back in his chair and shook his head at the entire display, unwilling to join in wishing ill to either his half-sister or his little nephew.

Nathan, Em's handsome husband, looked from one face to the other in some confusion. "Say, Jar, what's going on here?" he asked finally. "I thought that was why you went Back East - to take down the Centre."

Jarod finally looked up. At least his brother-in-law wasn't making any bones about his curiosity. "That's right," he replied evenly, refusing to even look at his mother. "And in the end, the Centre that we've all been so afraid of is gone." Now he looked directly at his younger brother - a cloned mirror of himself twenty years younger - and glared. "But I don't wish those who survived ill, and I won't join in a toast that does so." Finally he turned his glare to his mother. "And YOU should know better."

"What the hell..." Jay began, his brow curling together.

"How dare you!" Margaret hissed at her oldest.

"How dare YOU!" Jarod hissed back. "That's your grandson you're wishing to rot in Hell, if you hadn't noticed..."

"What?!" The exclamation of surprise burst from both Nathan and Jay.

"It seems we haven't heard the latest," Em patted her husband on the arm gently. "It seems that Jarod found out that he has a son while he was back there."

"Why the hell didn't you bring the kid back with you?" Jay demanded in angry confusion. "He didn't need to be left behind..."

"I left Davy with his mother," Jarod explained after taking a deep breath. "I would never take a child from his mother - and YOU of ALL people should appreciate that!" he glared at Margaret again.

"That bitch..." she muttered, then looked up at him challengingly. "Tell them who his mother IS, then," she dared him.

"They... The Centre created a child out of genetic material taken from me... and Miss Parker," he said clearly and carefully, keeping his mother's gaze firmly held by his own. "She thought all this time he was her little half-brother - but we uncovered the truth while she was HELPING ME put things in motion to bring down Raines and Lyle."

Jay had backed away from some of his ire as the details began to come clear to him. Not for the first time did he remember that odd day when the beautiful woman came into his space at Donoterase, telling him it was OK to cry and that she'd known someone just like him. "She helped you take down the Centre?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Jarod answered, his head held high. "And so did Sydney and Broots - and Miss Parker's sweeper, Sam." He looked around the room. "Yes, I could have managed it all by myself - but it worked out better when I had help."

"And this Miss Parker," Nathan's blond head was still swiveling from face to face around the table, trying to understand the dynamics involved. "She's..."

"The bitch that chased him back and forth around the world for years," Margaret's voice was bitter. "And now he's going back to HER..."

"What?" Jay burst out. "You're going... back?"

"Mommy, Unka Jarod going away again?" little Sammy's voice was the first to sound genuinely sorrowful.

Finally Em's limit had been reached. "Thanks, Mom - we were going to try to break it to Sammy gently, but you just HAD to get that barb in, didn't you?" She glared at her mother in frustration and bent to comfort her son.

"Sugar-coating it isn't going to change the facts," Margaret retorted defensively, stung that her grandson's tears were getting more sympathy than her point was. "The fact is that Jarod has decided that those people in Delaware mean more to him than..."

"STOP IT!" Jarod bellowed, fully angry now. "Mother, with all due respect, you're..." He sighed heavily instead of saying the hurtful words that were on the tip of his tongue. Neither his father nor Sydney would have approved. "I would have thought that having a son and not being able to see him or be with him all those years would help you understand how I feel - but..." Jarod sighed. From the expression in her eyes, he realized he could rail at his mother and yet never reach her.

"You know, I guess that the only way for me to handle this is just to put it out there and let each of you deal with it as you see fit. Yes, I'm going back to Delaware - to stay. I have a son, and I happen to be in love with my son's mother. I don't love them more than any of you, but I don't love them any less either. My only thought here is that I want to be with the woman I love and my son - and to do that, I have to go there. Miss Parker is now the Chairman of the Centre. Her job is there."

"You have a practice HERE," Margaret reminded him angrily, tossing her red and silver head.

"Yes, I do. I will be talking with Ethan tomorrow about whether we'll be looking for a new partner to take over my half of the practice, or whether we'll close the office and he'll find another practice to join." Jarod looked up at Ethan and found his half-brother nodding his head calmly.

"You're going back to the Centre?!" Jay asked, dumbfounded. "After all these years and all that talk about how they're so evil..."

"Miss Parker is working to change all that. Raines and Lyle are dead - which means that the only people with any unethical agendas are out of the picture." Jarod reached out to his younger brother. "I have a chance to help make the Centre into what it should have been all along. I can't just walk away."

Nathan shook his head and sat back in his chair. "Well, for what it's worth, Jar, I don't blame you. A man needs to be with his son." He reached over and ruffled the hair of his own boy as Sammy huddled against his mother's side. "Em, what do you think?"

"I think we need to let Jarod decide how and where he lives his life," the brunette said after some thought. "I don't like it that he'll be moving so far away from the rest of us - but nothing says that we can't visit, or that he can't come visit us. It isn't as if he's walking off the face of the planet..."

"Thanks, Em," Jarod smiled at his sister. "That means a lot."

"What would your father say?" Margaret tossed out, seeing the tide of opinion slowly turn against her utter rejection of Jarod's plans toward reluctant acceptance. It was quite possibly the only trump card she knew would make her oldest son stop and think.

But she was wrong. Jarod turned his warm and sad chocolate eyes to her. "Mom, I think Dad would understand why I have to do this. He'd understand, like Nathan does, that a man should be with his son." He wished he could make this easier on her. "And with the woman he loved."

Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. "How can you love her, Jarod? She chased you for years - shot at you..."

Jarod's lips turned up at the edges. "She was my best friend when we were younger, and no matter what else happened between us, she was still my best friend. And when she shot at me, if she'd been aiming AT me, she would have hit me. She's too good not to have." Now he smirked. "If I remember correctly, Sydney used to tell me about the bad time her father and brother gave her every time her gun “misfired” or “jammed”."

"She's a Parker - and Parkers aren't to be trusted." The statement was absolute.

"She CAN be," Jarod shook his head gently. "I just hope that one day you'll see that."

~~~~~~~~

The darkness was like a gentle ocean upon which he floated in timeless comfort. And yet, now, new/old sensations teased at the edges of his perception - a heaviness slowly overtook him and dragged him down. He took a breath, and then another, and found that he was starting to see through the darkness - a dim glow of light beyond a barrier. He tried to move and yet was prevented; something was holding him down tightly and yet comfortably.

Finally he took a deep breath and let the light tickle his eyelids into moving, first a little bit, and then more and more until they fluttered open. Fujimori blinked several times, then sighed in deep frustration to find himself still trapped in the same hospital room he'd tried to escape through seppuku. He lifted his head slowly and saw that his wrist - carefully bandaged from where he'd torn his own flesh open - was cuffed in softly padded leather and buckled to the railings on either side of his bed.

He let his head fall back into his pillow in defeat. His Karma must be strong to have kept him trapped in this lifetime rather than floating towards a new rebirth - hopefully into a life where he'd never hear the word “Yakuza.”

There was movement to his left, and with growing horror he watched the man who had been sitting quietly in a chair rose to his feet. This was a new observer - gai-jin, not African - but the idea that he had no privacy at all was distressing. The gai-jin came over to look down into his face, the foreign-looking non-Japanese features utterly inscrutable. "You're awake," the man said in smooth American English.

Fujimori moved his lips, but no noise arose.

The gai-jin reached for the water pitcher and poured a little in a glass, then held it so that he could capture the straw in his mouth and pull a little of the refreshingly wet liquid.

"Thank you." His voice was a whisper from dryness and disuse.

"My boss has some questions for you," the gai-jin nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Now don't you go anywhere before I get back..." He walked from the room chortling softly to himself.

Fujimori's brow curled weakly. He most definitely was NOT in the mood for jokes.

~~~~~~~~

Ueda read the memo that his assistant had handed him after a most abject bow, then looked up at the man sharply. "How could such a thing have happened?"

"We have no way of knowing, Ueda-sama. The gai-jin authorities had placed Tanaka-sama in a prison with no other members of the Yakuza in the immediate area, so we have no information resources other than what we can gather from the police databases themselves." Konde Hiro shrugged his shoulders. He had joined the Yakuza in the days after Tommy's father had received his jail sentence - and while he understood the traditional loyalty Yakuza felt toward their own while incarcerated, Sonny Tanaka had been gone from the organization long enough that he really didn't care.

"Unacceptable," Ueda shook his head. "It cannot be mere coincidence that Sonny spend over nine years in this prison, calmly minding his own business and serving his term, only to suddenly be dragged into a dark corner and done away with in this fashion."

"You don't suppose that this is Centre retaliation for..."

Ueda was already shaking his head more vigorously. "I heard from Mayeda-san late last night. I seriously doubt that a Centre bent on revenge would be fully reimbursing us our deposits on contracts, with interest, no less."

"Hmmmmm." Konde had to admit that the chances of both actions being taken by the same chain of command were very slim. "Who then?"

"If I had to put money on a candidate," Ueda pronounced carefully, "I'd guess that we are starting to see the consequences of having harmed the head of the Triumverate without actually having killed him." He waved the memo. "Something tells me we'd have been better off killing him."

"We could always call in Ikeda-san to take care of that. That IS what he does best, you know..." Konde suggested.

"I don't think so," Ueda shook his head. "If I were Ngawe, and I were pissed because some ronin dropped a building on me to the point that I wanted to take out the ronin's entire operation, I think the FIRST thing I'd do would be to get myself into as invulnerable a place and position as I could."

"And where is this Ngawe now?" Konde asked pointedly. "With all due respect, Ueda-sama, but do we even know?"

"We know, Hiro-san. He's in the same hospital that Fujimori's in - the one in Dover."

"And are hospitals invulnerable, sir?" Konde asked again. "Perhaps a strategic strike at the head of the serpent will save us all a LOT of trouble."

Ueda stared at Konde for a moment, the pushed the button on his intercom. "Reiko-san, have Ikeda Katsuhito come to my office as soon as possible." He nodded to his assistant and gestured for the man to take a seat. "Perhaps you have a point. Let's see what Ikeda-san himself has to say about the idea."

~~~~~~~~

"This is Sydney."

"What do you do when you want to disown your own mother, Sydney?" Jarod grumbled into the handset of his phone in utter frustration.

"I'm doing fine, Jarod, thanks for asking," the Belgian smiled back into the phone.

Jarod sighed. "I'm sorry, Sydney."

"I take it that your mother is being no more reasonable with you on that side of the country than she was while you were here?" Sydney leaned back into his comfortable recliner in the den and let the footrest come up and support his legs.

"Not one inch."

"Did you really expect her to see it your way that easily?" he asked the younger man in his best professional tone.

"Why won't she listen to reason?" the Pretender complained bitterly.

"Because this goes beyond the bounds of reason, Jarod - this is a matter of the heart, not the head," Sydney explained patiently. "We talked about some of this before you left. Your mother is still dealing with the death of your father, and now with the idea that you're going to be walking out of her day-to-day life too. From the sounds of things, her time on the run and looking for you has made her a bit unstable emotionally."

"And how!" Jarod inserted in disgust.

"In which case," Sydney continued in almost a lecturer's cadence, "the most effective course of treatment would be to slowly and consistently bring her existing support network to her attention, and repeat the lesson often enough that she remembers that they're there." He slipped his glasses from his face and rubbed his tired eyes. "She is so focused on what YOU'RE up to that she's forgetting that she has all the rest of her children around her. You need to help her remember them."

The younger man mulled over his mentor's words and then filed them for further inspection a little later. "I never thought, when I was dreaming of putting my family back together, that I'd end up with this kind of mess!"

Sydney chuckled. "That sounds a lot like Kevin wondering to me if family life was always as chaotic as ours has been," he explained, still laughing softly. "Neither of you has really had much to work with other than an ideal model - reality is far more interesting, and complicated." He wiped a hand over his face to rid himself of the trickling hilarity from the corners of his eyes. "What about the rest of your family - am I mistaken in that I'm NOT hearing you gripe about any of the others?"

"Actually, the rest were like Em - not very happy about the development, but could see my point in the end." Jarod stretched himself out on his bed, amazed at how comfortable he got almost immediately. "The only one seriously upset besides Mom is Sammy - and that's because he's afraid I'll miss his birthday party next week."

"And Sammy is..."

"Em's little boy - he turns five."

Sydney was quiet for a long moment. "Another thing you might try with your mother is to simply be patient and consistent in letting her know that no matter how desperate her histrionics might get, you ARE going to be moving to Delaware. I would be willing to guess that she's currently hoping that if she makes life miserable enough for you in the short term, you'll change your mind." He paused and thought again. "Of course, hopefully she'll begin to see that she's making her own suffering by trying to hang onto you so tightly - but you may still want to enlist the help of a grief counselor for her. I think we mentioned that a while back too..."

"I want to talk to Em about that first," Jarod nodded against his pillow. Now it was his turn to think. "How are things on your end? I understand you and Davy met head to head..."

"Like father, like son," Sydney smiled. "He misses you desperately and didn't know how to communicate it properly."

"So you turned on your nice, quiet, Inquisitor's voice, pulled your lethal “bad-guy/good-guy” number on him and got him quaking in his boots?"

Now the older psychiatrist laughed out loud. "Is that how you describe it?"

"No," Jarod chuckled back. "When I think of the rather small number of times you did that to me, I generally lump them under “I really, REALLY pissed Sydney off that time!” and then promise myself all over again NEVER to try whatever set you off like that again."

"As long as it worked..."

Jarod whistled low. "Oh, it worked, alright. You usually had me ready to agree to almost anything to get the real you back. You must not have lost your touch - Parker was telling me tonight that Davy had confided in her that he'd “REALLY made Grandpa mad.” She mentioned you'd pulled it on her once too - I didn't know that..."

"That happened after you left," Sydney left the explanation at that. He still felt guilty at the way his discipline had been the final push that had sent Miss Parker into a minor nervous breakdown, despite the real benefits that had eventually come from it in the long run.

Sydney's reticence was clear, and Jarod obligingly dropped the subject. Instead: "How's Kevin?"

"Still thoroughly impressed with his first trip to the cinema," Sydney chuckled again. "Deb took him to see some action/adventure show."

"I can imagine." Jarod was chuckling now too. "I remember my first time in a movie theatre - I couldn't figure out how projecting the movie onto such a huge screen would be anything but out of focus."

"Deb, bless her little pointed head, has also decided that she's going to teach him to like junk food..." the older man complained with a fond smile as he thought of the interesting discussion he and his granddaughter had had over the supper table. "She's already got him addicted to popcorn while watching movies..."

"I'll have to suggest PEZ and Pop Tarts..." Jarod grinned, knowing exactly what the younger Pretender was going through and appreciating the help that Kevin would get that he hadn't in his early days of freedom.

"Don't you DARE!" Sydney was aghast. "That young man needs a tasty and BALANCED diet to make up for that tasteless nutritional swill..."

"I'm kidding, Sydney," Jarod soothed, still chuckling, "at least, I am, more or less. I think one of the things all escaped Pretenders have to contend with is an insatiable sweet tooth. You might as well give up - between Deb's determination and Kevin's deprivation, you're doomed..." The Pretender continued to chuckle for a bit, then sobered. "Thanks, Sydney. I needed that spot of trivial nonsense to put the mess here into perspective."

"I've done my good deed for the day, then - and with that, I think I'm going to call it a night," the older man announced. "I wish you luck with your mother - I wish I could help more."

"You've helped a lot more than you know. And now, just take care of yourself and help me take care of Parker and Davy," Jarod said softly. "I need you all to be safe and secure for when I get back. Give them all my love when you see them."

"That I can do. Goodnight, Jarod."

"Sleep well, Sydney. Goodnight."

~~~~~~~~

Ueda nodded at his security, who reached out and opened the door to let Ikeda Katsuhiro - elite assassin to the Tokyo Yakuza - come into the office. The man was impeccably attired in a somber navy business suit and blazingly white shirt, and his dark eyes were calm and cold. Ikeda walked sedately to just in front of the huge desk of his superior and bowed deeply. "You sent for me, Ueda-sama?"

"Hai. I have a new assignment for you - one that could prove to be dangerous." Ueda watched the face of his best assassin carefully as he motioned the man to have a seat.

Ikeda and others like him had always been an enigma to him. It was one thing to be in charge of or participating in decidedly criminal activities wherein the victim ultimately brings his/her fate upon themselves - it was quite another to willingly shoulder the responsibility for taking the life of another, regardless of the reason given. Having come up through the ranks of Yakuza, he appreciated the valuable resource such dangerous men represented, but he never made the mistake of taking either their loyalty or unquestioning complicity for granted.

For his part, Ikeda focused his mind carefully on the intake and outtake of air into his lungs to maintain the illusion of serenity. To get this summons so soon after Ngawe's call was unnerving - something he couldn't afford to let his boss know at all. "I am your servant, Ueda-sama, as always. What is it that you wish me to do?"

"What do you know of the organization called The Triumvirate?"

The assassin brutally disciplined himself to keep from glancing up into his boss' face in stark surprise and discomfort. Appearing only to sort through his thoughts, he resisted the urge to panic at the idea that Ueda had found out something after all. "The Triumvirate," he replied in a deceptively calm voice, "began as a consortium of wealthy businessmen from Nigeria, Uganda and Rwanda seeking a means of investing their money outside the continent of Africa and making a profit. Their portfolio of investments has never been particularly discriminatory as to the mechanics of making a profit provided that the profit is sizeable and in a timely manner."

"I wasn't expecting a history lesson," Ueda said shortly, then relented somewhat. "Although I appreciate some of that information. It explains a great deal. However," he leaned back in his chair expectantly, "I was looking for how much you know about the current hierarchy."

Ikeda nodded and took a deep breath. "Each country's bloc of voting businessmen send an elected representative to Nairobi, and then the entire consortium membership votes on which one of those three men they feel is most qualified to lead the Triumvirate. At the moment, the leader is a man named Ngawe - a former arms dealer from Nigeria. His immediate two associates are Ugo Agunde, a diamond speculator from Rwanda, and Chele M'basa, a banker from Uganda."

Ueda gazed at his assassin with frank amazement. "You know a great deal about them, it seems," he commented quietly.

"Tanaka-sama made a point of keeping me informed of when my current assignment might run me afoul of this organization or his agendas..." Ikeda answered easily. Telling the truth was so much safer than lying. "...especially in the unsettling days after the unfortunate assassination of the previous leader, a Mr. Timoto Mutumbo." He could finally look his boss in the eye without a hint of expression in either his face or eyes.

"Hmmm," Ueda nodded slowly, content with the explanation. Tanaka-sama had run his house quite differently, the new Yakuza boss knew all too well - and very likely had taken Ikeda-san into confidence with some of this information. "This Ngawe-sama, it seems, was in Delaware when a rather ill-conceived plan of Tanaka-sama went awry. The bomb that was supposed to take out the Centre was set off while Ngawe was on a visit to the Centre facility."

"He was one of the ones rescued, was he not?" Ikeda asked carefully, knowing that the names of the people rescued from the rubble of the tower had been made public long ago.

"My sources say that yes, he was rescued - but not without serious injury, and without starting to nurse a serious grudge against us." Ueda sighed. "And, it seems, he has ordered a first strike on our people to make that point plain to us. Tanaka Setsuo was killed in prison late last night."

"Indeed!" As Ngawe himself had predicted, the news had traveled fast.

"I have decided that our answer to this outrage needs to be as outrageous as the injury dealt us," Ueda pronounced, and then leaned forward to hand his assassin a glossy packet of papers. "This is a round-trip ticket back to Delaware. I want you to see to it that this Ngawe finds his way to his ancestors... with all due haste."

Ikeda took the tickets hesitantly. "You want me to eliminate the leader of the Triumverate?" he asked, wanting to make absolutely sure that he had understood Ueda's intent.

"Your plane leaves in three hours," the Tokyo Yakuza boss stated grimly. "Be sure you don't miss your flight - and be sure your actions in this matter do NOT come under scrutiny of any kind. We are killing a serpent by lopping off its head before it bites us -we don't need to be smothered when the coils wrap themselves around us mindlessly."

Ikeda stood and bowed deeply. "I am your servant, Ueda-sama."

"Good hunting. That will be all."

Ikeda bowed again and walked from the office on legs that trembled inside with the knowledge that at that point, no matter which way he turned, he was a walking dead man.

~~~~~~~~

The noisy jangling of the telephone next to the bed penetrated with the diplomacy of a hand grenade the soft dream Berringer was having of seducing his favorite showgirl. Grunting as the vision of seductive breasts and thighs awaiting his touch evaporated into sheets and bedspreads, the Nevadan rolled over and fumbled for the handset. "It's only..." He glanced at his travel clock on the nightstand. "...seven o'clock in the damned morning - so whatever this is better be life-threatening..."

"Have you heard from Santini yet?" Flores demanded in an unreasonably awake and functioning voice, considering the amount of tequila the two of them had put down the night before.

"Wha... Gil!" Berringer propped himself up on an elbow. "What the hell do you think you're doing, waking me up at this hour..."

"Have you heard from Santini yet?" the Hispanic repeated in a less-patient tone.

"No, of course I haven't - Christ! We only talked to him yesterday, and he told us he was going to have to talk to his superiors about it. I honestly don't expect to hear anything much before tomorrow, if you wanna know the truth - which you probably don't..."

Flores was up and pacing, his cell phone held tightly to his ear. "The longer he takes..."

"Something neither of us can help," Berringer reminded him pointedly.

"...the more chance that Parker bitch has to put us in a box. I've got Miguel convinced to keep an eye on the main office, but..."

"Shit!" Berringer rolled himself to a sitting position off the edge of the bed. "Have you lost your mind? We can't afford to bring in too many players on this, Gil - the conflicting interests and promises won't do us a bit of good."

"I trust Miguel to keep the place secure until we get back," Flores insisted belligerently. "I've even got him stealing a shipment of dope from the Yakuza as payment for services rendered."

Berringer put his face in his empty hand and shook his head. "You're running off with this, and your impatience is going to get us all killed - by the Yakuza if not by Parker herself."

"Yeah? Well all this sit around and wait crap is driving me crazy!"

"Do you want to do this right or not?" Berringer demanded in a very quiet and dangerous tone.

"Stu..."

"Don't Stu... me. You listen to me and you listen good! You're going to sit on your hands and not make anymore phone calls until we hear back from Eddie - and THEN we'll start making plans."

"That could take days..." Flores waved his hands impotently in the air.

"Better it take days than get us both killed, asshole!" Berringer spat, rapidly running out of patience with his former protégé. "We're playing for pretty damned big stakes here - and we gotta keep our wits about us if we're going to stand the least chance of winning."

"What about if we..."

"No, Gil. No more. I'm with you if you want to take out the Parker woman and get our operations back to full capacity - but if you're going to play loose cannon, shooting your mouth off and pushing first one hot button and then the next, you're on your own." The Nevadan rose. "Listen to me. Sit tight - and meet me downstairs for coffee in fifteen minutes. Do you think you can do THAT right?"

Berringer heard the click of the call disconnecting and slammed the telephone handset back into the cradle. Flores was going to screw everything up if somebody didn't tie that little bastard down and sit on him, hard! He went to the dresser and pulled fresh underwear from a drawer and stomped off toward the shower. He needed to do SOMETHING to help calm him down before he throttled that little bastard at first sight in the coffee shop this morning...

Maybe a hot shower would cool down his temper. Maybe not...

~~~~~~~~

Tyler pulled his coupe to a stop in front of the little store and climbed out. It was his turn to stop and get coffee for Miss Parker, Sam and himself - their eight-thirty meeting to bring each other up to speed before the day got started was rapidly becoming a set part of the day's agenda - and this combination deli and mini-mart was the best place to get it. Besides, Miss Parker had mentioned in passing yesterday, with an odd little smile, that this little store had a new early-morning cashier...

"Hey there!" Deb smiled at him as she tied on her apron.

"Ah! So this is what she meant when she said that your mornings were now taken," he smiled at her, leaning on the counter next to the register.

"She who?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I'll just thank her for the clue."

"OK..." she shrugged and then reached behind herself. "What can I do for you?" she asked saucily, pulling her long braid from beneath the fabric neck strap with a casual hand.

"Three coffees will do it for now," he drawled in a thicker accent. "But maybe I could interest you in something after work tonight?"

Deb tossed a surprised smile at him as she busied herself with pouring and capping three cups of steaming liquid. "Oh? What are you thinking?"

He turned on his brightest grin. "I don't know - I was thinking maybe... dinner in Dover?"

"Dinner, huh?" she pondered as she rang up the coffee purchase on the register. "That'll be three seventy-five."

He dug in his wallet for the four dollar bills. "Yeah - there's a really nice Texas-style steak house that I haven't had an excuse to patronize for the last month or so. I thought maybe that would give you a break from cooking for a change."

"That would be kinda nice," she admitted, then smiled up at him as she handed him quarter change. "Do you want me to meet you there, or..."

"Oh, let me do the driving," Tyler insisted with a flashing smile.

"It's just that I'm already in Dover to visit my Dad in the afternoons..."

"How's he doing?" Tyler inquired, very aware that this girl's father's health was a big concern of his boss as well.

She merely shrugged, not quite concealing her worry. "Same as always - still out. The doctors think another week like this, and then they'll let him wake up again."

"Still..." He couldn't help seeing her worry and wanting to do something to distract her. "How about I pick you up at Parker's dad's house at about... what? Six-thirty? That IS where you're staying lately, right?"

Deb tipped her head, not used to hearing Sydney referred to as Miss Parker's dad. "Yeah. Sounds good to me - gives me a chance to set them up for eats before I leave."

Tyler's dark brows pulled together a bit. "This is supposed to be getting you OUT of the kitchen, little lady," he complained.

"Grandpa isn't ready to take up cooking yet, and Kevin would probably burn water," she told him with a fond smile. "I don't want them to starve..."

"I know - I'll suggest that Miss Parker bring pizza home to them after work," he grinned in pride at having thought through a solution. "That'll feed the “boys” and still get you out of the kitchen."

"Alright," Deb grinned back at him. "I'll see you at six-thirty then."

"Yes, ma'am!" Tyler tugged at his forelock politely and shot a glance down the aisle to where Curt, the sweeper Sam had assigned to Deb and Kevin, watched his every move with an eagle eye. He waved at the man and smiled when the sweeper waved back slightly in surprise, then took his cardboard carrier of coffee and backed out the door, winking at Deb as he left.

The day was certainly starting out well.

~~~~~~~~

Sam listened to the sweeper assigned to listen in on the telephone conversations of Flores and Berringer with a growing grin. Flores was proving to be a loose cannon even to his confederate in mutiny - and knowing this was going to make things very interesting. He glanced over at the co-opted kitchen clock that now hung on his office wall and saw that he had about ten minutes yet before he was expected in Miss Parker's office for coffee and updates.

"If you have a number for that cell phone, get a trace into that as well," he instructed his man, "or bug it if you can. We want to keep as close track on where those men go and who they talk to as we can."

"We'll get the bugs into Berringer's and Flores' cell phone tonight after they go to sleep," the sweeper promised. "Those two tend to put down a healthy amount of tequila just before nighty-night time - we should be able to do the job without them being the wiser, now that we are starting to get a handle on the way they do things."

"See to it, then." Sam stood. "Check back in with me a lunchtime.

"Yes, sir."

Sam hung up the phone and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. If it weren't for the threat posed by those two clowns calling in mobsters of all shapes and sizes and ethnicities, this mutiny would be a joke. He yawned, still not entirely awake before his first cup of coffee for the day, and walked from his office down the corridor towards Miss Parker's.

"She in?" he asked the pretty Chinese secretary and was greeted with her wide smile.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Atlee. Go on in." She gestured gracefully towards the wooden door behind her desk and then returned her attention to the computer screen in front of her.

Sam looked back at Mei Chiang before he knocked on the door. He had to admit that Lyle had had good taste in secretaries - then grimaced at his own horrible and horrific wordplay. The girl was now virtually unique to the organization, one of the last of an entire group of Hong Kong Chinese girls brought to the Centre by Mr. Lyle that slowly had thinned through the years. Nobody ever asked the questions, and none of the surviving girls had ever offered theories as to where their compatriots had gone. But Mei Chiang had long since caught HIS eye - and only Miss Parker's rank had made him back away from trying to hire her himself.

Hire her nothing, he chided himself and deliberately turned and knocked on the door. One of these days, he was going to get brave and ask her out to dinner. Her slender form and soft, accented voice fascinated him. Sam blinked at the sound of Miss Parker's voice from within calling just a bit louder this time, "I said, come in," and then pushed through the door, shaking his head free of dreams that belonged at home and not at work.

"Flores is getting cagey," he announced to her as he found his regular seat in one of the chairs pulled up close to her desk. "He's using his cell phone more often - probably to avoid phone taps in the hotel itself." As the eyebrow cocked, he continued, "I'm having both his and Berringer's cells bugged tonight after they drink themselves into bed again."

"Ah," she nodded. "What's the latest from our daring duo?"

"Flores is getting really itchy for action too," Sam replied. "Report is that he claims to have a fellow named “Miguel” watching the LA office for him - and paid the guy by giving him information on a Yakuza drug shipment that, with Flores removing security, will be free for the grabbing."

"Wasn't he going to sell that shipment out to the feds instead?" Miss Parker asked quickly, perking up.

"From the sound of things, this guy is all over the map," Sam shook his head. "Even Berringer is starting to come to the conclusion that Flores is his own worst enemy. Surveillance at the hotel coffee shop report that they argued almost non-stop for forty-five minutes about all the different groups that have been called in to assist, and how easy it would be to slip up and give two of them the same carrot. Flores couldn't care less - he just wants something to DO. NOW."


"What did I miss?" Tyler asked as he came through the door, coffee carrier extended forward so that both of his companions could snag their morning fix as quickly as possible.

"Just that our Los Angeles supervisor is getting antsy and changing his mind about all kinds of things," Miss Parker informed him as she settled back into her chair, coffee cup cradled against her chest. "Yesterday he was going to let that Yakuza shipment go to the feds - and now he has it promised to his Mexican mob friends as payment for keeping an eye on OUR LA office."

"Yah don't say," Tyler drawled with a slow and mischievous grin growing on his face.

"The Texan has an idea," Sam announced solemnly.

"No duh," Miss Parker quipped dryly, although her smile dulled the words down to just another bit of banter. It was getting to be interesting, watching these two very efficient and capable men strive to out-do each other sometimes - other times inspire each other. "What are you thinking?" she asked Tyler then. "You look like the cat that ate the canary."

"Well, we WERE going to call the feds ourselves, weren't we?" Tyler answered her question with another and then grinned. "And the Yakuza are going to lose their shipment anyway, aren't they?"

"Hell, technically that's MY shipment - I've already paid for it!" Miss Parker frowned at him, then halted as his point suddenly became clear to her. "Oh, Tyler!" She began to smirk too.

"Oh c'mon!" Sam looked back and forth between them in frustration, utterly lost. "That's not fair!"

"I cain't he'p it if y'all's slow on the uptake, big guy," Tyler drawled back at him with a big smirking grin.

"Tyler..." Miss Parker glowered at him for a moment, then took pity on her Security Chief. "It's simple, Sam. Flores WAS going to call in the feds, and now he isn't - so we should call the feds in ourselves. They catch the Mexican mob ripping off the Yakuza - supposedly - and maybe make Mexican mob a bit skittish at pitching in much further on Flores' account."

"Not to mention get a healthy dose of real BAD stuff from hitting the streets," Tyler added seriously. "If we time it right, we could spill all our information on the LA office's dealings at about the same time - and it should be well within that two day timeframe that Miss Parker gave Mayeda before the feds act on THAT tip and start cleaning house for us."

"We'll have to time that just right," Sam mused aloud - if Flores and Berringer are footloose and fancy-free about the time the feds raid the LA office, and they find out about it, they'll be spooked and go to ground. We'll have a helluva time finding or figuring out just what their next move will be."

"What about calling another meeting of the supervisors?" Tyler suggested. "We haven't really let very many of them go yet - and we could give the excuse that we're in the process of finding some very real problems within the current organization."

"Too bad we can't just lock them up somewhere," Miss Parker grumbled. "I never thought I'd see the days when I wished that those cells down in SL-25 were still accessible!"

"We wouldn't have to hold them for long, would we?" Sam asked, looking back and forth for confirmation. "Couldn't we just turn them over when we call in the feds in the first place - as part of our show of dedication to “cleaning house” when we found corruption in the ranks?"

Miss Parker looked back and forth between her assistants. "I like it. OK. Tyler, make that supervisor's meeting happen - Sam, find someplace where we can keep these two jokers on ice until we call in the feds." She sat back and nodded in satisfaction. "We just gotta hang tough a little bit more..."

~~~~~~~~

Gillespie nodded to the agent currently sitting guard and suicide watch in the private hospital room. "Is he awake?"

"Yeah," the agent nodded with a knowing expression. "Don't let the closed eyes and even breathing fool you. He's been watching ME for about an hour now."

The FBI SAC nodded back and moved over to the side of the bed, pulling his ID from his pocket. "Mr. Fujimori, my name is Thomas Gillespie, and I'm Special Agent in Charge of the FBI office here in Dover. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you..."

"I no speekee Eenglich," Fujimori mimicked one of the more grossly obtuse semi-literate accents that he'd worked for years to overcome otherwise.

"Nice try, wise guy," Gillespie shook his head and pulled the chair next to the bed just a little bit closer and sat down. "A degree in foreign languages from Tokyo University and a certified translator speaks English just fine, I think." Hazel eyes bored unflinching holes into the ebony ones gazing up at him from the pillow. "Wanna try that again?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Fujimori sighed and turned his head to the side - the only way he could get the American lawman's face out of his sight.

"Well, let me see if I have all your information straight," Gillespie sighed and opened the file he had carried into the room with him and began to read. "Fujimori Torii, born Aug 13, 1964 in Nara Prefecture, graduated with honors 1986 from Tokyo University in foreign languages, first arrested in association with Yakuza activities March 23, 1983 for selling grades to fellow students. Many and sundry arrests follow graduation for mostly petty offenses, nothing that earned you very much jail time." Gillespie's hazel eyes narrowed. "But you were working your way up in the ranks - in 1992, Sonny Tanaka made you his second in command, a post that you held even after he was arrested here in the states and his son Tommy took over. You were here, with Tommy, at the Centre when the bomb went off. Did I miss anything?"

Fujimori kept his face averted and simply closed his eyes and sighed again wordlessly.

The FBI agent sighed too. "Well, let me run THIS past you and see if you still think silence is a great idea. We have evidence linking the detonator of the bomb that took out the Centre administration Tower to a research firm in Nagasaki - and our forensics boys have traced the chemical signature of the C-4 explosive to the same firm. That means the bomb that took out the Centre Tower originated in Japan - which in turn suggests a high probability of Yakuza complicity in the deaths of forty-two people at the very least. As a high-ranking member of said Yakuza present at the time of the explosion, that means that you may very well have to answer for those deaths."

Finally the Japanese could keep silent no longer. "You are not thinking logically, Mr. FBI. If Yakuza were responsible for planting the bomb at the Centre, then what was Mr. Tanaka himself doing IN the Centre when the bomb went off?" Ebony eyes became just as penetrating, and Gillespie held the gaze with difficulty.

"I haven't figured that out yet," he admitted with a small shrug, "but my gut still tells me I'm onto something here. What I'm really hoping you can help me with," he drew out a photograph and held it up so that Fujimori could see the face it pictured, "is this man. Any idea who he is?"

"You Americans all look the same to me." The man in the bed sighed in frustration, flinching inwardly to see Damien's face again - not to mention the damage that had been done in the process of trying to put the man down before he carried out his job, an effort utterly wasted. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Gillespie's brows rose. "You just don't know very much, do you?" He only paused a second because he knew that there was no response to that statement possible. It was the truth. "And, you know, I just really don't believe that you're THAT uninformed. Tanaka's second in command would probably be one of the MOST informed people in the area, by my thinking."

"Believe what you will," Fujimori sighed again.

The FBI agent just shook his head. This interview was going absolutely nowhere, and his patience was starting to be seriously stressed. "Explain to me this then: when my men got here, you were being - uh... I suppose the term is “guarded” - by security personnel answering to another victim of the Centre bombing: a Mr. Otamo Ngawe. I suppose you know nothing about that, either." He watched in dismay as the Japanese face turned away from him again. "Uh-huh. One last question: WHY did you try to kill yourself, Mr. Fujimori?"

"None of your business, Mr. Gillespie," Fujimori pronounced without inflection or accent - and without looking at the agent. "And now, if you will excuse me, I'm very tired." He closed his eyes again and silently began chanting his mantras again, deliberately pulling his attention from the room around him and the gai-jin in it.

Gillespie watched the Japanese patient for a long moment, then rose and moved his chair back against the wall. "You keep a GOOD eye on him," he directed the agent occupying the chair across the room. "No closed curtains except during doctor and nurse exams - no more suicide attempts. We want Mr. Fujimori to regain his health as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir!" The seated agent uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way, obviously settling down for a lengthy stay.

Fujimori heard the door of his room gently close but didn't lose the pace of his chanting. Even the presence of the other gai-jin FBI agent no longer registered, no longer mattered. They would get no willing offer of information from him - and he was ready for whatever else Karma and American justice had to throw at him. It just didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.

~~~~~~~~

Siskele waited until the nurse had finished raising the head of his uncle's bed and helping the elderly gentleman to sit up straighter before approaching. He could see the real reluctance and discomfort NOT having an African nurse was causing the older man, and he admired the grudging patience with which the care he was receiving was being accepted. Once the nurse finally finished her fussing and pushed through the door on her way back to the nurse's station, Siskele leaned in closer. "There is word, sir."

"Good!" Ngawe replied immediately. "Tell us."

"A small and elite group of our best men broke into the warehouse we were told was one of the major arms depots for the entire American end of the Yakuza last night..."

"Yes," the elderly man smiled widely. "And..."

Siskele shuddered. "Nothing, sir. The place was empty."

"WHAT?!" Ngawe thundered. "Our informant told us that this warehouse has been in continual use for over ten years now - were we misinformed as to location? What happened?"

The younger man shook his head. "There was plenty of evidence that the warehouse had been well-used, and not that long ago - but whatever HAD been stored there is now long gone. The office was absolutely empty of any paperwork on shipping or receiving. The place was completely cleaned out."

Ngawe glowered at his nephew, then took a deep breath and began to think. "Were they warned of our intents? Could there be a leak?"

"I don't know how, sir," Siskele shrugged, thoroughly stumped. "It isn't as if they can just plant one of theirs in our midst, you know..."

"Well..." The elderly African looked up with raised eyebrows. "We did manage to plant one of OURS with them, did we not?"

"Not exactly, sir. We simply paid one of theirs extremely well to give us information when we asked for it." Siskele knew it was dangerous to correct the head of the entire organization, but the point was an important one. "We have no one originally loyal to the Triumverate planted with the Yakuza."

"Damn!" Ngawe pounded his fist into the mattress next to his useless leg. "Then our next target will need to be a more sure one. The Yakuza have plenty of merchandise moving in and out of the LA port all the time - a good deal of it very expensive and highly sought after. Check the records we have and take control of as many of those shipments as we can. We must increase the pressure on these slant-eyed devils - and show them NEVER to do harm to our interests again." His eyes as he looked up at his nephew were burning with an internal fire. "We will make them pay many times over for what they've done - and then, when they have no more money to do business here, we will absorb them and crush them."

"Yes, sir." Siskele nodded, convinced by his uncle's fervor.

"Tell them that failure to take control of Yakuza shipping matters is not acceptable," the older man announced implacably. "We MUST cut their source of funding first of all now. Without money, the organization will fall into chaos."

"Yes, sir," the younger man nodded and headed for the door. "I'll get right on it!"

"Damn!" Ngawe pounded his fist into the mattress again and again. "DAMN THEM!"

~~~~~~~~

Mayeda looked up from his reading the Tokyo newspaper at the knock on his office door. "What is it?"

"Mayeda-sama," one of the minor soldiers assigned to his operation came briskly into the room and bowed. "We have word that our warehouse in Long Beach was broken into last night - about an hour after we finished moving all the supplies from there to the new facility."

"US Customs or FBI?" he asked, running his fingers over his moustache.

"No sir. The men who broke in were all black, sir, and they weren't speaking English."

Mayeda frowned. "No idea who they were?"

The unnamed soldier merely shook his head. "No sir. They looked around for a long time - really searched carefully - then just left."

"Thank you, that will be all," the Yakuza boss dismissed his soldier and stared at the far wall and the serene scroll of bamboo done in the start blacks and whites of sumi-e ink for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he dialed a lengthy number and waited, then spoke in rapid-fire Japanese. "I need to speak to Ueda-sama, dozo - immediately."

There was a very long wait, and then Ueda finally came on the line. "It is very late, Masa-san. This had better be important."

"Gomen nasai, Ueda-sama - but it seems there is a major problem here that you need to be aware of. Our Long Beach arms warehouse, or the one we used to have, was raided today - by African-looking people NOT speaking English." Mayeda gave his news as succinctly as he knew how. "We are stumped as to who would have done this..."

"Triumverate," Ueda pronounced with a defeated tone overlaying the fatigue of having been pulled out of bed. "They're the only ones who would try such a thing."

"Especially since Miss Parker assured me that we would have a window of two days before she was going to call in her government's law enforcement," Mayeda reminded his boss.

"Ngawe is certainly working on upping the stakes in this little fracas," Ueda sighed. "Keep me informed of any other movement, and in the name of all the gods and spirits, continue to relocate all our assets there in your area! It appears Miss Parker's warning about her own internal fracas may be playing out in our best interests in the long run."

"That it does," Mayeda agreed easily, then said, "Once more, gomen nasai for awakening you, but this was important enough, I thought, to warrant the interruption."

"Good night, Masa-san," Ueda yawned.

"Good night, Ueda-sama."

Mayeda put the phone back on the hook and began toying with his moustache again. Yes indeed, Miss Parker's problems had worked out to Yakuza advantage. Had all those guns fallen into other hands, it would have been a major blow to the organization - and probably cost him a thumb. The thin man rubbed his hands together nervously, appreciating the presence of all ten fingers. The Yakuza, or at least his part of it, was now in Miss Parker's debt - and he would have to see what he could do to discharge this matter of honor as soon as possible.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda carefully stowed his briefcase in the overhead compartment and took his seat by the window, looking out across the broad expanse of runways to the Los Angeles skyline that he could see. His flight for Chicago was almost ready to depart, and he had nearly ten more hours before he'd be able to settle into a hotel room and get some decent rest.

America was the LAST place he wanted to be, and certainly he'd had no plans to return so soon after his last visit. He put his face in his open palm and stared out at the runway without seeing anything, wondering idly if the American authorities had figured out that at least one of those killings in Delaware had been an outside job. And here he was, heading right back into the middle of that mess.

All through the last fourteen-hour flight, he'd been racking his brain trying to think of a way out of his current dilemma. His primary loyalty was to the Yakuza and their interests - which meant that if he were to follow those instincts, he'd rest up, head for the hospital, take out Ngawe, and then head home again without a second thought. But he'd been in the employ of Ngawe for years now, feeding the Triumverate internal information on the financial strengths and weaknesses that he'd discovered in the Yakuza as a whole and the Tokyo branch in particular. He'd accepted sizeable payments from Nairobi for his information - payments he really DIDN'T want to have to account for in the end. If he were to honor the connections those payments represented, he'd let Ngawe know that there was a contract on his life - and that his not acting on that contract constituted his severing all ties with the African organization.

Should the Yakuza find out about his treachery, there was no place he could hope to hide. If he actually killed Ngawe, again there would be no place he would be able to hide from another set of determined hunters. He couldn't just disappear - his reputation as an assassin was well-enough known in the crime syndicate circles that his appearing to settle permanently in America would be perceived as his announce his free agency, which again would amount to a death sentence.

There was only one option that seemed even remotely open to him - and that represented a significant risk of its own. It had been his shot that had removed Raines-san from the Chairman's seat at the Centre, making room for the current administration. Perhaps the woman who had often and obviously sat in opposition to Raines' administration could be prevailed upon to offer sanctuary in return for information on BOTH the Yakuza and Triumverate.

That would make him, Ikeda Katsuhito, tenth generation samurai and fourth generation ninja, ronin - a warrior without a master, a man without honor.

He closed his eyes. At least he'd be alive, though...

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 6: Testing Limits


"Hold on, willya? I'm coming, already!" Jarod called toward the front door and whoever it was that was pounding - Ethan, most likely.

"What did I do, drag you out of bed?" the younger Russell grinned at his brother's yawn as the door was unlocked and opened.

"The coffeepot's not even done yet," Jarod growled at him as he closed the door and gestured for his brother to go on into the depths of the house. "And I haven't quite made the switch to Pacific Time yet."

"Poor baby!" Ethan sympathized with no small amount of humor. "What's for breakfast, anyway?"

"Toast and coffee - unless you want to fry yourself an egg, in which case you know where the frying pans are..." Jarod pulled a loaf of bread, butter and jelly from the fridge and hauled it to the table. "You know me - when I don't have any of my favorite sugar-laden..."

"Figures that Mom wouldn't have restocked you with stuff you WANTED," Ethan grinned and went over to the cupboard and extracted two mugs that he then carried over to the coffeepot.

Jarod had two slices of bread into the toaster and was slicing the butter into thin pats that would melt easier. "Em must have had her hands more than full," he commented with a small shake of his head. "I don't remember Mom being so needful..."

"She was still in shock pretty much when you took off," Ethan reminded his older brother. "When she came out of it and found that you'd taken off - not to mention WHERE you'd gone - she darned near flipped out on us. I genuinely thought she'd understood what you'd told her, but evidently everything just slipped through the cracks and was completely forgotten."

"How did Em manage?" Jarod asked, his bread forgotten for the moment.

"She called Jay - he hadn't started his university term yet - and he moved onto her couch for a while and helped her keep an eye on things." Ethan saw that the coffeepot was finished trickling and so poured two mugs of wake-up and carried them over to the table. "Sammy came down with the flu about then, and Mom pitched in to help take care of him - and that kept her contented, more or less, for a while. She was depressed, but she hid it from the rest of them."

"I'm thinking that we need to start thinking about a grief counselor for her," Jarod turned back to the toaster and flipped the two pieces onto a plate, put butter on them to soften, and replaced two more slices of bread into the device. "I mean, I knew Dad would worry about her to me every once in a while, but this..." He waved his hand in front of his face. "But enough of that. Bring me up to date - how's the case load lately?"

"About the same as it was before you ducked out, big bro," Ethan said with a shrug, snatching one of the pieces of toast for his own plate and spreading the softened butter carefully. "I've called in Chuck from Social Services a few times when the emergency calls started to stack up, but for the most part, the parents have been pretty flexible."

"I'm worried about Ginger - that new foster home doesn't seem to be doing her any good." Jarod spread his own butter and then reached for the newly toasted slices and doctored them like before. He slipped the second piece onto Ethan's place without being asked.

"I know - and since that display yesterday, I've been considering calling in Child Protective Services and get her moved to another home before that... woman..." Jarod could see his brother was thinking several other descriptive nouns instead. "...undoes any more of all our hard work."

"Did you file the paperwork getting her case formally assigned to you after I left?"

Ethan nodded. "The Thatcher woman was on me to get my paperwork in order post haste so that she could get reimbursed for the gas." He picked up his coffee and sipped from the mug carefully. "What WAS that all about, that you needed to NOT be the therapist of record for her..."

Jarod's face grew somewhat chagrined. "I've broken one of the first rules of successful counseling," he admitted as he reached for the bottle of jelly. "I fell in love with a patient."

Ethan looked at his older brother, first in shock, then in wary assessment. "Oh, God - here comes another set of gooey eyes..." he quipped, not entirely in fun. "What does my half-sister think of THIS?"

"I haven't told her all of it yet," Jarod admitted. "We had so much else going on, it just never got talked about..."

"You'd better take the time to find out the legalities first, my friend," the younger man cautioned him. "After all, you're intending to be here only long enough to close down your life here, and then you're going to be on the other side of the country. I don't how well the California foster care laws will take such a move with a ward of the state."

"I'm hoping, if Parker will agree, to have moved past a simple foster care situation," Jarod said slowly, speaking his intentions aloud for the first time. "I'm thinking adoption."

"You're crazy!" Ethan shook his head at his brother. "What is so special about that little girl - other than she's cute as a bug's ear and so wounded?"

"She reminds me of all the things that could have gone wrong with either me or Parker - or even you - when we were small like her," Jarod looked up at his brother, his passion for preventing even this mild reminder from going any further burning brightly in his chocolate gaze. "All she needs is a little constancy in her life - and a lot of love. I'd like a chance to give it to her."

"Would you be thinking this way if you WEREN'T heading back to Delaware?" Ethan asked quietly.

Jarod looked at his brother evenly. "I was starting to think this way before I ever left."

"You'd better talk to a lawyer," Ethan advised, then took a bite of toast.

"I intend to," Jarod replied, washing a bite of toast down with a sip of coffee. "But enough about Ginger until I have a few more facts. With me leaving the practice, you need to decide if you want to keep this place going, or if you want to join another existing practice and take your caseload with you."

"What will you do about your patients?"

"I'll be handing out recommendations for new therapists for them," he answered easily, "or hand them over to you, if your load isn't already too heavy for you."

"I can take some of them," Ethan admitted, "but not all of them. Actually, I think putting out the word that I'm looking for a new partner for the practice is the way I want to go. I'm comfortable here. Besides," and Jarod saw his half-brother's eyes begin to twinkle, "I recently met someone..."

"Oh-HOH!" Jarod chortled triumphantly. "NOW who's making with the gooey eyes here?"

"Oh shut up," Ethan grumped at him, then grinned. "Although I can start to appreciate why you get them..."

"Well, are you going to tell me anything about her, or do I have to SIM you?"

Ethan smiled at his brother. "Oh, don't tempt me!" he quipped, then relented. "Her name's Janine, and I met her at the library about a week after you left for Delaware. We've been seeing each other ever since." He popped the rest of his toast in his mouth and chewed.

"Oh, c'mon! You can tell me more than that," Jarod urged with a teasing smile.

"She's cute, intelligent, has a great sense of humor... What more do you need to know?" Ethan asked after he'd downed some more coffee to wash down the toast.

"Looks like the nesting instinct is contagious," Jarod joked, thinking about how he felt about Parker and Davy - and Ginger.

Ethan shot him a thoughtful look. "Enough about me," he waved his hand after another long sip of coffee. "We have some business that needs settling here. So, what do you think - where are we going to advertise for another shrink to take your place?"

Jarod polished off the rest of his coffee and set his mug down on the table with a thump. "I have a few ideas..." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "I can run a few of them past you now, before we both have to start running - and maybe we can review and look at the others over lunch?"

Ethan nodded and sat forward to lean his chin into his hands and listen.

~~~~~~~~

Stewart Berringer frowned as the telephone on his nightstand began to ring just as he was reaching for his hotel doorknob. He lifted his hand to glance at his watch, then hurried to pick up the receiver. "Berringer here..."

"It's Eddie," came the broad voice of his friend and associate. "I'm back in Vegas, and just finished a meeting with the old man. I have your answer for you and that Flores guy."

Berringer blinked. "That was quick," he commented in honest surprise. "I figured we wouldn't hear from you for..."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to sit on this one," Santini told him, looking up and at Antonio Torzulo, the capo of the Torzulo family syndicate and his boss, as the elderly man listened with care to the phone call on the speakerphone.

"Well, then, what's it to be?" Berringer's voice was schooled to careful neutrality.

"Mr. Torzulo wants no part in what your Mr. Flores was suggesting," Santini told his associate with a shrug. "Considering the contacts your parent organization has with federal law enforcement and in the various legislatures, participating in anything remotely resembling the coup you presented would be taking too much of a risk for us." Santini saw his boss nod in satisfaction. "We will continue in our current association with you, Stu, but that will be it for the time being."

"Damn," Berringer swore softly then recovered. "Thanks for calling, Eddie, and I appreciate the hearing you gave us."

"Don't mention it," Santini sighed in relief. The job of letting his friend down was now finished. "Keep in touch, OK?"

"I will." Berringer hung up the phone and sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly very tired.

Flores was going to hit the roof, he just knew it. And very quiet, personal contacts with several of the other supervisors who had nodded agreement with him during that first meeting had yielded few willing co-conspirators. Miss Parker had met with several of them already, and was presenting a completely new and possibly profitable framework for Centre operations from now on - and many were tired of having to worry about discovery and possible jail time for the things they'd been overseeing.

To be honest, he had enjoyed the adrenaline rush of some of the more exciting projects that had passed over his desk through the years of the Raines administration. But running a covert operation designed to destabilize his own meal-ticket was beginning to lose its appeal - especially with the font of allies drying up right before his eyes. What was worse, having a loose cannon like Flores capable of setting off all kinds of unfortunate fireworks made the success of such a scheme questionable in the first place.

He sighed, got back to his feet and headed back toward the door. Miss Parker, or one of her minions, had called another general meeting of the satellite supervisors over lunch again. He had an hour to get to the Centre annex conference room.

There was a twenty-five minute drive from Dover to the Centre. Berringer decided that he'd use that time to assess the wisdom of continuing to work with Flores, or of stepping back and into line with the new policies - or mapping his own strategy to the Chairman's office. After all, he thought with narrowed eyes, he'd been a supervisor longer than Flores had...

~~~~~~~~

Sydney poured himself another mug of hot water, then dropped in the tea bag and dunked it time and again until the contents were drenched and stayed put. He looked out across the yard outside his kitchen window to where Davy's legs once more dangled below the wooden platform that was the floor of the tree house in his old oak tree. Miss Parker had given him a tight hug that morning when she'd dropped off the boy, along with a "you haven't lost your touch, it seems," accompanied by a knowing smile.

"Thank God it's not a touch I need very often," he had replied as he'd returned the hug. "Jarod called last night, and when I told him what had happened, he accused me of having a “nice, quiet Inquisitor's voice” and a “lethal bad guy/good guy” routine."

That had gotten her chuckling. "That's actually not a bad description," she had agreed heartily. "And I can see how effective it was. I don't think he's been quite that helpful and apologetic before."

He had gestured toward his coffee maker. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

She had shaken her head. "I wish, Syd, but I have an eight-thirty with Sam and Tyler and a nine o'clock with the construction people again."

"Problems?"

"No, I'm hoping I'll get an update on how soon we can get into the sublevels." She had sighed. "I want to get those archives up into the light of day."

"Oh, that reminds me." Sydney had let her go and reached toward the floor for the briefcase Jarod had left for him. "I've been through these now - and they're sorted into "keep", "shelve" and "toss" envelopes." He had shaken his head. "I think I deliberately tried to forget just how close my department would skate to the line between the ethical and unethical before. Some of this I was MORE than glad to put an end to."

She had taken the briefcase and then leaned in for another quick hug before taking off for work. Davy had taken to the tree house when Kevin seemed more interested in whatever it was that he was searching on the Internet than he was in a rematch on the video game.

And now Sydney stood in a kitchen feeling frustrated. For the past few days, he'd felt at least a little bit useful as he'd pored carefully and deeply into each and every project his department had been involved in. He might have been working at his own kitchen table, but he'd been assisting in the reorganization effort. Now, with the Psychogenics Department projects list duly sorted and prioritized, he was at loose ends again.

He sipped at his tea without tasting it, cursing the ever-present ache in his side that was all that was left of the agony of the bullet wound. He hated being forced to sit on the sidelines. He let his tea mug hit the counter again with a thud - damned if he was going to be put COMPLETELY on the sidelines!

He reached for the telephone and dialed. "Good morning, Kate, this is Sydney..." He smiled at the surprise in the voice of his personal assistant. "No, no, I'm still at home. The doctor hasn't released me to come back yet. I'm just getting bored and wanted to know how things are going there. Any fires burning anywhere?"

He reached for the mug now with the other hand and leaned carefully into the counter as his assistant began bringing him up to speed on matters that had essentially been piling up since he'd been hurt.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod poked his head from his office door. "Give me a few minutes before sending the next patient back, Cindy, OK? I have a telephone call I want to make."

"Sure thing, Doctor Jarod," the receptionist chimed, swinging her head and making the golden beads clatter softly together.

The Pretender went back to his desk and flipped through his Rolodex until he reached the card he wanted and then dialed. "Law offices of Gerald Cochran," came the efficient voice on the other end of the line.

"This is Dr. Jarod Russell. I'm wondering if I could make an appointment to see Mr. Cochran sometime today or tomorrow." He took a deep breath. Time to put this process into motion.

"And this would be regarding?"

"I am looking to adopt a little girl currently in foster care," Jarod told the woman quickly. "I would like some advice and assistance."

"We have an opening this afternoon at around four," she informed him after a short pause. "Will that be satisfactory?"

Jarod noted the time. "I'll be there," he agreed and hung up. Then he rose and walked out of the office and to the desk. "Do I have anything after three- thirty?"

Cindy ran her manicured finger down the appointment page. "Nope. Ethan has a four o'clock, but your book is clear after your three o'clock finishes."

"Good." Jarod smiled. "I'll be out of the office then after three-thirty and for the rest of the day."

"Gotcha." Cindy used a marker and drew a line through Jarod's appointments for the day after his last one. "Anything else?"

"Pamela here yet?"

"Nope."

"I'll be in my office," he told her and headed for the coffee maker, took down the cup that had been his for as long as the office had been open, quickly rinsed it in the sink, filled it with coffee, then retreated into his sanctum. He'd call Parker after he'd spoken to the lawyer - that would be the best way.

~~~~~~~~

Berringer jerked his head towards the sidelines of the group, and Flores left his conversation with Bennet from New Orleans to join his friend. "What's up?"

"I heard from Santini," Berringer said softly, and then noted how Flores' eyes began to glow.

"And..."

He shook his head. "Not interested. Old man Torzulo wants no part of it."

"SHIT!" Flores burst out, drawing quite a bit of startled attention to himself as his face grew increasingly red.

"For God's sake, Gil," Berringer hissed, grabbing his associate's arm in a painful grip and pulling the man just a little further away from the group. "Control yourself before you have Miss Parker's goons landing on you for your tantrum right here."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Flores spat in a bitter whisper. "What excuse?"

"Too much risk, considering the contacts the parent organization has with those the Torzulos want no truck with," Berringer growled. "What the hell did you think would be the reason?"

Flores spun away from his associate in fury, then twisted back just as fast. "Damned cowards..."

"Shut up, will you?" Berringer reached out and jerked Flores back and forth painfully.

Flores looked Berringer up and down derisively. "What IS this - you afraid of the bitch and her watchdogs?"

Berringer stared at the Hispanic. "You're damned right I am - and if you were in your right mind, you would be too."

"Fuck you," the LA supervisor spat very softly and with careful fingers peeled Berringer's hand from his arm. "I'll do this myself then."

"Gil," Berringer shook his head. "You're being an ass and a jerk - and you're going to screw up."

"Gentlemen," both men heard announced from behind them, "this way. The meeting will start in five minutes. Please take your places..."

"Like I said, fuck you," Flores glared at Berringer with undisguised loathing. "You haven't got any more balls than your Torzulo bitches do. Stand back and watch how a REAL man con cojones does things!" He straightened his jacket and tie and stalked away toward the conference room, pulling his cell phone from his pocket, connecting with someone and talking in a low but forceful tone. From the looks of things, he was issuing orders, but the Nevadan couldn't be sure.

Berringer sighed and looked around the room, his eyes briefly contacting those of a somber-faced man standing a distance away from him against a wall - a man who seemed very familiar for some unknown reason. With a vague frown as he tried to remember where he'd seen the fellow before, and not all that long ago, Berringer followed his irate companion towards the conference room and the meeting to follow.

Miss Parker was already there - as were her two faithful watchdogs and their assorted husky assistants placed strategically about the perimeter of the room as before. There was a hushed sense of expectation through the gathered men as they settled into the chairs behind their name cards and turned their attention to the woman at the head of the long table. She continued to sort through her papers for a moment after the group had finally grown silent, knowing that doing so would throw just the slightest sense of imbalance into the situation. Finally, arranging her papers carefully in front of her, she stood.

"This meeting has been called in order to address a growing problem. It seems that there have been a number of you who weren't too terribly happy about the instructions you received the last time you were here." Storm-cloud grey sought out and skewered Stewart Berringer and Gilbert Flores, although only the former bothered to squirm. She then shifted her gaze to several of the silent ones who had supported the vocal Flores during the last meeting, all of whom suddenly found reason to look down at the table in front of them. "Yes, I see most of you know exactly whom I'm talking about."

Now she let her eyes sweep the room, making contact with each and every man seated at the table. "I may have promised a “kinder, gentler” Centre, but it would be extremely unwise for any of you to forget that I grew up and was groomed for this Chair under some of its most forceful and totalitarian leadership. The fact is, gentlemen," and she leaned forward and put her hands on the table, "I SURVIVED those administrations with my wits, health and power base intact. The fact is, gentlemen, that out of all of you, the Triumverate chose ME to take this Chair."

She straightened. "So let me repeat myself, in case you didn't believe my instructions the first time you heard them. All the contracts currently in force will be executed as agreed, regardless of client - but there will be NO negotiating new contracts with the Yakuza, the mob, or the Triumverate. Our government contracts will not be anything less than Congressionally approved - no more black ops projects. We will cease to use illegal activities ourselves as of immediately - if a contract requires it, then the one committing the illegal act will be from the contracting agency, NOT Centre personnel. Am I absolutely, completely crystal clear?" She stared around the room, daring any to speak up in opposition to her.

Flores was glaring at her, silent but challenging her nonetheless. Berringer, on the other hand, was looking at the table in front of him. Somehow, she wasn't that surprised. Sam had told her that Berringer was beginning to get a clue as to just how much an agent of chaos Flores was proving - it looked as if Las Vegas was having second thoughts about being a part of whatever had been in the works.

She took another deep breath and looked down at her papers. "I realize that I haven't completed all the interviews yet, but there are a few announcements that need to be made at this time." She picked up the paper. "The following people will be escorted from this room by a security team: Bennett from New Orleans, Chandler from Miami, Hudson from Seattle, Berringer from Las Vegas, Jergenson from Chicago and Flores from Los Angeles. Gentlemen, if you will go with these sweepers..."

Sam had opened the conference room doors to let a team of over a dozen sweepers into the room. Each pair bracketed one of the named gentlemen and waited for them to rise. One sweeper immediately frisked the supervisor, and then with both arms firmly in hand, the supervisors were removed from the room.

"What was that all about?" demanded Bryce from New York.

Miss Parker raised her finger to delay her answer as yet another sweeper slipped into the room and reported directly to Sam - knowing that whatever he was hearing was important. She bent toward her Security Chief. "What is it?" she whispered to him.

"The tap on Flores' cell phone that we JUST put in place just gave us our first real piece of evidence against him," Sam frowned. "He called Andrew Duncan from just outside this room and told him, and here I quote, “Do it.” Just what he was telling him to do is anybody's guess at this point - we didn't catch onto the cell phone trick until just this morning."

"Where's Duncan?"

Sam shook his head. "We haven't been able to locate him."

"Damn!" Miss Parker sighed deeply. "Find him," she ordered vehemently, then turned back to her meeting while Sam rose and quickly exited the room.

"You want to know what that was all about," she repeated for all still present, and watched several heads nod.

"Tyler, why don't you explain to the folks here why we just segregated six of our quote/unquote “best” supervisors..."

Tyler rose as Miss Parker resumed her seat. "Many of you heard Mr. Flores and Mr. Berringer's disputing the new direction the Chairman is going to take the Centre," he began. "What most of you don't know, however, is that they attempted to solicit outside help to destabilize the organization to the point that they could wrest control of the Centre from Miss Parker."

Several exchanged sharp glances. "Yes, Mr. Pence," Tyler said, nailing one of those gentlemen, the supervisor of Albuquerque, by name, "we're also aware that several of you had shown at least initial interest in what Mr. Flores was proposing - that you were not thrilled with upsetting the status quo. The only reason you are still sitting here and not pinned between another pair of sweepers in a room elsewhere, however, is because you and others like you saw the drawbacks to such an attempt and ultimately refused to be a part of it. A couple of you," and here Tyler's eyes sought out a couple more of the group, "actually attempted to report the conspiracy. Your reward for your loyalty is that you will be continuing in your jobs. The gentlemen no longer with us will not be."

"What will happen to them?" came a voice from somewhere.

"While you gentlemen are here with us," Miss Parker answered in a quiet voice that all strained to hear, "the others are being taken elsewhere while sweepers will be going through and removing all Centre property from their possession at their hotel. They will then be held incommunicado until after I receive a call from the FBI regarding a raid on the Los Angeles satellite office and other California facilities. Since Mr. Flores was the principle mover behind the conspiracy, it stands to reason to have his base of operations scrutinized first."

"You called in the feds?!" Bryce was shocked.

"Absolutely," Miss Parker shrugged. "Earlier this morning I handed over to the FBI all the evidence I had collected in the past few days linking Mr. Flores specifically, and a few of the others by implication, with organized crime across the country. I explained that I was trying to clean house, as it were, and asked for their assistance. The special agent in charge that I spoke to was most gracious in offering the resources of the FBI." She smiled - after several tense and unproductive interviews with Mr. Gillespie since the bomb blast, it had been a real pleasure to turn over something substancial to the man.

"What about us?" another asked quietly.

"You will all be returning to your stations within a day or so," Tyler assured them. "You will find, of course, that the major number of your ancillary personnel has been changed - sweepers and secretaries have been replaced with those from the head office here in Blue Cove - but you will otherwise continue in the jobs you've been performing all along."

The silence from the men at the table was profound. Miss Parker's answer to the challenge to her authority had been brazen and straightforward, consistent with the way she had stated she intended the Centre to run from now on. Amid the brooding astonishment were more than a few beginning smiles of satisfaction - and Parker gave Tyler a nod and a look for him to note down THOSE names this time. Loyalty was going to have it's rewards in this administration as well.

"And now, gentlemen, I have some information I would like to share with you. Our overseas remote attendees should be receiving a fax transmission about now, and we will adjourn until all copies of the report and document being transmitted has been received in all stations." Miss Parker smiled at her supervisors. "Tyler, please pass out the proposals regarding financial reorganization and stock issuance. Gentlemen, we will take a fifteen minute break for you to scan through the documents in front of you, and then our meeting will proceed to the more important matters before us."

~~~~~~~~

Sam scowled. "I don't care if you need four men - I know that Andrew Duncan didn't come to Blue Cove with his boss, so he's somewhere between LA and here. I want him found, and I don't want to hear any excuses. Just Do It."

He put the telephone back on the cradle with extra care. Something told him that NOW was not the time to be losing his temper. He had a bad feeling about the phone call Flores had made, and he wanted Duncan where he could keep an eye on him. There WAS one person who knew where Duncan was, however. Sam began to smile coldly. It was about time that bastard started to appreciate the forces he'd set in motion.

With a crook of a finger, the Security Chief had four more burly assistants in tow as he headed for the annex building next door to which the newly fired supervisors had been taken. It had been used as a dormitory at one time, ideal for temporary security accommodations. Each man had been assigned a room and summarily installed after a thorough search and removal of all possessions other than basic clothing.

He stopped at the desk at the end of the corridor to check on the room assignments, and then stalked with his security team down to the end of the hall and threw the door open.

"What the hell do YOU want?" Flores asked from the cot, where he sat slumped against the wall, one foot propped up in front of him, the other stretched out straight in front of him.

Sam gestured, and two of the sweepers descended on the prisoner and hauled him roughly to his feet to face him. He walked slowly into the room and then bent down very obviously to look the Hispanic in the face, emphasizing the vast difference in both height and bulk. "You made a call a little earlier," he said in a quiet and very patient-sounding voice. "You called Andrew Duncan."

"Big fat hairy deal," Flores spat. "He works for me. Calling my assistant is a crime?"

"When you tell the man to “do it,” you make me nervous," Sam continued in his tame and patient voice. "So maybe you might find it to your advantage to tell me what it was that you ordered Duncan to “do” - and where he is right now."

"Fuck you," Flores hissed in the same voice he'd used to curse Berringer with identical words. "I ain't telling you shit."

Sam nodded to the other two sweepers. "Take it all out, gentlemen." At his word, the sweepers immediately set to work stripping the room of all its furnishings. Then one sweeper pulled a strap with a wire antenna from his pocket and bent in front of Flores and wrapped the strap tightly about the man's ankle - then drenched the top of the velcro with Super Glue and held it in place until the glue was fast.

Once that was accomplished, the Security Chief turned back to the rebellious supervisor. "Very well. You will stand until you decide to talk. You will not sit on the floor, you will not lean against the wall. This device," Sam pulled a small controller from his pocket, "will administer a very small and painful shock every time you attempt to rest." He then pointed to the one-way window. "My men will be observing you from now on from there - and administering shocks as needed. When you're ready to talk, all you'll have to do is raise one finger like this..." He demonstrated. "Once we have Duncan in custody, you'll be allowed to rest."

"So much for the Centre not engaging in illegal activities..." Flores taunted bitterly.

Sam shrugged. "I trained under Mr. Parker, Mr. Flores, but I am Miss Parker's loyal man. You threaten her and what she's trying to accomplish - and provided that whatever I do to you leaves little or no mark, she's willing to let me use my imagination to get the job done." He smiled very coldly at the Californian. "Allow me demonstrate what is in store for you should you try to remove the strap or rest in any way." He pushed the little red button briefly, and Flores jumped with a shocked squeak as the muscles in his leg cramped - hard.

"I will see you later, sir," Sam told the supervisor and then, with a nod of his head, cleared the room of everyone but the prisoner. "Here," he handed the controller to his own assistant, who was one of the sweepers he'd called. "You heard the terms - make sure he gets no rest until he tells us what we want to know."

"Yes, sir," the man said, then sat down in his chair and trained his eyes on the man behind the glass who was pacing.

Sam watched the tableau for a moment, then headed back for the administrative annex to report on his actions. Hopefully Miss Parker wouldn't be too shocked by the measures he'd taken - and if she was, hopefully he could communicate his fears well enough to make her understand their necessity. And finally, hopefully, Flores would prove to be easily broken.

He really didn't want to think of the possibilities if the man stayed stubbornly mute.

~~~~~~~~

Deb waved jauntily to Curt in his car and walked happily toward the front door of Sydney's home, swinging the bag of lunch ingredients back and forth with her gait. Her entire morning had been buoyed by the thought of her dinner plans with Tyler, and her trip to Dover that afternoon would include a shopping excursion for a new and slightly dressier top for dinner at a steak house. "Hi!" she called out into the house as she pushed through the front door.

"Hey there!" Kevin greeted her with a happy smile. "How was work today?"

"Incredible," Deb grinned even wider, and then saw her grandfather rise from an easy chair in the living room after putting down the psychiatric journal he'd been digesting. She walked to him quickly and gave him a quick and tight hug that brought the greying eyebrows up.

"You're in a good mood, ma petite," Sydney smiled. It was the first time that he'd seen that bounce and sparkle in her since her father had been injured. "Something interesting happen today?"

"Yeah," Deb grinned and sashayed with her groceries now towards the kitchen. "I'm going out this evening."

"Indeed?" Sydney followed her curiously without failing to note the sudden expression of wary apprehension crossing Kevin's face. "With whom?"

"Tyler," she answered easily, dropping her purse and keys on the kitchen table and putting the bags on the counter. "He came in for coffee this morning and asked if I would like to go to a steak house with him for dinner. I told him yes."

"So you're not visiting your father until later today?" Sydney asked, watching Kevin's face fold into outright indignation.

"Uh-unh. I'm going in as usual - then doing a little shopping and coming straight home. Tyler said he wants to do the driving this evening." Deb opened the new loaf of sandwich bread and set out six pairs of slices to be made into lunch - knowing that Curt, if not his colleague Don, were starting to know that she'd make them something for lunch too. "What do you want on your sandwich, Kevin?"

"I'm not hungry," the younger Pretender growled and stomped off toward the den and his still fruitless search for any signs on the Internet of where to begin looking for his family.

Deb stared after him, startled by his belligerent tone, then turned to Sydney. "What did I do?"

The older man moved to put a fond arm around his granddaughter. "You accepted an invitation to dinner with Tyler," he informed her in a tone that clearly told her that he knew she already understood this.

"So?" she asked rebelliously, twisting off the top of the mayonnaise jar with restrained frustration. "Is there something that says I CAN'T go out with Tyler?"

"Of course not. But Deborah, you know that Kevin feels... quite strongly... for you." Sydney hoped that his using her formal name would give her cause to pause.

She sighed. "I know," she admitted reluctantly, training her gaze carefully on her task of spreading mayonnaise on the bread. "It's just that... He doesn't own me, ya know?"

"I know," he squeezed her shoulder and then let her go. "But you can expect some of this, cheri. He's jealous, and won't know how to deal with it for a while yet. He doesn't even understand his own emotions - just dealing with girls at all is new to him, remember?"

"I know," she sighed again. "But I just can't limit my life to what HE'D want..."

"You don't need to limit your life, ma petite," he told her gently. "Neither your father nor I expect you to. Don't you dare start to feel guilty for wanting to lead your own life. If you were at Amherst, like you'd planned, this wouldn't even be an issue, now, would it?" He watched her shake her head slowly. "There you go, then. Kevin needs to learn how this part of social interaction works too - and this will probably be one of the less pleasant lessons he has to master. He will have to learn to appreciate what he has, and how clinging too tightly can drive a person farther away rather than bring them closer. And until he does, you'll have to just shrug off little scenes like this one." He watched her work over the sandwiches again for a bit. "Kevin likes mayonnaise, and I like mayonnaise and a little mustard. You make the sandwich for him, I'll get him to eat."

"Where's Davy?"

"Out in the tree house again. I'll go call him for lunch - you just take care of stuff in here."

"Grandpa?" Sydney halted and turned toward her expectantly. "Thanks."

He simply smiled at her and kept going toward the arcadia doors. He doubted he'd have to use any bluff to get his grandson out of the tree today, which was a good thing. Every morning he knew that he was feeling better - but he still was in no shape to climb trees.

~~~~~~~~

Margaret found her regular seat on a bench beneath a tall eucalyptus tree that was close enough to the little neighborhood park's play equipment area that she could keep an eye on Sammy while still giving him a little distance and the illusion of liberty. She sighed and cast an eye over her shoulder at the red tiled roof that was just visible behind the shrubbery and trees that surrounded Jarod's property, and then turned back to keeping a casual eye on her grandson.

She just couldn't understand her oldest at all - and now that inability of hers was starting to become an obstacle between her and her daughter. She and Emily had had a very heated discussion about the proper role of parents as their children grew older and more self-sufficient. When she tried to use Jarod as an example, a near-argument had happened. She was amazed and more than a little concerned to discover that her daughter reluctantly supported Jarod in his plans to return to Delaware. Worse, Em had been willing to defend her older brother's right to choose his path - even if it meant returning to the Centre and that Parker woman who had hunted him from one end of the country to the other.

As she watched, Sammy climbed to the pinnacle of the tallest slide and called to his grandmother to watch his act of bravery in sliding down the twisting plastic slide on his stomach. Without warning, she found herself wondering about this new grandson of hers - Davy. He'd sounded very sweet and polite when she'd spoken to him on the telephone, just a little shy and hesitant but brave enough to want to make contact. Another innocent life that tied her to that damned place in Delaware. She tried to summon resentment against the boy, but failed miserably.

He was her flesh, her blood - Jarod's son, a son he loved dearly enough to abandon the life he'd worked so hard to build to be with. On one level, she understood him completely - and this understanding was probably the most painful part of her suffering. She herself would have done anything to be with her children, and Jarod had moved heaven and earth to put their family together again once they'd all been found. She knew how she felt when she'd been introduced to Charles' son by Catherine - another child never meant to be in the first place - and how her love for the young man had grown quickly despite his upbringing. Jarod was so much like her in that respect.

"Hi, Mom."

Margaret turned and smiled at her youngest - which was the way she thought of Jay. He was as much her son as Jarod was, so like his brother in some ways and so dislike in so many others. "No school today?"

"The new term doesn't start until next Tuesday," Jay reminded her for at least the third time in three days. "You folks are stuck with me until Sunday night." He watched his mother nod, accepting the information with no guarantee that it would remain in memory very long and then turn her gaze back to Sammy as the little boy swung expertly from first one handhold to the next. "Penny for your thoughts..."

"Mmmm," she responded at first, marshalling her scattered thoughts. "Just thinking about Jarod and his plans..."

"Thought so," he commented dryly, then sat down next to her to watch Sammy with her. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Me either," Margaret agreed, shoving the understanding she'd just been wrestling with to the back of her mind and summoning the frustration at thinking that Parker woman had more influence with her son than SHE did. "To just walk away from his family..."

"Well..." Even Jay wasn't that blind. "He DID say that he and Miss Parker have a little boy together..."

"Still..."

"I know..." He sat quietly next to her for a long moment, knowing that she was feeling very conflicted. "What are you going to do?" he asked her finally.

She shrugged. "I don't know, Jay. I'd like to take hold of him and shake some sense into him - but I'm starting to think that the more I complain, the more I'm driving him away."

"That makes sense," he agreed in a soft tone. "I talked to Em this morning too, you know. She told me some things..." He sighed. If he were to tell his mother all that Em had spilled into his ear that morning, he knew he'd hurt her - and right now, she didn't need that extra burden.

"I don't want to lose my son again," she said very softly, a tear swimming in her brilliant cerulean eyes.

"I know, Mom," he sympathized and put his arm around her shoulder to draw her close. "I know you don't want to lose him to the Centre again - but this time, I don't know if you're going to be able to protect him. He WANTS to go and be with them there. I think we're going to have to trust him when he says that the Centre isn't the same as it used to be."

Margaret closed her eyes and leaned against her youngest son's shoulder. Jay looked and sounded so much like Jarod now that only the differences in their tastes in clothing and personal grooming habits gave clues as to just which man one was speaking. But she knew both of them now - and subtle body movements and gestures were as clear to her as the fact that one wore a beard and the other didn't was to others. "You won't ever want to go back there, will you?" she asked him suddenly, as if out of the blue.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Jay burst out and shook his head vehemently. "My home is here, with you and Em - and with Ethan, even though he is HER half-brother too."

"I want to hate her for stealing him away from me again," Margaret sighed and straightened, her eyes seeking out and finding Sammy now swinging strongly, "I really do."

"I know you do, Mom," he consoled her. "It's understandable." He closed his eyes and saw again the pretty lady who had come into his cell at Donoterase and been so kind and comforting to him - and tried to summon forth any antagonism toward her. As much as he tried, he simply couldn't do it.

Even for him, Miss Parker didn't represent the evil of the Centre - and never would. She was a victim of it, just as he and Jarod and Ethan had been, if what Jarod had told them about how their son had come into being was true. He could harden his mind against Sydney - with difficulty - he HAD been a much kinder, milder mentor than Raines had been. Jarod kept reassuring him that Sydney had played an active role in freeing him from the Centre originally, all but blackmailing Mr. Parker to put HIM in charge of the project in order to help Jarod free him. But all Jay could remember when it came to Sydney was that the older psychiatrist had been quite obviously cooperating with the balding ghoul. He could forgive, but he couldn't forget.

"He's MY son, dammit!"

"I know, Mom..."

~~~~~~~~

Kevin looked up as Sydney carried his sandwich on a plate into the den and put it down next to the computer keyboard, then turned his eyes deliberately back to the monitor screen. "I'm not hungry," he grumbled again without looking at the mentor again.

"Kevin, you need to eat," the older man urged at him gently. "Not eating isn't going to solve your problem."

"She shouldn't..." the younger Pretender started, then glowered.

"Why not?" Sydney asked him quietly, moving to the easy chair not far from the desk and parking himself on the edge of the seat.

"Because!" Kevin burst out angrily. "I was... She..." He stuttered to silence and looked at Sydney guiltily. "I was thinking... we..." He looked down. "She let me... hold her... once..."

"And you think that means that she's decided to settle down with you? Is that it?" the older man probed without much surprise.

Kevin glanced at Sydney again. "Well, Jarod said that Miss Parker was the first girl HE ever met, and the two of them..."

Sydney smiled sadly. "Kevin, it took Jarod and Miss Parker over twenty years to finally make a go of their relationship. For seven years before this latest, we didn't even know where he was - and for five years before that, Miss Parker was actively working to find and bring Jarod back to the Centre. They were barely friends for a very long time."

"Yeah, but..."

"No," he shook his head. "Their situation is quite different from yours. Jarod and Miss Parker were good friends as children, then very much at odds as adults - and it was only when they discovered that Davy was really their son that they tried to put things together again. You and Deb have only known each other a few weeks - she likes you, but you don't have the proper foundation built for anything more than just a friendship yet."

"But..." Kevin struggled to put his feelings into words. "When I'm with her, I feel... so good... And I thought..."

"I know you do, son," Sydney commiserated with the young man. "Some ladies can make a man feel like he can fly." His voice got a distant quality that told the younger man that the mentor was remembering from his own past. "But that doesn't mean that she's going to stay with you forever. Things happen..."

"I thought when Deb decided not to go away to school that... I'd have a chance to get to know her better..."

Sydney pulled his mind from memories of Michelle and the love they had shared all those many years ago and back to his newest protégé's naivete. "Nothing in her going out to dinner with Tyler is going to stand in the way of that, you know."

Kevin looked down at his hands laying still on the keyboard. "I'm just afraid that... she'll stop wanting to spend time with me - that..."

"That she'll choose him over you?" Sydney finished the statement as a question, then watched the sandy head nod slowly and sadly. "Kevin, she knows Tyler even less than she knows you. And it IS only a dinner date. Would you take away her right to have friends of her own - take away her freedom to choose her own friends?"

"No, but..."

"If not, then you have to give her the space to make her own decisions." Sydney's voice was gentle but firm. "If you try to hold her too tightly, you will drive her away from you. Just as the way the Centre held onto you eventually drove you to seek YOUR freedom elsewhere."

Kevin's clear blue eyes connected with Sydney's warm chestnut, and the young man knew that the older man knew intimately of what he spoke. "I don't want to lose her."

"You won't," the psychiatrist soothed, "at least, not for a very long time yet. And by then, if you do, you'll know WHY. Take life one day at a time, let things follow their own path, and don't borrow trouble."

"Borrow trouble?" Kevin's brows furled. "I don't understand."

Sydney gave a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. "You're worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet - and something which you don't even know when or if it ever will happen. That's what's meant by 'borrowing trouble.'"

"Oh." The younger man studied his hands again for a long moment. "Then I shouldn't feel so badly..."

"I seriously doubt that one can just turn jealousy off like a water faucet, Kevin," the psychiatrist said kindly.

"Jealousy? Is THAT what this is?" The blue eyes gazed into his sharply.

Sydney nodded. "That's EXACTLY what this is."

The young face folded into a frown. "I don't think I like it."

Sydney stood and put a gentle hand on the seated lad's shoulders. "Nobody does, Kevin. I promise you."

~~~~~~~~

Special Agent in Charge Thomas Gillespie sat back in his chair from his perusal of the many photos and reports that the evasive and previously uninformative Miss Parker had suddenly handed over to him. He had been surprised to receive her call, and even more surprised to find her asking him to meet with her in her office. He had all but given up getting anything resembling a straight answer from the Centre hierarchy.

"My people have uncovered something that we decided would be best handled by letting your people deal with it," she had said after gesturing him to a seat in her almost Spartan office. "The Centre has had a certain... reputation..." she suggested uneasily.

"For being willing to work both sides of the street?" he'd filled in for her sharply, earning himself a startled stare from those glorious grey eyes of hers.

"Something like that," she'd admitted then, and then pushed a very fat and ungainly file folder across her desk toward him. "My intent in taking over this job is to alter that reputation substantially. In particular, to eliminate the instances of “working the other side of the street,” as you so eloquently put it."

He had simply let the folder sit untouched on the desk for the time being. "Why?" he'd asked simply. "The previous policy has made the Centre a power to be reckoned with in Washington. Why change stripes now, Miss Parker?"

Storm-cloud grey had stared pointedly into his as if attempting to penetrate his thoughts. Then she had nodded as if coming to a decision. "Because I grew up under that previous policy, Mr. Gillespie, and watched it do immeasurable harm without a single qualm - and I won't be a part of that kind of attitude anymore."

"And this," he had gestured to the overstuffed folder, "is your way of beginning to turn that around?"

She had simply looked at him without responding, her silence telling him that she had neither the time nor the patience for stupid questions. Gillespie had sat forward slowly and pulled the folder into his grasp. "What's in here?" he had asked finally.

"Evidence regarding the open and blatant collaboration of one of my satellite supervisors with various organized crime syndicates. I would imagine that there's enough there in that folder to convince a judge to issue a warrant to search the Centre's LA offices - and enough there to make a serious dent in illegal activities across the board." She had held his gaze firmly with hers.

Even so, he had frowned. "Let me get this straight, Miss Parker," he had tipped his head to one side thoughtfully, "you WANT us to raid your LA offices?"

"What I want or don't want is irrelevant," she had waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You will do what you feel is best with the evidence, I'd hope - AND I'd also hope you will remember that it was I who brought this information to your attention. My office will cooperate with your people completely from here on out."

He'd kept his frown - getting the vaguest impression that she had an underlying agenda in handing over what amounted to an incredible number of skeletons from the Centre's closet. And now that he'd had a chance to browse through the photos and transcripts of recordings, he knew she'd been correct in saying there was more than enough information here to convince even the most hidebound judge to issue a search warrant for the LA office of the Centre.

There was no question of his next move. He leaned forward and punched a button. "Sarah, get me the DC office and connect me with the Director's office. NOW."

Centre bombing nothing. What Miss Parker had handed him held the potential to make his career in the FBI skyrocket. He felt used, but decided that he could live with the feeling - provided that enough bad guys went down for this. Any maybe, NOW, he could use his better position with her to get straight answers about the bombing.

~~~~~~~~

"Sam?"

The ex-sweeper looked up from his paperwork and then waved Miss Parker into his office. "How'd it go after I took the rotten apples away?"

She slouched into the chair in front of his desk. "Better than I thought it would, actually. The idea that issuing part of the stock directly to the supervisors as an incentive package to make the Centre remain profitable was inspired." She ran her fingers through her hair and dragged it back from her face. "How goes it with our mutineers?"

"I've got teams going through their hotel rooms as we speak - haven't heard back from any of them. Most everybody is sitting tight in their individual little boxes and sweating out what will be found." Sam took a deep breath. "Flores, however, we're pushing - hard."

"What do you mean?" she asked, sitting forward with increased attention.

"I mean we're using psychological and physical “enticements” to convince him to spill what the subject of his phone call was - and the location of Andrew Duncan." Sam watched her face carefully.

Miss Parker blinked, then looked directly into his eyes. "What kind of “psychological and physical enticements” are we talking about here?"

"Electro-shock therapy to keep him on his feet until he talks," he answered her bluntly. "I have a bad feeling about what he set in motion with that phone call, and I want to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible."

"The shock therapy will leave marks," she reminded him in a soft voice.

"Very small ones - the electrodes are placed just in the right place to make the calf muscle cramp hard. Every time Flores tries to rest against a wall, or sit on the floor, he'll get a shock." Miss Parker stared at her friend and colleague for a long moment, and Sam just gazed back at her. "We need to know, and we need to know NOW - before the feds demand custody of him. We don't have time to be nicey-nice. I doubt he'd hesitate to use the same tactics on us if he thought he could get away with it."

"I wish..." she started with a slight frown.

"I do too, Miss Parker," Sam assured her vehemently. "But wishes ain't horses, as the poet said."

She sighed very deeply and rose to her feet. "Keep me informed," she said finally. "And as soon as he spills..."

"He'll be treated well, I promise." Sam finished her statement for her, aware that his feet were crossed beneath the desk and finding the fact disquieting.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda sighed as he walked down the narrow steps from the commuter jet to the asphalt of the Dover airport. He straightened the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder and walked steadily and without hesitation through the gate and toward the front of the terminal, where he knew a few taxis loitered in hopes of a fare. In a tired voice he told the cabby, "Dover Regency" in what he hoped was intelligible English and then settled back into the less than comfortable back seat and watched the scenery without any real interest.

He'd been wrestling in his mind over and over just what he was going to do once he got here - and now here he was without anymore of a clear agenda than he'd had over an hour ago. If he wanted to talk to Miss Parker that day, he'd not be able to rest at all, but would have to rent a car and head directly off for Blue Cove. On the other hand, if he intended to “drop by” the hospital and “visit” Ngawe-san, he could take an hour or so to freshen up first. As tired as he was, he decided he'd freshen and talk to Ngawe first - THEN head for Blue Cove in the morning, after a good night's sleep.

The cab delivered him in front of the sizeable hotel in good time. Ikeda walked into the lobby and up to the reservation desk. "I would like a room for the evening," he said in very real exhaustion.

"Yes, sir," the receptionist smiled at him and handed him a ready clipboard for him to fill out. Ikeda took his time and filled the form out in a clear and concise hand that would have made his calligraphy sensei very proud of him, then handed it back. "I've put you in room 348 - go left from the elevator and to the end of the hallway. Enjoy your stay," she said in a pleasant voice, handing him his key card in a small paper wallet with the hotel logo prominently printed.

Ikeda bowed to her without thinking, then turned to head for the elevator after opening the paper wallet and finding his room number. He was tired enough that he was beginning to function in a fog, and having people chattering to him in a language other than his native tongue wasn't helping. Twenty hours it had taken him to get from Tokyo to Delaware - twenty hours to go from home into exile. His ebony eyes stared out into the lobby as he waited for the elevator door to slip closed, all emotion viciously disciplined into submission to the inevitability that he would never again see the sights or smell the smells of Nippon again.

And if Miss Parker ultimately wanted no part of what he had to offer, he would be a dead man.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod nodded his appreciation to the lawyer's secretary as she watched him walk to the solid door and open it. "Come on in," Gerald Cochran said, his eyes still on some paperwork on his desk at which he was madly writing. "Have a seat - I'll be with you in just a moment."

The Pretender found a comfortable chair opposite the man's desk and settled down to observe the lawyer for a quiet moment while he finished whatever it was that had him so rapt. Cochran was a very dignified and balding man with eyes such a light blue that their color was startling. He was long and thin of body, and his face had a chiseled and weathered look to it beneath wisps of looked to be blonde hair.

Finally he set the pen he'd been wielding madly aside and then moved the legal pad he'd been working on to one side and drew another, fresh, one to in front of him. "What can I do for you, Mr..."

"It's Dr., actually," Jarod corrected him carefully. "Russell. I'm hoping that you can give me some advice and maybe representation in an adoption."

"I see," the thin lawyer made notations at the top of the yellow sheet. "Name and age of child?"

"Ginger O'Bryan. She's seven."

"Orphaned, relative?"

"Currently in foster care after being abandoned by both parents."

"Parents are..."

"Currently both in jail for drug-related offenses and child abandonment," Jarod remembered the details of Ginger's case very well.

"How long has she been in foster care? Any idea?" Cochran asked, looking up at the tall and darkly handsome doctor with some curiosity. He carried himself as a professional man himself - an incredibly intelligent professional at that.

Jarod thought for a moment. "I started seeing her professionally about two years ago - and I believe that was about six months after she'd been placed the first time."

"“Saw her professionally”?" Those incredibly light blue eyes were wide.

"Yes, I'm a pediatric psychiatrist," Jarod explained patiently. "Ginger had been abused before being abandoned by her parents, and then ended up in an equally abusive foster care situation." He leaned forward. "I terminated my professional relationship with her about two months ago, before I took a leave of absence from my practice here in town. Now that I'm back, and I can see that her current foster situation is becoming difficult..."

"You'd like to petition to become a foster parent yourself?" Cochran asked easily.

"With an eye to adopting her as soon as possible," Jarod finished for him with a firm nod.

"Are you married?"

"Engaged to be married." Jarod hesitated slightly. "We will be living in Delaware - and I will be making that move relatively soon, the legalities of the adoption permitting."

"Hmmm," Cochran gave him an assessing gaze, then noted down a few more things on his pad. "Well, Dr. Russell, let me do some research and see if the parental rights on this girl have already been terminated first. I can also get some of the background checks on you and your future wife in the works to expedite things a bit."

He rose and ambled over to his file cabinet and pulled out a folder and sorted several papers from it which he then handed to Jarod. "You can fill these out today and get the ball rolling - you have a number of things to fill out aside from the application to become a foster parent. You'll also see a financial statement, another is permission for a case worker to come to your home to see if it is appropriate to place a child with you. The final one - really one of the more important of them all - is a rather complete and detailed personal history that will require you give an extensive list of personal references, including people who knew you as a child and so on. You should warn anybody you list that they WILL be contacted by Social Services."

Jarod looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "I can do that. When will I know..."

"That depends, my friend, on what your case worker finds in your financial statement and the home inspection - and if there's anything in the personal history statement that needs clarification." Cochran tipped his head. "Is there any kind of rush?"

"Mrs. Thatcher, Ginger's current foster mother, is starting to talk institutionalization in front of the girl - and I'd like to be able to at least have her with me as soon as possible," he answered honestly. "And, like I said, I'm planning to move back to Delaware, where I'm from originally, as soon as I finish things up here - help my partner find someone else to help with the practice, sell my house, and so on..."

Cochran gazed at his new client with a hand slowly rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. "You're aware that this process prefers that the applicants demonstrate a certain measure of stability - a non-bohemian lifestyle..."

"I've had my practice for over four years, I own a home here in town - and my fiancé has been living in the same place in Delaware for over twelve years, and working for the same firm for nearly twenty." Jarod held his head high. "We're not exactly flighty people, Mr. Cochran. As a matter of fact, my fiancé adopted a boy about seven years ago. I would imagine all the information and references for her are still on file in Delaware..."

"Interesting," Cochran noted down that piece of information. "That may help matters in the long run, actually. In the meanwhile, however," he gestured to the desk in front of him, "you're welcome to fill those out here while I make a few telephone calls on your behalf to Child Protective Services."

Jarod scooted his chair forward so that he could begin the long job of filling out the forms.

~~~~~~~~

"So NOW what do we do?"

"We work with what we've got." Andrew Duncan sat in his car overlooking the darkening sea from a small hill between Blue Cove and Dover. He turned to the man in his passenger seat. "We'll need you guys to start immediate surveillance on those two addresses Flores gave us earlier today."

"Do ya think the boss wants pictures and the whole nine yards?"

"I'd imagine what he especially wants is any semblance of a regular schedule of activity," he nodded. "We'll be making our move as soon as we discover all the openings and weaknesses in the setup."

"Not a problem."

"Not so fast," Duncan warned him. "I have a feeling you'll be tripping over Centre staff from headquarters right and left. Don't let them know that they're being watched too - understand?"

"We watch the two places and don't tip off the Centre staff. Anything else?"

"That should do it for now. I expect to hear from you in three days."

"Got it." The dark faced man in the passenger seat looked out the window absently for a while. "When are we supposed to get further instructions?"

"Any time now. You know Flores, if there's a bottle of tequila within a hundred yards, he'll talk to IT first..."

"True..."

Duncan ran his hand over his sandy buzz cut hair thoughtfully and with no small amount of concern. Flores had said that he'd call with further instructions later in the day - it was now nearly dark, and he'd still had no word from his boss. And despite what he'd told his underling, Flores had never been known to start drinking during daylight hours.

Something was wrong.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 7: Quicksand


"This is nice," Deb said, looking around the restaurant. The décor was western, with the walls in unfinished wood branded at irregular intervals with what she imagined were the brands of major ranches out west. Here and there were mounted horns, branding irons, and framed displays of barbed wire. "A little out of place over here on the East Coast..."

Tyler smiled and picked a peanut out of the little metal pan that sat between them. "I found it a few years back and try to come in every once in a while. I think that I would have been very comfortable living life as a cowboy a hundred years ago..."

"You're nuts," she replied wrinkling her nose a bit. "Life expectancy was barely into the forties or fifties for men, younger for women. Very little medical help available, sanitation non-existent..."

"You're just spoiled by civilization," he smiled back at her slyly. "I bet that if you had a chance to be out on the open range, in the fresh air with nothing to worry about except finding a decent place to build a fire and camp for the evening under the stars, you'd learn to like it."

"Have you? Spent time that way, I mean?" Deb reached out for a peanut of her own.

"My grand-uncle had a ranch down near El Paso, and after my folks died I spent a year there with him." Tyler sat back with a contented smile on his face. "Spent most of that year on the back of a horse or mending fences - but I loved it."

"Are you from Texas originally?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a slightly more pronounced drawl. "Born and raised in San Antonio until I was sixteen, then spent a year on the ranch - on my own after that."

They both sat back as the waitress brought them their salads and waited until she had walked away before leaning forward again. "What happened to your folks? IF you don't mind my asking..." Deb asked gently.

Tyler shrugged. "Car accident. We were comin' back from a picnic in the country and had a head-on with a drunk who forgot what side of the road he was supposed to be on." He busied himself with cutting a bite from his steak.

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to pry..."

"It's OK," he replied, looking up again. "It just hit me that you've got your daddy in the hospital - and this might be a bit of a touchy subject for you." He waved his hand. "Anyway, after the ranch, I kinda bounced from one thing to the next - about three years ago ended up here. I applied for a job as a sweeper - thought I had it made with my black belt and such - but couldn't cut it when it came to guns." At her wide-eyed look, he pointed to his head. "Punctured eardrums. Target practice is agony."

"Is that how you ended up in the morgue instead?" Deb shuddered. "How could you work down there?"

"It ain't that bad," he said with a shake of the head. "I wasn't no coroner - my job was just to keep track of the bodies coming in and making sure they got released to the right folk in time. It was the only other opening at the time, and I was ready to stop roaming for a while. Besides," he shot her a grin, "I figured that I might be able to move into something more interesting if I stuck around. And now just look..."

Debbie smiled back at him. "You're lucky you met Miss Parker now - you should have known her years ago, before she adopted Davy..."

Tyler frowned. "I thought Davy WAS her son."

"He is." Deb sighed. "It's a REAL long story, but when she adopted him, she THOUGHT he was her little half-brother. She didn't find out he was really hers until just a little while ago."

"How the hell does a woman NOT know if a child is hers?" Tyler's brows were curled together in real confusion.

Deb looked at him directly. "How much do you know about the Centre? REALLY?" she asked back.

Tyler immediately thought of his shock as Miss Parker had laid out the way the Centre had been run during his days as morgue assistant. "How much do YOU know?" he retorted.

"A lot more than you might think," she said dryly, carefully taking a bite of her baked potato. "My Dad has worked for Miss Parker for twelve years, and I'm not dumb. I heard him talking on the phone to Miss Parker and Sydney off and on for years - and I finally was able to put two and two together. I figured I had it right when I started to chime in every once in a while and none of them ever told me I was wrong. For one thing, were you aware that Miss Parker's job for years was to try to track Jarod down and haul him back to the Centre to work like a virtual slave? Did you know that Grandpa Sydney raised Jarod from a very young boy not knowing that he wasn't an orphan but rather had been stolen from his family because of his kind of genius? Did you know that Uncle Jarod has been CLONED?"

The Texan put his knife and fork down carefully on his plate and stared at the pretty girl across the table from him. "WHAT??"

Deb shrugged. "If an organization is willing to do that kind of stuff, I bet you can use your imagination and figure out how a woman becomes a mother without her knowledge - or how a man can father a child without knowing it either."

"Holy guacamole!" Tyler shook his head in disbelief. "Miss Parker told me a few things - but nothing like THIS."

"Yeah, well, she's worked long and hard to put those days behind her," Deb defended her friend and surrogate mother, "as have both Sydney and my Dad. Even Jarod is letting bygones be bygones. And now Miss P's got a chance to turn the Centre around. Knowing her, she's probably got her mind focused on that and nothing else. For “the rest of the story,” you'll have to talk to Sydney or Jarod - or my Dad."

"Or Sam?"

The pretty blonde shrugged. "He's pretty protective of her, you know..."

"I'm not wanting to hurt her, Deb, I promise - just know what the hell I've got myself in the middle of."

"Go ahead, then, talk to him," Deb suggested evenly, sipping at her ice tea. "He can't do much worse than tell you to take a hike. He's a pretty honest guy - even if he can't play checkers worth beans - ask him in the right way, and he'll give you an earful."

Tyler busied himself with his meal for a while, struggling to wrap his mind around the idea that the history of the Centre was far more convoluted and unpleasant than he'd already been told. "What about Kevin?" he asked finally. "Where does he come in?"

"Kevin's like Jarod - he was raised by the Centre because of the kind of genius he has. Sam and another guy rescued him from where he was being kept about a week before the Tower blew up." Deb looked down at her steak. Kevin was NOT on her list of preferred topics of discussion. "Grandpa and I are working with him - trying to get him used to living out here in the real world."

"And you're living with Sydney now too?"

She nodded. "Only until my Dad comes home, though," she added. "I just don't want to be alone all by myself in the house - and Grandpa is still mending from his surgery. Kevin and I make sure he keeps getting better and not doing too much anymore."

Tyler tipped his head. "And what about you?"

"Me?"

"I'd think a smart and pretty girl your age would be headed off to school and a life of her own by now."

Deb looked up and then back down again, and Tyler knew he'd touched another nerve. "I was, until the explosion and my Dad was hurt. I'm hoping everything works out that I can go for the next term."

"What's your major?"

She smiled at him. Now THIS was much more like it. "I want to be a counselor," she announced. "I like helping people."

"I can see that," Tyler commented quietly, then smiled as a light blush spread across her face. He'd successfully steered the conversation back to much safer territory, for which he was grateful. One thing was for certain, he'd not underestimate her understanding of situations or consequences having to do with the Centre again. Evidently when it came to the Centre, even Deb wasn't as much of an innocent as he'd thought.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda peeked out of the supply room door and then strolled out into the hospital hallway as if he belonged there. With the cultural diversity of Dover, it wasn't hard to look as if he did - in Tokyo it would have been far more difficult for a gai-jin to wander about the hallways of a hospital in medical garb without causing some comment. He draped the stethoscope about his neck casually and proceeded down the hallway to the nurse's station and the rack of charts there. With an eye well-trained to pick up on clues quickly, he located Ngawe's chart and noted the room number from the rack, then strolled down that hallway.

Yes, there it was - unmistakable with the burly African bodyguard standing at alert ease by the doorway. Ikeda centered himself, as his ninja sensei had trained him to do all those many years ago, and then stopped in front of the hulking man - who gazed down at him like a prized bull eyeing a Spanish toreador. Ikeda bent forward as if he wished to speak to the man, and then when the man bent forward to him, sent his fingers directly into the man's larynx and then slammed his nose straight up into his skull.

The slight Japanese managed to toe open the hospital room door and aim the body's staggering fall to inside the room expertly, with the door closing quickly behind him before anybody noticed any commotion. Ikeda eased the man into a nearby chair to slowly choke to death on his own blood in agonized peace while he himself stepped closer to sleeping man in the bed completely unimpeded. Carefully he removed the summons button that would call the nurse so that it would be completely out of reach for the patient. Then, with a quick glance around the room to make sure that he wouldn't be observed, he then placed his hand over Ngawe's nose and mouth and pressed - hard.

Ngawe came awake immediately and groped wildly for the button to summon help, his eyes wide and panicked at his inability to breath. Ikeda's eyes glinted coldly in the dim light of the room. "Don't bother, Ngawe-san. The button is out of reach, and your guard is in no shape to be of assistance any longer." He moved just enough so that the frightened old man could see his bodyguard, the front of his shirt and suit jacket now streaked with blood. "If you attempt to cry out, I will kill you as you lie here. Do you understand me?" The elderly man in the bed nodded beneath Ikeda's hand, which then slipped from over the mouth and nose to a dangerous position over the larynx.

"What do you want of me?" Ngawe whispered as that was all he could do with what little air the hand at his throat was giving him. All pretense of autocracy had evaporated with the knowledge that this short and slight man literally held his life in his hand - and was capable of snuffing it out like a candle flame.

"To give you a warning, Ngawe-san. My name is Ikeda - Ikeda Katsuhito. You know me - or OF me, at any rate."

Ngawe stared. "Yo... you're our inside man in the Yakuza."

"WAS your inside man in Tokyo - the past tense being the operant concept here," Ikeda corrected boldly. "Were you ever made aware of my function within the Yakuza, Mr. Ngawe?" The African man shook his head fearfully. "I am an assassin - but no ordinary crude killer. I'm the man they call when others fail." The Japanese grinned coldly when he began to see the whites of his victim's eyes. "So you may rest assured that if I WANTED to kill you, you would already BE dead."

"What... what do you want of me?" Ngawe asked again in an even softer, more strangled tone.

"Tonight, I am only a messenger - I want only your complete and absolute attention. Do I have it?" Ngawe nodded desperately. "Good. Then here is your message. Consider yourself now duly informed that, in response to your ordering the murder of Tanaka Setsuo and raid on the Yakuza warehouse in LA, a contract has been issued on your life."

"I thought you said you weren't going to kill me..." the African whimpered.

"I told you that if I wanted you dead, you already would be," Ikeda repeated coldly, "and right now, I don't care one way or the other. However, our long and profitable business arrangement has bought you one incidence of moderate allegiance. Despite my order, I am NOT going to kill you." The Japanese assassin then grinned again, showing his predatory white teeth. "This does not mean, however, that when my Yakuza superior finds out that I've not carried out his order, that another like me cannot be engaged and dispatched for the same purpose. While my skills are highly specialized, I am by no means unique - and the next assassin sent to you WILL succeed, I promise you."

"What must I do..."

"Listen to me. Your stupid attacks on the Yakuza must cease. The man who set this disaster into motion has already been sent to his ancestors through his own stupidity, as has his father through your need for revenge. Two lives in exchange for your permanent discomfort seems a fair bargain." Ikeda eased up on the man's throat. "Any more deaths at this point would be of men on either side who had no part in what happened - and so their deaths would be without purpose or honor."

"Many of my men died that day," Ngawe began, massaging his throat with a shaking hand.

"Many Yakuza died that day as well," Ikeda hissed, "including the head of the Tokyo clan. And believe it or not, but I tried to avert the bombing - I was only seconds too late dispatching the man whose finger pushed that button."

"You! You killed the bomber?"

"On Tanaka-sama's orders," Ikeda informed him bluntly. "This war is a stupid and honorless waste of time, money, resources and lives. Neither your organization nor the Yakuza can afford it."

"I... we will consider what you've said," the African agreed reluctantly. Feeling a tiny bit more secure, he had unconsciously slipped back into his habitual speech patterns.

Ikeda's eyebrows worked subtlely as if amused by Ngawe's ridiculous attempt to reassert his dominance. "You will, or you won't - it is as the gods and karma would have it. But you have been warned, and given a temporary stay of execution. My advice to you is to use your borrowed time wisely. Sayonara, Ngawe-san."

Ngawe's eyes widened again as the slight Japanese man stepped back from the bed, bowed deeply, and then turned and seemed to almost evaporate from the room. As if coming out of a trance, he pushed himself up on first one hand and then another looking for the summons button, only to find it far out of reach.

Resigned to being left in a room with a slowly dying bodyguard and no way to summon help, he settled down in his bed until the next time the nurses would come and check on him, pondering what Ikeda had told him. And getting angrier by the moment.

~~~~~~~~

"What?"

"How was your day today?"

Miss Parker curled her feet up on the couch and leaned into the cushions against the arm. "Took care of some of my problem supervisors today - and Sam has the worst of the lot on ice. Mostly busy work." She debated telling him about WHY Sam had taken Flores and put him “on ice,” but decided not to worry him. After all, what could he do from California besides worry? "How about you?"

"Not bad." Jarod sprawled on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other holding the handset to his ear. "Actually did some therapy sessions today - amid planning sessions with Ethan about getting him a new partner for the practice for when I leave." He closed his eyes and pictured her lying on the bed next to him. "How was Davy today?"

"Much more manageable. He even helped put together a lunch for me."

Jarod chuckled. "Sydney's got a good system of discipline - you gotta admit."

"Speaking of whom... Guess who decided to start calling in to work so that he could get a handle on things a little better?"

"Are you really surprised?" He rolled and put the handset beneath his ear. "Sydney is a workaholic from way back - I'm amazed we've managed to get him to slow down as much as we have."

"Well, I told Kate to feed him the kind of stuff that will keep his mind occupied without worrying him too much about nut and bolts logistics." Miss Parker ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it back from her face. "Oh, and guess who is out to dinner in Dover with a certain handsome young assistant?"

Jarod blinked. "Deb? Oh boy! I bet Kevin wasn't happy about that!"

"Not in the least!" She laughed. "I brought pizza home for supper so that Deb wouldn't be cooking, and Kevin spent most of the meal pouting and surly. Syd took me aside later and told me that Kevin had thought that since I was the first girl YOU saw, and our relationship seems to be going gangbusters, that since Deb was the first girl HE saw..."

"It's not funny, Parker," Jarod chided gently. "I remember those days all too well - and you were VERY hard to get out of my mind. In a way, Kevin's lucky that his experience with girls will take place in a far more normal manner and setting."

Miss Parker sat up straighter. "I know it isn't really funny, Jarod. It's just that he's such a little boy about her."

"Deb just knocked a little bit of stability out of his brand-new world," Jarod explained patiently. "Being cooped up like we were, and so totally out of control of our world, it's only instinct that we crave having things easily understood and constant once we find ourselves out here in the “real” world. Deb's been a part of Kevin's world “out here” from the get-go." He thought for a moment. "How IS Sydney doing - healing on schedule still?"

"So far, so good - and, like I say, he's starting to get cabin fever." Miss Parker leaned again. "I think that I'm going to set him to sorting through the archives the moment we start getting that stuff out of the sublevels." She put a hand over her eyes. "Considering that there are a lot of questions that we need answered - not the least of which being where Kevin came from - I figure that Syd would be the most logical choice in archivist for a while. It will give him something to do at work without being too strenuous."

"I like that idea." Jarod nodded agreement, then thought for a moment. He REALLY needed to talk to her... "Parker, there's something else I want to run past you..."

"What's that?" she asked, stretching her legs out on the couch.

"Uh... Do you remember me talking about that little girl I'd been working with?" he began lamely, grimacing at his own inadequate strategy.

"I think so - the one that was so withdrawn? The one you worried about?"

"Yeah."

"How are things with her? Have you seen her yet?"

"Things aren't so good with her, Parker." Jarod paused, still not entirely sure how to approach the subject. "Her foster parents are starting to talk institutionalization for her."

A tiny voice spoke in the back of her mind, and Miss Parker sat up again abruptly. "Jarod..." Then she considered just whom she was talking to. "OK. What's going on, and what are you planning?"

He blinked. She must have had the voices helping her again, damn it, because that was a very big leap in the discussion accomplished with nothing said. "You should know that I was thinking this long before I went back to Delaware," he explained in a slightly defensive tone.

"Alright," she accepted warily. "But just what is this “this” you're talking about?"

"She reminds me of you... in a way... or me, or even Angelo..."

"Jarod..." The exasperation was growing noticeable.

"She needs a good home - and people who love her." Jarod barreled ahead, knowing that he'd passed the point of no return on the discussion. "I want to give her that home."

She pulled her hair out of her face again. "Are you talking adoption, or just legal guardianship?"

"I'd like it to be adoption, Parker."

She stared into the empty and dark hearth for a long moment. "Adoptions take months to be finalized. I know - Davy's took almost a year. I thought..."

"Missy, I don't know how long it is going to take before I can leave this place anyway," he told her gently. "I still have a mother who is fighting me tooth and toenail over this - a house to sell, a new partner for Ethan to find..." He sighed. "I've talked to a lawyer, to get some of the preliminaries going - but I wanted to talk to you before I'd done anything else... I need to know if you'll support me on this."

"Jarod," she sighed, "what do you want me to say? We already have a child - one who misses his daddy very much. And besides, where would we put her? We don't exactly have a spare bedroom here..."

"Davy would be better for having a little sister," Jarod presented his arguments to counter hers. "And as for the house - we can add a room, or buy a bigger place. Those are really minor considerations, and you know it."

"Would it really be fair to that little girl to pull her all the way across the continent, to live with a bunch of strangers?"

Jarod sighed again. "She's already living with a bunch of strangers - and has been for years. Her parents are both addicts and in jail for God knows how long, and she was part of the reason they landed in jail because they abandoned her after abusing her. Believe me, Missy, moving cross-continentally is a very small thing."

"Then let's get to the more important stuff - like I'm not sure I could handle a special needs child, Jarod," Miss Parker finally admitted reluctantly. "Face it. Both of us are intending to work at the Centre when you get back - and both jobs are going to be fairly time-intensive for quite a while. This little girl sounds like she needs some constant one-on-one nurturing for a long time to help her recover. I don't know that either you or I will be able to give her that." She listened and could almost hear the disappointment pouring through the phone line at her. "I know you really want to help her - I can appreciate the urgency too. Why don't you work on finding her a family THERE who would want to take care of her the way she deserves?"

"I love her, Missy."

"I know you do, or you wouldn't be thinking this way. But you're not thinking clearly right now - your emotions are clouding your judgement." She put her head in her hand. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a Pretender - ACT like one. You need to SIM this out properly, Jarod - work the SIM the way you're supposed to, without letting your feelings for the girl become part of the equation. You need to honestly and frankly consider all the variables and possible obstacles and potholes of what you're suggesting we do. I think you'll come to agree with me. Help her, yes - but keep her yourself? I don't think so." She lowered her voice. "Besides, when the time comes for us to give Davy a sister or brother, there are other more interesting ways to do that."

She could hear the long sigh on the other end of the line. "I was really hoping I could convince you..."

"I know you were, Jarod - and if the circumstances were different, I might be more amenable. But... SIM it out, Jarod. We'll talk about it again when you have, I promise."

"I miss you," he sighed at her forlornly.

"I miss you too," she sighed back at him. "And Davy misses you dreadfully."

"Where is he, anyway?"

"He and Kevin found a game they can play over the Internet - he's on the computer at the moment. Do you want to say hi to him?"

"Sure." Jarod rolled onto his back again, his eyes staring at the spackling on the ceiling. She was right, he needed to SIM out the situation with Ginger properly - setting his own personal feelings aside entirely - something he HADN'T done before. But not having her agreement immediately was still a disappointment. Maybe talking with Davy for a moment...

"Hi, Daddy!"

~~~~~~~~

Flores was definitely getting tired, and his feet were aching painfully now. The monsters behind the one-way glass weren't even letting him lean against a wall. The hours had crept by, and each one had sapped him of some of his self-assurance. He had been given two trips to the restroom - episodes of humiliation where his keepers with their fingers on the button stood directly next to him at the urinal or in front of him as he relieved himself in a stall. He had reluctantly made what could have proven to be a great rest for him into as short a time as possible - sitting in front of two cold-eyed sweepers on a toilet with his pants about his ankles was NOT restful in the least.

He glanced down at his wrist and frowned again as he rubbed where his watch used to be and shifted his weight from one foot to the next again. There was no way to tell the passing of time - this particular little room had no windows and just a bare light bulb that didn't flicker at all. He sighed and lifted one sore foot after another from the floor to rest it and the leg it was attached to, his arms now folded around himself and tucked under each other in an attempt at self-comfort.

And yet, his determination to keep his mouth shut was still strong. For as long as that bruja didn't know what “do it” meant - to him, or to HER - he held the high cards in this poker game. The thought of her face when the deed was done was all that was holding him together now - and only barely at that. Certainly Duncan had figured out that something was wrong when he hadn't called him back with further instructions, and was smart enough to have packed up and found somewhere else to hole up while the surveillance was going on. And the men Duncan had acquired to do the surveillance - and the snatch later - he, Flores, didn't know. It had been planned that way - the less he knew, the less likely the plan was to be foiled.

The door in the little room opened, and Sam and another sweeper bearing a single chair came in. From the look in Sam's face, the day was getting pretty long for the bruja's Security Chief - and Flores threw up a rebellious sneer. "You look tired, poor baby," he snickered as the large man settled into the chair.

Sam merely gazed at the obviously hurting former supervisor, not a trace of a single emotion floating behind that dark gaze. "I was just in the area, and stopped by before I left for the day to see if you had changed your mind about telling us what “do it” is all about."

Flores carefully shifted his weight to the other foot, grimacing as he put it back down on the floor and picked up the other foot for its brief rest against the other ankle. "I think the way I put it the last time you asked was “fuck you”," he growled as he swayed. Damn! Keeping his balance on one foot was getting harder now too.

The ex-sweeper had seen that slight wobble, and it confirmed the state Flores had gotten to - just as anticipated. With a nod at the one-way glass, the door opened again and another pair of sweepers came into the room. They roughly hauled Flores' arms out of their comfort zone and around his back, where they handcuffed them. The movement brought the other foot back down to the floor - and as one sweeper held the man still, another set of handcuffs was attached around the ankles. When the sweepers stepped back, Flores knew that his balance was now severely compromised should he try to lift a foot to rest it - not to mention that doing so would pull the other foot right out from under him.

"Well, then, let me tell you how things go from here, Mr. “Fuck you”," Sam said dangerously, rising from his chair to once more tower over the Hispanic. "We're going to add another dimension to our game of cat and mouse. Not only will you receive a shock if you attempt to rest at all, but you will now receive one minute of shock every fifteen minutes. Those shocks will start at a very low level and then grow as time passes. If you lose your balance and fall, my men will simply lock the button in "shock" position and come in to put you back on your feet - so I suggest you NOT fall."

Flores merely glared up at him, knowing that anything he said would only make the new conditions of his confinement more onerous. He knew that eventually his arms would begin to cramp from being held behind him, and that if he DID fall while being shocked, he stood a good chance of hurting himself.

It was only a matter of time before he broke. He was exhausted and his muscles brutally sore from what had gone before. The bruja and her diablo knew their business well.

Damn them!

~~~~~~~~

Tyler pulled his coupe to a halt in front of Sydney's front yard - and for the first time noticed the dark Centre sedan parked across the street with a man sitting in the car. "Deb," he touched the arm of the woman next to him and pointed. "Look."

"That's Dave," Deb answered easily, unbuckling her seat belt. "He's the night sweeper."

"Miss Parker has you under surveillance?" Tyler folded his brow in confusion again.

"No," Deb explained patiently. "They're there for protection." She smiled at her companion. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Cody. The food was great, just as you promised."

"My pleasure, ma'am," Tyler drawled as he climbed from the car and came around the front to open the door for her and hand her out. "Thank you for coming with me. It's so much more pleasant eating out with such charming company."

Deb smiled and felt her cheeks warm slightly as her companion tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and escorted her to the front door of the house. "I'd like to see you again," Tyler said as he released her hand from his elbow and took both hands in his.

"I think I'd like that too," she said softly. "I had a good time."

"Can I call you?" he asked, smiling widely.

"Sure. I'm usually either at Oggie's or here - unless I'm on my way to Dover to see my Dad." She smiled back. "I'll tell Sydney that you might call for me."

"Good." He still held her hands warmly in his.

"Yeah."

"Well, then, I suppose I should let you go in."

She looked over her shoulder at the lit porch light. "Yeah. I have to work in the morning..."

"Goodnight then," he said, still holding her hands.

"Goodnight, Cody."

Taking a chance, Tyler leaned in and dropped an awkward kiss on her cheek, then let go of her hands. "See you."

"Yeah. Take care."

Deb had her hand on the doorknob and watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car and climb in after giving her a jaunty wave of the hand. With a happy sigh, she opened the door and let herself into the house, then shut the porch light off after locking the door behind her.

Tyler drove off, feeling as if on top of the world - not noticing at all the second dark car parked just around the corner from the other. It, too, had a man sitting patiently in the dark - taking notes.

~~~~~~~~

"Harrison here."

"You're working late tonight, Chief..."

The Police Chief leaned back comfortably in his chair. "So are you, for that matter, FBI-man. What can I do for you?"

"It's more what I can do for you for a change." Gillespie looked down at the report in his hand with a photo attached. "I have a name for you: Damien Winwood."

Harrison sat up straight, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. "You got an ID on the John Doe in the morgue??"

"Yup. And a rap sheet that is VERY interesting. Seems our Mr. Winwood trained as a demolitions expert and spent three years in the CIA in black ops until his bosses decided they didn't like the way he ENJOYED his job and canned him. He's been free-lancing as an arsonist and demolitions man for the last twelve years - no arrests, but plenty of cases that he was a suspect..."

"Demolitions, eh?"

"Yeah." Now it was the FBI agent's turn to lean back comfortably. "With enough contacts left over from his CIA days to keep him on top of the latest developments in technology - whether it be here in the States... or in Japan."

"He's our bomber, then," Harrison nodded.

"It also may explain the gardener's body too. Getting into the Tower was going to take real planning. My guess is that the gardener was killed to give Winwood the cover he needed to slip in without drawing attention." Gillespie closed the folder and tossed it on his desk. "That explains why none of the gardeners you interviewed noticed anything."

"OK," the Police Chief scratched his head tiredly. "That still leaves us with who killed the bomber - and why."

Gillespie closed his eyes. "Considering the way he was killed, it was a hit - it HAD to be. So whoever killed him knew what she or he was doing."

"We're back to mob connections, then?" Harrison asked in frustration. "Shit - everywhere we turn, we bump into one mob or another here lately."

"I know." The FBI agent shared the Police Chief's frustration on that score. "And the Yakuza guy in the hospital isn't talking either."

"The answer to all of this has to be in the Centre itself somewhere," Harrison growled. "That place gives me the creeps."

"Let me see what I can pry out of the Centre now," Gillespie cautioned the Police Chief. "Miss Parker and I are on slightly better terms than we were a day ago - maybe I can talk her into telling us a little more of what she knows."

Harrison laughed a short and dry cough. "Miss Parker, give you a straight answer? The day a Parker gives a lawman a straight answer, you can be sure Hell has frozen over. I saw that lady in action years ago when a man she was involved with was murdered. She's a real piece of work, that one..."

"Nonetheless," Gillespie stated patiently. "Give me a day to see what I can pry out of her. In the meanwhile, I'll see if I can get any of our mob snitches to nose out word about Winwood's last job."

"Keep me informed," Harrison sighed, and then ended the call. He rose from behind his desk and went over to the bulletin board and looked at the photograph of the formerly unidentified body found near the Centre on the night it exploded. "Winwood, eh? Just who'd you piss off, anyway?"

~~~~~~~~

Rodriguez was in the lead car of a three car team driving along the Long Beach waterfront heading for the Port Authority and Customs warehouse. It had taken the better part of a day to arrange and pay the bribes that were going to get them through the gates so that they could intercept Lot 83 before it was logged in. The dark cars stayed in the shadows as they drew close to where the Toru Maru was docked and brightly lit with halogen floodlights. The cranes pulling the cargo containers from the belly of the cargo ship were moving slowly and gracefully as usual.

Not many knew about the back gate to the Customs warehouse - but Rodriguez's money had bought both the location and a conveniently unchained gate. At a gesture, a ski masked associate slipped from the lead car and pushed the gates open so as not to leave marks on the dark sedan. The three cars slipped through the gate and headed toward the back of the warehouse, where that door had been left unlocked as well.

Ski masks were pulled into place as the men poured from the cars and found the darkest shadows that lay waiting for them along the metal walls of the building. A silent signal from Rodriguez had the man closest to the door testing the knob, then pushing it open just enough that he and those who followed could slip in unobserved.

All was as expected until the back door of the warehouse quietly clicked shut - and suddenly the interior of the building was flooded with light. "Federal agents, gentlemen. Freeze!" The sound of numerous weapons being cocked and readied to fire filled the air - and the main group of Rodriguez' men found themselves surrounded by men in dark flack jackets and helmets.

Praying with all his might that he was still unobserved, Rodriguez reached behind him for the knob of the door. He twisted it and, still watching the spectacle taking place in front of him as one by one his gang brothers dropped to their knees and then face-down on the cement floor, started to ease out the door.

"Nice try," a deep voice announced as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, propelling him back into the building and toward the knot of agents handcuffing the rest of the gang. "Join the party, ése..." Rodriguez grimaced as he, too, was forced to first endure a thorough body search, then get pushed first to his knees and then face-down on the floor. His mind was ablaze.

Flores was the only one who had known what was going to go down - that little prick must have set him up. But why? No matter - when and if he ever got out of the juzgado, he'd see to it that Flores' outfit paid the price. Nobody but NOBODY messed with Los Cabrones de Los Angeles and was allowed to get away with it!

Not for long, anyway...

~~~~~~~~

Gilbert Flores was in agonizing pain. The muscles in his legs were so tired now that they were cramping without the need for the electrical stimulus, and it was getting harder and harder to stay erect. Twice now he had fallen - and as promised, the current to his calf muscle had been turned on again while the silent and forbidding hulks responsible for his “care” had come and dragged him back to his feet. He'd lost count of the quarter-hour shocks that had been administered since the bruja's Security Chief had left the room, but he knew several more hours had elapsed.

His nose had bled profusely after the second fall, for he'd forgotten to roll and landed with his face impacting the floor, and now it was another source of agony. The first fall he'd been wise enough to twist slightly so as to land on his shoulder - not realizing that with his hands cuffed behind him, the impact on the shoulder was even more painful than it would have otherwise been.

And now he knew the time was drawing near for the next minute's worth of electricity running through his leg. Just the thought of the cramping in the one was enough to get a hum of sympathetic cramp in the other beginning, and he began to whimper. He shuffled very slowly and painfully until he was standing facing the one-way glass straight on, and then said in a voice that cracked from dryness and disuse, "Alright. Alright. I'll tell you what I know." When no sound, no movement resulted after his announcement, he shifted nervously and tried again louder. "I said I'll tell you what I know!"

The door to the room opened, and again Sam and other sweeper bearing a chair entered. The sweeper deposited the chair near the wall, and Sam settled himself tiredly into it. The hour was very late, and he was long past the end of his patience with this fool. "So," the hulking ex-sweeper began skeptically. "Talk."

"Can I please..."

"Talk first - THEN we'll decide if you've earned a reward." Sam's dark eyes were hard - and Flores knew he'd get neither sympathy nor quarter from him. "Where's Duncan?"

"Somewhere..." Flores began, but when he paused he saw the serious lack of patience in his audience, so he hastened to continue, "here in Delaware. He came yesterday."

Sam felt the pit of his stomach grow tight, but he didn't allow a single hint of that disquiet to shadow his features. "Alright - he's somewhere here in Delaware. That's a start. Now, what does “Do it” mean?"

The Hispanic moved painfully from one leg to the next. "C'mon. I've given you something - why won't you..."

"The longer you take in giving me what I want to know, the longer you get to stand," Sam stated flatly. "Would you like another short shock to remind you of what that means in practical terms?"

"NO!" Flores was almost sobbing as he began to sway on extremely unsteady footing.

"So. What does “Do it” mean?"

The Californian's mind raced. He was going to have to give the man something reasonably believable or have to suffer through more of the torture - but what could he say that Sam would buy? "I... instituted a set of procedures... in case I ever was detained... procedures that would safeguard any classified information in the offi... ARGHHHH!!"

The Security Chief raised his finger to put a halt to the shock that he'd started the moment the blatant lies had started to spill - and motioned for the sweeper that had kept Flores erect during that shock step back again. "Next time, I'll let you fall, asshole," Sam hissed in impatience. "Maybe you'll manage to break your nose next time."

"Fuck you..." Flores managed after he'd controlled himself to the point that he wasn't violently trembling anymore.

Sam shrugged. "Fine by me. If we're back to that again..." He rose and turned to his accompanying sweeper. "Call me again if he decides to be a little more reasonable..."

"No! No! Damn you!" The tears were flowing down Flores' face now. "Duncan... and a team of California sweepers... are watching... looking for openings... The plan is... to snatch... the boy, and maybe even the good doctor... in a day or so..."

Sam was already in motion. "Get those leads off him and clean him up, then throw him into another room until the feds come for him." He was pulling his cell phone from his pants pocket and punching up a programmed number and then waiting. "C'mon, Dave, pick up!" It was taking too long.

When there was still no answer after a few more moments, he cut off that call and punch up another number, that was picked up almost immediately. "On your toes, gentlemen, we've got us one shit-load of trouble. I want a full security team at Dr. Green's and another at Miss Parker's NOW. We've just learned of a kidnap attempt, and it's probably in progress as we speak." He listened as he began moving swiftly toward the garage. "Shut up. MOVE IT!! DON'T ask questions. We don't know when these bozos are going to move, and the sweeper in charge of surveillance at Sydney's isn't answering his page." He disconnected and then hit another preprogrammed number - and waited.

"C'mon, Texas-boy. Pick up..."

"Tyler here..."

"Thank God!" Sam closed his eyes briefly in relief.

"Sam?!" Tyler frowned as he one-handedly steered his coupe into his garage and switched off the motor. "What gives, big guy? It's a little late..."

"No shit, Sherlock. Flores just broke - and “Do it” was setting a kidnap plan into motion."

"Kidnap?" Tyler's eyes opened wide. "Oh shit! The kid!"

"AND Sydney..."

"But... I just left there a while back," the Texan frowned. "The night sweeper was in place - Deb pointed him out to me."

"Well, he ain't answering his cell NOW..." Sam told him grimly.

Tyler was already reaching for the key in the ignition. "I'm there as fast as I can get this thing moving." He disconnected the call and tossed the cell phone into the passenger seat next to him and twisted around. The coupe was out of the driveway in a third of the time it had taken to get into it.

Sam disconnected and thrust the cell phone into his trousers pocket as he reached his own vehicle and opened the door. God, don't let us be too late, he thought desperately - then another thought occurred, and he dragged the cell out of his pocket again and punched in the one number he should have punched first. And waited for an answer. And waited.

"Shit!" The key was in the ignition, and the car was in gear and moving FAST.

~~~~~~~~

"Are you SURE we're supposed to hit this second place too?" Smith looked at his boss from the passenger seat. "I mean, we got the kid..."

"Flores wanted both the kid and the old man," Duncan's voice was determined.

"You'd think he'd have wanted us to snatch the woman too..." Smith continued to question the wisdom of their orders. "I mean, she's the one..."

"Shut up and stop thinking too much," Duncan snapped impatiently. "We're already on the edge, moving the plans up and doing the snatches tonight without direction on what to do next. We can't afford any mistakes. The folks we're going up against will EAT US FOR LUNCH if we screw up." He extinguished the headlamps on the car and steered it into the darkened driveway, behind the little sports car belonging to the girl.

Immediately, two figures emerged from the shadow of the topiary bushes near the front entrance and approached the car. Duncan got out. "Sweeper all taken care of?"

"All he's good for now is pushing up daisies," a self-assured voice came from one of the shadowy figures. "Not a problem."

"Jones, stay with the car and watch for trouble. "Smith, Cordova, you're with me..."

The three moved silently up the walk and onto the porch. Duncan removed a paper from his jacket pocket and, shining a light on it, punched in the security code with a gloved hand and grinned when it, like the one at Miss Parker's home, turned green and disarmed. "That's it," he announced, so that Smith could crouch and begin picking the lock.

~~~~~~~~

Sydney sighed as he heard Kevin give another grunt of frustration and bang at the keys of the computer just that much harder. "Kevin," he sighed again, sitting up against the pillows of the day bed that had been his resting place for far too long now, "give it a rest."

"But I can't find them!" the young Pretender growled angrily, pushing the keyboard away in a fit of pique and scowling at the system as if it were deliberately trying to thwart his efforts.

"You've only just started your search," the psychiatrist reminded him in a voice modulated to calm and soothe. "Be patient. You have twenty-some years of dust to sort through first."

"But, you'd think..."

Sydney's head whipped around as he heard something from the front of the house. "Deb? You're up a little late, ma petite," he called gently. "Can't you sleep?"

Even Kevin's head pivoted around when there was no answer to Sydney's call. "What the..." Then he ducked down into the shadows when three men stomped into the den with guns drawn, hoping he'd not been seen.

"You're coming with us, Gramps," Duncan announced in a threatening voice, waving his gun in Sydney's face. "Up and at 'em." Sydney eyed the intruders carefully and began shifting his bedclothes so that he could rise and do as they asked. Duncan watched the older man's careful and slow movements - and his nervousness got to him at last. He reached down and dragged painfully on the old man's arm. "C'mon, MOVE it, old man!" he growled.

"Leave. Him. ALONE!" Kevin barked at Sydney's surprised yelp of pain as the movement pulled hard on his stitches. The young Pretender pushed hard at his desk chair and crashed it into the back of the legs of the man hurting Sydney.

Sydney, seeing help coming from Kevin, threw the covers of his bed in front of himself as he moved to try to land a punch on the second intruder's face and succeeded, staggering the man back.

"Grandpa? What's..." Deb's voice came from the front of the house.

"RUN DEBBIE!" Sydney howled loudly, then collapsed in a senseless heap as the third man managed to kick his knees out from under him and then deliver a round house blow to the chin.

The toot of a car horn warned the intruders that their time was rapidly running out. Jones could hear the sound of screeching tires in the distance - and they were coming closer. The front door of the house flew open, and a pajamaed girl ran pell-mell down the walk and right into his arms. "I've got the girl!" he called out, landing a fist to the side of her face and knocking all the fight out of her immediately. He popped the trunk of the large sedan and dumped her senseless body in with that of a trussed and muted and very frightened young boy, then slammed the lid shut on them both. "C'mon, guys, we need to go NOW!" he yelled, no longer worried about making a racket.

Duncan whipped his gun hand back and caught Kevin on the cheek with the barrel as he rose to tackle the intruders invading his home, a blow that sent the young man reeling. "Let's get out of here!" he yelled to his companions, knowing that taking the old man was impossible now. The girl would just have to do.

Smith grabbed Cordoba's arm and steered him around and toward the door. The four men piled into the car and backed out of the drive quickly, then sped off onto an even smaller and darker street on which they could hide out until the security force from Centre Headquarters had passed and was busy investigating at the old man's.

~~~~~~~~

Sam's car skidded to a stop in front of Miss Parker's, his heart sinking to his toes when he saw the front door standing wide open and the interior of the house depressingly dark. Barely waiting to off the car motor, and being the first of the sweeper team dispatched to his location to arrive, he was out of the driver's seat and dashing up the front steps, yelling into the darkened house for Miss Parker and Davy at the top of his lungs. When he received no answer, he dashed up the dark staircase.

After his eyes adjusted to the very low level of light, he could see that the doors to both of the bedrooms in the summerhouse were wide open. Sam flicked the light on in the first, and winced both at the stab of light as well as at the dreaded sight of an empty bed with mussed covers in a little boy's otherwise neat room. "Davy!" he yelled again, then backed out and entered the other bedroom and flicked on the light there. Miss Parker lay, apparently still asleep, in her bed - but at the sight of a cloth tossed down on the floor at the foot of her bed, Sam knew that it wasn't a natural sleep. He picked up the cloth and sniffed at it - then held it at arm's length when the stench of the ether immediately made him dizzy.

He dropped the cloth back on the floor where it had been and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. He punched a button and waited for the voice to answer on the other end. "What have you got?" he demanded brusquely.

"Three men broke in - pistol-whipped Kevin and knocked Dr. Green unconscious. But it looks as if..."

"Where's Deb?" Sam could hear Kevin's voice in the background, sounding panicked.

"Where's the Broots girl?" Sam demanded of his associate.

"Shit!" he heard the man spit, and then move the phone away from his mouth to growl an order to one of the others there.

"No, no!" he heard Kevin argue with the sweepers, "she ran out the front door..."

"Check it out!" Sam yelled into the cell phone desperately. "Find her!" He disconnected the call and thrust the little device in his pocket again as Miss Parker began to moan very softly and stir. "Wake up, Miss Parker," Sam called gently, sitting down next to her on the bed and tapping gently on her face to try to bring her to again. "C'mon..."

The lashes fluttered a few times, and then the eyelids slid back to expose very confused and unfocused grey. "Uh..." she moaned, a hand moving slowly to her forehead and then rubbing her eyes. "Wha..." She blinked again several times and worked on focusing on the man seated at the edge of her bed. "Sam? What the hell..."

Sam looked down at her with a combination of remorse, anger and frustration. "We broke Flores, but it was too late. He put a kidnap scheme in motion."

"Kidnap?" She struggled to sit up, and then blinked again as her drugged mind began to register small details of her surroundings - like the fact that Sam - Sam!! - was sitting on the edge of her bed in the middle of the night. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" she asked, her mind still partly fogged.

"I'm sorry." Sam didn't know how else to explain to her what he feared had happened.

She looked at him long and hard, obviously working at getting her mind to function through the fog, and then she stared out into the hallway. "Davy?" she called, softly at first, and then a little louder and more desperately - "David Thomas, you answer me!" Only when the silence was all that answered did she turn a frightened look back to her friend and Security Chief. "Oh God, Sam, noooo..."

Sam could hear the heavy footsteps of the rest of his team tromping through the front door - and as much as he wanted to stay and comfort his boss and friend, he had a job to do. He smoothed a hand down her arm, catching her gaze with his own, and then rose to walk to the bedroom door. "Check around outside - there have to be clues. Be careful too - we don't want to ruin any evidence for the cops."

The cell phone in his pocket chirped at him, and he extricated it and punched the receive button. "Talk to me."

"They got the girl," the man on the other end announced grimly with no preamble at all. "And the sweeper posted outside here is dead - a bullet to the brain."

"DAMN IT!" Sam disconnected and dropped his hand from his ear in shock and dismay - and found himself facing an angry and frantic Miss Parker.

"Where is my son, Sam?" she asked in a lethally soft voice.

"Andrew Duncan has him," he told her, knowing that sugar-coating the truth would do no good whatsoever, "and he has Deb too."

"D... Deb?" The grey eyes blinked again in shock. "Why Deb?"

"God, I don't know," the Security Chief shook his head sadly at her. "But I damned well am going to find out."

"What about Sydney?" she demanded, catching at his arm before he could move out of reach and nearly stumbling as the effects of the anesthesia still hadn't entirely worn off yet.

"He's unconscious," Sam replied, an arm whipping around her waist and supporting her as he led her back to sit on the bed. "If it's what we suspect, they were after Sydney - taking Deb must have been an afterthought when Syd and Kevin put up a fight."

For a moment, Miss Parker wilted visibly - she bent forward at the waist and put her face in her hands and fought against the urge to just howl her pain and grief. But then, as Sam looked on in amazement, her back straightened and stiffed, she wiped at her face to remove all trace of tears, and then stared up into his dark eyes with a coldness and strength that was awful to behold. "I need to get dressed, and I need to make a phone call - and then you will take me to Sydney's. Wait for me downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am." The look in her eye was getting frightening - it was as if the last seven years' worth of animation and warmth that had turned a boss into a good friend had been rinsed away in seconds, leaving behind the old “Ice Queen” herself. Sam backed away uneasily, backed all the way out into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind him - then turned around and grimly ordered one sweeper to stand guard at the head of the stairs while he went down to oversee the investigation.

Once Sam was out of the room, Miss Parker's façade wavered slightly - and then she put herself under the most brutal discipline she'd used on herself for years to stand and move to her briefcase and extract the little black book to look up the phone number for the FBI. Now was not the time for sentiment, for emotion. She was a Parker - the time had come for her to act like one.

Even as she waited for Gillespie or one of his flunkies to answer, she pulled every last memory she'd ever had of her so-called “twin” out of storage at the back of her mind. She remembered, relived and examined his sociopathic behavior patterns as she'd observed them over the years. She sorted through quickly until she'd distilled the essence of emotional distance that he'd managed to maintain between himself and everyone else around him - and then she adapted it. With deliberate concentration and the talent she'd always possessed for Pretending but never really used before, she overshadowed herself with that essence completely.

She could not be herself - not now. She could not allow herself to feel - not yet. Not until she had the government called in and working hard to help find and rescue her son and Broots' daughter. Not until she'd seen Sydney and made sure he was OK. And most definitely not until she'd had a chance to rip the heart and throat out of a certain Gilbert Flores.

Then she would call Jarod. THEN she could let herself begin to feel again. THEN she could fall apart for little bit - just enough to vent the pain to the point she could continue to function.

But she could not be herself now. For now, she had to be Lyle.

~~~~~~~~

Ethan had been sitting and writing at an article based on one of his case studies when the voices in his mind had suddenly gone absolutely wild. He dropped the pen and held his temples between the palms of his hands, moaning as the internal volume kept ratcheting up until it was almost unbearable. Then, suddenly, the screams in his head went almost silent - and the sudden extinguishing was almost more painful than the screams themselves had been. Only one voice remained, whispering softly and desperately.

Still blinking hard against the experience and feeling as if he was headed for a massive migraine, he reached out a shaking hand and fought the nausea as he dialed his older brother's phone number. The ringing on the other end was almost more than he could bear, but he held the receiver away from his ear slightly, which made it a little better.

"Hello?" he heard Jarod answer.

"Something's happened," he announced to him without any preamble, "something really bad."

"Ethan?" Jarod's brow furled. "It's late - middle of the night back there. What..."

"I'm telling you," the younger Russell insisted, "something has happened. Something is VERY wrong - I heard her voice, screaming in my head, and now it's gone completely silent."

"Parker?"

"Who else?"

"Damn!" Jarod propped himself up on an elbow and gazed at the clock. It had been a long day. "I'll call - and I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I know anything."

"Thanks." Ethan sounded miserable.

"You gonna be OK?"

"I will once I take enough pain medicine to put down the entire percussion section of the LA Philharmonic," Ethan cracked, then grunted as a stabbing pain shot through a temple.

"Do you want me to call Mom and have her go over to your place and..."

"Hell no! The moment she knows that this has something to do with “back there,” she'll be rumbling louder than the timpani in my head is." Ethan shook his head VERY carefully. "I'll be OK eventually. Just find out what the hell is going on, and keep me in the loop."

"Got it." Jarod hung up the phone and swung his long legs out from under the blankets, then retrieved the receiver and punched in a number only to find it busy. He hung up and tried again - still busy. He hung up and punched in the number for Sydney's - if something had gone wrong, Sydney would know about it the quickest. His brows slid into a solid line of worry when THAT line was busy as well. He tried it again, with no more success.

"Damn it," he swore softly and climbed out of bed and walked across the house to his study, where he'd left his briefcase and the little book of all the cell phone numbers from home. He plopped the book down on his desk and sat down in the leather chair, ignoring that uncomfortable feeling of posterior skin meeting clingy leather, and dialed again.

"Talk to me," Sam's voice growled in a thoroughly intimidating tone.

"It's me - Jarod. What the hell is going on back there?"

Sam cursed under his breath. "Look, Lab-rat, now isn't the time. Things are in a complete uproar. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." Then he disconnected the call - not really knowing how to tell a man a continent away that his son had just been stolen. How did he tell a man who had put the safety of his family into his hands that he'd failed them all?

"The feds are here..." Sam heard a nameless sweeper announce from Miss Parker's front porch.

"That was fast," he growled to himself and then started putting one foot in front of the other to go out and meet the people with whom, it seemed, he would now be working very closely.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 8: Darkness Falls


Miss Parker stared about her as she finally stepped from her bedroom fully dressed and without a hair out of place. Her house - her refuge against the Centre and all the chaos and upheaval it had represented for years - was beehive of activity. Several agents were kneeling inside and outside Davy's room, carefully spreading dust over any surfaces that might have been touched in search of fingerprints. Another agent with a tackle-box full of what she assumed was forensic tools nodded patiently at her and then made his way into HER bedroom the moment she'd left it. There was a hum of voices downstairs - and she could occasionally make out Sam's tired and frustrated tones through the cacophony.

Calmly surveying the bedlam, Miss Parker walked down the stairs and made her way towards her Security Chief, now huddled with another, unfamiliar, Special Agent near her front door. "Well?" she asked shortly, her calm and nonchalant tone of voice and bland facial expression almost non-sequitor to the events of the evening.

Sam eyed her carefully. What he'd seen upstairs as those few moments of shock had penetrated had shaken him. Never - not once - had he before given any credence to the fact that his boss' name had been on one of those infamous “Red Files” that had been kept on all the Pretender candidates years ago, at least, not until now. Now the only resemblance the woman speaking to him held to his boss and friend was purely superficial - something very different and very dangerous now look out at the world through those grey eyes of hers. He'd always respected her strength and even her capable powers of intimidation. Tonight, he genuinely feared her as he had feared no man since Mr. Parker had vanished.

"From the evidence, it looks like we have two, maybe three, intruders. The alarm was disarmed - somewhere, somehow, someONE got a hold of your security code. From there, it was up the stairs and into your room to dope you up with ether, and then on to collect Davy."

The federal agent nodded as the Centre security man had given her a brief but thorough report. "From the looks of things, Miss Parker, the people who did this were professionals. We're dusting for prints - but, to be honest, I'll be damned surprised if we find any."

Miss Parker was listening, carefully, and she nodded. "Then there's very little I can add to the investigation. I never even knew I'd been knocked out."

"They probably just held the rag near your face without touching you," Sam theorized. "The fumes were strong enough that one sniff had ME reeling."

"Then leave a couple of sweepers here to watch over Gillespie's people and make sure nothing sprouts legs and walks away that shouldn't - and to lock up and stand watch until I get back," she ordered brusquely. "Sam, get me to Sydney's NOW. I want to know what's going on over there."

"Miss, there's nothing you can..." the federal agent put a lightly restraining hand on her arm, then flinched when hard and cold grey eyes glared at him.

"Do you need me here for some reason? I've told you all I know - which is precious little - how many times and different ways do I need to explain the same lack of information to you?"

The man blinked. "That's not it..."

"Then are you telling me that there's a logical, rational, LEGAL reason why I can't go THERE?" she asked in a very soft, very restrained voice. She looked first down at the hand on her arm and then up again in an obvious suggestion to the man to move his hand or risk losing it.

The agent got the message and immediately pulled his hand away. "Of course not..."

"Then get the HELL out of my way, little man, before you get stepped on!" she hissed and pushed violently past him and onto her front porch.

"Geez!" the federal agent looked over at Sam in shock. "Is she always like this?" he asked with a shake of the head.

"Nope," Sam said with a slightly thoughtful look on his face, "sometimes she can get pretty upset. You don't WANT to see her at those time, believe me!"

He patted the agent on the shoulder and took a hint from his employer to make tracks outside. She was waiting for him at the top of her porch steps, looking out over the moonlit lawn and driveway - now crawling with investigators. "You gonna be OK, Miss Parker?"

She glanced at him and nodded shortly, and the glance was flat - emotionless. "Just get me to Syd's, Sam. NOW."

~~~~~~~~

In the darkness of the trunk, Davy shifted against the hard floor and tried to move to take some of the pressure from his shoulder. When the man had dumped Deb in on top of him, she had landed hard against his chest and stomach, both of which were now one solid ache. But what had frightened him more than anything else was the short time when the movement of the car had stopped and the trunk had been opened in order to bind Deb as he'd been bound. There had been quiet conversation just outside the trunk after the lid was slammed down again - and the soft laughter and tone of voice of one of the men had been dangerous - ugly - and the discussion had focused on Deb.

So now the two of them lay almost curled next to each other, hands and feet bound tightly with duct tape and with a healthy swatch over their mouths. The car had been moving for a long time now - Davy hoped that eventually Deb would awaken. Even if they couldn't talk, they could know they weren't alone in the darkness.

And somehow, someway, there would be a time and an opportunity for them to get away - and it would be essential that the both of them be prepared to take advantage of such a moment. At least he knew how to watch for such things.

Many times over the years, when he'd stayed overnight with Grandpa Sydney while his mother was busy, the older man had patiently dug out what he had always called his “special games” for the two of them to play. These games were nothing like Scrabble or Monopoly - games played on a board for fun - THESE games had been played entirely in the mind, as exercises in logic and deduction and extrapolation. Given circumstances and a set amount of information, it had been Davy's task to see if he could figure out the answer to the situation within a set amount of time. Davy had become very adept at these games - and his fun had eventually come in seeing just how much under Grandpa's time limit he could manage his task. Over the last year or so, the games had been getting downright complicated - the emotional and psychological factors had been getting more and more subtle, and the answer to the puzzle more and more intricate.

Grandpa had warned him not to talk to his mother about their “special games” - that she wouldn't understand, that Grandpa had long ago developed these games to help train other quick minds to understand and function faster and with more accuracy. To prove his point, Grandpa had indirectly talked about those games with Mommy in front of him once - and Mommy had been not happy at all at the very idea that young minds could be so cultivated. She'd argued in favor of “letting a child BE a child as long as possible” - whatever THAT had meant in connection to the games. A long and meaningful look between the two males after that statement had been all it had taken to convince Davy of the wisdom of keeping his grandfather's gentle lessons very much to himself. The “special games” were a special time to be shared only with the two of them - nobody else.

Now he was going to need every last ounce of mental power that Grandpa had so carefully fostered in him. He might be a small boy, but he could THINK big, thanks to those “special games” he'd been playing for years. Somehow he'd get himself and Deb out of this mess - and the only worry he had now was whether what they'd find themselves in afterwards would be better, or worse.

~~~~~~~~

"Whaddya mean you're going to leave us off in New York?"

Duncan frowned at Jones' silhouette in the rear-view mirror. "Look - we made enough noise at the old man's place that somebody just MIGHT have looked out the window and gotten a description of the car and how many of us there were. We get to New York, we split up."

"Yeah, right," Smith obviously wasn't buying the line. "And just how are you going to handle two kids trussed up like Christmas turkeys all by yourself, asshole?"

"That ain't none of your concern," Duncan insisted, wishing for a moment that he wasn't driving so he could turn around and simply punch the man. "You three have been extremely well-paid for your evening's efforts - and you each have tickets back to Los Angeles within the next three days. What the hell do you care what I have to deal with?"

"I just thought..."

"That's the problem, Smittie, you think too much." Duncan sighed. "Now shut up and let me drive. We don't need to get in a wreck and kill the goods before we can get any serious mileage outta them."

"It was a mistake bringing the girl," Cordoba remarked quietly from his spot behind Jones. He'd been fairly quiet the whole trip. "She isn't close enough to the Parker woman to matter. Flores wanted us to get the old man."

"Well, the son of a bitch fought back - and had help we didn't know about," Duncan snapped. "That's something we wouldn't have tripped over if we'd had the time to do the casing like we were supposed to..."

"You mean like we would have known about if you hadn't gotten antsy and decided to go ahead with the job ahead of schedule rather than wait for Flores," Smith piped up again.

It was the big man's bad luck that he'd taken the front passenger seat, for Duncan's hand suddenly whipped across from the steering wheel and backhanded him hard. "Listen, shit for brains, I KNOW Flores - the reason he missed his call-in is because something has gone wrong, and so the BEST thing we could do for him under the circumstances was give him his leverage early."

"That's granted that he's still alive to enjoy it," Cordoba offered again from the back seat. "For what it's worth, I'll be GLAD to lose you guys in New York. If you've miscalculated, Duncan, I wouldn't WANT to be in your shoes when the Parker bitch blows into your little crib to rescue her boy and then tears you into little tiny pieces."

"Shut up," Duncan hissed at the quiet man, unnerved at the thought of Miss Parker chasing him down like a dog. "This is gonna work. It's GOTTA work."

"Famous last words," Smith grunted, holding his aching nose tenderly and leaning decidedly towards the window and away from the driver.

~~~~~~~~

The scene in front of Sydney's house looked very familiar - sweepers and investigators were swarming all over the place looking for clues as to who had invaded the house, attacked two men and snatched a young woman. Sam halted the car in front of the house and let Miss Parker out so that he could drive down the street farther to find a parking spot.

"You can't go in there, ma'am," a federal agent stepped in front of Miss Parker.

"Get out of my way!" she hissed at him and tried to push around him, only to have him grab her arm. "SAM!!"

"Let her go!" the Security Chief called to the agent before Miss Parker could think of using her martial arts abilities to put the man's face in the dirt. "Gillespie! Call off your hounds here!"

Gillespie turned around quickly from his serious discussion with another agent and gestured to his man the moment he saw who had arrived. "Let her through, Nick," the SAC said quietly, then nodded in return as Miss Parker gave him a nod of gratitude and walked steadily and determinedly up the walk and into the house. "How's she doing?" the special agent asked the very tired looking security man. "I would have thought they'd have sent her to the hospital to make sure..."

"This is Miss Parker we're talking about here," Sam told him with an eye to the open front door of the house. "When she decides something, a man has two options: get the hell out of the way, or get run over."

"Mmmm..." the FBI man nodded. Somehow, finding out she had that kind of personality wasn't all that surprising. "Still, see to it she gets checked out - for her own good - willya? Our lab guys still aren't sure what kind of chemical was on that rag that put her to sleep. We don't want to take chances."

Sam shrugged and then nodded. "I'll do what I can," was about all he could promise, and then he too was headed up the walk and through the door.

Inside, the forensics investigators were all over the house, just as they had been at Miss Parker's. From the back Sam could hear Kevin's voice, tense and obviously quite upset, and then Tyler's voice answering in a similarly upset tone. He hurried to the den to see what the heck...

The two young men were squared off - Tyler standing over Kevin as the latter was having a butterfly bandage carefully applied to the wound on his face where he'd been pistol-whipped, and Kevin glowering up at him while trying not to move away from the painful process.

"What do you mean, it's all my fault?" Tyler was demanding in exasperation. "Going to a steakhouse in Dover had NOTHING at all to do with..."

"But if she hadn't been all worked up and out late to begin with, she'd have been asleep hours ago - and then they wouldn't have..."

"Oh, for God's sake, Kevin! Stuff a sock in it!" Tyler's voice lowered as his worry and frustration began to make him angry. "From the looks of things, you two would have made more than enough noise to wake her..."

"Tyler! Kevin! Stop it!" Sam barked from the door before Miss Parker could really and truly lose her patience with either of them. "Kevin, Tyler's right. Nothing about their dinner tonight would have made a difference. You're a Pretender - SIM it out for yourself. And Tyler, don't lay blame where it doesn't belong. Kevin's fairly naïve and new to the idea of interpersonal stuff - but he did protect Sydney from being taken. Speaking of whom..."

Sam turned his head and saw Miss Parker reach out and carefully smooth aside a stray strand of silver hair out of the unconscious man's face while the emergency medical people worked over him. It was as if she hadn't heard any of the testosterone-powered bickering behind her, so focused she was on the man Sam knew she loved very deeply as the father she'd never really had. At least for the time being, her expression was the closest to the Miss Parker he knew that she'd shown all night; and with a sigh of almost relief, he turned his attention to Sydney.

There was blood on his shirt, and Sam realized that some of Sydney's stitches had probably been torn in the melee - yet another set-back in what had been a troublesome recuperation from the fracas that had seen Angelo killed. The older man's lower left chin also wore a brilliant red mark where the invader's fist had connected, a mark that promised to be a nasty and painful bruise in time. He was pale and still, lying there on the floor between the couch and the coffee table - but finally, it seemed, the eyelids were starting to flutter as Sydney began to come to.

"Shhhh, Syd, don't try to move," Miss Parker cautioned him gently with a hand to his shoulder to keep him from moving much. He groaned deeply in response. "Do you hurt anywhere?" she asked before the medical technician could get a word in edgewise.

"M...my knee..." he managed with difficulty, whereupon the young blue-garbed paramedic began carefully palpating the man's leg. Sydney opened his eyes wide and gasped noisily as the capable fingers found the place that hurt worst of all.

"I'll put a brace on it now, sir," the young medical technician announced matter-of-factly, "and they'll need to x-ray it when you get to the hospital."

"Parker..." Sydney suddenly seemed to realize that she was there beside him. "What are you doing here? Who called you at this hour of the night? What..."

"Hush, Sydney. We'll talk later..."

"Where's Debbie?" The older man became increasingly agitated when he looked over at Kevin and saw the deeply distressed expression on the young man's face. "DEBBIE!"

"She's gone, Syd." Miss Parker's voice was bleak. "They took her. And Davy too."

Stunned chestnut stared in disbelief into agonized grey. "Noooo... Not Davy too..." The older psychiatrist began to struggle again. "I can't just lie here, or be hauled off to the hospital. I need..."

Miss Parker kept her hand on his shoulder and used just enough force to keep him from doing himself any more harm. "Sydney. Listen to me. It is very important to ME that you let them help you - you've torn your stitches in your side and your knee needs tending too, that's obvious. I need you well and safe, so I can concentrate on Davy and Deb." A single tear fell to her cheek. "Please."

"God, Parker..." Sydney's eyes filled as he thought of his little grandson and pretty granddaughter in the hands of those callous men.

Miss Parker felt a warm and gentle hand at her back. "Miss Parker?" Sam began softly, not wanting to intrude, but knowing that time was of the essence. "Let's let the paramedics get Sydney situated, so that Gillespie's men can debrief him at the hospital. There's nothing..."

"What about..." Sydney's eye didn't miss the bandage on Kevin's cheek as he began looking around and taking in the details of his surroundings. "What happened to HIM?"

"Pistol-whipped. He'll be riding with you to Dover in the ambulance, just to make sure that nothing got broken other than skin," Sam explained.

Miss Parker leaned down and kissed Sydney's cheek above the bruising mark. "I'll be picking you up later, when they release you." Her grey eyes bore into his. "I need you, Syd - I am REALLY going to need you with me. Let them take care of you so..." It had become hard for her to speak.

Slowly the silvered head nodded agreement. "We'll get them back, Parker..." he said brokenly.

She nodded, kissed him again, and then got to her feet and turned to Sam, grey eyes turning hard and cold even as he watched. Again the hackles rose at the back of the ex-sweeper's neck to watch the process of another personality entirely taking over his boss. "Tyler, I want you to get the lines of coordination set up with Gillespie and his people - make arrangements to give the man an office at the Centre if he wants one. He's to have full and unobstructed cooperation on this. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am! I'll get right on it."

A hand whipped out and caught Tyler as he began to move past her. "But give Sam and me about two hours before starting our new “open door” policy with the law. There are a couple of items that the two of us need to see to BEFORE we start having FBI haunting our corridors. Got it?"

Tyler looked at Sam. "Tell you what, big guy - you call me when you're ready to bring the FBI into the Centre. I won't move on that part of things until I hear from you."

Sam and Miss Parker nodded in unison, and Tyler hurried off to find Gillespie. "Alright, Sam," Miss Parker now turned to face Sam directly. "Get me to the Centre. NOW. I think we need to have a few, choice, words with Mr. Flores."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sam couldn't summon up even one iota of sympathy for the Hispanic whom he'd pushed so hard that afternoon. And something told him that by the time Miss Parker finished with him, Flores would be wishing he still had that electrode still strapped to his calf.

~~~~~~~~

Unaccustomed to having to be patient, and feeling the nauseating sense of helplessness at being a continent away from where he wanted - no, NEEDED - to be at that moment, Jarod leaned heavily against the balustrade. Below him he could hear the pounding surf crashing rhythmically against the rocks, and watched the waves sparkling and dancing in the waning moonlight without really seeing them. The sound of the ocean had long been a source of solace and calming on those troublesome days when nothing seemed to go right. But tonight, the power of Nature itself to comfort him while he waited for news was completely lacking.

Not for the first time, he straightened and considered trotting back into the house, picking up the phone and calling Sam and DEMANDING to be told what was going on, regardless of how much of an interruption he'd be. But there had been fondness and more than a little warning in the big man's use of his nickname, enough to tell him that Sam - always a man of his word, even in the dark days of the hunt - WOULD call him back and bring him up to speed when he had a moment to spare. If Ethan's near-panic was any sign, Sam's abruptly ending the call was because he was busy - and more than likely busy in Miss Parker's service.

What was most frustrating was the inability to reach out to ANYBODY back there. Syd's phone had been just as busy as Miss Parkers - which meant that whatever had disrupted Missy's life had touched Sydney's as well. Jarod rubbed his beard and forced himself NOT to try to picture what was going on. It could only drive him nuts.

And then it was his phone calling him back indoors. He wasn't surprised to hear Ethan's voice on the other end. "Any news?"

"Nope. Her line and even Syd's lines are busy - and Sam cut me off almost immediately." Jarod sighed, his frustration and impatience getting the best of him for a moment. "You're right - something is very wrong. And here I am, stuck on the wrong damned side of the country..."

"Calm down, big bro, before you give yourself a stroke!" Ethan's voice modulated into a soothing voice that he often found useful with his patients.

"You sound like Sydney used to," Jarod said eventually, after a long moment when he struggled to get himself back into control.

"I sound like you do every once in a while," Ethan corrected him with a smile. "I copied it from you."

Jarod shook his head. "I keep running into signs that I've been emulating Sydney in a number of ways, even though I did my best to put him and everything about my years in the Centre behind me."

"Bullshit," Ethan started to chuckle. "All you did was try to turn your back on a part of yourself - and it found new and different ways of coming back to the same point. It's just that now that you've been back there, you see all the little ways you could never entirely run away from who you are inside - and how much that who you are was shaped by Sydney."

Jarod groaned. "Just what I needed at this hour of the night - a stunning bit of psychobabble aimed in my direction by my younger brother."

"You sounded like you could use it," Ethan countered.

"You're right there too," Jarod admitted in chagrin, then took a breath and changed the subject. "You sound like you're feeling better."

"Yeah, the acetaminophen has the whole percussion section down to a tambourine. And I took a quick nap - that helped."

"Well look, as much as talking to you is helping me keep from jumping out of my skin, Sam said that he'd call me back the moment he had some time. And I don't want to keep the line occupied for too long..."

"Just keep me in the loop, OK?" Ethan reminded him. "She's my sister too, you know."

"I know, little brother. I'll call the minute I have word."

"Hang in there..."

"Easier said than done, Ethan. Talk to you later."

"Later, bro."

Jarod disconnected the call and waited with the receiver in his hand for a long moment as if inviting Sam to find the time to call - in vain. He then sighed, dropped the cordless receiver on the coffee table and walked slowly back out onto his balcony over the ocean to wait for however long it would take to get that call. He knew there was no way that he'd be able to get any sleep now. He'd survived for over five years on the run on two to four hours of sleep - doing so tonight wouldn't be that difficult. Would it?

~~~~~~~~

"What do you intend to do?"

Miss Parker glanced at Sam, walking solidly at her side. "I intend to convince him to tell us where the plan said they were going to keep Davy and Sydney. That's probably where the men who took him are heading."

"And if he doesn't know for sure?"

She stopped and, with a hand at his arm, halted Sam as well. "What do you mean?"

"Flores built in a lot of safeguards to this little scheme of his - pretty crafty for someone who is more loose cannon and fast talk than anything else." Sam looked at her cautiously. "He deliberately didn't know where Duncan was staying once the man got here to Delaware. It's possible that he was sneaky enough not to know precisely where Duncan was going to keep them until whatever he wanted was accomplished, much less whether Duncan was ever really going to release them when he got what he wanted."

Miss Parker just shook her head. "We'll function as if Flores knows everything. If he doesn't, he DOES know how to contact Duncan himself. We have a trace on that cell phone of his already - we hand over our trace to the FBI and have Flores call Duncan."

"Not bad," Sam nodded. "It might even work. Maybe. Then again, maybe Flores' getting a chance to rest up a bit from our little games this afternoon will have his back up so that he's not cooperating again."

Miss Parker's eyes twinkled in a very cold, very dangerous way. "That's OK. We can handle that, too." She looked at him and almost laughed at his expression of disapproval. "Oh, come now! After all, it was you who decided to push the envelope as far as the legalities of your interrogation methods. We may just need to bump it up a notch or two..."

"And you're willing to explain this to the FBI when they come looking for their man - like you KNOW they will, sooner or later?"

"What I'm thinking of doesn't leave marks either," she whispered, one hand at the doorknob.

"I don't like the sounds of that," Sam complained quietly.

"I don't give a damn what you like or don't like," she suddenly snapped at him. Sam was quickly and efficiently reminded that this was NOT his old boss, but that new and unpleasant creature that he'd watched overshadow his boss twice now. "Go to the infirmary and bring me a backboard and enough duct tape to hold that bastard down tight. I'll see if I can sweet-talk him first, while you're gone."

"Let me call another sweeper to keep an eye..."

"No." The hand at his arm held tightly - almost painfully. "And when you come back, knock first and wait until I call and tell you to enter. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss Parker. You are crystal."

"Good." She turned away from him and, after punching in the security code, opened the door. She slipped through and pushed the door shut after her. There was a moment of silence, and then a loud thump and a cry of surprise and considerable pain. "Ah, Mr. Flores. Good to see that you're awake again."

Sam walked away with an odd feeling that he'd best hurry to get what she'd asked for - as much for Flores' continued health as anything else. Then, suddenly, he remembered a promise he'd made earlier. He cussed and dug in his pocket for his cell phone and brought up the number.

"Sam, tell me what the hell is going on over there!" Jarod didn't even bother with a “hello” or even Miss Parker's brittle “what.” "And don't tell me it isn't really all that much. I have a half-brother worried sick, and he's got me worried sick."

"Slow down, Lab-rat." Sam paused on his trek to the infirmary and leaned tiredly against a wall. "Are you sitting down?"

"No, of course I'm not!" Jarod shouted, pacing back and forth on his balcony. "You've got to be..."

"Sit down, Jarod. I won't talk to you until you do." Sam's voice was quiet, and Jarod's fit of frustration froze in its tracks.

"What aren't you telling me yet?" he asked, feeling around for a deck chair and sinking into it involuntarily as his legs wouldn't hold him up anymore. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Yes, damn you, I'm sitting down. Now will you PLEASE..."

"OK." Sam closed his eyes and wished with all his might that he'd never reached this point in his life. "You knew that we've been trying to outwit a bunch of shady supervisors?"

"Yes, Miss Parker told me about them a couple of nights ago. Sam..." The Pretender's voice was getting ragged with emotion.

"One of them, Gilbert Flores, decided to take matters into his own hands. We worked the better part of the last two days trying to undo all the things he set into motion..."

"SAAAM!! For God's sake..."

"I finally broke him this afternoon, after he'd made a cell phone call to his assistant and told him to “do it.” “Do it” was the order to kidnap Davy and Sydney."

"Oh God..." Jarod could feel the blood draining from his head. "BOTH of them?"

"He got Davy..." Sam started, then backtracked. "They got the security codes for both houses somehow - and knocked Miss Parker out with ether before taking Davy. They came for Sydney, but he and Kevin put up a fight."

"Good!" Jarod breathed out in satisfaction. "So they just got my son?" His voice broke on the last words.

"No. They got Deb too."

"Deb!"

"Yeah. She woke up and heard Sydney yell for her to run. They must have caught her outside." Sam paused as his own emotions, held down firmly for so long, suddenly threatened to explode. "I'm SO sorry, Lab-rat. I tried..."

"What about the sweepers watching everybody? You were getting that all lined up before I left..." Jarod shook his head - it was almost too much to take in all at once.

"They killed the sweeper in front of Sydney's."

"And the one in front of Parker's?"

Sam was quiet for a while. "She wouldn't let me put one at her place, Jarod. She said it could be interpreted as a sign of weakness."

"DAMN!!!" Jarod thought for a moment. "What's the word with Sydney, then? Is he..."

"Sydney's back in the hospital - the attempted kidnapping tore some of his stitches, and one of the kidnappers may have hurt his leg some. We'll know more about that after some x-rays. Kevin got pretty badly pistol-whipped trying to protect Sydney, and he's in having his face x-rayed too, to make sure nothing got busted with that. Miss Parker's called in the FBI - and we're going to be cooperating with them in trying to take care of this..."

"The feds??" Jarod almost smiled. "She's using them to do the work for her and keep it all legal." Very good, Parker, he thought to himself, then closed his eyes as a stab of grief shot through him. Davy!

"Everything but what we're up to right now," Sam agreed cryptically. "Look, I gotta go. She wants me to bring some stuff from the infirmary. But before I go, I want you to know that I don't know what else I could have done... but I feel I've let you down." Sam's voice shook slightly. "I promised you I'd keep them safe... I'm SO sorry..."

"Stop that." Jarod's voice was frighteningly calm. "If they killed the sweeper at Sydney's they'd have killed the sweeper in front of her place too. And you did what you could. It isn't your fault."

"Yes, it is." Sam sounded defeated even in the midst of contradiction, then shook himself. "But I can't think of that right now. She needs me to do things for her. When this is done, however..."

"Do me a favor?"

Sam closed his eyes. Jarod was letting him off far too easily, as far as he was concerned. "Name it, Lab-rat."

"Call me around your lunchtime tomorrow with an update. Keep me in the loop. And if you need me to come home, don't pussy-foot around..."

"I will," the ex-sweeper promised. "You'll know everything I do when I call you tomorrow."

"Later, then." Jarod disconnected the call, and at last let the phone drop from numb fingers. He sat in the deck chair for a long time, not even hearing the pounding of the surf below him, wishing with all his might that he was back home where he was desperately needed.

Finally he got chilled enough in the night ocean air to rise and shuffle into the house and back towards his bed. There was no chance he'd sleep more than a wink or two now. And somewhere in that time, he'd decide whether he needed to make an emergency trip home, or whether he could afford to stay put and wait things out from here.

It was something to occupy his mind, and he lay back into the comfortable pillows and took a deep breath and began the mind-cleansing exercises that Sydney had taught him all those years ago. He'd SIM through the best option, keeping in mind all the variables involved both in Delaware and in California.

Missy had been right. He was a Pretender - it was high time he began acting like one again.

~~~~~~~~

Flores blinked against the sudden brightness of the overhead light and tried to glare convincingly at Miss Parker, standing over him with a satisfied look on her face. "You didn't have to do that," he complained. "A nudge would have sufficed to awaken me."

"For you, perhaps - but I feel remarkably refreshed seeing you on the floor," she rejoined in a very cold tone, dropping with a resounding thump the side of the cot she'd lifted to dump him on the floor.

The Hispanic swallowed back a quick insult. His was not the best position to be in while tweaking the Centre Chairman. "What do you want from me? I've already told your Inquisitor all I knew..."

"Oh, I don't think so." Miss Parker stalked slowly around the man sitting uncomfortably on the floor and then took a seat on the edge of the bed not far from him. "I think you know a great deal more than you're telling anybody." She smiled at him, and the expression brought the hackles up on Flores' neck. The last time anybody had smiled at him like that, it was Lyle - just before he'd watched the man kill a competitor for thrills and carve him up for supper as if he'd been a side of beef. "And I think you would be well-served to tell me all these wonderful little secrets of yours before my Inquisitor, as you call him, gets back."

"I have nothing to say to you," the man on the floor spat, then moved slowly and very painfully to try to get to his feet. All would go well until he got to a particularly precarious point - at which Miss Parker would nudge him none too gently with her foot and set him right back down on the floor where he started. After the third time, he growled at her, "Is that the best you can do, bitch - kick a man while he's down?"

Miss Parker's smile only got colder and more lethal. "I'm dealing with a cockroach - a cucaracha, I believe you call them - not a man. A REAL man would stand up to me face to face from the start, not hide in the shadows of a child and an old man like a coward."

Flores' momentary grin of pride at his accomplishment despite his current situation touched a match to what little was left of her volatile fuse. She was on her feet in a second with her heeled foot knocking the man flat to the floor and holding his face into the dirt with a spiked foot at the back of his skull. "You ARE an insect, Flores - a spineless, ball-less, good-for-nothing-but-compost worm. And the only way you'll ever see daylight again will be to tell me where Duncan has taken my son."

"Why would I want to tell you THAT, puta?" he grated from beneath her foot. "Seems to me that the only way you'll ever see your son again is for you to sign over complete control of the Centre to me. And then MAYBE I'll tell Duncan to return him to you - alive - but I'll hang onto the old man, just to make sure you keep yourself out of trouble from now on."

Miss Parker laughed outright, and it was one of the most frightening sounds that Flores had ever heard in his life. "Sign control of the Centre over to YOU? Tell me, what color IS the sky in your world? This is MY Centre - my family founded it, built it, died for it. And you think you're going to force me to just sign it over? You pathetic..." She looked up as a knock came on the door. "Ah good. My loyal assistant has returned, and right on time." Taking her foot from the back of Flores' head, she stalked over to the door and called, "OK Sam."

Sam pushed the door open and leaned the backboard against the wall and raised his hand so she could see him wearing the fresh roll of duct tape like a cumbersome bracelet. The dark ex-sweeper took in the sight of Flores struggling to right himself into a seated position on the floor, and the craggy face broke into a wide smile. "Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Fuck-you himself - right down scrabbling in the dirt again where he belongs."

"Mr. Flores here is of the opinion that I should just meekly sign over control of the Centre to him - and THEN, maybe, he'll return Davy to me. He'll keep Sydney, however, as collateral against my continued good behavior." Miss Parker announced to Sam with a look of not quite sanity that made his skin crawl. "What do you think?"

"I think maybe it's time we laid the turkey out and get the information we want from him the only way he seems to be open to being convinced," Sam replied, playing along. He looked down into Flores' face with a similarly cold expression, watching what little color that Hispanic face had had drain away as his meaning became clear. "Ready when you are, Miss P."

Miss Parker reached behind her and pulled out her 9mm chrome-plated Smith & Wesson. Sam worked hard not to stare - he'd been around when she'd spoken of putting that away in her bedroom closet, up very high and behind plenty of other stored items so that Davy would never know it was even there. She'd firmly announced at the time that she'd never handle the thing again for any but the best of reasons. This, evidently, qualified - it would have, even in HIS book.

She fondled the chrome piece, slowly chambered a round for the effect knowing the weapon was loaded would have on the quaking Californian. Then after stroking the man's cheeks and throat with the cool metal almost seductively, she put the muzzle of the gun against Flores' forehead and pressed it into the skin a bit. "You're not going to give me any problems, little man, are you?" She glanced up at Sam. "Lean the board against the bed and get him on it. Tape him down tight so that he can't move at all."

Flores took one look at the eager expression on Sam's face as the sweeper positioned the backboard as directed and tried to scoot across the floor away from him. Miss Parker didn't flinch - she just moved the gun from his forehead and pulled the trigger next to his ear, sending the bullet into the linoleum only an inch or so from his hand, giving him reason to freeze his movements. "I suggest you not struggle, insect, or you'll look like Jesus on Good Friday and STILL end up taped down to that board so you can't move. Then again," she waved the gun nonchalantly before putting it back to his forehead, making him flinch away from the heat of the metal, "it's your choice."

Sam moved efficiently around Miss Parker and grabbed hold of the man on the floor beneath the armpits, dragging him roughly up and depositing him none too gently against the hard surface of the backboard. Miss Parker moved with Flores, keeping the gun to his forehead while Sam began the job of duct taping the man to the backboard.

"What are you going to do to me?" Flores whimpered, his ear still ringing from the percussion of the gunshot. "If you kill me, you'll never know..."

"Whoever said anything about kill?" Miss Parker smiled her lethal smile down at him as the duct tape got wrapped about his forehead several times, making it impossible for him to move his head at all. "I'm going to test out a schoolyard legend and see just how effective Chinese Water Torture is after all." She pointed. "Make sure he has no movement at the neck, shoulders, elbows, wrist, chest, hips, knees and ankles. And leave the hand holds on either end of the board available. We'll have to carry him to the infirmary when we get him trussed up."

"At least let me call another sweeper to help carry him," Sam asked her while taking care of the arms and chest.

"Nope," she answered easily. "This is for you and me to do, Sam. I don't want any of the others involved."

"Chinese Water Torture, eh?" The ex-sweeper nodded at her. "I've always wondered about that one myself." Sam bent and patted Flores' shoulder through the duct tape. "Don't worry, it's going to be research in a good cause - trust me!"

~~~~~~~~

Jarod eased himself out of the funk he'd been in for the last half-hour, still desperately torn and wanting to dash back to Delaware where he wanted to be. He'd been hard put to think of reasons to sit on his hands a continent away letting Parker and Sam handle things for him. He also REALLY wanted to take his own turn at working a proper payback on the bastard that had done this to people he loved in the first place. He'd not been able to achieve a meditative state at all - all he'd been able to focus on was his worry about Davy and, to a slightly lesser extent, Deb. But eventually, what had begun as a slight nudge at the back of his mind had turned into a small bell that announced that he'd forgotten something in his upset. He took a long, deep breath and opened his eyes, and he suddenly knew exactly what was bothering him - what he'd forgotten.

With a sigh of regret, he picked up the receiver and dialed his brother's number.

"Jarod?" Ethan sounded very tired, as if he'd possibly just awakened.

"I'm sorry if I woke you." Jarod truly did feel badly now - he should have called Ethan much earlier.

"No," Ethan said then grunted. "I just dozed off here in my chair. Did you finally talk to somebody?"

"Yeah." Jarod pinched the bridge of his nose as if that would keep the tears from threatening again as they had every time he thought of his son in danger. "Some fruitcake back there decided to snatch Davy and Sydney in order to force Parker to do something she didn't want to do."

Ethan frowning. One of the flashes he'd received from his sister before everything had shut down violently had concerned her son - the image of the little boy with the dark hair and grey eyes and his father's grin was burned into his mind - but not the psychiatrist. "Sydney wasn't part of what I got..."

"I know." Jarod sighed. "Seems Sydney had help defending himself - he and Kevin fought the men off. They got a bit dented in the dust-off, but are otherwise OK. But..."

"But..."

"Looks like the kidnappers snatched Deb Broots instead."

"Oh boy." His younger brother was very quiet. Then: "What are you going to do? Go back?"

"I don't know," Jarod let his conflict show in his voice. "God, I want to. I've spent the better part of the last half-hour trying to decide whether to jump the next plane back East or hold off for a bit yet. If I went now, I'd be completely involved and able to help out - and Parker's called in the feds, so it isn't as if she doesn't have plenty of quality people back there working on this that I'd be working with too. I know Parker has Sydney back there, and Sam, for moral support - I'll call her this evening when hopefully things will have settled down to a dull uproar. But I'D rather be there too - to make sure SHE'S handling things OK and not just feeding me a line. She's very good at burying her feelings so deeply that it hurts her more in the long run uncovering them again. I know her better than anybody else does, except maybe Sydney - so I'd KNOW if she was just running from herself again and keep her from doing that."

"Jarod..."

Jarod didn't seem to hear him. "I mean, how do I know that somebody isn't going to make a colossal blunder that will cost Davy or Deb their lives? How do I know that the government folks Parker called in will be trustworthy - and not actively working with the scum that set this in motion? Sydney's hurt and so is Kevin - hell, Broots is still in a coma last I heard. If I were there, I could process the information faster than anybody else and SIM things..."

"And get in the way of the feds, maybe be too much of a distraction for my sister to be able to focus properly on her other problems at the Centre..."

Jarod's voice grew defensive. "He's MY son, Ethan. I have a right..."

"Calm down! I'm just saying the things that need to be considered too. Not to mention that you told me you were going to talk to that lawyer and put things into motion about Ginger. When is it that they're coming to inspect your home, did you say?"

The thought of the little girl brought Jarod up short. "Hell, I don't know. But this is an emergency, after all..."

Ethan just shook his head. "You know as well as I do that bureaucracies don't recognize emergencies. You have to make an appointment to die with some of them - croaking at the drop of the hat just isn't allowed."

"I can't just sit here, waiting..."

"THINK, Jarod - don't just run off half-cocked. Knowing what you do, have you done any SIMming on this at all?"

"That was that half-hour I spent when I should have called you first." Jarod admitted. "But I couldn't get my mind clear enough..."

"Well, at least you're making a stab at doing things the right way - even if you're not being very successful or objective about it." Ethan thought for a moment. "Who'd you finally talk to back there, anyway?"

"Sam. He called me, evidently in the middle of getting something for Missy at the Centre."

Ethan closed his eyes and concentrated. It had been a long time since his therapy sessions, when he'd finally learned how to reach out to the voices in the back of his mind. He pushed gently, first in one direction and then in the next - searching for something that had no name and he couldn't explain. "I tell you, Jarod, things feel... disjointed... about this whole thing. Something's really off."

"What do you mean - disjointed?"

"Like things are tumbling around randomly, unorganized..." Now it was Ethan's turn to sigh. "You know how every once in a while, everything around you just kinda goes FUBAR for a time? Like that."

"And that's why you think I should stay put?"

"I'm not sure... To be honest, I almost wish that Pretending had been a part of what I could do. I could help you see through the SIMs, instead of feed you hunches..."

"What kind of hunches?" Jarod was sincerely curious - Ethan's hunches had an uncanny habit of being borne out.

Ethan answered, hearing again that very quiet voice. "That you need to be here when things break loose..." He searched for words to explain feelings that couldn't be described, then let go an explosive burst of frustrated air. "God, I wish I could tell you more.

"What breaks loose?" Jarod demanded. "Who? Parker? Davy?"

"Good question, bro. I don't understand it all that well myself."

The Pretender was quiet for a moment, still feeling very tempted to throw together an overnight bag and hop the next plane for the East Coast, but now faced with the unhappy hunch that Ethan's hunch might just be right. "Well, I'll let you get back to your nap. You wanted to stay in the loop..."

"Let me know when you know anything new," Ethan asked quickly, before Jarod could do one of his abrupt disconnects that still could be quite irksome. "And for God's sake, if you DO decide to hop a plane, call me first so I can try to calm down Mom and Em when they find out you took off again without telling them."

Jarod sighed. "I suppose I can do that. Sleep well, little brother."

"Goodnight, Jarod. Try to get some rest, willya?"

Jarod pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Yeah. Sure thing," he replied wryly, more than aware that he'd be able to do just about anything BUT that. "Goodnight, Ethan."

~~~~~~~~

Tyler sat in his coupe, to which he'd retired after sticking around inside Sydney's long enough to see the government investigators finish collecting their evidence and drive off and then set sweepers in place to guard the place until the psychiatrist's return. In his hand was the one item that he wanted most to hand to Gillespie at that moment - and yet didn't have a clue how to do it without getting Miss Parker and Sam into a lot of hot water. He gazed down at the picture of Andrew Duncan and frowned in frustration.

How was he to tell the FBI man in charge that THIS was the man to be watching for? He couldn't just say, "well, he's the guy hired by the man who dreamed this thing up - we have a tape of the call Flores made to him setting up the kidnapping. Oh, and by the way, we're taking care of Flores ourselves, so all YOU have to do is find Duncan..." Nope. That wouldn't fly. Gillespie would want access to Flores immediately - and Miss Parker had asked for time to weasel the information out of him in her own way.

He could say, "well, this is the assistant to the man who was involved in all those dealings with the crime syndicates that we just turned over to you - and we suspect that he's probably involved in setting up the kidnappings too. Where is he? We're not exactly sure..." Nope. All it would take would be an interview with one of the other supervisors, and the FBI would know full good and well that Centre personnel knew where Flores had gone. Then not only would they want immediate access, but they'd want to know why the Centre had lied after promising full and unobstructed cooperation.

With a yawn he looked down at his wristwatch - it was three in the morning. Much as he'd just as soon drive home and rest up a bit, he knew Miss Parker was probably wanting him out at the Centre when he finished here. He put the photo of Duncan on the passenger seat and fired up the motor of the coupe. Maybe SHE would have some idea how to introduce Duncan to Gillespie without causing more problems than he solved.

He sure hoped so...

~~~~~~~~

Flores looked on in growing amusement as Miss Parker and Sam, using the materials at hand in the infirmary and other places, began to construct an odd scaffold about his head. They had carried him down the hallway with very little effort, even though he had tried with all his might to move his weight around and make the burden difficult. At one point, however, Miss Parker had called for them to halt, then leaned over his head - near the end of the board she was carrying - and hissed, "Keep it up and we'll drop you. Feel like seeing if three feet of freefall will make you more cooperative?" Looking into her cold, dead, grey eyes, he knew that she'd do it - order that they drop him - and probably not just from the waist-high level he was at.

The scaffolding was as creative as it was functional. A metal supply shelf unit - shelves held on either end by essentially a metal ladder - had been placed at his head. Then Sam had vanished for a short time and came back with a set of bottles of sterile water and an IV control unit. The two of them had been happily creative from there on - hanging the two rather large bottles of water to feed the control unit and then connecting that to a regular IV tube. Then they took a scalpel and cut the plastic tubing just beneath the drip controller and finally, with deliberate care, rigged it so that the cut end of the drip unit hung approximately three feet above his head.

"Are you ready for this?" Sam asked Miss Parker with a twinkle in his eye. With a nod she plugged in the control unit. Sam waited until the reservoir behind the drip controller had a fair bit of liquid in it before easing back on the drip controller. The first drop impacted on the duct tape, so Sam moved the shelf unit just inches closer. Just enough so that the next drip landed right where they wanted it to - on the bridge of the nose just between the eyes.

Flores began to chuckle. "You call this incentive?" he chortled. "I figured you'd be doing something..." he paused as the next drip hit him and made him blink, "...more intimidating."

Miss Parker merely smiled coldly. "For your information, a single drop of water, repeated often enough, can wear away a mountain. Let's see how well you do after about an hour of that thing dripping onto your face - or maybe even a day or so."

"A day?" Sam looked over at her. "Are we going to be willing to hold him like this for that long?"

"I honestly don't think it will take that long," Miss Parker said to him. "Fully part of the torture Hippolytus de Marsiliis developed had to do with the power of anticipation turning to annoyance turning to dread turning to insanity. That's why we don't want it dripping on him any faster than four or five times a minute - he needs the time between drops to watch it grow until it just can't hang on anymore, and then it hits him in exactly the same time after time after time."

"You are so full of shit, lady," Flores snarled.

"You're the one getting wet," she reminded him sweetly. "We'll check up on you in about an hour - if nothing else, to make sure there's plenty of water still waiting to drip onto you drop by drop by drop." She took Sam by the arm, insinuating her hand into the crook of his elbow. "C'mon - let's see if we can get any news from Tyler."

Flores couldn't turn his head to see them leave nor make out any movement in his peripheral vision, but he heard the door close. All he could see was the clear plastic orifice above him that slowly was growing the next drop that, as it hit his face, scattered droplets painfully into his eye making him blink hard. And again. And again.

He tried closing his eyes and ignoring the drip, but the waiting was almost worse than having it drop unexpectedly. Time had never moved so slowly in his life, measured a single drop of water at a time.

~~~~~~~~

Kevin sat stoically on the edge of the examination table as the ER physician put three stitches into the cut on his cheek from blow from the gun. Sydney had warned him to be patient and cooperate fully, and he was determined to follow his mentor's directions to the letter. The physician who attended him was a personable man, not a lot older than Kevin himself, who was trying to engage his nervous patient in some light conversation. But Kevin's shyness had made a sudden and fierce reappearance because so much of what the doctor was asking about made very little sense to the young Pretender. He didn't even know anybody by the last name of either Spears or Carey - so how could he say which girl or woman he “liked” better? He LIKED Deb - but she was... No. He wouldn't think of that now - it still hurt too much.

"When will I be able to see my... When can I see Sydney?" he finally asked when the doctor seemed to be finished and reaching for a new bandage.

"I'm not sure - let me go check on him for you." The physician applied the butterfly bandage and rose from his little stool. "Hang on."

Kevin looked around him at the emergency room - still reeling from finding himself a patient in one. The entire intake process had been frightening - out of sheer lack of creativity and growing panic, he'd claimed Sydney's last name as his own on the admitting form. He didn't think Sydney would mind much - the mentor HAD told him at one point that he was a part of the family after all. But he'd learned in the short time he'd been out of that little house and away from Vernon that sometimes saying a thing and actually meaning it could be two different things. He'd have to apologize to Sydney later, just in case.

"Your friend will be staying overnight with us at the very least," the doctor announced as he pushed through the curtains surrounding Kevin's examination table. "Seems that he has some torn ligaments in his right knee that the orthopedist wants to tackle with orthoscopic surgery in the morning. We're done here - why don't you go visit with him a bit before they take him to the ward? I can finish up the paperwork here." The doctor moved the curtain at the end of the examination table aside so that Kevin could see out, then pointed to a closed-in space at the end of the line. "He's down there."

The young Pretender walked down to the curtain and pulled it aside just a little to peek inside. Sydney was propped up against some comfortable-looking pillows and saw the movement. "Come on in, Kevin," he called gently. "My doctor is taking care of setting things up for them to fix my knee in the morning."

"How are you feeling?" Kevin asked awkwardly. After years of wondering what they were like, he was starting to hate hospitals - and, more specifically, hate seeing Sydney laid up in one so often.

"Not too bad now," the older man admitted. "They gave me a shot for the pain a while back, and it's kicking in pretty good now."

"I... didn't know what to put down for my last name," the young man confessed with a small voice. "I... gave them yours..."

Sydney smiled at his young protégé. "I don't mind, Kevin. It's actually a pretty good idea for us to establish some sort of kinship - at least publicly. So from now on, if anybody asks, you're... my nephew."

"Are you sure?" Kevin gazed with uncertainty into his mentor's face.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Sydney answered confidently. "I had a twin brother - and only I would know whether he had any children or how old they'd be. Oh, and you also work for the Centre - and that much IS true - which means you can claim their insurance." The older man chuckled. "I'm sure Miss Parker would approve."

"But what am I going to do when they take you off to a room?" the young man asked, feeling more insecure as every moment passed. "I mean, they aren't admitting me, and I don't have any place to go..."

Sydney frowned. "I hadn't thought of that..." He saw the look of almost terror that had finally developed on Kevin's face and reached out a comforting hand to the young man. "Now, now - this is nothing to get so upset about. As soon as I'm able, I'll call Miss Parker and have her send someone for you - or have her make arrangements for you to spend the night at a motel and then have someone pick you up in the morning."

"I'd be alone..." The thought was paralyzing.

"Better still..." Sydney pointed to a plastic bag on the floor near the foot of his examination bed. "Dig through there and see if I still had my cell phone on me."

Kevin bent and brought the bag up to the foot of Sydney's bed and pawed through it, finally pulling the cell phone out with a look of triumph.

"I know I'm not supposed to do this, but..." Sydney dialed quickly.

"What?" Miss Parker sounded very much as she had years ago - frustrated and tired.

"I need someone to take care of Kevin, Parker. They're hanging onto me for the night, but have released him - and he's a bit at loose ends and nervous."

"I'll send someone to pick him up." Miss Parker paused. "What are they holding you for?"

"They want to work on my knee in the morning. And I need to end this before I get into trouble for using a cell phone in here." Sydney told her quickly.

"I'll be by in the morning, and someone will be there for Kevin as soon as they can get from here to there, I promise. Tell him not to worry - I'll make sure it's someone he knows."

"Goodnight, Parker."

"Take care Syd - see you later."

"Here," Sydney handed Kevin the cell phone. "Put it in your pocket and hang onto it. It has everybody's phone number in it - even Jarod's in California."

Kevin slipped the thin little device in his jeans pocket as a nurse came through the curtains with brisk efficiency. "They tell me you get to stay with us for a while," she chirped far too cheerfully for this late at night. "So let's get you into this wheelchair..."

"Can I come along?" Kevin asked plaintively.

The nurse eyed him critically. "Have you been released?"

"I think so..."

"Then I DON'T think so. Did you come in together?"

"Nurse, he's a little unsure of himself being left alone - and the ride he called for won't be here for a while," Sydney explained quickly. "Are you sure you can't bend the rule just a little bit..."

"Now, now, none of those European charms work on me," the nurse smiled down at her patient, now safely housed in the wheelchair. He was a handsome and cosmopolitan-sounding gentleman - and if it had been closer to the end of her shift, she might have conceded... She tucked the blanket from his examination table about his legs. "Tell you what," she turned to Kevin. "Your ride will probably come in this entrance here - so why don't you wait for them in the ER waiting room. There's plenty of reading material, and you can see everyone who comes in."

Sydney reached out and took his protégé's hand and patted it. "You'll be fine, Kevin. They'll be here for you soon. Don't worry." Then the nurse had released the brakes and was wheeling him quickly from the ER.

Kevin turned and headed slowly for the waiting area the nurse had pointed out, silently telling himself over and over again "I can do this." He chose the seat that gave him the best view of the entrance and reached for the first magazine on the stack next to him. "I can do this," he recited, the words of the article about changes in the environmental laws not even beginning to penetrate.

And for the first time in his whole life, Kevin found himself truly alone - and he didn't like it one bit.

~~~~~~~~

Davy roused as the movement of the car ceased, and then the car shook as the passengers all climbed out. Beside him, he could feel Deb stirring at last - either she was just coming to or she, like him, was waking up after a fitful nap. There was no warning when the trunk popped open and sets of hands reached in for the two captives.

"We gonna take 'em on the plane like this?" one voice asked incredulously.

"It's our own plane, you nitwit. Nobody cares what they look like," growled the voice the one Davy had pegged as the leader of the kidnappers. "Get them aboard. NOW."

"So this is farewell," Smith sighed in relief after dumping his charge into one of the seats and fastening the seatbelt about the boy. His nose still ached, and he would be glad to get as far away from the man who had hired him. "Can't say I'm sorry to see you go."

"Just get the hell outta here," Duncan growled again, "and don't let me see your face again." Smith gave him a glare of pure dislike, then headed for the plane's exit.

"I'll say goodbye too," Jones announced once Deb was similarly taken care of. Without further ado, he simply trotted down the stairs and sprinted off into the darkness.

Duncan turned to Cordoba. "So, are you going to take off too?"

The Hispanic shook his head. "You know me better than that, Andy. I got a call from Gil about the same time you did - and I was told to watch your back. Can't do that when you're in LA and I'm in New York."

Duncan smiled and slapped his boss' old friend on the shoulder. "Thank God we got rid of the two clowns. Get yourself belted in - we're outta here!

Davy swallowed hard - they were being taken all the way to Los Angeles?

How was he EVER going to get back to his Mommy and Grandpa Sydney from THERE?

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 9: That Sinking Feeling


Waiting had to be one of the most uncomfortable ways to pass time that Kevin had ever experienced, especially waiting alone in unfamiliar surroundings for someone - he didn't know who - to come for him. He'd never felt so alone and helpless, with several members of his informal “family” removed from him for one reason or another. But it was the renewed loss of Sydney that was the most troubling. The last time the mentor had landed in the hospital, Kevin had been given the responsibility for watching his house and taking care of Davy while both Miss Parker and Jarod worked at the Centre. This time there would be no Davy to fill his time - and the house that had been a warm and friendly security blanket no longer felt very safe to him.

He barely noticed that he'd been joined in the waiting area until a sniffle called his attention to something other than his insecurities. Curled up into a tight ball in a corner chair, sandals left on the floor while feet were tucked in close on the seat of the chair and head leaning on her propped-up knees, was a young woman with long, flowing dark hair. Her clothing was clean but faded - her denim pants had been cut into shorts and the hem unraveled into an uneven white fringe, and what he could see of her tee shirt was white. Her hair sported more than one thin braid that Kevin guessed was meant to be strictly ornamental - one of those braids had a seagull feather caught in the rubber band at the end.

Kevin couldn't help staring. He'd never seen such a creature before, except perhaps on one of those television shows that Sydney eventually had to sit down and explain patiently to him. Her face, although partially hidden by her long, dark tresses, had an expression of sadness and defeat that resonated with his own mood at the moment.

As if she could sense that she was being watched, slowly she turned her head until her wide and dark eyes met Kevin's. "What?" she asked in tired frustration as she wiped away a tear before it slid very far down her cheek, "your mother never taught you it's impolite to stare?"

Her biting remark caught him off-guard. "I... I never knew my mother," Kevin admitted as he looked back down into his magazine again. "I didn't mean to stare." He found his place in the article and began reading again until he got the vaguest impression that he was being watched. He raised his gaze and connected with that of the young woman. "Now you're staring at me," he reminded her pointedly.

"I was just trying to figure out if you were jerking my chain or not," she retorted. "You got nice, new clothes, you look well-fed - you don't look like no orphan. Least-wise, no orphan I'VE ever met..."

"I didn't say I was an orphan. I said I never knew my mother." Kevin didn't know why this young woman's attitude was making the hackles rise - maybe it was that she was constantly challenging or goading him, something he wasn't used to at all.

"Same difference," she tossed at him impatiently.

He shook his head. "Not hardly," he retorted and returned to his magazine, deliberately ignoring her.

The emergency entrance doors swung inward, and a rather scruffy-looking young man in tattered jeans and a grease-stained leather jacket walked into the waiting area and right up to the young woman. "Hey, Crystal, I just heard..."

"The suits aren't telling me anything, Scooter," the young woman complained in a bitter and whining tone.

The scruffy young man sauntered dangerously up to the ER admissions desk and the nurse manning the computer terminal. "Hey lady!" he barked, slapping an open hand on the top of the monitor and making the whole desk shudder and brought Kevin's head up in a near panic. "What's the news on Cricket?"

The nurse flashed a thoroughly irked expression that she quickly buried behind a mask of pure professionalism. "Cricket?"

"Tamara Linde - the girl I came in with about two hours ago," the young woman - Crystal, Kevin had heard her called - explained, sliding her feet into her sandals and rising to walk over to join her friend.

The nurse typed into the computer and then read the display. "She's been transferred to Intensive Care in fair condition. You can come back tomorrow..."

"I wanna see her now," Crystal whined, making Scooter stiffen again.

He slapped the top of the monitor. "We want to see her."

"Hospital regulations..." the nurse began.

"Screw the regulations, lady. C'mon, Crystal," Scooter sneered at the nurse. "We can find our way to Intensive Care on our own."

"I'm sorry, but..." The nurse had picked up the phone receiver. "Security to ER waiting, please..."

Scooter barely had a chance to bring up a warning index finger to shake in the nurse's pale face before two burly uniformed security men had barreled into the waiting area. "Time to find somewhere else to hang, fella," the larger of the two officers said as they caught Scooter between them. "You too, miss - come along now." The second officer crooked a finger at Crystal.

She flounced over to where she'd been sitting and retrieved her small fringed leather purse from under the chair, catching once more Kevin's eye watching her movements closely. "Did we give you a good show, Little Orphan Andy?" she sneered at him angrily, then tossed her head and walked defiantly back to her friend. The second officer snagged her arm, and then the security men proceeded to lead the scruffy pair from the room.

Kevin looked over at the nurse at the desk in wonder and shock, to find that she'd already gone back to work as if nothing at all had happened. The young Pretender looked over at the clock on the wall and hoped that whoever was coming for him would get there soon. He didn't want to stay in this place one more minute longer than he had to.

~~~~~~~~

"Well, would you look at that!"

Jennifer Sawyer jumped at the sound of her superior's voice from directly behind her, and she looked up from her charting. "Christ! You scared me Dorothy!"

"No, I mean it," the older nursing supervisor pointed at the empty chair sitting in the corridor. "Didn't that black fellow have his bodyguard or someone sitting there all the time lately?"

Jen wrinkled her brows in thought. "You're right." She shrugged. "Maybe somebody told him to cut it out? I've seen a couple of orderlies almost trip over the tall one's legs a few times..."

"But he was there earlier - just a couple of hours ago, I think," Dorothy insisted. "And I've watched these guys. They don't TAKE breaks."

Jen shrugged and looked back down at her charting. "So..."

"Do me a favor..." Dorothy began.

"Make up your mind, will ya? You wanted me to do the charting, I'm doing the charting. If you want me doing something else, then YOU get to finish the paperwork," the younger RN said in mild frustration.

"So I'll finish the charting," Dorothy responded, both hands on her younger co-worker's shoulders to move her away from the desk. "Go down and check up on that Ngawe guy - make sure he's OK. That missing guard makes me think something's wrong down there."

"If you're so bothered about it, why don't YOU go?" Jen complained as she got to her feet. She'd known better than to wear new shoes to work that night - and she was paying for her mistake. The last thing she wanted to do was walk around much.

"Just check up on the guy - you don't have to hold his hand or take his pulse or nothing," Dorothy waved her co-worker on down the corridor, slipping into the chair that Jen had just vacated.

Jennifer shot her supervisor a withering glare and then walked slowly toward the empty chair and the door in front of which it sat. She paused and listened for a moment, not hearing a sound coming from the room - and she didn't know whether to be encouraged or apprehensive. With a last backward glance toward the nurse's station for courage, she pushed the door open and stepped into the semi-lit private room.

"It's about time someone came to check up on us!" came the decidedly unpleasant autocratic voice from the bed. "We would have thought someone would have noticed his absence outside our door before now."

Jen blinked and then followed the man's pointing finger to stare dumbfounded at the missing bodyguard - the front of the man's jacket and shirt covered with blood. The nurse put a shaking finger to the pulse point and then pulled back at both the lack of pulse and lack of warmth. She began to back out of the room, an internal shaking building slowly.

"Wait a minute! What are you going to do about us? Don't leave us here like this..."

Jen walked back to the nurse's station and took a deep breath as she reached across the desk for the telephone. "Security to Medical Ward, STAT."

Dorothy stared up at her. "What is it?"

The younger nurse just shook her head and dialed the telephone again. "This is Nurse Jennifer Sawyer at Dover Memorial. I would like to report a murder..."

~~~~~~~~

Tyler steered his coupe into the parking lot near the emergency entrance to the hospital and shut off the engine with a sigh. The call from Miss Parker had caught him halfway down the coastal highway toward the Centre and then had him make a U-turn to make the connector to Highway 1 and Dover. Her order had been clear: bring Kevin back to the Centre from the hospital.

She'd also taken a little time to explain a few things that Deb had only alluded to earlier that evening - no, the previous night. She informed him that Kevin had only very recently been freed from an entire lifetime of very limited contact with others, and had padded the information with a sincere request to cut the young man a little slack. While he would have like to have asked a lot more questions, he got the impression that he needed to just get himself to Dover as quickly as possible and pick up the bothersome young man who had acted so belligerently before. He'd also have to diligently swallow whatever negative feelings he had so that he could drive safely back to Blue Cove and the Centre.

Tyler pushed through the double doors and looked around. There he was, curled into a tightly folded and defensive posture in the waiting area. Then Kevin looked up from the magazine he was trying to read with a look of such apprehension and desperate hope that Tyler was taken aback. It was obvious that the young man, while outwardly appearing normal, really HAD just had a healthy piece of what little stability he'd been able to construct in his life torn away from him rather violently. Miss Parker had had a good reason to ask him to cut the man some slack - and Tyler could see no reason not to anymore.

Then Kevin's eyes landed on Tyler, and the young Pretender's first reaction was for his whole face to light up like a frightened child finding a friendly face, only later to dim a bit when it finally penetrated WHO had come to get him. Tyler understood the reaction, and decided to do something about it.

"Hey there," Tyler walked into the waiting area toward Kevin. "All your paperwork done here? Miss Parker sent me to pick you up and bring you back with me to the Centre."

"I... don't know..." The sandy-haired young man walked over the ER admitting desk. "Do I have anything I need to do..."

The middle-aged nurse punched a few buttons on her computer, then shook her head. "Nope - looks like you have everything squared away. You take care of yourself now."

"I guess I'm ready." Kevin hunched his shoulders a little defensively, still remembering the argument at Sydney's just a few hours ago.

"C'mon then. My car's just outside." Tyler led the way out to the coupe and unlocked the door to let the younger man in. "Wait a minute..." he said suddenly, turning to face Kevin in the light of the parking lot street lamp. "Look - let's clear the air between us. And I might as well start, since it's my suggestion." The Texan looked down for a moment, then directly into wide blue eyes. "I said a few things back at the house that I'm not proud of, and I want to apologize."

Kevin blinked, then knew what he had to do - Sydney had explained this to him a long time ago, way back when they had first met. When someone apologized, they at least deserved to have it acknowledged. And after thinking about it a moment or two, he knew he owed Tyler one in return. "I'm sorry too - I guess I was just upset..."

"We both were," Tyler said steadily. "I have a feeling we both care a lot for Deb Broots."

The sandy-haired Pretender's gaze was caught and held by Tyler's directness, and Kevin felt the strength in that statement that suddenly gave him common ground with this virtual stranger. "I think you're probably right," he admitted carefully.

"Then we need to work together to get her back and not fight with each other in the meantime, don't you think?" Tyler suggested in a very matter-of-fact tone. He extended his right hand. "No hard feelings?"

Kevin looked from the hand into Tyler's face, then slowly nodded and put his hand out to let Tyler shake it with a firm yet steady grip. "What can I do to help then?" he asked as Tyler finally began to move around to the other side of the car.

"Miss Parker, when she called me to come get you, called you a Pretender," Tyler mentioned as he turned the key in the ignition, "but she didn't say much about what a Pretender is or does. Tell me about that. What does it mean? Maybe when I know what it is that you can do, I can help y'all find something that would fit your talents..."

Kevin took a deep breath and, for the first time in his life, tried to explain himself to someone who had no clue about what he'd been trained to do.

~~~~~~~~

Gillespie groaned as he rolled over in bed to stare at the clock - it was now four forty-five. He'd only been home for half an hour after one of the longest days in his professional career. He propped himself up and reached for the receiver. "This had better be damned good or a matter of life or death..." he began in as threatening a voice as he could muster through his fatigue.

"Dover PD here," announced a brisk voice on the other end. "We were informed by hospital personnel that you had an interest in a patient by the name of Ngawe?"

Gillespie was awake immediately. "Yes. What's happened?"

"There was a murder at the hospital tonight - one of Mr. Ngawe's associates was found dead in Mr. Ngawe's room. Ngawe is bellowing to be released into the custody of his own security people and generally raising hell, and the killing looks VERY suspicious."

The FBI agent shook his head. It never rained but it poured. "I suppose Ngawe isn't talking either."

"You got it," the police officer on the other end agreed. "I was told to defer to you as to how you want this situation handled."

Gillespie dragged a hand down his face and tried to force his exhausted mind to push through to clarity. "OK, here's what I want you do to: call Michelson at the office and have him down there ASAP to oversee moving Ngawe to another private room - but under no circumstances do I want that man loose. Tell him to call it protective custody, call it whatever he wants, but I want that man where I can find him. Process the forensics of the crime scene, interview whoever it was that found the body and have all the preliminary reports on my desk in the morning as soon as humanly possible."

"Anything else?" asked the officer.

"Yeah," Gillespie grumbled. "Pray that nothing ELSE happens between now and about eight o'clock - or I'm going to be a VERY unhappy camper!!" He hung up the phone with some force and flopped back into his pillows. He was starting to have moments when he wished he'd never even heard of a place called the Centre...

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker rose and walked the few steps to the utilitarian little window in the office she now called hers and stared out across the way to where halogen lights still kept the area that used to be the Centre Tower lit so that work could continue around the clock. For the first time, she missed the view from her former office that looked out across the broad expanse of manicured grass toward the ocean. That view, in daylight hours, might have held some small chance of comforting her - where this night time scene from Hell just rubbed in the sense of imminent disaster that had hung over the Centre like a black cloud. That black cloud had spawned a tornado - one that had ripped away her little boy and a girl she loved like a daughter...

She stiffened and shoved that emotion down brutally. Getting weepy would not save Davy or Deb. Lyle's success, if one could call it that, had come from his never allowing the events of his life to knock him off-track of his goal - and the only way she knew for sure she could survive this was to continue to emulate that single-minded determination. The long and stable reign of Mr. Parker – “Daddy” - had also been accomplished through putting the Centre ahead of absolutely everything else, family, ethics, morality... HER purpose, however, was twofold: to get her son and friend back safely while at the same time protecting the Centre from obvious marauders. Each purpose served the other. It was all depending on her now - this time it would be she whose responsibility it would be to hold the family together, not Jarod - and she couldn't waver. At least she had Tyler and Sam...

Before he had left her to go check on their “research project,” as they now called Flores, Sam had quietly informed her that Jarod knew some of what was going on. She wasn't all that surprised. Ethan would have known something had happened - no doubt she'd been broadcasting her emotions at full volume there for a while. Of course he would have taken that knowledge to Jarod, knowing he'd want to know what was going on back here too.

Jarod. For the briefest moment, she allowed herself to resent his need to go back to California and try to make things “right” before settling down with her and finally starting a life together as a part of a family. She needed him HERE at her side - needed him worse than any of his former Pretend beneficiaries had ever needed him - and where was he? Three thousand damned miles that-a-way, and for God's sake thinking of adopting another child!

Once more she stiffened and shoved the emotion aside. She'd gotten along in life pretty damned well in the last seven years without that Lab-rat - and she was a Parker, damn it! Jarod had his fires to put out in California before he could come home, and she could stand on her own again until then. Besides, she had Sydney - his voice in that brief call from the hospital had sounded not all that damaged - and she had Sam, just as she had had all along. She had a more than ample support system, especially once Broots was awake and back in the swing of things. If he ever would be again...

NO! She stalked back to her desk and sifted through the paperwork that was ever piling up, not really seeing anything. She couldn't afford emotions - she had to stay strong for Davy and Deb. She had to stay strong for the Centre. She couldn't afford to be Miss Parker right now. She had to be Lyle. She had to be Daddy.

But it was hard - SO hard - to be something or someone she detested so much...

Exhausted as if she hadn't had any sleep at all before any of this latest nightmare began, she put her head down on her desk and closed her eyes. Maybe the façade would be easier to maintain if she had a little rest...

~~~~~~~~

Sam was finding it fascinating to watch through the glass window of the infirmary as each drop hit Flores' face. It was more than apparent that the Hispanic was no longer laughing at the idea of single drops of water falling on his face - the man looked positively fatigued and apprehensive as the next drip gained volume. Sam could have sworn that he'd heard at least one moan of desperation while he'd stood there watching.

He had to give her credit - when Miss Parker put her mind to it, she made a much better, much more creative Inquisitor than he did. He'd have never thought to try this ploy out, much less trust that it would actually produce results. And other than perhaps a slightly red area on the bridge of the nose, this would even less of a mark than those electrodes of his from earlier in the day had.

"Hey Sam! Hold up!"

The ex-sweeper turned and saw Tyler walking briskly down the hall toward him with Kevin in tow. With a single backward glance at the infirmary window, he hurried to meet them far enough down the hall that neither would have any idea what was going on. "About time you two made it." He eyed Kevin critically. "How's the cheek, kid?"


"Just three stitches," the young man answered stoically. "The doctor said that nothing was broken."

"Say, do you think Miss Parker would go for letting Kevin be my assistant for a while?" Tyler asked with a glance at his companion. "We got to talkin' in the car, and he explained what all he used to do and all... Seems to me we could use someone with that kind of talent on this right now."

"I want to help, Sam," Kevin piped up, adding his voice to Tyler's. "Sydney's in the hospital for a day or so. Give me something to do - please!"

Sam looked back and forth, then shook his head in amazement. "I gotta admit, after watching you two take after each other, the LAST thing I expected was for you to shake hands and make buddies."

"We're doing it for Deb," Kevin explained quickly. "Our fighting doesn't get her home any faster - but our working together might, Sam. Please..."

"OK," the Security Chief agreed, "I'll clear it with Miss P. in case she objects - and YOU get to explain to Sydney why you're back working for the Centre again," he told Kevin specifically. "But for now, why don't we got get us some coffee and start thinking things through a bit."

"None for me, thanks," Tyler put up a negating hand, then stifled a yawn, "I don't know about y'all, but I need me some shut-eye in the worst way! I think I'm going to crash in my office for a while."

Sam gave Kevin another glance too. "Yeah, I suppose... And you look like you're just about ready to fall in too, kid. Why don't you take the couch in my office for the time being. I'll get you both up at about eight, so we can dig right in."

"Fine by me." Tyler waved his hand tiredly at the other men and began ambling off in the direction of his office.

"This way," Sam indicated that Kevin should follow Tyler. "Mine's the second door to the left past Tyler's. You go on in and settle down - I have a few things to check on first." He watched to make sure Kevin was comfortable before shutting off his office light and closing the door quietly. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair thoughtfully, then headed for the little office at the end of the hall and pushed the door open.

Miss Parker had beaten them all to the punch - she was fast asleep already, sprawled across her desk in a position that looked definitely uncomfortable. Sam shook his head at her, then walked over to her quietly and gently picked her up in his arms and carried her over to her own couch to lay her down in a more comfortable position. "Jarod..." she murmured softly as she felt his touch leave her even through her dreams.

"Not tonight, ma'am," he answered softly and took off his jacket and covered her so that she could be warm. He shut off her office light so that she could rest, then headed back toward his office. They were all tired, and tired people made mistakes. He'd crash at his desk for a little while, then be up in time to rouse the others.

Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

~~~~~~~~

Otamo Ngawe was furious and was letting everybody know it. "We demand to be allowed to call my people to provide security for..."

"Patience, Mr. Ngawe," the nurse at the side of his wheelchair said, patting his shoulder solicitously. "We're going to get you situated in another room, and THEN you can call..."

"But we don't want to remain in this place one second longer! We wish to be released immediately!" the elderly African fairly bellowed.

"Mr. Ngawe, my name is Harlan Michelson, and I'm an agent of the FBI." The tall man in the unseasonable trench coat handed the African a folded piece of paper. "As of right now, you have been placed in the protective custody of the United States government as a material witness to at least two crimes. We will be seeing to your security needs for the time being." The agent nodded at the nurse. "Go ahead and get him settled."

"We wish to talk to our ambassador, NOW!" Ngawe called back to the agent over his shoulder as he was whisked briskly down the corridor and away from the carnage that was his former private room. "This is an outrage!"

"To have a man murdered in your room - how terrible for you!" the nurse was chirping as she set the brakes on the wheelchair next to the fresh hospital bed. She motioned for the orderlies who had accompanied her to lift the disabled man into bed and then remove the wheelchair. "Did you see who did it?" she asked in innocent curiosity.

Ngawe opened his mouth to answer her without thinking, then suddenly slammed his jaw shut and folded his face into an icon of stubborn silence.

"Oh, that's true - you should be telling that to the police, not me," the nurse chirped again, smoothing the bedclothes down and just generally fussing.

"That will do. Thank you." Ngawe growled, obviously dismissing her.

The nurse frowned. "Well! You don't have to be that way!" she huffed and spun on her heels and headed for the door, almost running headlong into the federal agent.

"Since there are no signs that your man was killed elsewhere and then moved into your room," Michelson said as he drew out a small notebook and pen, "I was wondering if you saw or heard anything that would give us an idea of who killed him?"

"We saw and heard nothing," Ngawe said slowly and clearly, as if to a child. "We were asleep. We awoke to find this man in our room, already dead."

"Indeed." Michelson wrote briefly in his notebook. "If that's the case, why didn't you summon help?"

"Our page button had been moved out of our reach," the African growled, still angry at that little piece of indignity.

"Then the killer was very close to you - and didn't touch you at all?" Michelson asked in obvious disbelief.

"We were asleep, so we would assume so."

Michelson nodded, knowing full good and well that he was hearing hot air. This wily and impolite man knew far more than he was willing to admit. "I'm sure my superior will be wanting to interview you later in the morning. Do you need me to reach for the telephone for you?"

"Yes, please." Ngawe hated having to be polite to this government maggot, but it would be the only way short of having to endure that terminally cheerful nurse again, that he would be able to call out to his people.

The Yakuza had gone too far this time, threatening him in his own bed. There would be Hell itself to pay now.

~~~~~~~~

Flores was miserable. Again.

He had laughed at the idea of a simple drop of water being strong enough to break a man - but hundreds if not thousands of drops later, the bridge of his nose hurt like hell. Each drop now was like a sharp little tap-hammer stinging away at his ability to concentrate. Worse, the water had pooled in his eye sockets, eventually run down his neck and spread through his clothing, so laying there was warm only under the duct tape. He was still feeling the effects of the cramping in his legs from time to time - and if he wasn't careful, tightening a muscle could send the whole calf muscle back into agonized cramps made worse by the fact that he could not move to relieve the cramping. The final indignity was that he had to go to the bathroom, and the continual dampness was NOT helping those matters at all. If someone didn't come soon and help him out, his bladder would eventually burst.

If someone didn't come soon... Hell, he was convinced he'd been completely forgotten! He was exhausted, not being able to sleep at all with that dripping into his face. He couldn't see to the windows to see whether the sun had started to come up yet. How many hours had he lain here, forgotten?

The real kicker was that he honestly didn't know all that much more than he'd already told them. An important part of his instructions to Duncan as they had planned the kidnapping had been the relative disconnection between them - that their only contact was to be by telephone, and even that only rarely. Duncan had been told to take the hostages back to California in order to make it more difficult to mount a rescue effort - but that was all the further he'd wanted to know particulars. Duncan would call when he had the hostages safely stowed, and not until then. Of course, his cell phone had been one of the things the sweepers had confiscated first...

Would Miss Parker and that demon Sam Atlee believe him when he told them what little more he knew? Probably not, but he'd certainly like a chance to try to convince them...

He heard the sound of the door of the infirmary opening. "About time," he rasped. "Are you ready to hear what I have to say?" He received no immediate answer, but discerned movement in the peripheral vision that was drowned with past droplets. "Who is it?" he demanded, blinking his eyes as quickly as he could to drive some of the pooled water away only to have to watch as the droplet above grew pendulous.

Suddenly, a sandy-haired young man's head popped into his line of sight - a young man with wide blue eyes that took in the Hispanic's situation with some amazement. "What..."

"Just stop the dripping, son," Flores urged desperately as yet another drop splattered between his eyes. "Please..."

Kevin eyed the arrangement of metal cabinetry and tubing that had been constructed very carefully to allow the water to drip with rhythmic precision right between the man's eyes. The spot where the drips where impacting the skin was red, and the man's eyes showed how desperate he was to have his situation altered. The young Pretender thought through the possible effect of having been subjected to this kind of treatment for any length of time, and came away impressed with both the ingenuity of the ploy and some alarm that anyone would actually DO this to another person. Tipping his head, Kevin studied the line from drip back and then reached for the drip controller.

"Don't touch that, Kevin!" Sam barked at the young man from the door, and Kevin's hand froze.

He turned and looked at the trusted family friend in concern. "What is going on here, Sam? What are you doing to this man?"

"They're trying to drive me insane!" Flores spat. "Use your head for something besides holding your ears apart, kid, and turn the damned dripping OFF!!"

Sam found the blue eyes glaring at him accusingly. "Is that true?" Kevin gaped. "I thought... You're hurting him? Why... you're no better than any of the others... than Vernon..."

Sam simply shook his head tiredly. What a helluva way to start the morning. "Maybe we ARE hurting him, but we feel we have reason this time. For what it's worth, this is the man who ordered the kidnapping, Kevin. He knows where Davy and Deb are. We're trying to convince him to tell us so we can get them back quickly."

Sam watched Kevin's face cloud over abruptly to the point that when the young Pretender looked down at Flores again, he was livid. "You... hurt..." Kevin's hands turned into claws and he lunged at Flores, reaching for the throat. Only quick thinking on Sam's part and then a firm grasp on Kevin's arm managed to keep the young man from starting to throttle the man on the board.

"Kevin! Kevin! We need him - we need him to tell us where they are, where Duncan took them!" Sam wrestled the young man's arms back to his sides. "What did you think you were doing?"

"He hurt... everybody..." Kevin snarled, more angry than he'd ever been before in his life. "Sydney, me, Miss Parker..."

"Yes," Sam agreed carefully. "And that's why we're going to leave him alone until he's willing to talk to us."

"NO!!" Flores howled, and then sputtered as the next drip splattered onto his face. "At least give me a bathroom break..."

Kevin stared down at the man, all the sympathy for his situation completely evaporated. Suddenly, this was too good for him. "You deserve this," the young man pronounced coldly.

Sam put his hand on the young Pretender's shoulder. "Guess that makes you as bad as the rest of us, doesn't it?"

"He hurt Deb and Davy," Kevin was thinking through the situation. "I guess sometimes a person has to do things they wouldn't otherwise when they have a good reason."

"You're learning, kid, you're learning," Sam's hand on his shoulder patted him gently. "Welcome to the Centre School of Hard Knocks. C'mon - let's go get you and me some coffee and get the rest of us up. Today's going to be a busy day."

"What about ME?!" Flores whimpered as the sound of footsteps faded in the direction of the doorway. "You can't just walk away and leave me alone again..."

"Just give us a good scream or two when you've had enough," Sam tossed back casually. Sooner or later, one of us will hear you and see what you're ready to give us."

Another drop pinged into the bridge of the man's nose, and Flores was whining. "OK! OK! I'll tell you what I know - I swear it. Just turn the damned water off. God!"

Sam turned, then motioned for Kevin to stay on the other side of the room and walked halfway back. "Well? Talk."

Previous experience told Flores that he'd have to talk first before he stood any chance of being freed from his intolerable situation. "California," the Hispanic gave up at last. "I told Duncan to take them back to the West Coast, where it would be harder for you folks to find them. Only he knows the exact location, though. That was supposed to be the beauty of it," he whimpered as he watched another droplet begin to loom again. "Nobody but he would know exactly where he was or when he'd do things. He wasn't SUPPOSED to move to make the snatch for another day or so... Now please..."

Sam's heart dropped to his shoes. "California! How the hell was he getting them to California?!"

"He has a friend with a private jet - I... I gave him access to enough money to rent it for as long as he needed it," Flores' voice was getting higher in pitch as the droplet grew heavier and heavier above him. "That's how he got here. But I don't know where he landed, or what part of California he was going to fly to when he went back... Please... Oh for God's sake..."

"California's a damned big place, asshole," Sam snarled, darting forward to push his face into Flores' field of vision. "You have to know more than that. You know Duncan - where would he take them?"

"ARGH!" Flores felt the drop hit his forehead like a tiny hammer that resounded through his entire skull. "Shit! I don't know him as well as you'd think. He came to my office about four years ago from Las Vegas - before that, he was Stu Berringer's assistant..."

"Wrong, dipstick," Sam growled. "He was just a sweeper in Las Vegas..."

"No, no..." Flores watched the next drop begin to build. "Berringer kept him listed as a sweeper, but knew Duncan came to him having plenty of connections and recommendations. When Raines... saw the potential for profit from West Coast mob dealings, It was he who had Berringer transfer Duncan to me." Flores' eyes grew wide and desperate. "God, that's all I know, I swear it! Please, please..."

"What do you think, Kevin?" Sam asked the young Pretender. "Does it make sense?"

Kevin processed the information they'd just been given for a long moment. "It's a logical fail-safe technique to keep one person from knowing ALL the information - so the odds of Flores' NOT knowing exactly where they took Davy and Deb are pretty good." He really hated the fact that he could appreciate the creativity of the plan that had hurt so many he cared about.

"What do you mean - Davy and Deb?" Flores demanded, then whimpered as the next drop thundered onto his face. "He was supposed to snatch Dr. Green..."

"What can we say - he missed," Sam grinned tightly. "Kevin here and Sydney put up a fight - that's how he got that," he pointed to the bandage on the young man's cheek. "Evidently they could hear that we'd figured out what was happening and were burning rubber on our way to stop them - so they snatched a girl instead."

"Shit!" Flores swore and began watching with dread as the next drop began to form. "In that case, Duncan may not be staying with the plan anymore. I can't tell. Honest to God, that's all I know. Now please..."

"What do you think - should we let him go?" Sam asked Kevin.

The young man shook his head. "You weren't just going to let him walk away, were you?" the Pretender asked in astonishment.

"No way! But we could cut him loose, let him pee before he soils himself and stinks to high heaven - and then lock him up until the feds ask for him."

"The “feds” - who are they?" Kevin asked.

"Law enforcement agents. Since he just admitted to a kidnapping plot that crosses state lines, that takes this into federal jurisdiction." Sam could see Kevin still didn't understand. "The guys in suits who were asking all the questions last night - THEY'RE the feds."

"Oh." The young man thought for a bit. "And you don't think they'd approve of this, if they saw it?"

Sam chuckled. "Probably not. Technically, torture is illegal."

"Hell, no, they wouldn't approve," Flores whimpered as the next drop splattered. "Where did you grow up, kid - on the Moon?"

"That's enough out of you, if you want to get out of here with your wits intact." Sam growled now. "I'm gonna let the kid decide - so you MAY want to reconsider the wisdom of pissing him off right now." He turned back to Kevin. "Well?"

Kevin's face clouded with repressed anger. "Let him up - but only so that we can turn him over to these “feds,” as you call them."

Sam nodded. "OK, kid - you can help me with him then." He went to the drip controller and waited until the last drop had fallen before shutting off the flow of water. The two of them then moved the bookshelf unit back and away from the exam table. "Take a scissors and cut that tubing up and throw it away," Sam said as he retrieved a scalpel from a drawer, "while I let this low-life loose."

Flores was lying very quietly on the backboard now, completely depleted in his relief from the endless, maddening dripping. For all his blustering and lust for power, he'd never before run seriously afoul of his Centre superiors - although he'd often stood aside and watched with pleasure as others had fallen victim to the iron hand of Raines or his lackey Lyle. Something told him he'd never get another chance to try for the brass ring and the fancy corner office of a newly rebuilt Centre - nor would he ever be able to watch another man tortured for information again without flinching. The electrodes to the leg, followed by simple drops of water, had broken him very effectively - he felt like the spineless, ball-less worm Miss Parker had accused him of being. Too late he appreciated Berringer's exhortation to not jump at the first and obvious solution - his impatience had gained him nothing but grief.

Sam started cutting the bands of duct tape at the ankles and slowly worked his way up the man's body. He paused long enough to examine where the electrode had been attached to the man's legs, finding only two small reddened areas that were much faded from the day before. In another day, it would be impossible to tell that anything had happened down there. Satisfied, he continued cutting at the edges of the tape, and Kevin slowly destroyed the makeshift water torture chamber device.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker roused, as much because it was starting to be uncomfortable for her to be on her right side as from the sunbeam that had finally found her face. She frowned as she realized that she wasn't still at her desk, but rather on her couch - she didn't remember getting up and coming over to lie down...

The jacket over her shoulders fell back as she worked at sitting up, and she smiled as she picked it up and saw the size and breadth of shoulders it was meant to cover. Sam - good old dependable and conscientious Sam - it must have been he that had taken care of her. He must have come back after checking up on Flores and found her out at her desk...

Flores. With a mental thump, the events of the previous night impacted her memory with force of a jackhammer. She sat up straight on the couch and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping to get the worst of the sleepy disarray under control. She looked down at her wristwatch and blinked. It was almost eight in the morning already - hopefully enough time for the water torture device to have had some effect.

She rose to her feet and brushed at her clothing to get the majority of slept-in wrinkles straightened away, then took off down the corridor heading for the ell that held the infirmary. She rounded the corner just in time to see Sam and Kevin leading a very bedraggled-looking Flores away from her toward the holding rooms. "Hey!" she called out as she broke into a power walk. Sam hauled back hard on Flores' arm to bring the little procession to a halt to wait up for her. "I didn't tell you that you could let him go..."

"He gave us what we wanted," Sam said quietly. "We know where Duncan took them, more or less..."

"More or less?" She frowned. "We don't let insects walk the corridors for a mere “more or less,” Sam..." Her voice was cold, and her eyes flicked up to meet Flores' in a look that chilled him straight to the bone.

"We do if the lack of precise knowledge was part of the plan," he told her calmly, facing that cold wrath evenly. "About all we'd accomplish by leaving him where he was would be to turn over a blithering idiot to the feds when the time came - and having him aware of what happens to him from here on in would seem to me to be a far more fitting end."

Kevin watched as Sam and Miss Parker spoke, not missing the quiet tone of desperation in her voice and the firm sense of purpose in his. He had stayed very close to Sydney in his time away from Vernon - watching these two powerful personalities square off and disagree without coming to blows was fascinating.

Finally Miss Parker gave a tiny nod that conceded the point, then passed her gaze very fleetingly over Kevin. "Why'd you bring Kevin into the picture, then?"

"He brought himself in," Sam admitted. "When I went to check on Flores, Kevin was already there. Flores had him almost convinced to turn the drip off." The Security Chief flashed Kevin a supportive grin. "All I had to do was explain the situation, and Kevin was ready to kill him right there."

"You people are going to pay for this," Flores hissed. "I'm going to tell everyone what you did..."

"With what proof to back you up, asshole?" Miss Parker snapped. "If I know Sam, there will be little if any evidence of anything except your guilt by the time we call in the FBI to haul your sorry ass away. Am I right?" She turned to her Security Chief.

Sam shrugged. "The marks on his legs are almost gone - and I had Kevin cut up the tubing while I freed our cockroach. We moved everything back where it was - so that if he does talk, it will end up a case of “he says, she says.” And considering everything else we have to offer, we KNOW whom the authorities will most likely believe." Sam's dark eyes glittered malignantly and glared into the Californian's. Flores wilted inside, knowing that the ex-sweeper had a very good point.

"Then put the bug back in his box, and meet me in my office. Where's Tyler?"

"Crashed in his office after bringing Kevin in."

Miss Parker whipped her head around to look at Kevin. "You know where that is?"


"Yes," the young Pretender responded immediately.

"Good. Go get him up and bring him to my office. Sam, take care of pest control - I'll go get coffee. We have a busy day ahead." The three stood looking at each other until she clapped her hands together sharply to break the trance. "Today, gentlemen..."

Kevin flinched at the gesture, then headed off towards the offices. Sam shook his head at her in a gesture of caution, then hauled hard at Flores' arm again in the opposite direction.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, gauging his appearance critically. This was the morning that would set the rules for the rest of his life, and he was determined to make the best impression possible. His suit was of the most expensive cut and fabric, tailored specifically for him by one of the master tailors in Yakuza employ. Not a hair was out of place, and he had used a light cologne that wouldn't detract or overpower.

Satisfied that he was presentable, he turned the light off and walked over to the bed to slip his toiletry bag into his duffelbag and zip the whole thing together again. He eyed he room - his evening's habitation had left few marks on the room at all. Only covers thrown back and a dent in the pillow - and two damp towels and a bath mat - gave evidence that anyone had been in the room. He had touched very little else, caution having been drilled into him so long ago that it was mere habit now.

The elevator ride was spent in focusing his mind on his breathing and his surroundings - and deliberately not speculating on the meeting ahead or possible outcomes. Worry could have no place in his mind right now. Either Miss Parker would see him or she wouldn't; either she would accept his offer of loyalty or she wouldn't. His presentation was stark - he had relieved her of the burden of William Raines and made her rise at the Centre a reality, and he had been the one to kill the person who, if his suspicions were correct, had been responsible for the explosion at the Centre. He had already inadvertently done her service - only she would know whether that would be enough for her to take him in as a new Centre operative or not.

The elevator delivered him back to the lobby of the hotel, and he walked with determination over to the concierge to request a taxi take him to an auto rental agency. With stony calm, he waited as the hotel employee nodded congenially and began making phone calls on his behalf. Soon the man was smiling at him. "The taxi will be here any moment now, and your car will be waiting for you when you arrive."

Ikeda gave the man a proper bow, then remembered his American manners and dropped a five dollar bill onto the desk in front of the concierge before walking toward the double glass door at the front of the lobby. He could make no mistakes at this late date. He was ronin.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker leaned back in her chair and watched as the three others in her office helped themselves to the donuts she'd also brought with her from the cafeteria. None of them looked all that rested that morning, but there was work to be done. "OK, Sam - tell us what we got from Flores."

"California," he said after swallowing a bit of pastry. "Duncan was to take them to California and then call Flores when he had them settled."

"My God!" Miss Parker gasped, feeling the distance between herself and her son like an arrow in the chest. "WHERE in California?"

Kevin shook his head. "He didn't know." As Miss Parker's face began to cloud from disbelief to anger, he quickly added, "it was part of the plan, his not knowing, meant to keep Duncan safe as long as possible."

"But we have one possible avenue of more information," Sam added. "Berringer. Duncan was evidently more than just a sweeper in Las Vegas - Berringer and he were closer than we suspected. It was Berringer who shipped Duncan to LA, on Raines' orders."

"Then we need to lean on Berringer now," Tyler commented firmly, "find out what HE knows. Maybe he has some idea where Duncan would think of taking them."

"We still have him on ice with the others," Sam reminded them all.

"On ice?" Kevin frowned.

"We have them here at the Centre - a little on-site hospitality - because they were leaning toward helping out Flores force Miss Parker to sign over the Centre to him," Sam explained patiently, then glanced at his boss. "Was Jarod this dense about slang and pop-culture when he first got out?"

Miss Parker rolled her eyes. "You don't know the half of it," she quipped dryly.

"You mean, this was all part of a blackmail attempt to make you give up your job?" Kevin was moving beyond surprise now. "Why?"

"Because they LIKED doing the kind of stuff that kept you cooped up in one house for your entire life, and then selling your work to criminals," Miss Parker snapped. "There was profit in it, and a great deal of power in throwing that money and the influence it bought around." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Look, we'll give you a history lesson some other time, when we don't have two of our own in trouble, OK?"

"Sorry," Kevin backed down immediately.

"I'm gonna make use of Kevin's talent to help think some of this through, once you get Berringer's information," Tyler told his boss firmly. "Y'all need to make use of all your resources - and right now, we can use a problem-solver like him."

"We need to call Jarod," Sam said quietly. "He's closer to the action as far as Davy and Deb are concerned - AND he's another problem-solver. I say we give him the same information that we give Kevin, and see what our geniuses can come up with."

"I'll do that later today, when we have more information," Miss Parker told Sam firmly.

"He's waiting for me to call around noon..."

"Then call him - tell him I'll call him this evening and lay it all out for him. Tell him I need him THERE..." She closed her eyes. As much as she wanted him home NOW, she really DID need him on the other side of the country. "He may have to be the one to go after Davy and Deb when the time comes."

Sam frowned but didn't say anything. There was no way in Hell he was going to let that Lab-rat do the rescue job without having him along - NONE! But Miss Parker didn't have to know that...

The intercom buzzer suddenly broke the silence that had followed Miss Parker's statement. "Miss Parker, a Mr. Katsuhito Ikeda to see you," Mei Chiang announced.

"OK," Miss Parker sighed. "Sam, lean on Berringer. Tyler, get Kevin set up with a space of his own - desk, the whole works - and then coordinate with Sam when there's word. We'll meet again at three o'clock for updates. Got it?" She looked around the room, and saw three nodding heads. "Then I'll see you all later." She punched her intercom button. "You can send in Mr. Ikeda."

Sam held the door while Tyler and Kevin exited. He then waited until the Japanese man had moved in through the door before closing it behind him again.

Miss Parker rose and bowed just the proper distance that a person in authority would bow to a complete stranger. "Mr. Ikeda."

Ikeda, on the other hand, bowed deeply - the bow of a subordinate to authority. "Miss Parker," he said in accented but clear English. "I am honored that you would see me."

She seated herself and gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk that her assistants had left. "What can I do for the Yakuza?" she asked, making a quick and assessing study of her guest and recognizing the signs.

"I am here on my own business, not that of my former employers," Ikeda corrected in a calm tone. "While they do not know it yet, I have resigned my association with the Yakuza."

The grey eyes narrowed. "Transfers of loyalty aren't exactly looked upon with favor, Ikeda-san," she replied in a sharp tone. "And I have enough to handle right now that I do not need the Yakuza looking upon me with frustration."

"I understand this," Ikeda replied. "As a matter of fact, I am fully aware of your situation. I had a hand in creating it, as a matter of fact." He gazed quietly and peacefully into her surprised gaze. "My former position with the Yakuza was as assassin. One of my last assignments was to rid the world - and you, I believe - of having to deal further with a William Raines."

Miss Parker sat back in her chair in surprise. "YOU... killed Raines?" she gasped. "Why?"

"Tanaka-sama must have felt that the contract was necessary," he replied. "I didn't make a habit of questioning my assignments. I merely did as requested - until now."

"Oh? Your coming here is in lieu of fulfilling another assignment?" The eyebrow was lifted dangerously.

"My coming here is because my former employers have lost sight of what it means to be Yakuza," Ikeda said proudly. "They tremble at threats and think that assassination of key players will intimidate. They are fools who spend the lives of their people frivolously." He drew in a breath. "I was sent back to America to silence a man who holds a great deal of power - over you, over the Yakuza. I could have killed him last night, but I didn't."

"Who were you sent for this time?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"Otamo Ngawe," the assassin said in his clear, quiet voice. "I warned him that he and the man in charge of the Yakuza are playing a foolish game - and told him that the next assassin sent would finish what I was sent to do."

She leaned forward. "Why in the Hell did you do that?" she demanded. "Ngawe is ruthless, and right now, he seems a bit unbalanced. You may have done nothing but escalate things."

Ikeda remained unruffled. "I put the truth where it needed to be," he insisted calmly. "And now I have come to ask for sanctuary in your organization, as perhaps a small return on the service I did for you by removing Raines and the man responsible for that." Ikeda's finger pointed out the window at the construction where the Tower once had stood.

"That too, eh?" Miss Parker sighed, leaned back again and then viewed her guest cautiously. "The police are turning this whole part of the world upside down looking for you, you know. You left bodies all over the place. For a Yakuza assassin - ninja-trained, I'd imagine - your work is sloppy."

The Japanese drew himself together. "I left only one body, Miss Parker - that of the man who did this," he pointed out the window again. "I watched Raines' body be taken back inside the Centre. So I did not... as you say... leave bodies all over the place."

"You didn't kill the gardener?" she asked curtly.

"No. I had no reason to," he replied evenly. "I never even saw a gardener. I kill only when necessary - or when it is my job. I left the body of the bomber because what he'd just done was bound to attract a great deal of attention. If there was another body, it was there before I arrived."

She gazed into the dark eyes of her visitor and realized that, sitting before her in utter serenity, was one of the most dangerous men she'd ever hope to meet. Lyle, with his morbid habits and unpredictable tempers had been dangerous, as had Raines and his paranoias and mad-scientist schemes. But this man, completely calm, completely present in the moment, and completely balanced and sane, was like Death itself paying her a social call - asking HER for help.

"If I were to consider your request," she began, folding her fingers together at chest-level, "what would you be offering in exchange? I am trying to turn the Centre from an American version of the Yakuza into a completely legitimate research and development institution. What use would your skills have in this endeavor?"

Ikeda blinked and thought for a moment, letting his mind explore the vast possibilities the question opened for him. "Certainly not all within your organization will be pleased at the change in philosophy you're suggesting," he answered with eyes slightly narrowed. "They will try many interesting and dangerous tactics to sway you from your path. My skills may be needed to answer some of those moves. As a ninja, killing was not the only thing I was trained to do well."

Miss Parker sat forward slowly. "What do you know of what happened last night?" she demanded in a low and dangerous tone.

"The only thing I know happened last night," Ikeda replied, "was that I visited Ngawe-san in his hospital room and left him with a message - and a dead bodyguard. If something else happened, then I'm not aware of it." He narrowed his eyes again. "If I may ask, what DID happen, Parker-sama - and what would you wish me do? I am your servant."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"With all due respect, you said it yourself when our conversation was first beginning. Transfers of loyalty are not viewed favorably by my former employers - and having tweaked the nose of Ngawe-san in his own bedroom, as a free agent my remaining lifetime would be a very limited one." He stood. "I am willing to use all my training and skills at your command, Parker-sama, for my life is forfeit otherwise. You can trust me because your trust is all that stands between me and the grave. If I must enter that void, I would rather do it in your service."

Miss Parker observed him standing in front of her desk, obviously waiting with extreme patience for her answer, hardly believing her luck. This was a resource too good to let slip through her fingers, and it had fallen into her lap and answered questions at the same time. She reached for her intercom. "Mei Chiang, will you have Tyler and Sam come back in here please?"

"Sam informed me that he would be out of touch for a short time, Miss Parker," the voice of her receptionist announced quietly. "I think he said that he was going to be doing an important interview and needed not to be disturbed. Do you wish me to have a sweeper fetch him anyway?"

"No," she shook her head. Sam was leaning on Berringer, as planned - and he needed the space to do the job properly. "Keep paging Sam's office in regular intervals, however. When Sam returns, have him get Tyler and come to my office." She waved her hand at her visitor. "Sit down, Mr. Ikeda, and make yourself comfortable while I think this through. I think I very well may have a use for your services."

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 10: No Respite


"Uncle!" Siskele barged straight into Ngawe's new hospital room without the courtesy of knocking. "I heard stories..."

"Get out!" the elderly African barked at the candy-striper replacing the ice water in his pitcher and replenishing the water for the flowers in the room. "Go!" he ordered, unmoved by her sudden doe-in-the-headlights expression. The girl rushed from the room, and he pointed to the door. "Close that!" His nephew hastened to do as he asked. "Where were you?" Ngawe demanded as soon as the door was shut. "We expected you..."

"We had to present our passports and identification at the entrance of the hospital, Uncle," Siskele related to the older man defensively. "AND we had to leave our weapons elsewhere. The government agents were frisking everyone entering."

"You mean you are unarmed?" Ngawe was incensed. "How can we expect to stay safe if our guards..."

"You have two federal agents standing guard just outside the door," Siskele told him in a slightly quieter voice. "They are checking the identification of all who even walk past in the hallway."

"It was a Yakuza move," Ngawe told his nephew in a calmer tone, keeping an eagle eye on the door in case another FBI agent was going to barge through. "We want additional security men brought in from Nairobi - we want all collected information on the Yakuza and it's global holdings. We are not going to rest..."

"Uncle," Siskele put up a hand. "I heard from Nairobi this morning. Agunde and M'basa are hearing from the Nigerian consortium that they would like to strip you of your position and select a new representative to the Triumvirate. Word of your raids on Yakuza holdings has reached Africa, and the consortium as a whole disagrees with the wisdom of your actions."

"We do not need permission," Ngawe bellowed, "We ARE the Triumvirate!"

"Last week, the Yakuza have closed the Japanese ports to all our shipments. That's enough to make the whole consortium sit up and take notice, Uncle. It's enough to get them to vote you out of office - or have you assassinated, if that's what it would take to calm things down and get back to business as usual." Siskele didn't like finding himself in the position of messenger of bad news, but he hoped that his inside scoop on what was going on at home would wake his uncle up in time before the man lost all prestige. Shipments of ivory and other delicate commodities - like diamonds - into Asia has been the backbone of Triumvirate revenue, AND it has been a cooperative Yakuza-Triumvirate operation for years. The Triumvirate as a whole had lost three hundred million dollars last week in those delayed shipments alone - more than enough to cause more conservative consortium members to consider a power shift in the ruling board.

Ngawe opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again. "We just HAD a visit last night from an assassin - a Yakuza assassin at that!" he growled, his temper still red-hot. "He killed Ulembe without even batting an eye, leaving him to drown in his own blood and US without means to call for assistance. We have never been so..."

Siskele closed his eyes and decided that he'd best just hand over the rest of the bad news now rather than later. "Agunde has requested a meeting with the Yakuza Council of Clans, and he has M'basa's tacit approval of his plan..."

"He's done WHAT?" the elderly man bellowed again. "Without our permission?"

"Uncle, your war of revenge is endangering profits on all sides!" Siskele cried. "Our own people are beginning to worry that you endanger the consortium."

"Weaklings!" Ngawe pounded the mattress at his side impotently. "And here we sit while the spineless fools in Africa go hat in hand to the Asian devils that did us such grievous injury!" He glared up at his nephew. "And where is our ambassador? We demanded that he attend us immediately."

The younger man shook his head. "Ambassador Adinde sent his regrets and declines to come. He recommends that you find yourself a good American lawyer."

Ngawe stared up into the ebony eyes of his younger brother's son in consternation. "But we were promised immunity..." His nephew had nothing to say, and silence spoke eloquently of the value of politically motivated promises.

The old arms dealer pushed back into his pillows in agitation. He knew better than anyone the power that was vested in the titular head of the Triumvirate, and just how easily that power could be wrested away if the consortium as a whole so decided. All Triumvirate heads, from long since before the banker M'tumbo who had built the consortium into such a well-funded power broker, had never lost sight of that fact. He refused to be the first to make such a fatal mistake, Nor did he intend to be the first to end up behind American prison bars.

"Send a message to Nairobi. Tell them... we give permission for this meeting with the Yakuza. We want the name of the assassin that invaded our room last night, but other than that, we will consider the other matter..." He breathed in and sighed in very reluctant acquiescence, "...closed." He looked at his nephew sharply. "For all intents and purposes, that is. And do your homework, and find us a good lawyer."

~~~~~~~~

Stewart Berringer stared in uneasy concern at the huge man who had invaded his Centre accommodations that morning. Sam had a sweeper standing at the door while he had dragged a chair over to face the uncomfortable cot, which was the only other place to sit in the room besides on the open-to-the-world toilet. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated.

"I think you do," Sam replied in a dark tone that told the Nevadan that there was very little patience in the man to squander. "Duncan was your man - Raines had him sent to Flores. Flores reports that he was more than just a good sweeper for you, that you just kept him on the books that way."

"Gil Flores is..."

"...sorry he ever decided to cross swords with us, trust me," Sam finished with a thoroughly threatening grin. "Would you like to experience some of the interesting methods that we used on him to get him to talk?"

Something in the sparkle that suddenly lit the Delaware Security Chief's eyes made a cold shiver run down the former supervisor's spine. "No, thank you, I think I'd rather not," he answered as evenly as he could.

"Then I suggest that you begin to talk to me," Sam stretched back in his chair. "I don't have all day - and I assure you, our methods of extracting information are quite efficient and not at all pleasant."

Berringer sighed. "Duncan grew up in the hills of San Bernardino county, not far from Victorville. I can remember him talking about a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley too - an uncle's place that he inherited, I think. If it's out in the middle of nowhere, it would be ideal for keeping hostages isolated and easy to guard."

"Talk to me about his gang connections."

"Mexican mob mostly, although he did run with the X-14's for a few years before he beat up his brother and landed in jail." Berringer shuddered. Sam was extremely well-informed for someone LOOKING for information. "What the Hell have Flores and Duncan done this time?"

Sam blinked. "What do you mean, THIS time?"

Berringer looked at the ex-sweeper in surprise. "You know so much already, I'm surprised you didn't already have this in your dossier on them - Flores and Duncan and a real low-life from a group called Los Cabrones used to be known in local circles as the Three Unholy Musketeers. They'd get bored, drive into Hollywood, go down near Hollywood and Vine, pick up a few hookers and... well... let's just say that most of the girls they picked up weren't in any shape to make much money when they were through with them."

"Shit!" Sam shuddered. And two of these monsters had their hands on Deb Broots! "Didn't they ever get caught?"

"Nope." Berringer shook his head. "But Raines knew about their exploits - whenever Lyle used to go on a tear and want some of his Asian “meat,” as he called it, Raines would ship him off to LA to oversee some Yakuza dealing and have Duncan or Cordoba go down into Chinatown and..."

"I get the picture!" Sam swallowed hard against the rising bile. Miss Parker had once told him all about her suspicions about her unsavory “twin.” "So where's this Cordoba now?"

"Last I heard he was spending one to five for assault at a state facility - but that was two or three years ago. He could be out now, for all I know..." Berringer glared at his inquisitor. "Now answer MY question: what the Hell has Duncan done?"

"Enough to get himself put behind bars permanently," Sam answered cryptically, "but only if the feds find him before Miss Parker and her Smith & Wesson does..."

~~~~~~~~

"Miss Parker, there's a Doctor Hightower for you on line three," Mei Chiang announced quietly.

"Thank you," she said, glancing over at the silent and dangerous Japanese man sitting like a statue in a chair in front of her desk. He hadn't even twitched to show that he was listening to anything at the moment - he was a study in meditative calm. Not entirely certain whether she should be encouraged or on guard, she pushed at a button on her phone to accept the call. "This is Parker."

"This is Gordon Hightower at Dover General. I'm just calling to let you know that Sydney Green is through his surgery and is now in recovery. The surgery was a success - I'm hoping for a complete recovery of stability and mobility - and he'll be ready for release after about one-thirty or so this afternoon. Will you be picking him up yourself?"

"Yes, of course." Miss Parker blinked and felt a deep pang of guilt that she hadn't even taken the time to worry about Sydney in the hospital again, so busy she'd been trying to get word on where the kidnappers had taken her son. "One-thirty you say?"

"I would like to have you come in a little earlier - say around noon. Dr. Green will be having CPM therapy administered at home during his recovery, and I'll need to instruct whoever will be responsible for his care in the workings of the machine. Will that be you as well?"

"No," she thought quickly. So much for Kevin working out of the Centre... "But I can bring that individual with me when I come."

"Very good," Dr. Hightower sounded satisfied. "I'll be seeing you at around noon then."

"Thank you, Doctor." She disconnected and immediately dialed an extension.

"Yes? Hello?" Kevin sounded as if he wasn't used to answering a telephone.

"It's me," Miss Parker announced very quickly. "Meet me in my office in about a half-hour - they're releasing Sydney and want you to come in early to be trained on the workings of some machine he'll have coming home with him. CPM, I think it was called..."

"Continuous Passive Motion therapy. I've heard of this," Kevin told her. "I'll be ready, Miss Parker." He paused. "Did the doctor say if everything went well?"

She smiled softly. Kevin was so dependent on Sydney at the moment - the two of them had been virtually inseparable since his rescue. "The doctor hopes for a complete recovery."

"Good!" Kevin's voice sounded both relieved and enthusiastic. "I'll be there in just a few minutes then."

She was hanging up the receiver when a sharp knock preceded Sam bursting through her door. "News?" she looked up expectantly.

"Berringer says that Duncan's original stomping grounds is San Bernardino County - around some place named Victorville. Also, seems that he inherited a ranch in the Victor Valley out there - Berringer says that if it's remote enough, it would be ideal for keeping hostages on ice." The ex-sweeper suddenly stopped, noticing for the first time the still Japanese in the chair. "What's this?"

Miss Parker rose. "Sam Atlee, I'd like you to meet Katsuhiro Ikeda, recently with the Yakuza."

Ikeda rose at the mention of his name and turned to bow to the huge man behind him.

Sam moved a little further into the room, feeling as if he needed to somehow move himself between his boss and this quiet man. "We're dealing with Yakuza again?" he asked almost challengingly. "When did we start picking up their rejects?"

"We're NOT dealing with the Yakuza again, Sam, and you know that," Miss Parker snapped at her Security Chief. "Besides, Mr. Ikeda is by no mean a Yakuza reject," she shook her head. "As a matter of fact, put on some decent manners and shake hands with the man that finally did us all a favor and removed Mr. Raines from our world."

"Oh yeah?" Sam turned back to the Japanese with a far less antagonistic expression. "Well, then..." he stuck out his hand and found it shaken with a strong and firm grip. "If Miss Parker didn't say so before, we're grateful. You did everybody a favor."

Ikeda merely bowed over the clasped hands. He had had no idea that the man the Yakuza had wanted removed was so thoroughly disliked even by his gai-jin colleagues. He had known that removing Raines had been essential to Miss Parker's eventual rise to power, but it was beginning to sound like the current administration of the Centre had been languishing under Raines' authority for a long time.

"Mr. Ikeda is a very special person, Sam," Miss Parker continued. "He is ninja - a highly trained assassin."

Sam blinked and turned to his boss sharply. "I thought we were out of that kind of business now," he charged with a slight frown.

"I assure you, I am capable of many things other than the art of killing, Atlee-san," Ikeda answered in softly accented but clear English. "These skills I have offered to Parker-sama, in hopes that she may find use for me."

"Tyler? Could you come in here for a moment, please?" Miss Parker spoke into the telephone receiver and then replaced it when the young man told her he was on his way. "I'm still working on ways to use Mr. Ikeda's unique skills to our best advantage," she told Sam as she motioned him to one of the remaining chairs.

"If you don't mind my saying so," her Security Chief said, taking a chance that this might be one of the few times that she'd actually be open to his idea, "having Mr. Ikeda take personal charge of YOUR safety would make ME feel a lot better."

Another quick knock resounded, and the door to her office pushed open again as Tyler stuck his head through. He took in the group already present. "What's up?" he asked with concern as he moved into the room more fully. "Where's Davy and Deb?" he demanded from Sam.

"According to Berringer, Southern California - either somewhere in the neighborhood of Victorville, or a ranch somewhere in the Victor Valley," Sam responded automatically.

"Gomen nasai, Parker-sama, but you still haven't told me what is going on," Ikeda reminded his new employer carefully. "Someone important is missing? Who are Davy and Deb?"

Miss Parker sighed and motioned to Tyler to take the last empty chair in the room. "You were correct when you speculated that some here at the Centre have not been particularly enthusiastic about the changes I'm trying to implement here, Ikeda-san. Last night, one of them ordered the kidnapping of people important to me personally as leverage to force me to resign my position. My eight-year-old son was taken - along with the daughter of one of my best friends and assistants." She sighed again. "We've just spent the better part of the night trying to find out where they were taken."

Ikeda's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "Do you have the identities of those who hold your son and this girl?"

Tyler leaned forward. "Wait a minute. Who IS this guy?" he demanded. "Why are you telling him everything?"

"Stop it, Tyler, he's with us," Miss Parker snapped at her young assistant, recognizing the defensive tone but having neither the time nor the energy to appreciate it. "Meet a new colleague, Katsuhiro Ikeda. Ikeda-san, this is Cody Tyler, my personal assistant."

Tyler took a moment and then extended his hand to the newcomer. "Sorry, Mr. Ikeda. I'm learning to be extremely cautious nowadays..."

"No offense taken, Tyler-san. Your loyalty to Parker-sama is commendable," Ikeda responded easily with a slight bow from the waist. He returned his calm gaze to his new employer. "Now, I was wondering if you had the identities of the ronin who did this?"

Miss Parker reached out to a conveniently placed folder and removed the photograph that sat in the front. "That man is the one the traitor contacted - his name is Andrew Duncan."

Ikeda took the photograph and studied it closely. "This meeting was a while ago, neh? Mayeda-san has put on several pounds since this was taken."

"Taken last year," Sam answered. "As for the other man, Berringer says that the most likely candidate is a scum named Cordoba from a Mexican gang." He let his dark eyes communicate his very real and sick worry. "You don't WANT to know what Duncan and Flores and Cordoba were best known as, or what they used to do - but leave it to say that they were Lyle's “suppliers” of Asian meats on the West Coast."

Miss Parker blanched and swallowed hard. "Shit!" she whispered, stricken.

"No shit," Sam responded dryly. "We GOTTA get those kids away from them!"

Miss Parker took a deep breath and straightened the cool exterior over her worries again. "We gotta let the FBI take point on this, too," she reminded them all pointedly. "Taking the kids over state lines makes it a federal case. What shape is Flores in - is he ready to turn over to Gillespie?"

Sam's smile was cold and didn't reach his eyes. "The marks on his legs look more like insect bites now than anything else - and his forehead just looks like he's breaking out in a zit."

"What the hell did you do to him?" Tyler asked, looking back and forth between the two.

"You really don't want to know," Miss Parker answered abruptly and turned back to Sam. "Good. Then call Gillespie and tell him who we got and what we got out of him - and give him Berringer for good measure as a material witness." She shook her finger at her Security Chief. "As soon as you have some idea what Gillespie's next move is, I want YOU on the next jet to LA to coordinate FBI involvement with the new Centre satellite staff there. I'll keep Ikeda-san with me here, and I'll stay with Kevin and Sydney, while you're gone - I promise," she conceded when she saw his concern jump at the pending traveling orders. She turned back to Ikeda. "You don't mind playing bodyguard for a while, do you?"

Ikeda bowed deeply from the waist even though he remained seated. "I am your servant in all things, Parker-sama. Use me as you wish."

She nodded, satisfied. "Tyler, I want you conducting in-depth interviews with the rest of our less-enlightened ex-supervisors, just to see if they know anything we haven't already learned from Flores and Berringer. Pass anything you learn along to Gillespie and Sam." Tyler nodded.

"Do you have living arrangements made?" she suddenly asked Ikeda.

"I know of a motel within a reasonable distance from here," the assassin replied. "I stayed there not long ago. I am hoping to get a room there again."

"Fine." Miss Parker looked down at her watch. "I've got to get moving and go to Dover with Kevin to pick up Sydney. Ikeda-san, take care of making whatever living arrangements you feel necessary and be back here, in my office, at three this afternoon." Ikeda bowed. She looked around the room. "That will be all, gentlemen, unless you have anything further to add?"

~~~~~~~~

Fujimori moved carefully down the hospital corridor, putting his weight on the one crutch to take the stress from his damaged ankle, and sighted in on the supply room door. He tried desperately to look merely like a patient ambling down the hall to build up stamina so that he wouldn't draw attention to himself, and then slipped carefully through the door the moment he figured the coast was clear.

Wearing two hospital gowns, one on normally and the other on backwards, was no way to try to leave the hospital - and there was no way that he was going to remain there any longer now than he absolutely had to. He flipped on the light and headed directly for the stack of folded blues and pulled a shirt and a pair of drawstring pants down for use. He moved quickly, setting the crutch aside and pulling the medical clothing on and then discarding the gowns into a darker corner. He stowed the crutch into the corner too, then found the supply of surgical booties to slip over his one bare foot and the cast on the other foot.

Even dressed more appropriately, he felt dreadfully naked and exposed. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of the hospital - away from the gai-jin law enforcement people and the menacing black bodyguards of Ngawe-sama. Once on the streets, hopefully he could find a supply of even more substancial clothing - and maybe even lower himself to mugging a drunk or two to get the money to make the call back to Japan and get his Yakuza brothers on their way to rescue him.

He'd spent the last day, when not being coddled by the nursing staff on a regular schedule or interrogated yet again by one of the gai-jin lawmen, practicing walking without a crutch. The cast on his foot wasn't meant to be walked on, but that couldn't be helped - it would last for as long as it would, and hopefully out into the greater world and maybe even back to Japan.

Almost ready to try his luck at just walking out the front door, he swept his eye about the tiny room one last time and discovered a real prize - a coat had been hung rather haphazardly from the top of a mop handle. Fujimori shrugged into the garment and smiled. The only thing that could possibly give him away now was his feet, lacking proper shoes beneath the booties. And the best defense against THAT was to simply meet as many of the people he approached as possible with a direct and piercing gaze of his own. Americans liked looking each other in the eye as they walked, he knew - and he could use that trait to his advantage.

He straightened and pulled open the supply room door and walked out brazenly, then turned and headed toward the nurse's station that was situated near the main hall that led all the way to the front lobby. With his head held high, he limped down the hall as if he knew his business, noticing that the others simply moved aside for him as they would for any other. He rounded the corner of the nurse's station and continued toward the front door, his heart pounding hard in his chest and banging painfully against extremely tender ribs.

Almost there.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod looked down at his watch - eight-thirty. It was almost noon back in Delaware, and he had a half-hour yet to wait before he could expect Sam to call again, bringing him up to date on developments there. It was a half-hour before his first appointment at the office as well, he remembered on second thought, and reached out to his coffee mug to finish the last few swallows of the caffeine. The newspaper, which he had long taken time to devour before heading off to work, sat still folded on the kitchen table - nothing in there was of interest, all he could think of was Davy and Parker.

The phone rang, making him jump, and he reached out a hand that was almost shaking in a combination of anticipation and dread for the handset. "Hello?"

"Is this Doctor Jarod Russell?" a terse woman's voice asked immediately.

"Yes," he replied, his anxiety clicking up another notch.

"This is the Child Protective Services Agency. There has been a problem in one of our foster homes, and we noticed that you had applied to become a foster parent to one of the clients placed in that home."

Jarod frowned. "Which home?" he asked, now suddenly very focused. Ginger?

"The home of a Susan Thatcher," the woman replied, obviously looking down at a paper. "There was a domestic disturbance and the police were called. Mrs. Thatcher was booked on assault and the children in her care were moved to a secured facility temporarily. Since you have expressed interest in one of the children, we thought we might expedite some of the paperwork and do the in-home interview and assessment as soon as possible, with an eye to placing the child with you within twenty-four to thirty-six hours." The woman paused, as if wondering something. "Would you consider taking more than one child..."

"I don't think so," Jarod answered quickly. "I can handle taking care of one child while at work - more than that would be impractical."

The woman sighed. "Very well, it never hurts to ask, though... We've so few quality foster homes to begin with..."

"So when do you want to do this?" Jarod decided to cut to the chase. If his schedule for the day was going to be completely trashed, starting the rescheduling process as soon as possible would be necessary.

"How does two o'clock this afternoon sound to you?"

Jarod nodded. That gave him plenty of time to rearrange things. "I'll be here then." He thought a moment. "How is Ginger? Was she hurt in this “domestic dispute”?"

"I have no report of any major injuries to any of the children," the CPS representative replied, obviously shuffling papers, "but I'm assuming that whatever happened involved at least one of the children."

"If I pass muster, when can I expect Ginger to be placed with me?" he inquired, leaning his brow into his fingers. This new development probably meant that there was no way that he could fly to Delaware to help out with the search for Davy. For the first time, he began to question his resolution to bring another child into his family situation.

"We don't like to keep the children in the secured facility any longer than necessary," the woman replied. "It isn't a healthy environment for them to be spending much time at all except under the most extraordinary circumstances. With any luck at all, Ginger could be placed with you by tomorrow noon. We still do need to make sure that we're placing her in a safe and supportive situation before that, however."

"Understood. Thank you." Jarod nodded.

"Good day, Dr. Russell." The woman hung up.

Jarod sighed and rose to his feet. His day just got more complicated. But he no more than got three steps from the table than the phone was ringing again. "What?" he answered slightly more abruptly this time.

"Jarod, this is Sam."

The Pretender retraced his steps to the table and sat down quickly. "Talk to me, Sam."

"I can't talk long - she's got me handing over Flores and the other mutineer to the feds as soon as Gillespie gets here. But she wanted me to tell you to sit tight, that she'd be calling you this evening and laying everything out for you."

"Damn it," Jarod swore. "Do you have any idea how hard it is just to sit tight, Sam?"

Sam's voice softened considerably. "You're doing a helluva lot better job at it that I would be in your place, Lab-rat," he admitted with a voice that shimmered with sincerity. "And there has been some information uncovered - still very iffy. Our, uh, “interrogation” of the one who ordered this mess was fruitful."

"As long as it was painful as well," Jarod grumbled, wishing he could have been there to add his own pressure.

"Trust me," Sam said with a particularly cold tone, "the man was NOT comfortable with the process."

"So, what did you find out?"

"I'll let Miss Parker tell you that, Jarod." Sam waved his hand to the FBI agent in charge who had stuck his head around the corner of the door, beckoning him into his tiny office. "Gillespie's here - I gotta go."

"No, wait! How's Sydney?"

"They did surgery on his knee this morning - Miss Parker and Kevin have already left to go pick him up in Dover." Sam watched the FBI agent calmly take a seat, unfortunately making it unwise to pass along some of the other information that Jarod really needed to hear. "Tell ya what - if you still want answers after you talk to Miss Parker this evening, give me a call. Not too late, mind you..."

"You can count on it, Sam," Jarod informed him very quietly. "Tell me one thing, and then I'll let you go."

"You got it."

"How good are our chances of getting Davy and Deb back?"

Sam was quiet for long enough that Jarod's heart began to pound. "Depends. I'll talk to you later." The Security Chief reluctantly hung up on the desperate man and smiled at the FBI agent. "Have we got something for YOU!"

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker smiled coldly as the most senior sweeper from the car that had followed her closely from Blue Cove jumped from the vehicle and opened the door to her brand-new Mercedes. This escort had presented themselves in the parking garage and made a point of explaining to her that their presence was non-negotiable - the Security Chief had told them in no uncertain terms that they were to stick to her like glue. Miss Parker had sighed and climbed into the car, knowing that if she tried to argue, she would lose. Sam had tried to place an escort with her before and she'd declined - and look what had happened.

"Just keep a few paces back, gentlemen," she ordered briskly while waiting for Kevin to join her. She glanced at the young man. "Ready?"

"Yes, Miss Parker," he responded softly. This daughter of the mentor had been very uncommunicative in the car, and driven VERY fast down the highway to Dover. Her mood impenetrable, he had simply settled down to appreciate the obvious skill she wielded so easily in guiding her car around the curves. Miss Parker intimidated him at normal times - since the kidnapping, he hadn't known what to make of her. He couldn't imagine how any mother could function with the cold efficiency that she was demonstrating when so much in doubt of the fate of her young child.

"C'mon then," she waved impatiently and set off at a very brisk pace toward the front doors of the hospital. She knew eventually that Kevin had trotted briefly to catch back up with her - and that the sweeper team behind her had come swiftly behind, with trench coats billowing in the breeze.

She was halfway across the lobby floor when the incongruous sight of a man in blue medical scrubs and a grubby coat caught at the edge of her vision. She turned and looked - and skidded to a stop. "You!" she sighed as the man looked her in the eye - and blanched.

Fujimori felt his triumph at nearly making it outdoors without a single challenge pop like a fragile soap bubble. Miss Parker had recognized him - as well she should. He had been present when she'd been introduced to the younger Tanaka and at every interview when the elder Tanaka had been present as well. It had been his job to ever so subtlely throw the two younger scions of power together, in the hopes that a stronger allegiance between Centre and Yakuza could be forged from the union. "Parker-san," he sighed in defeat, coming to a halt and bowing.

"Where the hell do you think YOU'RE going?" she asked in cold, hiss-filled Japanese.

He could read the obvious answer to her question in her ice storm grey eyes. "I'm no longer certain," he admitted back. The gods had truly deserted him, to see him this close to freedom only to put him back under the jurisdiction of someone other than Yakuza.

"Chet," Miss Parker crooked a finger at one of the sweepers behind her, "take this man out to your car and make him comfortable. He'll be coming back to the Centre with us."

"Yes, ma'am," the ex-football lineman said immediately and then came up to take the Japanese man's arm.

"Don't let him fool you," Parker cautioned her sweeper. "He's a martial arts expert and high man on the Yakuza totem pole. He's not delicate, and he's not helpless. He's dangerous, understand?"

Chet dropped the man's arm and simply gestured for the man to lead the way into the parking lot. With a quick glare that Miss Parker would expose his abilities in that manner, Fujimori once more began limping in the direction the big man indicated.

Miss Parker watched them for a moment, then turned back to Kevin. "Let's go get Sydney," she said with little inflection and once more set a brisk pace into the hospital.

~~~~~~~~

The aging brown Cadillac sedan pulled to a stop in front a dilapidated old ranch house, and the dust that had been stirred up in its arrival swirled lazily in the early morning sun. "This is the place," Duncan announced as he climbed from behind the wheel.

"Ain't nobody gonna find us here," Cordoba pronounced with some satisfaction as he climbed out of the passenger seat and peered around him the barren and desiccated landscape. "This is way the Hell-and-gone out in the middle of Nowhere."

"You didn't believe me," Duncan accused sarcastically.

"I was too tired to know what to believe, cabrón," the Hispanic bristled back. "Is it open?"

"Nope," Duncan shook his head and tossed his confederate the key ring. "I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid. I put a new Schlage lock on this place just before I picked you up to come back East with me. Hurry it up, so you can help me with these two."

Cordoba obediently trotted up on the creaking porch and slid the newest looking key into the ridiculously shiny doorknob assembly, then pushed the door open with a loud and complaining creak to expose the darkness within. He looked around inside for a moment then walked back to the car. "Real luxury digs you got here, Andy."

"Good enough for what we need to do," Duncan said with a nonchalant shrug, then caught the keys the Hispanic tossed back at him and opened the trunk. He looked down into wide grey eyes in the boy that blinked in the sudden sun and a pair of cerulean blues in the girl. "You take the girl, I got the kid. Follow me."

"I am so there," Cordoba grinned like a kid given a treat while he waited for Duncan to sling the boy over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "It's just you and me, honey," he said in a low voice with a simmering hot gaze that swept down Deb's body like a wash of acid, and she flinched as she felt him reach for her and submit her to similar treatment that Davy had gotten. "Don't worry none, though, I'll have you real comfortable in a moment, sweet thing," her captor told her, putting an overly warm hand on her buttock and running it slowly down her thigh.

Deb was in a position where the only thing she could do was watch the heels of the man's feet flip up in her direction with every step he took with eyes that had quickly filled with tears of fear and loathing. Just having him touch her made her feel dirty, and from what he was saying to her, touching sounded like the least he intended for her. She moaned her protest and began to struggle a little, only to find herself swatted rather harshly on the butt by his big hand and then have it thrust between her legs to get a more secure hold on her.

"You just keep on like that, baby," her captor said in that low and dangerously dirty voice of his. "I like it when they struggle and scream." His other hand caught at the back of her legs and gave that invasive hand the freedom to wander... into private places that made her squeak protest again. "Just you wait, sweet thing - we're gonna have us some FUN..."

Deb's protest moan ended in a terrified squeak

~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, Ethan."

Ethan looked up from his coffee into the face of his foster mother. "Morning, Mom." He looked back down into the dark brew and continued stirring it slowly and systematically. Jarod was right - the figure eight was infinity turned on end.

Margaret moved behind her foster son and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You look like you didn't sleep well. I heard you talking on the phone late last night. Is everything alright?"

Ethan let go of the spoon and let it clatter against the side of the coffee cup with a ceramic tinkle. "Not exactly," he admitted.

"What is it, son," she pressed gently, ruffling his hair and then shuffling behind him for a coffee cup of her own on slippered feet. "One of your patients?"

"No." He debated how to break the news to her. "There were some problems back East last night - serious ones."

Margaret's eyes narrowed. "I'm getting so DAMNED tired of every conversation in this family starting to be about Delaware or the people there," she spat as she seated herself across the table from her foster son. "You'd think they'd be able to take care of their own problems without calling here and bothering..."

"They didn't call, Mom." Ethan closed his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood for this - the voices had been worrying in the back of his mind at him about his half-sister for the greater share of the night. "I... just knew..."

"Knew what?" She sipped at her coffee, utterly unaffected. "Did poor little Miss Parker stub her toe or something?"

"Stop it." Ethan looked up at her with his chocolate brown eyes - so like his older brother - filled with frustration. "You keep forgetting that she's my half-sister - that I care about her too." He picked up his spoon and began the stirring process again. "Besides, considering what did happen, you'd think you'd be a little more understanding."

"What did happen, then? Stop being so mysterious and melodramatic!" she sighed with her own frustration.

"Her son was kidnapped."

Margaret stared at her younger son. Of all the possible answers she had quickly entertained, this was the last one she expected. "Jarod's son?"

"Parker's boy IS Jarod's son, Mom. Remember?"

"My grandson?" The hand holding her coffee cup trembled visibly.

"Yeah." Ethan looked down again. "Davy and another girl - the daughter of a friend - were both taken."

"My..." Margaret's blue eyes glazed in panic. "Does... does Jarod know?"

"Yeah. He was pretty upset." Ethan had been debating calling his brother to see if he'd had any news yet, and figured if there had been any, Jarod would have called HIM. "I don't know that he might not be getting ready to go back to help with the search."

"Go back... THERE?" Margaret was aghast. "But... he can't..."

"If it was your son, wouldn't YOU want to go back and help?" Ethan shot at her pointedly.

She frowned, her blue eyes clear and accusing. "Of course I would. But..."

Ethan picked up the coffee cup and took a long drink of the tepid liquid before rising and dumping the rest into the sink and rinsing the cup. "Jarod feels exactly like that," he told her archly. "And Parker... I can feel her despair. She's terrified that she'll never see her son again."

"Now she'll know what I felt like all those years," Margaret blurted out.

He pinned her with those eloquent dark eyes of his. "Helluva way to get payback, Mom," he commented bitterly, then reached for his sports jacket. "I'm off to work."

Margaret looked away and didn't say anything more while he stomped from the kitchen and then from the house. She just stared into her coffee cup.

Another family member, stolen! Surely the Centre... She caught herself. Davy was right there with his mother intimately involved with the Centre - supposedly running the place. She wouldn't have stolen her own son. But if not the Centre, then who...

~~~~~~~~

Duncan led the way down the short hall and kicked open one of the bedroom doors. He bent and let Davy's body roll from him and thud painfully into the dusty carpet that covered the long-abandoned floor. "Bring her in here," he called to Cordoba, then frowned when he hear noises from the next room. He shook his finger at Davy's wide eyes. "Stay put," he ordered and went hunting for his associate.

"Oh lookie what we got here!" Cordoba said as he bent over Deb's form and began unbuttoning the pajama top she was wearing to expose her chest. "Cute little thing, aren't you?" he grinned at her with a thoroughly chilling expression in his eyes before he grasped a breast in each hand and squeezed them hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Holding her frightened gaze in his, he lowered his mouth down to nip hard at one of the tight little nipples painfully and then lick the trickle of blood with a lazy tongue. His smile grew as he saw the tears begin to trickle down the side of her face. "And what else do you suppose we got here to play with?" he asked and reached for the elastic of her pajama trousers.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Duncan barked at him, then surged forward to drag him back and away from the trembling girl on the floor, who then tried to roll away from them both.

"Fuck off, Andy. It's been a long time, and El Guapo doesn't intend to go unsatisfied much longer," Cordoba shook off Duncan's hand on his arm.

"You pick her up and bring her in with the boy right now," Duncan ordered in a low and dangerous voice that Cordoba had heard only once or twice before - and then only before the men being spoken to had gotten themselves seriously messed up. "We haven't got time for this shit."

Cordoba glared at his confederate, then reached for the girl with rough hands. "We'll continue this in a bit, sweet thing," he promised her coldly, then hefted her over his shoulder again with a hand conveniently and lewdly inserted between her thighs again. This time he dumped her on the floor with deliberate disregard. Deb's head hit the thinly carpetted surface hard and was knocked unconscious again. Cordoba grinned maliciously at the little boy lying a short distance away, whose eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of the girl's attire being so disassembled and leaving her so exposed. "Look your fill, kid," he growled and then ran his hands over her breasts and body again, moving beneath elastic.

"Move it, asshole," Duncan grabbed Cordoba's shirt collar and hauled him erect again. "Get back out to the car."

"Go take a flyin' leap, goddammit. I moved her, like you said." Cordoba squared off with Duncan dangerously. "But I done told you, I want me a piece of this white meat - and I ain't leavin' without..."

"If you want to get your money, you'll do as I say," Duncan interrupted with a shrug. "So just keep it going with this little bitch, and I'll leave your ass behind out here while you're doing her. Tell me, cabrón, you wanna WALK all the way back into town?"

Davy watched as the expression on the face of the man that had been mauling Deb flowed through several ugly and negative emotions to reluctant capitulation. "You gonna owe me," Cordoba spat as he finally began moving to do as he was asked.

"Shit - you got twenty large coming atcha for doin' this MY way," Duncan reminded him pointedly and pointed toward the front door. "You and I can discuss what can and can't happen to the bitch outside." He cast an eye down at the terrified boy on the floor. "Or the kid. God knows we've had our share of both kinds in our time..."

Cordoba's glare slowly eased until he was almost smiling again. "Now you're talkin'," he stated cautiously and moved more willingly toward the bedroom door.

Duncan leaned down. "Good night, kid," he said in an almost conversational tone, and then balled up his fist and hit him.

~~~~~~~~

"Guess it's a good thing that I've been gone long enough that I still don't have a full day's schedule yet, eh?" Jarod commented, peering over Cindy's shoulder at his appointment calendar for the day.

"Not that I haven't been trying to fill your day, Doctor Jarod," she shrugged, an act that set the beads in her hair to swaying slightly.

"Just keep this afternoon clear," Jarod chuckled at her as he straightened. "I have some official business at home I have to take care of." He looked up as Ethan came through the front door of the office. "There you are."

"Hey there!" Ethan eyed his older brother carefully. The signs of worry and stress were readily apparent - Jarod probably had gotten little if any sleep after their last phone call. "Any news?"

Jarod shook his head silently. "None to speak of. Sam told me that Missy would call and bring me up to speed this evening." He moved from behind the desk and toward his office door. "I hate just sitting around and waiting."

"I figured I'd find you in here completely clearing your calendar again so that you could make a mad dash back East again," Ethan admitted.

"Can't," Jarod told him tersely. "Between your gut feeling and a call from Child Protective Services earlier, I have to stay here at least another day."

"CPS?" Ethan was confused. "What the Hell did THEY want?"

Jarod's face grew stony. "Seems the cops got called out to a domestic disturbance at the Thatcher home - and the kids all got themselves jerked into temporary shelter. Since my application in regards to Ginger is already going through channels..."

"You gonna take that little girl, Doctor Jarod?" Cindy chirped from behind the desk. "Way to go!"

"Don't start the cheering yet," Jarod said, aiming his words as much at her as his brother. "They're doing the in-home interview and inspection this afternoon. If - and only if - I pass muster, then I may have custody by tomorrow sometime."

"Have you discussed Ginger with Parker yet?" Ethan asked quietly, taking Jarod's arm and pulling him into his own office.

"Some... she wasn't overly thrilled..." Jarod admitted. "And now, with the stuff going on with Davy and Deb, this isn't going to be the time to open the subject."

"And you're going ahead anyway?"

Jarod peered intently into eyes of the same liquid chocolate brown as his own. "She needs a safe home, Ethan - mine or someone else's that I'll find for her later. But she's out of that dragon lady's den at least. I suppose you should call and see if you can get into the shelter to do an assessment on her - the abrupt move probably hasn't done her any good."

"You're changing the subject, big brother," Ethan informed him with eyebrows raised.

"You noticed," Jarod quipped back tiredly. "I can't step back - not now."

"Even for Davy?"

"Hell!" Jarod exploded. "Nobody's telling me anything, Ethan! I don't know what information they managed to get out of Flores - only that they got some. I don't know what they did to get it, only that it wasn't pleasant for the jerk - which is better than he would have had if I'd been there!" He threw up his hands and headed for his desk. "I've got you giving me hunches that I'd be in the best position to help by staying right here - and now I've got CPS ready to give me my little girl ahead of schedule."

"YOUR little girl?" Ethan repeated with dramatic emphasis, and Jarod settled himself into his chair with a tired flop. "And “ahead of schedule?” How carefully have you SIMmed things through? Did you get anywhere with it last night after I talked to you?"

"No." The admission was both reluctant and frustrated.

"Well, I took care of one problem for you this morning." Ethan decided he'd best let his brother know of the conversation he'd had with his mother - in case Margaret took it into her head to call the office.

"What was that?"

"I told Mom what was going on."

"Oh great." Jarod's tone was anything but thrilled.

"Give her a chance," Ethan suggested quietly. "It took her aback a bit to think that her other grandson was the one who was stolen this time. I honestly think that maybe this will be the key to her accepting the inevitable. She's talked to Davy, you know..."

"I know. I just don't think the idea of a grandson will balance against all the resentment and anger she feels toward Missy and all the rest back there." Jarod sighed. "I'm afraid that in the end I'll have to make a choice between my mom and my own family with Missy and Davy and Ginger - and at that point, you KNOW what my choice will be."

"We'll see," Ethan turned and opened the office door. "She feels the ties of blood just as much as you ever did, big brother. Give her a chance to have that reality settle in." He stepped aside to allow Jarod's first little patient through and then smiled at his own patient coming down the hallway. "Jimmy! Good to see you!"

~~~~~~~~

Jay stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee before he noticed his mom sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. "Mom?" he asked, suddenly very concerned. "Mom? You OK?"

Margaret shook her head. "I don't think so," she told her youngest and then leaned her chin into the palm of her hand.

"What's wrong?" Jay seated himself just around the corner of the table from her and put a comforting hand on her upper arm. "Talk to me, Mom - you're scaring me."

She turned confused blue eyes to him. "Am I wrong to want to keep my family together?"

"No, of course not. What the Hell is going on?" he responded immediately.

"Jarod's little boy has been stolen - and it wasn't the Centre." She shook her head as soon as she finished the sentence. "I can hardly believe..."

"What do you mean, his son has been stolen?" Jay frowned and moved back, picking up his hot coffee and taking a good sip and grimacing as the hot liquid nearly scalded his tongue. "Who told you this?"

"Ethan. He said that Jarod is on the verge of taking off to go back there and help with the search." Margaret picked up her own coffee cup and sipped at it, apparently not tasting the brew at all. She didn't notice the expression of frustrated sympathy that crossed her son's face.

"Are you surprised?" he asked her gently.

"On one level, no," she admitted. "As a matter of fact, on that level, I'd be willing to forget that I despise his mother for as long as it would take to get him back. But..." She looked up again, and this time her eyes were swimming. "I can't get past the idea that this is just another step away - that everything that happens that concerns those people back there, for good or ill, pulls Jarod away from me that much faster."

"Mom," Jay sighed, "you know you can't hang onto him forever."

"But it's so far away - Delaware," she complained.

"It's where Miss Parker and his son are," he reminded her gently. "We're his family, but they're his family too now."

"Am I being selfish?" she asked tearfully. "I just want to keep things... Charles hasn't even been dead..."

"Mom," Jay stood and moved to bend over her and give her a hug. "I'm going off to school in just a day or so - and you never know where I'll end up working once I finish my dissertation. None of us are little kids to have hang onto your hand or skirt when we cross streets anymore." He kissed her cheek gently and then sat down again. "I hate to say it, but if Jarod decides he needs to go back and help look for the boy, I can't think of much by way of argument to keep him here." He gazed at her gently. "When Jarod was stolen, YOU tried everything to stay where you needed to in order to find him, didn't you?"

"Until the Centre made Charles and me split up, yes," she admitted. "And then I had Em to take care of all by myself - so I had to find a hole and crawl into it until she was old enough that I could start to look again."

"We've had seven years as a complete family," Jay told her softly. "And we're not looking over our shoulders anymore. Even if Jarod goes to the other side of the country, nothing says that he won't come back to visit - or have you over there to visit..."

"I don't want to go back there," she interrupted with a sour look. "I never want to set foot in Delaware again."

"Even if it meant you'd never get to meet your other grandson?" Jay tossed out the pointed question and let it set without adding to it.

Margaret settled her chin back into her hand. "What if my grandson is dead, Jay? What if the ones who took him never intend to give him back?"

"Jarod seems to love Miss Parker as much as Dad ever loved you. Would you really force him to stay away from her at this time?"

"I hate this..." Margaret mused in frustrated sullenness.

Jay reached out and patted her upper arm against sympathetically and rose to get himself some breakfast.

~~~~~~~~

Davy rolled onto his side and then opened his eyes and groaned at the pounding headache that had been triggered by even that little movement. Deb was still asleep or unconscious - he wasn't sure which - lying on her side just a few paces away. The boy pushed himself painfully up on an elbow and looked around him. The light, stronger than he remembered, was streaming in a rather dirty-looking window with the tattered remains of flimsy curtains hanging forlornly askew.

The room was unfurnished, and the floor was wooden with a thin carpet covering that was worn in places, showing the raw wood beneath. The door was an unfinished and old-fashioned looking casement door that was shut - Davy suspected it to be locked. It smelled of old dust and dirt, and the silence was profound. He could hear nothing - nothing from outside, no voices from elsewhere in the house. He listened harder for any sign that their kidnappers were close, but all he could finally discern was the buzz of lazy insects somewhere.

He lay his head back down on the dusty carpet and closed his eyes to think for a minute. What would be the best move for him to make at first? If anything were to be done, he'd have to be able to communicate with Deb - so getting the duct tape away from their mouths would be first priority. Once they could talk, they could begin to cooperate. That was it then.

With movements that reminded him of the way a snake would crawl across the ground, he scooted himself over to Deb's side and then past her head until his hands behind his back were even with her face. Then, moving back carefully, he reached out his imprisoned fingers until he had a small purchase on the duct tape that covered her mouth and pulled hard.

That woke her up. Deb jerked back and away from Davy's fingers, but as she came awake realized what he was up to and moved back to where he could again grab the tape and pull as she jerked back again. The tape didn't come completely off, but it peeled back and away from her mouth far enough that she could speak. "OK - roll over and let me do the same for you," she directed with a dry whisper.

Both did their share of squirming, and then tugging. Finally Davy's gag was peeled back away from his mouth as well. "You OK?" Deb asked him.

"Yeah. You?"

"Swell," she answered dryly, looking down at her disarranged clothing and deciding she could do nothing at the moment to protect her modesty. Her mind rebelled utterly at the idea of contemplating the reason behind her disarray. "Are they gone?"

"I think so," Davy answered after another listen. "I can't hear anything but bugs."

"Where are we, do you think?"

"California..." Davy said rolling so that he could look his unofficial cousin in the face.

"California!" Deb was agape. "How did you know?"

"I heard them talking earlier, when we got on the plane," he explained quickly.

"God, Davy, what are we going to do?" Deb asked in a dry voice made shaky with fear. "What are they going to do with us?" That question was asked even more softly as she remembered the feel of that man's hands on her body and the way he'd looked at her...

"Look, we can't give up. Grandpa always told me that as long as I used my mind creatively, I would never be helpless," Davy repeated the words that had been the bulwark of his grandfather's “games,” finding the memory of his grandfather's gently accented cliché oddly comforting and encouraging. "We have to use our heads, and we have to be ready to act when the time comes."

"Yeah, well I doubt Grandpa expected us to be hog-tied with duct tape when he told you that," Deb commented in a brittle whisper. "What is there to think about other than the fact that we're trapped here - and..." No, she really didn't want to think of what that man had obviously intended for her.

"We're only trapped as long as we're tied up," Davy said in a determined voice. "But if we work together, we can get out of this just like we got that tape off our faces."

"Davy, what if they come back?" Deb asked quietly.

"We still have the tape on our faces. If we move our heads properly, we can push it back so that it looks like it did before we messed with it. But we need to get loose now. Roll over and see if you can pick at the end of the tape and get my hands loose."

"Why don't you see if you can pick at the end of the tape on my hands?" she asked perversely.

"Because you're the one with fingernails like claws," Davy retorted, reminding her of one of their long-ago fights and the scratch that she'd given him that had earned her a stern chewing-out from every adult in her family. "I bite mine, remember?"

"I don't know that this is going to work, Davy," she commented warily even as she rolled as he had suggested. "They make jokes about how duct tape is like The Force and holds the universe together."

"C'mon. If it can be put on, it can be taken off again," Davy stated solemnly. "I can see it in my mind. Try, Deb. Right now, I really don't think we have anything to lose."

And he could begin to feel her fingers traveling over the span of duct tape that held his wrists together, searching for that end that could be pulled or picked at.

~~~~~~~~

Jack Crandall picked up the phone. "FBI, Crandall..."

"Jack, it's Tom Gillespie."

The blonde agent leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his crew-cut hair. "Tom! Twice in so many days has GOT to be a record! What's up?"

"Did you guys finish the raid on the Centre offices there yet?" Gillespie stared out the window of his office at the street, trying to imagine...

Crandall looked around himself at the pile of plastic and cardboard boxes - not to mention the computer sitting in the forensics lab down the hall. "You oughta SEE the stuff we pulled from that place, Tommy! Seems this guy, Flores? He was up to his elbows in junk that falls under RICO and a whole lot of other categories. He was about as dirty as... Say!" Crandall sat up and leaned on his desk. "Word has it that the one to turn him in was his boss back East. That true?"

"Gospel, Jack. But listen, I have something else for you while you sift through the paperwork..."

"Lay it on me."

Gillespie looked down into the folder that he now held. "We've got a kidnap situation here. Information received through an independent interrogation suggests that the victims have been transported out your way."

"Who are the vics?" Crandall began taking notes.

"First one is Deborah Ann Broots, age 19, Caucasian female, blonde, blue eyes, five foot three inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds, last seen wearing pajamas - no description of clothing other than that. Second victim is David Thomas Parker, age 8, Caucasian male, dark brown, grey eyes, approximately four feet, eighty pounds, last seen wearing Spiderman pajamas. Both were taken from Blue Cove, Delaware last night between midnight and two AM." Gillespie put down the paper he was reading from. "The Parker boy is the son of the head of the Centre - seems the kidnap was an extortion attempt to force her into resigning her position."

"What about the perps?"

"We got two names for you that should ring a few bells. Andrew Duncan, age 37, white male, brown hair and eyes, five foot ten, two hundred pounds give or take..." Gillespie was reading from his report again.

"I remember that one," Crandall interrupted, picking up some of the initial information from the Centre office that he was just beginning to sift through. "Duncan - isn't that Flores' second in command?"

"You got it. The other one is Jesús Cordoba, 32, Hispanic male, black hair and eyes, five foot eight, two hundred twenty-five pounds, out on parole for assault. Scuttlebutt from our sources say that these two together are a very bad pair - angels they ain't."

Crandall nodded. "Both of 'em from these parts?"

"Yup," Gillespie nodded too. "Duncan used to run with a gang called the X-14's, and Cordoba's Mexican Mob - he belongs to a group that calls themselves “Los Cabrones” or something like that."

"Oh, THEM." Crandall began to chuckle. "We got ourselves a whole pack of those turkeys locked up in the county jail, you know - they were the ones who came for that shipment of dope we cornered in Long Beach the other night."

"I have a feeling that we're about to understand just how intertwined all that crap has been all these years," Gillespie commented dryly. "Anyway, the one lead we have is that Duncan inherited a ranch out somewhere around Victorville. Chances are that's where he's stashed the Parker boy and the Broots girl."

"I'll have my men out there checking it out right away," Crandall was already waving to one of his other agents. "Duncan didn't mastermind this, did he?"

"Nope," Gillespie answered. "Flores is behind this too, along with all the stuff you're going to be charging him with once you finish your bedtime reading."

"I'll call you the minute I have news from Victorville."

"Good. I have a very worried mother here who doesn't deserve this." Gillespie had seen Miss Parker in the parking garage as he and several other agents had been escorting Flores and Berringer out to the cars. She had been pale and very, very tightly controlled - far colder and brutally efficient than she had been any of the other times they had spoken - and was accompanied by a pair of bodyguards husky enough to make even the FBI agent nervous. Obviously she had been spooked by the kidnapping and was taking no more chances with her personal safety.

Berringer had kept his gaze on the ground, but Flores had begun ranting the moment he laid eyes on her. He'd had the nerve to accuse her of torturing him for information - a charge that was so patently ridiculous as to not even merit consideration. A slightly red spot on the forehead and a couple of bug bites on the leg was simply not enough to rattle anybody's cage. She hadn't even acknowledged the commotion, and Gillespie had taken great pleasure in shoving a still ranting Flores into the back of his car and slamming the door on the sound of whining. Then and only then had Gillespie's eyes connected with Miss Parker's, and he had been amazed at the pain that floated behind that tight control.

"Understood. Talk to you in a few," Crandall disconnected the call and handed his notes to the young black agent who had approached at his superior's beckon. "Run this guy, find out all the property he owns out in the Victorville area. We have us a probable kidnapping in progress here..."

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 11: The Waiting Game


Sydney's eyes blinked open slowly as Miss Parker and Kevin came into his hospital room. "Oh good," he quipped in a sleepy voice, "the rescue team is here."

Miss Parker felt her façade wanting desperately to evaporate, and she held tightly to the shields she had erected to prevent herself from falling apart. "As soon as Kevin gets himself educated on the upkeep of your gizmo, that is," she replied in a tight voice that made Sydney's eyes open just a bit wider in unhappy surprise. He hadn't heard that cool and almost unfriendly tone of voice from her in nearly eight years now, and he had hoped that he'd never hear it again, especially aimed at him.

"Parker?" he asked gently in a tone of concern that brought her gaze to his in response. Sydney's heart sank - the look in her eyes was almost dead, forced, something that reminded him of times long gone and people he'd just as soon not remember anyway. She also looked incredibly tired, as if she'd gotten no sleep for the rest of the night at all.

"We'll talk later," she dismissed the concern abruptly and looked away as the door to the room swung inward.

"Ah good, Miss Parker?" A distinguished gentleman nearly half a head shorter than Miss Parker strolled into the room. "I'm Doctor Hightower - I spoke with you on the phone."

"Doctor," she replied coolly, shaking the man's hand firmly.

"Now, are you going to be the one helping Dr. Green with his CPM therapy?" Hightower got right down to business.

"I am," Kevin spoke up, surprising himself by taking the initiative for a change. "I'm Kevin Green."

"Oh good! This is your father?" the grey-bearded doctor inquired in mild curiosity.

"He's my uncle," Kevin replied easily, letting a deceptively nonchalant glance slip over to watch Sydney's face when he made the statement, only to see his mentor lift his gaze to his and give a slight nod of encouragement.

Doctor Hightower cleared his throat and caught the attention of all in the room. "Dr. Green, you're going to be spending eight hours a day strapped to a Continuous Passive Motion therapy machine during your recovery. It will help keep the knee we just fixed for you from swelling quite so painfully, and most patients report a shorter period of time to recover most of the flexibility of the joint. You can start the therapy as soon as you get settled into bed at home today - and even though you'll probably do a lot of sleeping this afternoon and evening, the machine will work the knee for you."

"How long will I have to be tethered to this contraption?" Sydney eyed the machine on the rolling table warily.

"For at least the first couple of months or so," the doctor told him sympathetically. "You'll also be getting regular physical therapy after your incisions heal - starting about three weeks after surgery or whenever your incisions have healed. From this point on, though, a lot will depend on you and how hard you're willing to realistically push yourself. We'll start you at about a 30° arc of flexing. Let me show you and Kevin how the controls work, so you can adjust that arc as you feel you're capable."

"I think I'm going to go look in on Broots while Dr. Hightower is showing you two the ropes here," she told Sydney quickly and slipped from his bedside with very little effort. Sydney followed her from the room with his brows furled sleepily, then returned his lagging attention to what the doctor was telling them.

Miss Parker stopped a few paces down the hall from Sydney's room and stood for a moment, head bowed and breathing hard to regain her composure. Sydney knew what she was doing - and the moment he had his wits about him again and was in a position to talk to her, she knew that he would confront her with what he'd just seen in her face. She straightened and stretched her chin into the air ever so slightly. She'd just have to face him and his accusations down then - right now, she couldn't allow herself to feel. It was too easy to break - too easy to become a completely nonfunctional basket case if she allowed herself to feel. She was a Parker, and she was the Centre - right now, she had to let that be her strength and her purpose. She reached for the Lyle mask that had slipped a little too far away in her moment of solitary weakness and glued it tightly to her face and her soul.

Then she began walking slowly and resolutely down the hallway toward the elevator that would take her up a floor to visit with another essential part of her life laid low as much because of her actions as anything else. No! She wouldn't let herself think of how, if she hadn't gone along with Jarod's plan to bring the Centre's malignant hierarchy of terror low, neither Broots nor Sydney would be in the condition they each found themselves now. She wasn't responsible for the actions of thoughtless and cruel men greedy for power and corrupted by it, she reminded herself sternly as the elevator door slid closed.

Was she?

She held herself stiffly erect and breathed in a deep breath of pure pain. No! She couldn't let herself feel, she repeated the litany with determination - none of this could be acknowledged until Davy and Deb were safely home again and the monsters that took them had paid for their audacity! Her hands tightened into fists at her side as she trained her eyes on a point in the middle of the sliding metal door. She had managed to get herself back under iron control again by the time that door slid aside and let her walk down this new corridor.

The last thing she had expected, however, was to see that Broots was awake when she walked into the room. Like Sydney, his gaze was still a little overshadowed by the powerful drugs that had been administered to him. In his case, they had kept him in the chemical coma for almost two weeks while his crushed pelvis and legs healed so that he wouldn't have to suffer the intense pain having such a mangled lower body must have caused. But, evidently, the doctors were encouraged enough with his progress that...

"Broots!" she breathed.

"Miss Parker! I was hoping Debbie would be by today..." he said in a slightly slurred and sleepy voice and beckoned with an obviously weak hand. "Do you know when she plans to stop by?"

Miss Parker stared at her old friend, mesmerized by his gentle and trusting and very drowsy hazel gaze. How was she going to tell him, in his condition, what had happened to his little girl?

~~~~~~~~

Stewart Berringer stared across the space of the cell at the county facility at his old friend and apparent nemesis with loathing and disgust. Flores had taken a golden opportunity to quietly and subtlely force Miss Parker to rescind many of her restrictions on the less-ethical end of Centre operations and created utter chaos - and landed them both in jail on conspiracy to commit a felony among other local and state charges. "You stupid idiot," he finally blurted out.

Flores turned his head from where he sat slumped on the cot, his back against the other wall, and shrugged. "At least I tried something," he hissed back. "You pussies were going to sit around until everything we'd worked so hard to build..."

"You just couldn't be bothered to be patient," Berringer exploded, pacing back and forth. "You couldn't be subtle. You're too much of the same school as Raines and Lyle - and look what happened to THEM?"

"Shut up," Flores barked, then looked away. "Just shut the fuck up."

"What the Hell did you THINK she was going to do when you took her son, asshole? Fall on her knees and beg you "I'll give you whatever you want, just give me my little boy back?" Berringer's tone was scathing.

"It's worked before in similar situations," Flores snapped, pulling his left knee up close to his chest and reaching down to pull on the foot to keep the calf from cramping again. Even without the electrical stimulus, his muscles had been giving him fits for hours remembering.

"Not with a Parker," Berringer shook his head in disgust. "You just keep forgetting that she was trained by the Old Man himself - the one who did a helluva job keeping Raines in line for so long."

"She's a mother - that makes her weak in a way that Old Man Parker himself never was."

"Oh, she's so weak she called in the feds," Berringer hissed caustically. "And now, between the tape of your call to Duncan and all the evidence they've been collecting on you since you decided to play it fast and loose, we're not going to be seeing sunshine again anytime soon."

"Not if she wants to see that boy of hers again," Flores blustered. "Only I know how to get in contact with Duncan, and only Duncan knows where the kid is being held."

"You idiot. She knows Duncan's in on it - and she's turned over THAT to the feds too. Just don't tell me Cordoba's part of the plan..." Flores shot him a deadly look and fell silent. "And they've got a girl instead of Dr. Green," Berringer shook his head. "And if they touch a hair on that girl's head, Parker will have yours on a platter, feds or no."

"Just what girl did Duncan snatch anyway?" Flores asked in frustration.

"The daughter of one of Miss Parker's oldest and dearest friends, that's all. They've been thick as thieves for years, and rumor has it that she's been practically like the girl's mother for even longer." Berringer just shook his head again and looked at Flores as if examining an intelligent insect. "Not only did you put some really stupid stuff in motion, but you didn't do your homework on your target."

"Fuck you," Flores hissed and turned on his cot so that he didn't have to look at Berringer anymore - then straightened his left leg out as yet another cramp threatened.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker stared at her old friend and knew that her Lyle mask wouldn't protect her from this - and that she didn't have the heart even try to let it. Her friend - her adopted brother - deserved better than that after being in a coma for so long and nearly dying himself. "Deb couldn't make it in today," she said, stepping forward to take a seat in the chair near the head of the bed and then taking his hand in hers, "so she sent me in instead. She said she'd be in to see you soon." The lies caught in her throat, but she just couldn't bear to be the one to tell Broots what had happened - doing that would bring the harsh reality into her own world and shatter what little was left of her ability to function.

Broots closed his eyes briefly in trusting acceptance of the fabrication. "How long have I been out of it?" he asked woozily.

"Almost two weeks," she told him, settling his hand between her two. "You had us all pretty scared for a while there." She paused. "I... didn't know you were down in Sim Lab..."

The man on the bed opened his eyes again. "Is that where I was? What happened anyway?" His brows slid together lightly. "Nobody will tell me anything, and I can't remember anything past having breakfast that morning..."

"Someone set a bomb in the Tower, Broots - it's gone. No more Tower."

Broots stared at her disbelievingly. "But... what about..."

"I was down in the morgue, making sure Raines was really dead, when it blew," she told him gently. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be standing here."

"So... Is the Centre a has-been?" he asked weakly, trying to smile.

"Not for as long as I'm running it," Miss Parker told him firmly. "We've gone a long way towards legitimizing our operation. We've even brought in the FBI to help us handle some of the more stubborn problems."

"All this fun, and I've missed it," Broots quipped as his eyes slid closed of their own volition again and this time stayed closed.

"I'll let you rest, then," she patted his hand between hers and set it back down on the bedspread again. "You take it easy," she told him as she eyed the metallic frame that still bulged about his middle and the fact that both his legs were still encased in thick plaster. "... but not TOO easy. I need you back at the Centre in the worst kind of way, so don't dawdle."

"Yes, Miss Parker," he responded in a voice that clearly told her that he was slowly fading back into slumber.

She rose and, with a backward glance of pure apology, walked out of the room and back toward the elevator. She couldn't be gone too long - she had to get Sydney home and then get back to the Centre.

Kevin was asking Dr. Hightower some very complicated and technical questions about the therapy machine when she pushed through the door again. Sydney, now dressed in the street clothes they had brought for him, roused from the light doze he had settled into and beckoned to her. "You look tired, ma petite," he said quietly, reaching a hand out to her.

Miss Parker could hardly refuse. "It was a long night, Syd," she admitted as she took his hand in hers. "We had a lot to do to try to get a lead on where..."

"Parker," he started, only to have her shake her head at him firmly.

"Not now, Sydney. I..." The façade cracked slightly. "I can't talk about it and still be able to do what I have to do to get them back." Her grey eyes caught and held his sleepy chestnut. "Please. We'll talk later. I promise."

"First I want you to promise me is that you won't take this too far," he worried at her, his grip on her hand tightening in spite of his obvious fatigue.

"I'll only take it as far as I have to," she told him, feeling the crack in her façade heal with those words. "And it will be over, eventually."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Then we'll talk later." He turned and saw Kevin still deep in discussion with Dr. Hightower. "How is Broots?"

"Awake, at last," she told him, and saw him open his eyes again to look at her.

"Did you tell him?"

"Don't be crazy, Syd. I'm not going to tell a man fresh out of coma that his daughter's been kidnapped by a pair of sexual devi..." She took a deep breath and then looked at her surrogate father again, her eyes tortured.

Sydney's jaw had dropped with this inadvertent disclosure of information. "Parker!"

"We're on their trail, Syd," she filled in quickly. "And we've got the feds working with us on this. We'll find them." Don't ask me more, her eyes begged him. And finally he nodded, letting her off the hook again for the time being - although his own worry level had just been boosted right off the charts.

An orderly in charge of a wheelchair came through the door. "Somebody around here gettin' sprung?" he asked with a wide smile.

Miss Parker beckoned the sweeper that had remained at the door and handed him her keys. "Bring my car to the front, then head back to the Centre with your passenger. I'll join you as soon as I can."

"Yes, ma'am," the man nodded and left immediately.

"Well," she stepped over and put a hand on Kevin's shoulder, interrupting yet another question, "do you think you know what you'll be doing with this thing?"

"Oh, yes!" Kevin smiled at her. "It's simple really. There's this control panel here..."

"Fine," she interrupted him again. "How about we pack Sydney up and get him home before we need to pay rent on the room for another night."

"Remember, don't let him increase the flex arc more than 10° in the first week," Dr. Hightower reminded Kevin. He then turned to Sydney, who had just been plunked into the wheelchair. "And you - you remember to take your pain medication on schedule. That CPM process isn't going to be a bowl of cherries at first - the medication will not only help you sleep at night, but weather the therapy at first. Don't think taking the medication during the day is a sign of weakness or failure."

"He hates pain meds," Kevin nodded, while Sydney scowled at him for spilling the beans on him so blithely.

"Well, you're going to need them this time," Dr. Hightower told him in no uncertain terms. "You might as well know that whenever you get up from the therapy for whatever reason - to use the restroom or go to bed - it's going to hurt like Hell for a while when the blood rushes into the injury again. So take those meds, Dr. - there's no reason for you to suffer needlessly when remedy is so easily achieved."

"I will," Sydney agreed reluctantly and tiredly. Right now, all he wanted to do was to get into his own house and stretch out in that daybed that had been his command post for far too long already.

"OK, folks. Let's get this show on the road," the orderly said in a good humor and began the progression down the corridor toward the lobby, the front door and Parker's car.

~~~~~~~~

"That was one sweet piece of virgin ass," Cordoba commented wistfully as he kicked up the air conditioner settings on the dash. He sighed as he stretched his legs out to make himself more comfortable. "Are you sure we don't want to just keep her with us? I mean, she wasn't part of the original deal in the first place..."

Duncan sighed. These were the times that reminded him of just how different their upbringings - and subsequent lives - had made them. "This is not the time to be letting your little head do the thinking for you, cabrón."

The Hispanic shot his gringo friend a sudden glare of animosity. "You used to like it when “El Guapo” did the thinking down on The Strip, amigo.."

"Yeah, well that was then, this is now. Until we hear from Flores, we lay low and hang tight. We don't want to get ourselves nailed with that girl or anything else tying what went down in Delaware with us - that would be an open invite to the electric chair."

"Shit, we coulda BOTH had ourselves some fun with her and then put her in the ground afterwards and still not get nailed with her... I mean, she's just extra baggage anyway since we were SUPPOSED to snatch that old man..." Cordoba argued heatedly. "I tell you, Andy, it was a mistake to snatch her, it was a bigger mistake to just leave her there."

"Shut up," Duncan snapped tiredly. "If they've got Flores, we're already fucked, estúpido - they're going to be looking for ME once they figure out that it was Flores that set up this entire thing, if they haven't already put that part together. And once they latch onto me, how long will it be before they figure out that you're in it too? We DO have a reputation, you know..."

"And this is supposed to convince me that we did ourselves a favor by just dumping the girl and the brat out at that ranch and just leaving them all trussed up out there?" Cordoba's voice was rising. "Madre de Diós, Andy, if they know it's you, then they'll trace us to the ranch..."

"Which is why I didn't take them to MY ranch, you idiot!" Duncan yelled back. "I happen to know that old man Pederson's place has been abandoned for years, and it's over ten miles as the crow flies and on the other side of the freeway from Uncle Aaron's." He let loose his right hand and swatted the Hispanic's upper arm rather sharply with the back of his hand. "There's nothing going to lead them to the Pederson Ranch."

"What if the brats get away?" Cordoba was shouting now. "They know what we look like. Shit, Andy, we shoulda.."

"They ain't gonna get away - not far enough to do any good - certainly not enough to be able to do much talking," Duncan said in a lethally quiet voice that effectively silenced his colleague. "At this time of year, it gets damned hot out there in them hills - and like I said, the Pederson place has been abandoned for years - there ain't no water. Even if they get loose, there still ain't no water - and they ain't got much to protect them from the sun or the heat either. So if they get away from the house, then ain't NOBODY ever gonna find their bones. Not even us."

He turned and smiled a cold smile at his friend. "Besides, why do you think I took them out there to begin with? Flores didn't ever intend to have the brat returned alive in the first place - the old man either. That story was just for the Parker bitch, to give her a reason to do what he wanted her to. He wanted whatever happened to look like natural causes - but he wanted them dead in the end nonetheless. Believe me, at this time of year, it won't take long before they wish they WERE dead." He chuckled to himself. "And we'll be long gone setting ourselves up with a helluva good set of alibis."

"You better be right, cabrón," Cordoba told him in an equally lethal and quiet voice. He slumped in the seat, then began to pay attention to the signs on the freeway. "Say - where we headed anyway?"

"Figured you'd want to celebrate your soon-to-be fortune, my friend - so I thought we'd hit Hollywood and Vine, just for old time's sake. You can have another blonde, and I can find me a nice black honey." Duncan glanced at Cordoba. "It'll be like the good old days, man."

"I like your way of thinking," Cordoba nodded and sat up straighter.

~~~~~~~~

"Sydney, we're here," Miss Parker called softly as she twisted in her seat and reached for him. He had settled into the back seat of her car sideways, with his injured leg stretched out across the seat and his shoulder within her reach, and then proceeded to fall asleep on the ride home.

"I'll get the door open and then come back to help you get him into the house," Kevin said quickly and jumped from the passenger seat.

"Syd," she called softly again and jiggled his shoulder a little harder. "C'mon. We can't carry you..."

Finally the injured psychiatrist roused and then looked around him in sleep confusion. "Already?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "They must have you on the GOOD stuff today, Freud."

Kevin returned from opening the door between kitchen and garage and opened the door the to back seat nearest Sydney's outstretched leg. "Come down the seat toward me," he directed his mentor with a wave of the hand, "I'll help you out of the car."

As Sydney roused himself further and began following Kevin's instructions, Miss Parker climbed from behind the steering wheel and joined Kevin. Together they finally were able to each get a shoulder under an armpit and literally hoist Sydney out of the car between them. Slowly, letting Sydney's good leg help set the pace while the injured leg never touched the ground, they walked him into the house and back into the den.

"At last!" Sydney exclaimed as they lowered him into a seated position on the couch that served as his daybed. A few more moments of exertion with assistance saw his injured leg carefully lifted onto the couch and then Parker was fluffing and arranging pillows at his back.

"I can't stay long," she said briskly. "I need to get back to the Centre and see what's developed with Sam and Tyler. Oh," she remembered while straightening, "if it's OK with you, Sam would prefer that I stay with you two until things are resolved - especially since he's going to be gone. We'll have a bodyguard with us in the house here until he gets back too."

"Parker, wait," he caught at her arm. "Have you talked to Jarod yet?" She looked away and shook her head. "Don't you think..."

"I'm going to call him this evening, Sydney, and I told Sam to tell him so when he called him just after we left to come get you." Finally she looked at him, her gaze tired and worried. "I need to be able to..."

"Yes, I know - you need to be able to keep functioning. But you also need to be able to work through this. You can't lock your emotions away completely - they'll tear you apart." He finally found and got a grip on a hand and squeezed to make his point. "Be efficient. But give yourself room to be human too, eventually."

"Not now, Sydney," she whispered, her façade trembling before his caring and reason.

"Don't do this to yourself," he cautioned tiredly, wishing with all his heart that he wasn't filled with left-over sedation and pain medication.

She shook her head and ruthlessly shoved her Lyle mask into position. "I'm just doing what I have to, Syd," she told him in her cool Lyle-voice. "You behave yourself and rest yourself out."

Rather than let her go, Sydney used the last of his energy to pull on her hand until he could wrap his other arm around her neck. "I love you, Parker," he told her sadly. "I'm worried about Davy and Deb, just as you are - but I'm just as worried about you. I don't like what I'm seeing here..."

"I'll be fine," she reassured him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek to convince him to let her go. "I'll see you in a few hours." She slipped from his embrace and faced off with Kevin. "You take good care of him," she directed the young Pretender firmly. "I'm counting on you."

"Yes, ma'am," Kevin replied, not knowing what else to say. "Let me get the therapy machine out of the trunk, and then you can be on your way."

Parker flinched - the young man's tone clearly communicated that he was uncomfortable with her and was ready for her to return to whatever it was she was doing. She glanced down at Sydney and saw his gaze communicate both sympathy for her and mild accusation. She was distancing herself - so she shouldn't be surprised when others chipped in their own efforts to distance themselves from her even further. It hurt more than she'd expected to be pushed away from the man who had become as a father to her in that fashion.

"Thanks," she replied in a forcedly neutral tone. She nodded at Sydney unhappily and went to follow Kevin to the car. As she walked, she reminded herself once again that she couldn't let herself feel anything - not yet. Not even with Sydney yet. She had to go back to work. Later she could reconnect with Sydney - maybe after she'd finally talked to Jarod. Hell, she'd probably need the shoulder desperately by that time.

She could only hope that he'd still be willing to loan it to her.

~~~~~~~~

Agent Crandall looked up as Jim Porter approached his desk. "You got something?" he asked the young agent who had headed off to research property titles for information on any holdings owned by Andrew Duncan.

The black agent's smile was vividly white against his dark face. "Duncan's ranch is south off of 247 between Victorville and Apple Valley," he announced.

"Nice to see the breaks starting to work in our favor," Crandall commented, then nodded. "Take a team and head out there to see what you can find. Hopefully, we can have those kids on a plane heading back home by dinnertime."

Porter nodded fervently. "I know I wouldn't want to be caught up in that area at this time of year," the younger agent responded. "It gets damned hot up there."

"Have we got APBs out on Duncan and Flores?"

"All over the Southland, just in case."

"Good." Crandall nodded. "Call in the moment you know anything."

"Will do." Porter turned and snagged three other agents to go with him on the excursion. They'd take two cars, just in case they had two small passengers - or two prisoners and two small passengers - when they came back.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker sighed as she pulled the door to her office open and stepped inside, then stopped and glanced down at her wristwatch. It was three o'clock - and Ikeda-san was rising from one of the chairs in front of her desk and bowing deeply, just as she had ordered him. "You are very prompt, Ikeda-san," she commented, bowing back and then heading for her desk.

"I am your servant in all things," Ikeda repeated the Yakuza loyalty mantra and waited until she had taken her seat before sitting back down himself.

"I see that," she replied appreciatively. She gazed at her new employee thoughtfully. "I have a situation to run past you. Tell me honestly what you think."

Ikeda bowed again. "As you wish, Parker-sama."

"When I went to the Dover hospital today, I encountered your former Yakuza associate - Fujimori, I think I remember his name being - trying to just walk out. Considering that he was wearing stolen medical clothing and had no real shoes on his feet, I'm thinking that he was hoping to get away from either the police or, perhaps, the fact that the hospital was crawling with Triumvirate bodyguards."

Ikeda nodded thoughtfully. "That seems a reasonable assumption. It is considered to be a serious loss of face to allow oneself to be captured and interrogated by forces potentially antagonistic to one's sworn allegiance."

She nodded. "I remember that from my days in Japan - and Fujimori-san as well. He was fairly high up in the Tanaka administration, was he not?"

"Indeed," Ikeda stated calmly. "He and Tanaka-sama came up together through the ranks of Sonny's end of the organization. Tommy gained seniority over Fujimori more on the basis of nepotism and family connections than merit. However, Fujimori rose as high as any non-member of the Tanaka family could."

Miss Parker settled herself back comfortably in her chair. "I'd like to make effective use of this recent... acquisition... that has fallen into my lap. Do you have any suggestions?"

Ikeda too relaxed back against the firm wood of the chair back and pressed his hands together thoughtfully. "Word of your assistance of Mayeda-san, and your willingness to reimburse the Yakuza fully and with generous interest for its loss of investment will have gained you some leverage with Ueda-sama, the man who is now in charge in Tokyo. It occurs to me that should you offer to provide transportation for Fujimori back at least to Los Angeles and Mayeda-san, you would be adding leverage to what you already have earned. Yakuza could prove very helpful to you in finding either your son or the men who took him, if that is the way you choose to spend that leverage."

"You mean," she leaned forward, "not only have the feds working on this, but get the Yakuza to help out too?"

"This is your son and a girl you consider precious to you, is it not?" Ikeda asked with pointed calmness. "The law enforcement people will be necessarily hampered in their response by the legalities of the judicial system. Yakuza would not be - nor would their investigative efforts be similarly hamstrung."

"It WOULD be a way to even the score," she mused aloud.

"And save face on all sides," the Japanese agreed quietly. "Yakuza do not like being in debt to another."

Miss Parker thought for a little while, then punched her intercom button. "Mei Chiang, I want you to make arrangements for Mr. Ikeda to share the office space given to Kevin Green this morning. I doubt they will ever both be at the Centre at the same time, and this would eliminate some duplication of resources and supplies allocated. Will you show Mr. Ikeda to his new office in just a moment?"

"Yes, Miss Parker," came the gently accented voice.

"I realize that you probably would prefer NOT to have Fujimori aware of your being here," she mentioned carefully and saw the Japanese nod agreement. "Thank you for your advice. I'll let my secretary show you your office while I interview Fujimori-san and put your advice into motion. I'll have you return the moment that is over."

"Hai, Parker-sama." Ikeda rose and bowed deeply and took his leave. He bowed less deeply to the delicate Chinese girl at the desk outside the office, who immediately rose to lead him down the hallway.

Parker-sama was willing to play this game to win, he had noted with some satisfaction, and to do so fairly honorably so far. The more he got to know his new boss, the more he admired her spirit. He smiled quietly and inwardly as he followed the Chinese secretary. He would enjoy working for the Centre with such strong leadership.

He was ronin - a warrior without a master - no longer.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod moved smoothly to the front door and opened it just as the doorbell sounded once more to reveal a stocky young woman and a tall, thin, kind-faced man. "Dr. Russell? We're from Child Protection Services - I think you were expecting us?"

"Yes. Please, come on in," Jarod opened the door wide and let them come into the foyer.

"I'm Elizabeth Gilbert, and this is Tony Rizzo. We're here to do an on-site evaluation of the home and to clarify a few of the answers you gave in your personal history." The young woman looked about the roomy foyer that opened into a spacious living area with approval.

"Would you like to sit down and discuss the questions you have first," Jarod asked, gesturing them deeper into the living area, "or would you like the grand tour?"

"Why don't we do the tour first, Dr. Russell - then we can relax and discuss our questions at a little more leisure." Rizzo said in his soft voice. Jarod smiled inwardly. Rizzo had a counselor's voice - he was a psychologist at the very least. Evidently with CPS wanting to move quickly to place the children once housed with the Thatchers, they were pulling out all the stops at getting professional resources.

"Well, as you can probably imagine, this is the living room," Jarod swept his hand about the room that had a large fireplace at one end, flanked on either side with picture windows that opened out over the back balcony. "The glass in the windows is safety glass, incidentally - I have a young nephew and I didn't want him falling against the glass and falling out."

The two CPS personnel nodded at each other, and Rizzo dragged out a small notebook to jog items down in while Gilbert moved to peer out the window at the balcony. "Nice view," she commented, noting that the balcony railing itself was of a wrought iron spaced too closely together to allow a child to squeeze through. It allowed for the view to be visible without sacrificing safety to get it.

Jarod led them patiently through the dining room with its hutch and highly polished mahogany table and chairs, into the thoroughly modern and professional grade kitchen and attached breakfast area, and then into the den where television, stereo equipment and computer were housed among an impressive library of books. From there he led the way down the hallway to the bedrooms - first his own large and comfortable master bedroom, and then one of the smaller guest rooms that he had decided would be Ginger's.

"I haven't had the chance to go out and make this more a little girl's room yet," he mentioned almost apologetically. "I didn't think things would be happening quite THIS fast, to be honest."

"Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be," Rizzo admitted in his quiet voice. "But when a foster home housing several clients has to be closed, we end up in a scramble to place the kids either in new foster homes or in pre-adoptive homes."

"What did happen at the Thatcher's?" Jarod asked. "That is, IF you're allowed to talk about it... Did any of the kids get hurt?"

"Physically, no," Gilbert responded, shooting a glance at Rizzo. "But it seems that Susan Thatcher was having difficulty managing with the little girl you've petitioned for custody of - Ginger Simmons. You are aware that she has communications problems?"

"I'm well aware of Ginger's condition and the circumstances that brought it about," Jarod responded easily.

"Well, evidently these difficulties finally were too much for Mrs. Thatcher to handle," Gilbert continued in a serious tone. "Last night, neighbors heard her start screaming at the girl - cursing her out and making wild threats - and they called the police. The little girl was found curled up in a ball under her bed, too frightened to come out without having to be caught like an animal. The other children were huddled together in one bedroom, too scared to let one another out of their sight for a while."

Jarod closed his eyes. Poor Ginger, he thought and ached to just hold her close. She must have been terrified. "How is she, now that she's out of there?"

Rizzo shook his head. "Nobody knows - she isn't talking or communicating in any form now. She just sits on her bed with her back against the wall, staring out at everyone like a frightened puppy. Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself in for, Doc?"

"Very sure," Jarod replied firmly. He needed to get Ginger with him as quickly as possible to try to undo some of the damage that he'd been afraid would come. "Is there anything else you'd like to see, or can I offer you some ice tea while we discuss these questions of yours?"

"Tea would be nice," Gilbert said with a smile, and the CPS team let Jarod lead them back toward the breakfast area and the comfortable chairs there.

~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Mei Chiang!" Sam called to the pretty Chinese secretary as he saw her move past him down the hall towards Miss Parker's office.

"Hey Sam," she replied with a slow smile, turning and walking back to stand in front of the open door to his office. "What can I do for you?"

Sam snapped his briefcase closed and carried it over to his office door. "Is she back yet?"

"Yes," the secretary told him. "She's getting ready to interview Mr. Fujimori in just a few minutes. Do you need to talk to her?"

"Uh... yeah, if possible." He needed time to talk to Mei Chiang too, one of these days - but this trip to California would have to come before anything as pleasurable as that.

"C'mon, I'll let her know you want to see her," the slender fingers bent in a beckoning gesture. "I'm sure she'll have a moment for you."

"Before that," Sam said and reached out a very gentle hand to pull back on an upper arm and delay the trek down the hallway, "I wanted to know if... maybe when I get back from California... uh... if you would consider..."

Mei Chiang blinked and then blushed softly. This gentle giant of a man was actually turning into the very model of a schoolboy with a crush right before her eyes, and she was incredibly complimented. Few of the other Centre personnel, other than Miss Parker herself, ever bothered to approach her personally - it was as if having been Lyle's final secretary and last intended meal had made her off-limits. But not with this man. She'd seen the sideways glances when he'd walk past her desk on the way in to a conference with The Boss Lady, and had begun to despair that he'd ever work up the nerve to say anything. "I'd like that..." she replied in a low voice, her almond eyes clear and inviting. "When you get back from California, that is..."

Sam's face split wide open with a generous and incredibly pleased smile. "Good! Oh, that's..." He had to work to contain his excitement. "I'll call you."

"I look forward to it," Mei Chiang said sincerely, finding herself wishing that this trip he was speaking of was already over. She gazed up into dark and sparkling eyes for a long moment, then blushed again. "Let me announce you," she suddenly remembered and regretfully pulled away from his light hold on her arm.

Sam watched the pretty secretary walk ahead of him for a moment with a feeling of satisfaction. It had taken him longer than he'd expected to say something because of the chaos of working in the top echelons of Centre administration. He hoped that Miss Parker would have no disagreement with his dating her secretary. Catching himself musing and not walking, he hastened to follow and then moved straight to the office door as Mei Chiang worked the intercom and announced him.

"Tell Mr. Fujimori I'll be with him in a moment," he heard first through the intercom and then through the office door he was pushing open. Miss Parker looked up at him expectantly. "Well?"

"I'm on my way out," he announced quickly. "I just need to stop by the house and pick up my traveling clothes, and I'm on my way West."

"What's the word from Gillespie?"

"I have a letter of introduction to the SAC in charge of the LA field office that gives me access to any information that they gather about the kids' whereabouts or the kidnappers. That should get me established fairly quickly," he told her.

"Well, for the time being, here's this," she responded, holding out an envelope to him, which he took. "This makes you supervisor of the Centre's LA satellite office and gives you carte blanche to use Centre resources there however you see fit to facilitate the search for Davy and Deb." She let down her mask just enough so he could see the agony behind the walls she'd built. "Bring my kids home to me," she begged him.

"I'll do my best, Miss Parker," he promised, kicking himself yet again that the security measures he'd implemented had been so inadequate in the first place. If he'd done his job properly, none of this would have ever happened. How could he be looking forward to returning home and dating Mei Chiang when he probably wouldn't have a job much after he did return? What the Hell did he think he was doing, making plans for a future?

"Thanks, Sam." Miss Parker could see a matching agony of his own in those expressive, dark eyes. "I know I can rely on you."

Those words of trust were like sharp darts into his heart. Sam nodded and, without looking at her again, turned to leave the office. He barely noticed Mei Chiang's, "Have a safe trip," as he hurried down the hallway - away from the boss whose trust he no longer deserved, away from the woman he didn't deserve to be allowed to get to know better.

Miss Parker stared at the closed door in concern. Sam had looked very upset when he left. What was going on here? She shook her head. Time enough to ponder the workings of her Security Chief's mind later. She pushed her intercom button. "You can send Mr. Fujimori in now," she told her secretary.

Chet was still Fujimori's custodian, and he pushed the oddly attired Japanese man ahead of himself into Miss Parker's office. Miss Parker took one look at her guest and turned to the sweeper. "Find this man some decent clothing for when he's finished here, and wait outside until we're through."

"Yes, Miss Parker." Chet knew that Sam would probably not appreciate his leaving his boss alone with a man even she considered dangerous, but he valued his job enough to do as she asked without asking questions.

Fujimori eyed his latest captor with bitterness. "Ask your questions and then just either kill me or lock me away," he snapped after a perfunctory and rudely shallow bow.

"Sit down, Fujimori-san, and can the attitude. I got you out of the hospital, away from Triumvirate strong men and the FBI - I think I deserve at least a little civility from you for that," she snapped back testily. "And until you know WHY I did, I at least deserve the respect you would normally give the head of the Centre. I'm not a little girl you can push around anymore and get away with it."

Indeed, the cool woman behind the desk didn't resemble that fresh young girl who'd come to Tokyo that year at all - and Fujimori realized that she was right that she'd at least gotten him away from two groups of people he'd wanted very much to avoid. Just how beneficial his change in circumstances would be, however, remained yet to be seen; and he would be unwise to anger the serpent whose coils were wrapped tightly around him.

He bowed a little more graciously - still not to the more traditional degree of respect accorded a guest to someone in authority, but deeply enough to show her point had been taken - and sat down. "May I assume this is about the bombing?" he asked in a more conversational tone of voice and gestured around himself at the office. "After all, it seems you have come down considerably in the world."

"Yes, well I came UP in the world after the Tower came down - I was below ground when the bomb went off - so my reason for having you here only marginally concerns that," she answered and leaned forward on her desk. "However, before we continue, I do have one question: why did Tommy Tanaka want me and my Centre dead?"

Fujimori blinked. "He didn't - at least - when he ordered the Tower demolished, he had no idea that there was a power transfer in progress. It was Raines and Lyle who had betrayed the Yakuza once too often that he had intended to harm. Once it became obvious that YOU were in line to assume control, however, he did everything within his power to stop the bomber - he even hired an assassin..."

"Yes, and thanks to THAT move, I've had police and FBI people crawling through MY organization searching high and low for a killer," she snapped.

"Tanaka-sama paid for his mistake with his life, Parker-san," Fujimori reminded her sharply.

"I'm well aware of that," she snapped, her grey eyes sparking angrily at him. She took a deep breath to control her temper - the bombing was in the past, and this man was part of the mosaic that was the key to her son's future. "But enough of the past. I had you brought here to discuss the present."

"Indeed?" Fujimori was surprised - the Parkers were not well known for their ability to leave the past in the past.

She nodded. "I'm assuming that you've been kept fairly well out of the loop news-wise..."

"Tragically uninformed about much of anything is more like it," he replied, his frustration showing.

"Well, allow me to fill in a few of your gaps then," she responded. "A man by the name of Ueda now sits in the former offices of Tanaka-sama. And the Centre is no longer officially doing business with the Yakuza at all - all monies outstanding have been repaid with interest. AND I warned Mayeda-san in Los Angeles of a threat I heard of to Yakuza interests from Centre officials unhappy with the new policies I'd introduced. They had thought to incite more trouble between Yakuza and the Centre, not knowing I knew about their plans."

Now Fujimori was listening very carefully. "You warned Mayeda-san, even though you have ceased doing business with Yakuza?"

"I warned Mayeda-san because I was going to call in the FBI on my own men," she replied. I gave him two days to make whatever arrangements he could to protect Yakuza interests from both those who would steal from him and the law. I let him know that whatever information the LA office had on state-side Yakuza dealings would be compromised, and to act accordingly."

"In spite of the fact that it was a Yakuza-financed bomb that destroyed your Tower?" he gaped.

She nodded. "I want no war with the Yakuza."

The diminutive Japanese leaned back in his chair and pondered the information she'd given him. Provided contact with the Yakuza bore out her story, it seemed the Yakuza were very much in Parker-san's debt. "So what does all this have to do with me?" he asked finally.

Miss Parker sighed and deliberately allowed some of her fatigue to show. "Those Centre officials I spoke of earlier - the ones who sought to incited trouble between the Yakuza and the Centre - have attacked me personally. They have kidnapped my son and a girl who is precious to me, all in an effort to force me to resign my post. I need help in finding my children, and in finding those responsible and making them pay for what they've done."

The dark eyebrows rose. "You have your Centre intelligence apparatus, which is considerable... You have the FBI - you said you had called them in..."

"I can use all the resources I can pull together on this," she said quietly, and Fujimori suddenly understood EXACTLY what this situation had to do with him.

"You think that if you return me to the Yakuza unharmed, you can convince Ueda to authorize Mayeda to assist in finding the children and the kidnappers." He straightened in his chair.

"Exactly."

He had to give her credit for not candy-coating the truth. She was bartering her hard-earned good will and the debt the Yakuza already owed her for the safety of her children. She knew she was playing for high stakes and was working like a madwoman to load the dice in her favor.

"I will need to confirm your version of the past events that I missed while... in custody," he posited as a condition.

"That can be arranged." She spoke firmly - the condition was neither unexpected nor unreasonable. "I will place the call to Mayeda-san myself and let you talk to him."

Fujimori fell silent, as much to think about what she was offering as to watch her expression and gestures while she awaited his decision. But Miss Parker had been trained by some of the best there, and the quality of that training showed. Her face was stonily neutral and expressionless, her eyes calm and steady. She folded her hands patiently and gave away nothing of what was going on inside. Indeed, if there was any expression at all that he could recognize, it was the distinct impression that she was watching HIM as if watching a fly caught on flypaper.

Miss Parker pulled her façade close about her and remembered the benefit of giving no indication of her mood or thoughts at times like this. She didn't really need the Yakuza, she reminded herself firmly. Sam was almost ready to leave, and she had the FBI working on her behalf as well. Yakuza assistance would be nice, but it wasn't vital. Surely Lyle or Raines would have been able to find some other way to get mileage out of the favors the Yakuza owed the Centre sooner or later - which meant she could too.

"Let me talk to Mayeda-san," he said finally, "and if he confirms what you just told me, I'll speak to Ueda-sama on your behalf."

"Let me make one quick call first," she held up a finger and then reached over and dialed quickly.

"Sam Atlee here."

"Sam, I'm going to hold the Centre jet from taking off until your travel companion arrives," she told him.

"Travel companion?" His voice was confused.

"We're playing a wild card here, and you'll have an extra errand to run at the beginning of your time in LA. I need you to see to it that Mr. Fujimori gets to Mr. Mayeda's office safely."

"Mayeda - as in Yakuza??" Sam was flabbergasted.

"Just do it. We can use all the help we can get, even Yakuza help." She wasn't angry, just firm and determined.

"Yes, Miss Parker."

She disconnected and began dialing again immediately. The moment the line on the other end began to ring, she stood and handed the handset to Fujimori. And then she sat back down to wait a little while longer.

~~~~~~~~

"Whaddya mean, 'you don't know?' This man had a smashed foot and several broken ribs - he probably limped like Hell..." Gillespie shook his head at the uniformed officer in charge of the medical floor surveillance. "How long has it been since you noticed him gone?"

"The nurse went in to check on him at one - to pick up his lunch - and he was already gone. We've searched the hospital from top to bottom since then - he isn't anywhere in the building." The uniformed man knew this to be a serious foul-up - the Japanese man had been tagged as a potential defendant in the bombing of the Centre Tower and the deaths of several people.

Gillespie ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was the last thing they needed right now. "Issue an APB on him, then, and figure out how the Hell he got outta here without anybody noticing him. Got that? There aren't THAT many Japanese living around here - so he SHOULD be fairly easy to spot, you'd think..."

The uniform caught the glower and nodded and skittered out of the FBI agent's path as Gillespie stormed from the hospital lobby.

Where at first this had been a simple bombing, now this case was sprouting as many tentacles as an octopus - and now included a kidnapping as well as the involvement of various shades and flavors of organized crime. Gillespie was beginning to think that rather than being a career builder, working this case could now just as easily become a career buster. Cooperation with the Centre itself was no longer at issue - but tracing down evidence and keeping track of new crimes was beginning to occupy a great deal of man-hour time. And he knew he had dumped something similar into the lap of Jack Crandall a whole continent away.

Just what the Hell was happening? Something was VERY rotten in the state of Delaware. He looked down at his wristwatch and wondered, not for the first time, if he was going to get home in time for supper THAT night either.

~~~~~~~~

Even though the CPS people were obviously packing up their notebooks and files and preparing to leave, Jarod felt a little frustrated when his telephone rang. "Hello?" he answered in a hurried tone.

"Jarod, this is Mom. Ethan told me you had gone home, and I was wondering..." Margaret began.

"Mom, I have someone here I need to take care of right now. Can I call you back?" he interrupted her.

From the pause on the other end, he knew he'd upset whatever discussion she'd wanted to have. "I suppose," she finally sighed. "Call me soon."

"I will," he promised and disconnected the call. "Sorry about that," he smiled in chagrin as he put the handset on the table. "Is there anything else I can show you or any other questions I can answer for you?"

"No," Rizzo said with a quick shake of his head. "I think you answered all the questions we had for you today. And you have a lovely home - very suitable for a little girl from the looks of things."

"We'll be in touch with you by this evening with our conclusions. We just need time to discuss our findings with our project director." Gilbert added, extending her hand to shake Jarod's. "Thank you very much for the tea."

Jarod escorted the pair to the front door and saw them to their car and watched as they drove away down the lane. He walked slowly back into the house, wondering how some of his answers had gone over. No, he didn't have public school records because he had been home-schooled - having Sydney teach him essentially everything from personal hygiene to astrophysics certainly qualified as “home”-schooling, not to mention the Centre sublevels had been his “home” for decades. He had given Sydney's home address and phone number, however, for reference - and before he called his mother, he figured he should probably call Sydney and warn him... No, Sydney had been taken to the hospital. He grimaced in frustration, suddenly worried over Sydney's condition. He'd have to ask Parker about his condition when she called that evening. For now, there was only one phone call he needed to make.

He made his way back into the kitchen and to the phone handset on the table, sat down and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me," he announced tiredly. "I'm sorry I had to interrupt you. What was it you wanted?"

"Ethan told me what was going on," Margaret announced without preamble. "I just wanted to know when you were leaving for Delaware again."

"I'm not - not yet, anyway," he admitted with a sigh.

Obviously his answer wasn't what she had expected. "You're not?"

"I have a few irons in the fire here that I just can't abandon yet, and I've been told that there's a possibility that I need to be HERE." He shook his head. "I can't explain that part of it - it's one of Ethan's hunches."

"But you're not packing?" Margaret's voice sounded genuinely hopeful.

"Not at the moment, Mom - but I told Sam that if they need me there, to call. And if Parker wants me there..." He left the rest of the statement unsaid.

She thought for a moment. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked finally.

He sighed again. "Not really, Mom. Sam said that the FBI has been called in, and..."

"You're kidding! A Parker calling in law enforcement? That's rich..." Margaret couldn't help the explosive chuckle of irony.

Jarod shook his head. "I told you, Parker is trying to turn the place around. Of course she'd call in the feds to help." From the silence on the other end, Jarod could tell that his mother still didn't believe him. "You called them when I was taken, didn't you?"

"A helluva lot of good it did, considering the Centre has people in high places in the government in their back pockets," Margaret returned bitterly. "But still, I hope that she gets her son back..."

"OUR son, Mom. MY son, your grandson."

Margaret waved her hand ineffectively, dismissing the correction. "I hope she gets Davy back soon." She paused. "Are you off work already today?"

"I had an appointment outside the office I had to keep," he told her cryptically. She didn't need to know about Ginger yet when things were still so tentative, so unknown.

"But are you done for the day?"

"I am now," he sighed.

"Then how about you come over here to Em's, and I'll make you a nice snack. Sammy will be sniffing around for cookies soon too - and he'd probably like a chance to play with his uncle a little bit while you're still here."

As much as Jarod could hear the subtle jab in her words, he could also hear the truth to her claim that his little nephew could use some attention. "Is Em home today?" he asked.

"She'll be back in about an hour - something about needing to clear something up with her editor."

"Give me a bit, and I'll be over then," Jarod nodded. "I could use something to occupy my mind until Parker calls me later tonight."

~~~~~~~~

Agent James Porter stood in his shirtsleeves beneath the hot California sun and looked at the dilapidated ranch house with frustration. It had been a long ride from Central Los Angeles to this hole in the wall, out of the way place in the middle of nowhere. Finding the gate in the rusted and partially collapsed barbed wire fencing had taken longer than he'd anticipated, and all four agents had taken long drags on their individual water bottles by the time they had gone the several miles down the drive. As they had approached the dusty and abandoned ranch site, everyone's heart had dropped.

Porter waited until Jess Archer reappeared through the front door of the ramshackle building that used to be a dwelling, then sighed when the man merely shook his head and gazed off into the surrounding barrenness himself. Tom Parnell emerged from the barn shaking his head too, and in the distance, Vic Walters was searching through the discarded farm equipment and ancient car depository with an increasingly defeated air.

Following a hunch, Porter went to the back of the cars and looked at the tire tracks leading into the yard - and flinched when his hunch proved true. There were only two sets of tire prints leading into the yard, and they belonged to the two cars they themselves had driven in. The same held true for footprints - it was obvious that the four FBI agents were the first people to have visited this abandoned site in a good long time.

Porter pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the signal strength, then sighed as he realized that, being down in a virtual hollow between hills, the ranch was in a “dead zone.” They would have to drive back to the main road, no doubt, before he would be in any position to call in his report on their trip to Crandall.

The young black agent wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm and looked around him at the baked and unrelenting landscape that surrounded him. He found himself trying to imagine how two innocent and unprepared people, one a child and one who might as well be one, could possibly survive in such conditions without adequate clothing - or water!

He put his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle, looking into the distance and scanning the horizon futilely. Where the Hell could they be? If they weren't here, they could be anywhere - and that was NOT good. That was DEFINITELY not good...

~~~~~~~~

Fujimori settled back into the soft cushion of his seat and watched as the little jet gathered its energies and launched itself from the ground of the private airstrip. He was on his way home - or at least the first leg of his ultimate journey home - courtesy of the Centre. He had been given a suit and undergarments to replace his stolen surgical blues and overcoat, so that while he wasn't as comfortable in his usual expensive silk, he at least FELT halfway civilized again.

Across the little jet from him, also facing out his window, was the somber-faced Security man Miss Parker had entrusted with his delivery. The Japanese had easily read the tightly controlled anguish and stern determination that was powering the man's ever gesture now - this Sam Atlee had apparently been just as hurt by the kidnapping as Miss Parker had been.

Miss Parker - now THERE was a woman to be respected. Mayeda-san had confirmed her story down the line; she had neither hedged nor overstated any fact at all. Mayeda-san had also seen the obvious advantage to lending assistance in the search for the missing children, and had disconnected after promising to get official sanction of the effort from Tokyo on line long before the little jet touched down again in Los Angeles. Fujimori knew Mayeda-san to be an extremely tough man to impress, and so he found reason to reassess what he knew of Mr. Parker's daughter.

She had been quite the headstrong but naïve debutante when she'd walked down the steps of the company jet at Tokyo International for that year's worth of training so long ago. She had been sent to Tanaka-sama with instructions to give her the finest of self-defense and martial arts training money could buy. At first Tanaka-sama had laughed up his sleeve as he assigned her to the most rigorous karate sensei in Yakuza employ - only to have to admit that the girl had potential when she fairly quickly rose through the belts over the course of a very abbreviated period of time. Young Miss Parker had soaked up the information and skills like a sponge, and Fujimori, assigned to keep a discrete eye on their foreign student, suggested that closer ties between Yakuza and the Centre by virtue of a liaison between the young girl and young Tommy might be advantageous to all concerned.

Tommy was a wild youth, the apple of his father's eye but cruising to lose a pinky soon if something didn't give him an excuse to calm down. Miss Parker provided that excuse, and the two of them had hit it off spectacularly. By early summer, the two were lovers and partners, she helping Tommy perfect his command of English and he helping her learn some of the more intricate ins and outs of corporate life on the dangerous side. By the end of the summer, however, she had tired of him AND her exile in Japan, and by the end of her year, she had been anxious to go home. He, Fujimori, had been disappointed in her - she had tossed young Tommy Tanaka away in much the same way young Tommy was used to tossing others away, and had caused the young Yakuza considerable loss of face.

He had not been involved in the fiasco nearly a decade earlier that had resulted in the elder Tanaka-sama's prison term in an American jail. So he had not seen or spoken to the woman that had developed from that young girl. Now that he had, however, he was impressed - and disappointed that Tommy hadn't been able to keep her interest alive. Her closer alliance with the Yakuza would have been a real coup.

Fujimori took a deep breath to break his reminiscing reverie and then folded his arms about his chest as if slightly cold, being careful not to disturb the bandages over the wound in his wrist he had inflicted on himself. He was tired - he had slept little since awakening from his abortive suicide attempt - and he had no intention to try to keep the taciturn gai-jin Security Chief company.

He closed his eyes and began to chant his mantra again over and over again. Perhaps NOW the gods would hear him - and this time he WOULD make it to his temple in Osaka.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 12: Hard Choices


Miss Parker pulled into the small scenic turnout on the shoreline highway and turned off her engine. Fatigued both physically and emotionally, she leaned her forehead against her crossed hands on the top of her steering wheel for a long moment, the Lyle-mask dropping away at last with no one around against whom to defend herself. Nobody needed her to be strong or unshakable at the moment - she didn't have to make any vital decisions or answer questions that would be impossible to ponder without impenetrable defensive shields around her psyche. For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, there was no need to pretend.

It was almost twilight, and the silver sliver that was the new moon hung high in the darkening sky over the far horizon of the ocean. This was one of her favorite places - a narrow stretch of white sand beach that had seen picnics with, in their own times, her mother, Thomas, and most recently family outings with Sydney, Davy and the Broots. Over the many years she'd worked at the Centre, it had also been a place where she could stop on the way home from work and relax and let go of the tensions so that she could enjoy her home life. Tonight, however, it was a safe place to stop and place that long-promised telephone call to Jarod, a place where she wouldn't have to worry about saying anything that really didn't need to be overheard by anybody else.

But what did she have to say to him? Their son had been stolen - and he already knew that.

Gillespie had called just as she was getting ready to leave - FBI agents had gone to search the ranch Duncan's uncle had left him near Victorville and found nothing. Almost an entire day had gone by since she'd awakened to Sam standing over her, and other than knowing that the destination had been somewhere in California, they had not even the slightest clue as to where the kidnappers might have taken Davy and Deb. The Dover SAC had been very apologetic to her on the phone that the news wasn't better - and had informed her that reports were starting to come in claiming sightings of Duncan and Cordoba in the Hollywood area. They were doing everything they could, he had reassured her, to find the kidnappers and/or locate the children - and that her job right now was to be patient.

Be patient. She had found herself having to deliberately refrain from screaming at the FBI agent about how ridiculous it was to ask the mother of a stolen child to just sit still and be patient. She was genuinely surprised that Jarod hadn't been on the phone to her several times over the course of the day - the Pretender wasn't known for being patient himself when it came to the welfare of his family. Not that she wasn't grateful that he had restrained himself - but she had been dreading this call all day. Of all the things that she'd been doing to protect herself from thinking, from feeling - talking to Jarod would crumble those defenses entirely.

Still, she knew she couldn't put off the call much longer. Jarod deserved to know everything she knew, and deserved to hear all of it from her. Knowing him, his worry would be as much for Davy and Deb as it would be for her - he knew her far too well. And he was a Pretender - like Sydney, he would know exactly what she was doing if she tried to hide behind her façade; and like Sydney, he'd disapprove.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and began to dial.

"Hello?" She could hear the roaring of water in the background; he must have been near the ocean too.

"It's me," she responded simply, a tear suddenly slipping from her eye to her cheek. The sound of his voice had triggered a dichotomy of feelings within her that included relief and comfort on the one hand and total anguish on the other.

Jarod leaned over the balustrade and closed his eyes. "Missy," he sighed. "I was hoping it was you."


"Jarod, I..." she started, feeling herself begin to choke. "I would have called sooner, but..."

"It's OK," he soothed, his brow furrowing. He could hear the pain and fatigue in her voice. "Sam said you guys were busy trying to get information - I figured you've probably had a pretty full day."

She nodded, wishing with all her heart she could just lean into him. "I'm heading to Sydney's now - I'll be staying there until..."

"Did you find out anything useful?" He could barely contain himself, but disciplined his voice into gentle probing.

Miss Parker sighed deeply. "We broke Flores this morning. Duncan and another real slime named Cordoba have probably taken Davy and..." Her voice broke at the utterance of her son's name. "...Davy and Deb... they've probably taken them to California... somewhere..."

Jarod straightened in surprise. "Out HERE? Any idea where? Missy, California is one helluva big place..."

"I know." She leaned back against her headrest and closed her eyes, but it didn't help the now slow and steady flow of tears. "Flores told us that Duncan had a place around Victorville - down in Southern California. The FBI tracked down the place and sent a team out there."

From the silence that should have been where the results of that would have been, Jarod could surmise the findings and began pacing. "Nothing?"

"Not a clue."

"Damn!" The expletive slipped out in a soft voice but was no less vehement. "Missy, do you want me to come..."

"I want you THERE," she answered almost immediately. "Sam is on his way to LA with instructions to call you if... no, not if, WHEN... they find them. I need you there because I can't..." Her voice finally broke entirely at the thought of not being able to do anything constructive from where she was.

"Hush," he shushed at her over the phone, knowing the word to be totally ineffective. She was feeling just as helpless, just as trapped by the work she still had to do there in Delaware, as he had felt waiting for this call and trapped by the work he still had to do here. He understood her anguish completely - all too well, in fact. "I'll stay, then. Is there anything I can do from here?"

She struggled to get her emotions back under control. "I n...need..." She took a deep breath and forced the sobs down. "Duncan and Cordoba have a reputation for... for..." A sob escaped despite her best efforts. "God, Jarod, their idea of a fun evening is to pick up a couple of hookers and... well, sometimes... the hookers never go back to work again and are never found... What are they doing to Deb? She's such a pretty girl, and..."

"Missy," Jarod soothed at her again, hearing the beginnings of hysteria rising in her voice. "Come on, sweetheart - you can't let yourself dwell on that..."

"I need you to SIM them," Miss Parker ground out harshly. "I've put all the information Flores gave me, along with their rap sheets, in your email. I need to know... WE need to know what they would do, where they would go, where they took her, where they have my son..." At that, she broke entirely again.

"I will. Parker, please..." He soothed at her, and yet one part of his mind was already beginning to spin in growing anger and real panic at the thought of sexual deviants laying a hand on Debbie Broots. He thrust this part of himself aside for a moment and murmured comfort at his fiancée, once more wishing with all his heart that he was there with her and could hold her close. She was strong - but this above all else held the potential to break her completely. "Sweetheart," he called again, trying to get her attention, "where's Sydney?"

"H...home," she finally managed, straightening in her car seat and wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "He had surgery on his knee this morning, though, and he tore his stitches open struggling with the kidnappers last night, so he's down again. He's probably still asleep between all the anesthesia they gave him and the pain meds again."

"What about Kevin - was HE hurt?"

"He's got a helluva cut and bruise on his cheek, but there was nothing broken." She wiped at the tears again. "He was starting to do the same thing I want you to do when we left to pick Sydney up at the hospital. Tyler thought that maybe getting two Pretenders SIMming from the same information..."

"Wouldn't be such a bad idea," Jarod nodded in agreement. "Tyler's sharp - I'm glad you found him."

"With Broots in the hospital, Sydney laid up again, and you and Sam both in California, right now Tyler's the only one I've got with me." Miss Parker's voice sounded bleak. "I'm starting to feel like I'm losing everybody in my life again..."

"Stop that, Parker. All you're doing is ripping yourself apart thinking that way." Jarod's voice was firm yet gentle. "I'm with you, even though I'm stuck all the way over here - and Sydney's with you, even if he's stuck on that daybed again. You're not doing this alone - do you hear me? We may not be there in fact, but we're with you in spirit."

"Yes." The word was whispered. "I just miss you."

All the starch evaporated from Jarod's posture, and he found himself leaning weakly against the side of the house. "God, I miss you too, Missy - and I wish I could be there for you."

"Just promise me you're coming back," she demanded suddenly.

"I'm marrying you," he reminded her gently. "I can't do that from here. I'm coming back - of course I promise I'm coming back. And I'll have Davy and Deb with me when I do."

"Don't promise something you may not be able to deliver," she warned him in a shaky voice.

"If I have to move Heaven and Hell itself, I'll find them and bring them home," he told her in a determined tone. "And if I can't, then this Duncan and Cordoba will wish to God that they'd never been born by the time I get done with them."

"I've called in Yakuza help on this," she told him, almost as an afterthought. "You may have to talk to them to get at Duncan or Cordoba if they find them first..."

"What? The Yakuza? I thought you were going to stop..."

She shrugged. "They owe me big time, Jarod - for a number of things..."

"They blew up the Tower..."

"Yes, thinking that they were hurting Raines. I guess the Centre has done a number of things that didn't sit well with Tanaka - he blamed Raines and ordered the bombing as reprisal. I spoke with one of Tanaka's associates, and he told me that Tommy had tried to call the bombing off when he found out I was taking over."

"But... why call them now..."

"Because they don't like to be beholding to anybody - and I want my children back. I'm willing to pull whatever strings I have at my disposal to get them back safely, and I'm not too proud to even pull strings I'd otherwise rather went away." She frowned at the sliver of moon, as if it were Jarod's face in front of her.

"We'll get them back," he said as if believing that repeating the statement often enough would make it true. "They'll be OK."

"God..." Her voice got shaky again.

"You need to go home now, Missy - go home to Sydney. You need to cry on somebody's shoulder, and I can't think of anybody else there who loves you as much as I do than Sydney."

"I will," she nodded, once more wiping at the tears on her face. "I will, right after this call."

"Call me tomorrow night, OK?" he pleaded. "I'll call Sam in the morning, but you call me tomorrow?"

"I will," she repeated, taking a deep breath and once more forcing her emotions back down into a box. "Do what you can, OK?"

"I'll be watching my email, I promise. You go home now, before you wear yourself out entirely and can't see to drive." He paused. "I love you."

"I love you too. I wish you were here..."

"I wish I were too. And if the time comes and you want me there, you call me - and then send the Centre jet to Monterey for me."

"I want you here NOW, but I NEED you there for Davy and Deb. I'll be OK..."

"Talk to Sydney."

"I will, Jarod, I will."

"Goodnight, Missy. I love you."

"I love you too. Goodnight Jarod."

Jarod's hand with the telephone handset dropped limply to his side, and he stared out over the balustrade and across the broad expanse of Pacific Ocean where the sun was still hovering low on the horizon in a pink and violet sky. Davy and Deb - out HERE? God in Heaven, WHERE??

Miss Parker's hand with the cell phone dropped limply into her lap, and she stared out over the hood of her car and into the broad expanse of darkness that was the Atlantic Ocean. Talking to Jarod had helped more than she had thought it would - but he was right. She needed to get home and talk to Sydney.

~~~~~~~~

Duncan zipped up his pants and spared only the briefest glance at the still form of a black girl lying naked, bruised, battered and spread-eagle on the dirty mattress. Several hours earlier, she had been pretty and seductive with her "I'm Candy, what's YOUR name, handsome?" come-on and oh so willing to climb into that beat-up Cadillac's front seat with him. Her colleague Bonnie, just as blonde and pert as the little bimbo from Delaware they'd left duct taped and helpless in the desert, had been just as pretty and saucy as she'd climbed into the back seat with Cordoba. Girls like these were a dime a dozen on the boulevard - and not at all particular where the men took them to get their fun. For $25, few were picky, which was usually a good thing.

Duncan had used this warehouse district for his sadistic sexual lair for years now. He knew it well from his days in the X-14s to be essentially arson-fodder. The buildings themselves were mostly abandoned and dilapidated and tended to be flop-houses for the crazies, junkies and throw-away kids that lived on the streets - ideal for the purposes that he tended to use them. So few would notice or even care about the sound of screaming... and the occasional discoveries of the bodies of dead whores didn't cause that much fuss...

Under another one of the filthy windows that barely let in any of the waning sunlight, he could hear Cordoba still breathing hard as he was finishing with his blonde. Bonnie had turned out to be the screamer - and Cordoba had taken care of that problem with ease. Both women were now bleeding and bruised from the beating they'd received to make them pliant to the more interesting and painful foreplay that both men were addicted to. Duncan frowned across the room and watched with impatience as Cordoba continued to move over his treat for the evening. They'd already spent several hours with these women - the time had come to finish them off and move on.

Duncan looked back down at Candy. She was barely breathing from the strangling she'd received during the last violent sexual encounter - and with hardly even a thought, Duncan bent back over her and wrapped his hands around her neck once more and squeezed tightly until he could feel all strength and muscle tone leave her. On the other side of the room, Cordoba groaned deeply and then stopped moving, and finally picked himself up off the mattress. He grabbed the girl's discarded blouse and cleaned himself up briskly, then dropped the blouse and reached for his pants. "About time you finished, cabrón," Duncan snarled. "It's getting dark and we don't want the garbage to catch us here with them."

"I can't help it if you're such a quick-draw," Cordoba sneered back and zipped his pants up with a flourish. "Yo soy más hombre que tú - como siempre." [I'm more of a man than you, as usual.] He bent down over Bonnie and with a casual grip on the side of her head, twisted it quickly until he heard her neck snap, then straightened with a cocky and challenging grin.

"Oh, shut up," Duncan growled, grabbing the mattress with the body of Candy and dragging it across the room. With a practiced move, he pulled the mattress up and over so that Candy's body tumbled down on Bonnie's with a muted thud and then were both covered by the flipped-over mattress. Under normal circumstances, that would keep the bodies from being found until the smell became overpowering - more than long enough to put some distance between themselves and the warehouse district. "C'mon, cabrón, let's go find us a place to get drunk. All we gotta do is just hang out until morning - and then you can get your money."

"As long as you're the one buyin'," Cordoba stretched his back and smiled back with a cold and satisfied grin. "You know, we haven't gone whorin' and drinkin' like this in a while, ése. Good to see we ain't lost our touch."

"Yeah, we're both still horny and thirsty sons of bitches, ain't we?" Duncan laughed and clapped his friend and accomplice on the back. "Let's blow this place."

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker zipped up the overnight bag and walked resolutely from her bedroom and down the hall toward the staircase, not allowing herself to look into her son's bedroom. Just returning to the house and knowing it to be empty and silent had taken all her energy, and she still had to stop at a fast food place before she could finish the drive over to Sydney's. It wasn't that she had far to drive to either place, but she was past exhausted and didn't want to run any more risks of accident than she already was.

She climbed back into her car and tossed the overnight bag into the passenger seat and turned on the ignition, then pulled through the drive loop and headed back towards Blue Cove. Since her talk with Jarod, she was feeling drained, empty, as if she had no more tears to shed. She was moving on Autopilot still, without the need to put up facades or defend herself, and yet incapable of letting herself fully feel and think. She ordered some hamburgers and fries and then drove to Sydney's in almost a fog, and she barely remembered to lock her vehicle after climbing out.

Kevin opened the door after her first touch of the doorbell, then stepped aside to let her into the house. "Is he asleep?" she asked quietly, noting that he was moving as carefully as possible through the house.

"He was a while ago when I checked," the young Pretender answered shortly. Having Miss Parker in the house again that day was unexpected. And from the looks of the little bag she was carrying, she was intending to stay the night. But she'd brought food, which brightened his spirits some. He glanced up at the clock. "I need to get him off that machine now anyway - the doctor only wanted him to have a half-day on it today, just to get used to it."

"Need some help?" she found herself offering.

Kevin blinked at her. "OK," he agreed carefully. "Are you feeling alright, Miss Parker?"

She couldn't miss his expression of caution and wariness. "No, Kevin, I'm not feeling all that good right now - but I promise I'm not going to be biting anybody's head off either." His expression didn't change with her weak assurance. "Look, I know you may not understand all the nuances of what's going on here..."

"I understand that Deb has been kidnapped," he retorted defensively.

"Then you kinda understand how I feel, since my son was kidnapped too," she continued in a slightly tighter voice. "My nerves are shot, my patience is running low, and I want - no, I NEED - to talk to Sydney before I do something I really will regret, like losing my temper with you when we're both feeling badly about the same thing. I want you to remember from now on that no matter what I say when I'm at work, you're not to take it personally."

That got a reaction - Kevin's expression softened in understanding. Yes, he did know a bit of how she must be feeling right now - and now understood fully why she was there and why she needed to be near Sydney. He'd watched them interact over the time he'd been with the family, he'd witnessed a few of their more private moments - he knew how much those two cared about each other. Sydney was more than just a mentor to Miss Parker, it seemed - more like a father.

"I don't intend to be threatening to you, Kevin," she continued in a softer voice. "But..."

"But that's what you were doing to everyone earlier," he remarked, this time with a touch of confusion.

"Did your first mentor ever have you put on the personality of another person?" Miss Parker asked, seemingly at a tangent.

"Sometimes," he admitted slowly. "Why?"

"Because that's what I'm doing. I have so much that I have to do that I wouldn't be able to if I let my emotions get in the way. So until things have gone back to normal, I've “borrowed” the personality of a man I long thought was my twin brother - he never let anything get to him." Miss Parker was amazed at herself for taking the time to explain herself to this young man - but then realized that other than Jarod and Sydney, Kevin was probably the one other person in the world who could truly understand. And then she realized she needed his understanding and good will almost as much as she needed Sydney's shoulder.

"Did you have to choose such a mean person?" he asked after thinking about it a while.

"Be glad I didn't choose my... the man I thought was my father," she warned him with a sad smile. "He and my brother were both... monsters... but Daddy was the worst because he would stab you in the back while pretending to be your friend or to love you. Lyle was... well, he was an unapologetic monster and very good at getting things done under adverse situations." She glanced down at the brown bag of food in her hand and decided the time had come to change the subject. "What do you say we get Sydney out of his contraption so he can try to eat something?"

Kevin smiled at her - for the first time since he'd met this strong and daunting woman, he felt almost comfortable with her. "OK... but can you explain one thing to me first?"

"What's that?"

"How do you know how to put on another person's personality? They don't teach that to everybody, do they?"

"No, they don't." Miss Parker looked him straight in the eye. "I'm a Pretender too, Kevin - I just was never trained as one. I more or less learned it on my own, sometimes from watching Jarod or talking to Sydney over the years, but mostly just by experimenting on my own."

The young Pretender's eyes widened, and then he nodded understanding. "I'll go turn the therapy machine off while you get the food around, how's that?"

~~~~~~~~

Jarod sat at his computer, having hacked into the Los Angeles City/County mainframe, and stared with consternation at the display of Jesus Cordoba's sordid history with law enforcement. Reading the report had given him a deeper understanding of why Parker had been so upset with the idea that this man had Deb Broots - the man was a sadistic and unpredictable sexual predator as well as an enforcer for the Mexican mob. In fact, he'd only been back on the streets for a few weeks after serving a two-year sentence for sexual assault and attempted rape.

Not that the report on Andrew Duncan had been any more encouraging. The assistant supervisor of the Los Angeles branch of the Centre had a long and disturbing history with a number of the gangs in Southern California. He had just finished serving a stint in prison for assault himself when he'd been recruited as a sweeper by no less than Raines himself and placed in Las Vegas to train under a supervisor named Berringer. Since then, only Centre affiliation and subterfuge - and very expensive legal council - had protected him from the numerous assaults that had been alleged against him both in Las Vegas and more recently in Southern California. The man was smart, adaptive, spoke Spanish like a native, and had a psych evaluation that documented the beginnings of paranoia and an almost total lack of empathy - and a distinct tendency toward being a sexual predator of both women and young boys himself. Jarod doubted that Missy had noticed that little point yet, or her anxiety levels would have been stratospheric - as his now were. Davy, in the hands of...

No! This was not the time for panic. Davy and Deb needed him to work with a clear mind, not worry himself to a frazzle and not be able to do the work Missy had set him. They all were counting on him - him and Kevin. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes and took several cleansing breaths, beginning the meditative practice that Sydney had long since drilled into him as the most effective start to a full-fledged SIM. It was a practice that made room for Jarod to get out of the way of the process as a distinct personality - Davy's and Deb's welfare depended upon his ability to climb into a thoroughly objective state of mind and from there into the heart and mind of another. He couldn't be a father or uncle right now; he was a Pretender and a damned good one - it was time he started behaving like one.

In front of him was the collected printout of all the available Centre records pertaining to Duncan collected from the LA office before the FBI had raided it. It seemed the man had been given far more authority over the LA Centre resources than had been previous thought - and control over several Centre bank accounts as well. A transcript of his personal financial records showed regular and sizeable transfers from one of Lyle's personal accounts, with a notation that they had been for “acquisition services rendered.” Jarod flinched, remembering the kinds of “acquisitions” that Lyle would have wanted for which he would have paid such a premium.

The Pretender lined up the most recent photographs of both men on his display and settled back into his chair, studying their features and the very subtle clues to personality that resided in their faces. He closed his eyes and without the slightest flinch of hesitation or repulsion, took a single step forward into Duncan's shoes. The man was smart - which meant that if he had suspected that his boss, the one who had ordered the kidnapping, had been taken into custody, NATURALLY he wouldn't have taken his victims to a ranch that would be easily traceable to him. No, he would have taken them somewhere else equally isolated but with far fewer links to him directly. He would know the place he'd taken them to intimately - but whether he and Cordoba had remained with Davy and Deb would be depending on whether or not Flores had ever intended for them to be returned in the first place. And THAT wasn't a question that could be answered by staring at Duncan's life history.

He needed Flores' Centre files as well. He reached for his cell phone and pressed a programmed number in and waited. Missy needed her rest and to talk to Sydney, Sam was on his way to California. He'd have to have Tyler send him the pertinent files - hopefully before morning. Then he turned back to the files on Duncan. Somewhere in those hundreds of papers was the clue he needed to where Davy and Deb had been taken.

~~~~~~~~

Sydney had roused the moment Kevin had turned off the CPM therapy machine, surprised when his newest protégé announced that his time on the contraption for the day was finished. Then he looked up and saw Miss Parker standing in the kitchen doorway with a tired and unguarded look on her face - and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Somehow, someone had managed to get her to take down those horrific and painfully defensive walls she had thrown up earlier. He watched Kevin for a moment and noticed that even the young Pretender was acting much more comfortable in her presence.

She had settled in one of the easy chairs after passing out the burgers and fries, and Kevin had settled into the other - and the supper had been eaten quietly, with very little conversation. Kevin seemed to be the only one with much of an appetite. He fairly inhaled his food and then excused himself. "I'll take the laptop upstairs, so you can talk," he announced understandingly. "I'll be down later to dole out night time pain medications and lock up."

"Thanks, Kevin," she replied and gave him a quick, sad smile. "I appreciate this."

He nodded at her and then unplugged the computer from its wires and carried it from the room with him.

Sydney immediately held out his hand the moment they were alone. "Come," he directed simply.

She rose obediently and put the remains of her uneaten food on the coffee table as she found a seat on the couch next to him, letting his hand draw her down. With a small sigh she leaned forward carefully, mindful of his bullet wound, and laid her head on his chest. She closed her eyes as she felt his arms enfold her, and the last of her defenses shattered. She had thought that her conversation with Jarod had allowed her to cry all the tears she had within her - she was wrong.

"Did you talk to Jarod?" he asked her quietly, knowing that she was crying. When she nodded against him without saying a word, he sighed. "Good," he breathed and then just held her as she wept bitterly against him, his own tears of grief and worry running unchecked down his pale and unshaven cheeks.

"I feel so damned helpless," she whimpered, her hands curling in the fabric of his shirt. "I'm sitting here - at the head of one of the most feared and powerful organizations in the country - and I can't even..."

"I'm sure you didn't sit around and do nothing all day, Parker," he soothed. "Talk to me now. What did you find out?"

She told him how she and Sam had broken Flores the second time and what he'd finally told them. She felt Sydney stiffen slightly in obvious disapproval of her methods but then relax when those methods yielded results. She told him of the report she'd received from Gillespie not long before the end of the day, and of her conversation with Jarod. Once the words started, she couldn't stop them until she'd told him everything. Without prompting of any kind, she told him of her decision to use the façade - and of how it helped her to keep herself from feeling or thinking while doing her job. She told him everything she knew about Duncan and Cordoba - and of her worries for Davy's and Deb's welfare while in the clutches of these two evil men. She told him of finding Fujimori, and of Sam's trek to California - and of soliciting the Yakuza's assistance. She told him of Ikeda, and the part that he'd already played in events at the Centre.

Sydney closed his eyes as the avalanche of information flowed at him relentlessly, the situation much worse than he had feared. In his mind's eye, all he could see were the smiling and happy faces of his grandchildren, and he felt a deep and debilitating ache every time he thought about their absence and the reason for it. He could only imagine what Jarod was going through a continent away, worrying both about his son as well as about Miss Parker's well being.

Finally the flood of words trickled to a standstill, and she lay silent and depleted against his chest. She had at last drained her well of tears, and it made her feel empty and hollow inside. Sydney's arms tightened around her as she fell silent, but he asked no questions, probed no feelings she had so willingly exposed. This was neither the time nor the place for him to practice psychiatry - she needed a father, not a shrink. So he simply held her, knowing that she was aware of his sharing of her pain - and aware that there WERE no words of comfort for her, for either of them. All he could do was hold her and be with her in this agony and send fervent prayers to a God he could only barely believe in to protect Davy and Deb - and guide his beloved grandchildren safely home again.

~~~~~~~~

The men that met Sam's limousine at the front of the building were short and Japanese and obviously packing guns beneath their very expensive suit jackets. Sam shuddered at the gazes of intense scrutiny - he would have felt like a bug under a microscope walking into this Yakuza stronghold except that he towered over all the others. Fujimori, on the other hand, had straightened and seemed to gain strength from being among his own again. "This way," the Japanese motioned politely, letting a first pair of guards lead Sam to the elevators that would take them all to the penthouse and Mayeda's center of operations.

There was one small delay while a very burly and husky guard frisked Sam and politely relieved him of his Centre-issued Smith & Wesson, which Fujimori quickly assured him would be returned immediately after his meeting with Mayeda, and then he was in the man's office. The burly guard announced the both of them and then stepped out of the way to stand patiently and alertly at the back of the room. Fujimori stepped forward immediately and gave a properly weighted bow to the head of a Yakuza field office. "It is good to see you back among the civilized, Fujimori-san," Mayeda said in staccato Japanese as he smiled widely at the man he had once thought would be the one to succeed Tanaka.

"I wouldn't be here were it not for the generosity of Miss Parker in seeing to my needs," Fujimori answered him in brief Japanese and then switched to English in respect for his American escort. "This is Sam Atlee, Security Chief for Centre Headquarters. He has the photographs we discussed..."

"Mr. Atlee," Mayeda turned and first bowed to the gai-jin and then extended his right hand in the more accepted greeting. "Welcome to Los Angeles."

"Thank you," Sam answered, bowing awkwardly over the clasped hands as a show of respect for Japanese etiquette - something Miss Parker had pointedly reminded him to do. Once he was standing straight again, however, he was reaching into the inside pocket of his sports jacket for the envelope with the four photographs - one each of Davy, Debbie, Cordoba and Duncan.

Mayeda accepted the envelope and then gestured for both Sam and Fujimori to take a seat while he extracted the photos and looked at them briefly. With a glance he summoned the burly guard from the back of the office and grunted orders that the photos be duplicated and distributed among Yakuza soldiers immediately. "I have spoken to Ueda-sama, the head of our organization, and he has given his permission for our organization to assist you in your search," he told Sam in his smooth and lightly accented English. "I was only to request guidance from you as to the disposition of the kidnappers, when we find them. Do you wish them delivered to you alive?"

"Absolutely!" Sam burst out. "We'll need to know where they took Deb and Davy."

"And do you wish us to conduct the interrogation for you to bring forth this information? Perhaps our methods might be a bit more... convincing?" Mayeda smiled widely. Ueda-sama had told him to coordinate every facet of this one-time-only collaboration carefully - but that ultimately Miss Parker would want to turn these ronin over to the American authorities. Be efficient and fully Yakuza, but give her and her people a chance to exact their own vengeance as they saw fit.

Sam watched the Yakuza boss' face carefully. Mayeda was smiling, relaxed. The offer to extract information was most likely a genuine one. "I would like to observe any interrogation, but other than that, use whatever works - provided I have something to hand over to the FBI when we're all done."

"How will we reach you when we have news?"

Sam reached into a pocket and extracted a business card. "That has my cell phone number on it. This," he began writing, "is the number of the LA Centre office. If I'm not at the office, you can reach me at my cell number. Call me the minute you have news."

Mayeda rose, signaling the end of his meeting with Sam. "Please, tell Miss Parker the next time you speak with her that the Yakuza is grateful to be offered an opportunity to balance the scales between our organizations. We will give this our utmost attention."

"Thank you, Mr. Mayeda-san," Sam replied, rising and once more accepting a handshake from the impeccably groomed Japanese. He turned and offered his hand to Fujimori. "You have a safe trip home, Mr. Fujimori," he added.

"Good luck to you and Miss Parker, Atlee-san." Fujimori gave Sam a very respectable bow. "May you find those you look for quickly."

"Amen to that," Sam muttered under his breath as he headed for the double door of the office - and the guard outside who held his gun. Next stop, the office of the FBI.

Fujimori turned to Mayeda. "So, Masa-san, it's been several years since I've seen you."

"The years have treated you well, Torii-san." Mayeda waved at the burly guard at his door. "Kiro - bring tea for our tired traveler, and some fresh sushi. You probably haven't eaten REAL food..."

"Don't ever get sick and land in gai-jin hospital, Masa-san," Fujimori shook his head. "Those who do not die there from disease most likely starve!"

~~~~~~~~

Ueda Kyoshi stood amid his fellow Yakuza clan leaders as two of the three members of the Triumvirate filed into the conference room, followed by their bodyguards. As had been agreed, each Yakuza leader had been accorded one bodyguard each, with two each allowed for the Africans - which made the number of bodyguards in the room exactly even. Both of the Triumvirate members themselves wore colorful woven cloths draped over their shoulders, and both carried themselves with infinite grace and decorum.

Ueda reached to the table in front of him and brought the gavel down on the small wooden block. "We can be seated," he announced in Japanese, then waited for the translators to pass the word. Immediately, all major parties took their seats at the table while the bodyguards arranged themselves in protective semi-circles behind their superiors.

"The Yakuza is grateful that the Triumvirate is wise enough to call this council meeting before matters get completely out of hand," he stated slowly, then waited for the translation to catch up. "Yakuza and Triumvirate interests have been mutually supportive for so long that it is hard to imagine either surviving a conflict between us fiscally intact."

"We understand this," the taller, older member of the African delegation answered and then waited in his turn for the translators. "I am Agunde. This conflict between our organizations started when yours decided to take an unfortunate step against a third party in our sphere of influence - The Centre - and permanently injured the third member of our consortium council. Ngawe has been notified of this meeting and has sent word that he is willing to set aside all differences and let the business of business get back to normal - provided that he is given the life of the assassin who was sent to kill him."

"You sent an assassin?" Matsui Chiro bent to whisper in Ueda's ear. The fat boss from Nagasaki had never had much time for the Tokyo clan, nor had he ever been afraid to voice his opinion to put a dent in the face of the hierarchy of that clan.

"It seemed the only way to stop the man," Ueda whispered back quickly. "And I sure as Hell am not about to give up a ninja-trained operative to these... they have less balls than the Americans!"

"Ninja-trained!" Matsui sniffed derisively. "No ninja contracted to MY clan has ever failed at an assignment," he bragged to the new boss dryly. "From what I'm hearing, you wouldn't be giving up much," he snorted and then straightened. Ueda frowned. Ikeda was impeccably effective at his work, and had never failed an assignment before. And yet, although obviously he had visited his declared target, he had left the man alive. Something wasn't right.

"If an assassin had been sent to kill Mr. Ngawe," Ueda answered slowly, "I assure you that Mr. Ngawe wouldn't be making demands. Our assassins do not fail."

"Nevertheless, Ngawe is willing to set the Yakuza and Triumvirate back on their mutually profitable courses, provided he is given the life of the man you sent - to do with him as he sees fit." Agunde's voice was firm. "Considering the millions of dollars profit we provide each other, this seems a very small favor to ask."

Ueda shook his head. "I can only give you my word that there is no contract out on Ngawe-san's life that was paid for with Yakuza money." The latter was true in the strictest sense - Ikeda's pay for the last assignment he'd taken had not been tendered yet. There was no way that Ueda would admit to sending Ikeda to kill Ngawe, to do so and have it known publicly that the hit had failed would mean a huge loss of face and a possible loss of a thumb - not to mention his new position. "Will the Triumvirate hold up millions of American dollars worth of commerce over such a small thing as a single man's life? Does this not put us right back where we started with this meeting?"

Agunde and his associate, M'basa, put their heads together and conferred for a while, sometimes arguing strenuously. Then Agunde rose again. "Very well. It is our joint consensus that Ngawe's request not be made into a necessary element to any agreement to resolve the differences between Triumvirate and Yakuza."

Ueda smirked quietly behind a carefully placed hand. These Africans had no guile whatsoever - no sense at all of the subtleties of life. All they saw was the money - and a simple refusal to do business, without resorting to violence, was all it took to bring these greedy dogs to heel. With a glance to either side of him, Ueda could see that the message was not being lost on his Yakuza associates. Even Matsui was giving him a surprised nod of satisfaction.

"Very well, gentlemen. I suggest then that we each return to our proper venues and run our businesses according to binding agreements made between our organizations long ago," Ueda concluded, "unless the Triumvirate wishes to conduct further business with the Yakuza?"

"Japanese ports will reopen to our ships?" M'basa worried aloud, and Agunde restrained himself from frowning. The two of them had agreed that HE would be the voice of the Triumvirate at this meeting.

"As of tomorrow morning," Ueda confirmed with satisfaction. "You have the word of the Yakuza."

Agunde stood. "Then we have concluded our business. Thank you for your hospitality."

Ueda and his colleagues all stood as one and bowed respectfully to the Africans, who then filed from the room without another word.

"That was a waste of time climbing on the bullet train," Matsui grumbled as he flopped back down into his chair. "You could have settled this just between you and them."

"All of us were affected by what was going on in the US, Chiro-san," Ueda reminded the older man pointedly. "So it was a matter of face for us all to be here when this conflict was concluded. Otherwise, how were these idiot Africans to know that one of the other Yakuza clans couldn't get it in THEIR minds to do something equally unprofitable and blackmail them - and start this up all over again?"

"You were lucky, Kyoshi-san," Matsui cautioned his young counterpart caustically. "And you only get one lucky break. Find your so-called “ninja” and deal with him properly - and don't send assassins where they don't do what they're ordered to from now on!"

"Hai!" Ueda bowed from the waist, even though seated in his chair. As the newest and youngest clan head, he was the lowest man on the Yakuza Council totem pole. He rubbed his hands together nervously, as if appreciating just how close he had just come to losing one of his appendages after all. With a jerk of the head, he summoned Konde Hiro from behind him. "FIND Ikeda and bring him back here!" he hissed angrily. "And don't let me see you again until you have him with you!"

"I am your servant," the Yakuza soldier bowed and left the room immediately - wondering whether his rusty English skills, never fully mastered in the first place or practiced for years, would be enough to get by with in America.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda frowned, but quietly allowed the American FBI agent to take him by the arm and pull him into the FBI office and through a maze of hallways and cubby walls until he stood before a glass door with "Thomas Gillespie" painted on it. The agent knocked and then opened the door and shoved Ikeda inside. "Here's the guy we told you about," he said by way of introduction. Ikeda turned to the tired-looking man behind the desk.

"Sit down, Mr..." Gillespie waved and asked his question at the same time.

"Ikeda, sir," Ikeda offered mildly and took his seat. "With your permission?" he asked, and then when the FBI man nodded, he pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and handed over his newly crafted ID, made just before his first trip to Delaware. He had both a driver's license and American credit cards - and now, thanks to Miss Parker, he had his Centre Employee's Identification.

"Mr. Ikeda..." Gillespie frowned. These cards demonstrated a long-standing relationship between this man and the Centre - when what he was looking for was a Yakuza boss with an injured foot. The man in front of him was obviously not injured in the least. Still, maybe there was some information to be gleaned. "I see here you work for the Centre?"

"Yes, sir." Ikeda had watched enough American police movies - he knew the proper way to respond.

"In what capacity?"

"I am at the moment in charge of Miss Parker's personal security," the Japanese stated carefully. "As a matter of fact, your men... er... demanded my attendance while I was driving over to where she is staying. May I please be allowed to call and let her know of the reason for my delay?"

Gillespie winced. This was obviously not Fujimori, and this man had legitimate business to conduct in Blue Cove that had been unnecessarily interrupted. He pushed Ikeda's identification back across the desk. "Actually, Mr. Ikeda, I'll let you get back to what you were supposed to be doing." He frowned an order at the arresting agent. "See to it that Mr. Ikeda is returned to his vehicle and sent on his way as soon as possible."

"But sir..." the younger agent complained.

"And I suggest that you take a GOOD look at the picture and description of the man we're seeking before you arrest some other innocent person in your zeal," he advised with tired frustration. "It's too damned late in the evening for this kind of screw-up." The phone rang and he made a mad grab for it while Ikeda and his erstwhile captor departed the office. "It's getting late, so this better be good..."

"No shit it's getting late," snapped a voice that the FBI agent hadn't spoken to for over a day, and Gillespie groaned and put his head in his hands. "Remember me? I'm that small-town police chief that called your ass in on this, remember?"

"Harrison, I'm sorry I haven't had an opportunity to call you," Gillespie moved his hand from his forehead to run through his short hair. "What news from your end?"

"Hell, son, I've been waitin' on any news from YOUR end now. You're the one with the contacts in the criminal underworld that done in them two stiffs I'm still holding." Harrison settled back in his office chair. "Just how much longer do I have to hold them anyway - or can I release 'em to next of kin?"

"Depends. Any next of kin come to claim Winwood yet?" Gillespie asked, genuinely curious.

There was a snort on the other end of the line. "Yeah - and you shoulda seen the fireworks between them two ladies. Seems our bomber was a two-timer as well - kept two complete families, one in Nebraska, and one in West Virginia. Neither knew of the other until both showed up here to claim the body of their husband at the same time." Harrison guffawed. "Now it's a toss-up if EITHER of them are going to claim the body. I'm willing to put down healthy green that we end up putting him in Potter's Field eventually..."

"At least your day has had its lighter moment," Gillespie told the policeman dryly. "I'm going nuts with those underworld connections you think I have - we've lost the Yakuza fellow from the hospital..."

"What?!"

The agent shrugged. "God only knows how it happened, but he just... walked out of there sometime yesterday morning."

Harrison straightened. "I thought you Federal boys were a little too alert to let that happen," he commented accusingly.

"Yeah, well I have a hospital crawling with African bodyguards, a murder of one of them and assault on the injured African official..."

"Hell, son, I guess you have had your hands full over there..."

"...Not to mention continuing the investigation into the kidnapping of the Parker boy and the Broots girl."

"I guess our two little murders can hang fire until you get a couple of hands free," Harrison conceded. Not for anything did he either want Gillespie's job, or to lay a twig in the man's path right now. "Anything we here in Blue Cove can do to help?"

"Yeah. I'll fax you a picture of the man who walked out of the hospital. But try and keep my men from picking up any of your other Japanese citizens, OK?"

"What's the matter - all them foreigners starting to look alike to some of your boys?" Harrison asked, taking a chance at deliberately tweaking the FBI man's nose.

"We already picked up one by mistake - a..." he consulted his notes, "...Katsuhito Ikeda. Works for the Centre - gave a motel address."

Harrison nodded. "We have several Japanese living in a motel on the edge of town that work there," he remembered from a small fire in one of the rooms about a year earlier. "Quiet folks, don't mix much."

"The one we're looking for will stand out - he has a broken ankle and some broken ribs, so he won't be moving around very well."

"That shouldn't be too hard to spot. I'll see what I can do for you, just in case the guy decides to come back to this little berg." Harrison promised. "Not that I think he would, mind you..."

"You're probably right," Gillespie admitted. "As for the rest of it, I'll call when I have any news for you."

"Thanks."

"That's it," the FBI agent announced to nobody in particular as he put the receiver down with a little more emphasis than normal. "I'm heading home." He slid the paperwork he needed to take with him into his briefcase and snapped it shut, then opened his office door. "I'm heading home," he announced to the few were still at their desks. "If anybody wants me, take a message and I'll call 'em in the morning."

And he prayed that this night wouldn't be broken by another phone call like the previous night had been.

~~~~~~~~

Ikeda compared the noted address to the address on the front of the house and then exited his car. The FBI agent who had taken him into custody had made good time driving back to Blue Cove in a little over half an hour - he smiled as he remembered hearing an American euphemism for such driving behavior: “flying low.” Only a little over an hour late now, he walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell.

"You're late," Miss Parker told him as she opened the door and let him into the spacious home. "But you're lucky - Agent Murdock called and explained your side-trip, and apologized all over himself for mistaking you for Fujimori-san." With that, his new boss' stern expression melted. "Thanks for coming."

"I am your servant, Parker-sama," Ikeda bowed low.

A sandy-haired young man paused at the foot of a flight of stairs, obviously on his way to the back part of the house. "Who's this?" Kevin asked with a frown, coming closer.

"This is Ikeda Katsuhito, your bodyguard. Ikeda-san, this is Kevin Green, one of two men for whose safety I want you to take personal responsibility." Miss Parker watched as Ikeda bowed respectfully to Kevin. "C'mon. I'll introduce you to Sydney - if he's still awake, that is."

"He better be," Kevin offered casually. "He hasn't taken his final pain meds for the night yet."

Ikeda followed Miss Parker and Kevin through the dining room and into the kitchen, and from then into an attached den. There Miss Parker gestured for him to join her near the couch, on which reclined an older man. "Sydney, this is Ikeda Katsuhito - probably one of the most highly-trained bodyguards you'll ever have in your life. Ikeda-san, my foster-father Dr. Sydney Green."

The Japanese man bowed deeply. Considering what had happened recently in Parker-sama's life, no wonder she was determined to protect these two with the best she could acquire.

"Parker?" Sydney inquired in sleepy confusion. He had fallen asleep holding her - it was jarring to awaken to not only find that she'd moved away, but was now introducing him to yet another bodyguard, and a foreign one at that. He couldn't ever remember seeing a Japanese in the sweeper corps before.

"Sam insisted before he left for LA," she explained, and that explanation was more than sufficient.

"I don't know where you're going to sleep, Mr. Ikeda," Sydney commented as he watched Kevin approach with the next dose of medication.

"I am not here to sleep, Green-san," Ikeda said formally, then turned to Miss Parker. "I will need to become familiar with the arrangement of the house now - all the entrances and exits."

"Come with me," Miss Parker said, and then bent over Sydney. "Take your meds, Syd. You heard the doctor - there's no reason for you to suffer..."

"And you get some rest too," the psychiatrist retorted back with very little energy. "You need it..."

"I will, soon, I promise," she swore then gestured to Ikeda. "Follow me."

Kevin watched Parker lead the newcomer from the room and then handed the glass of water to Sydney. "He doesn't look like much of a bodyguard to me," the young Pretender sniffed.

Sydney shook his head as he obediently swallowed the Percodan, remembering Miss Parker's description of the man who was supposed to join them that evening as bodyguard. "I seriously suggest that you not toy with Mr. Ikeda, Kevin. A more dangerous man you will NEVER want to meet."

"You're kidding! He's short, and..."

"Don't judge a man by his size, Kevin. Mr. Ikeda is trained to use his stature as a weapon, because underestimating his abilities is one of the first mistakes the unwise will make. Parker told me about him - he's the kind of man that would make Sam look like an amateur, which is why Sam wanted him with Miss Parker." Sydney had only heard of the ninja through popular media, but Miss Parker's obvious respect for the man had communicated easily. And the confident and controlled carriage of the man had caught his eye - this man knew what he was doing, and he was sure of his knowledge.

Kevin's eyes widened. He had developed a mild form of hero-worship for the bulking ex-sweeper since their days at the Inn run by Ben Miller, and to consider that this slight man was even more dangerous than his hero was to say a lot. "And that's why he's here?"

Sydney handed the water glass back and settled into his pillows with a nod. "Think of it this way: had we had him with us last night, we wouldn't still be looking for Davy or Deb - they'd have never been taken."

THAT evidently stretched the gullibility of the younger Pretender a bit past the breaking point. "One man - against three... with guns? C'mon..."

"That's right," Sydney replied, sighing as Kevin's adjustment of the pillow on which his damaged knee was resting eased a bit of the ache. "Had Mr. Ikeda been here, Davy and Deb would be safe - and the kidnappers would be dead." He closed his eyes tiredly. "Goodnight, Kevin."

"Goodnight, Sydney. Sleep well." Kevin turned down the light in the den to only a very dim glow - just enough to provide light to navigate to the bathroom if Sydney got desperate - and then rinsed the water glass and set it aside for later washing. He could hear Miss Parker and Ikeda stirring in the front of the house, and he gave the Japanese an assessing look as he walked by the pair on his way upstairs to his room.

"Your young friend seems distrusting," Ikeda remarked quietly, catching the look Kevin had given him.

"He's been given very little reason to trust anyone," Miss Parker acknowledged with a nod. "But he learns fast."

"He is your foster-brother?" Better to get the relationships straight right away.

"No," she chuckled then thought for a moment. How DID she classify her relationship with Kevin? "Kevin's more like my... foster-cousin... sort of..." She shrugged. "Ours is a rather unconventional family."

"But he is important to you."

Grey met ebony solidly. "Yes, and my foster-father even more so."

"Then I will protect them both with my life, if need be." Ikeda bowed. "Thank you for the orientation, Parker-sama. I will guard you and your family now - may you rest well."

Miss Parker bowed a little more deeply this time. "Thank you, Ikeda-san. I'll see you in the morning." She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she mounted the stairs, and saw him fold his arms across his chest and assume a relaxed but alert stance halfway between the staircase and the den. Feeling safer than she had all day, she took the last few stairs a little more quickly. She WAS tired - and she wouldn't think about how the last person to stay in Sydney's room, the only extra room in the house, was still lost.

At least, she'd try.

~~~~~~~~

Sam strode into the Los Angeles FBI office and, after asking directions, straight to the door of Jack Crandall and knocked. "Come," came the response, and the Centre Security Chief pushed through the door. The blonde agent half-rose to his feet. "Jack Crandall. You must be the Centre liaison Tom Gillespie told me about."

"Sam Atlee," Sam nodded and shook the federal agent's hand firmly. "I just got to LA and decided to make you my first stop before heading for my own office."

"We're still going through the paperwork stored there that we seized in our raid the other day," Crandall informed him as he sat back down and waved at Sam to have a seat too. "I must say, it's making for some VERY interesting reading."

"I'm not surprised," Sam replied dryly. "It turned out that when my boss decided to turn the business around and go completely legit, Flores here was one of the major players she directly threatened. I'm hoping, however, that whatever information not needed to either document or prove anything can begin to be returned in a decently short time. Some of it may be essential to business dealings here in California."

"We're very aware of the nature of the documents we seized, Mr. Atlee," Crandall assured him, "and we're sorting all the information that will do us no good in any of our investigations into boxes that will be returned as time goes by. Every time we have a few ready to be returned, I'll have someone make a delivery to your offices. How's that?"

Sam nodded - that seemed most reasonable. But now it was time to move on to more pressing matters. He studied the FBI man's countenance carefully. "Any news on either the kids or the kidnappers?"

"Nothing yet," Crandall shook his head apologetically, "but we're just starting to get tips about sightings - and right now, the only sightings we seem to be getting are of the kidnappers."

"And you found NOTHING at the ranch?" Sam asked, his tone astonished.

"Not a footprint or tire-track, not a tumbleweed out of place," the agent shook his head again. "From the looks of things, not a soul has been out there for at least seven or eight years."

"Damn!" Sam settled back into his chair in frustration. "They gotta be somewhere..."

"We're digging through the paperwork we collected, figuring that maybe something in there will give us a clue to where to start looking," Crandall explained. "AND I've called my buddies in the LAPD to fax over the paperwork they have on Cordoba and the gang he belongs to. We've been running on the assumption that Duncan would be the one who'd have the best place to hide kidnap victims - I decided not to take chances and start checking out a few possibilities with the Cordoba angle."

Sam nodded. This was the kind of nuts and bolts news that Miss Parker needed to hear. "How many men you got working on this?"

"I have four teams of two - two teams digging through paperwork, two teams in the field following up leads."

"Anything really promising?"

Crandall scratched his head. "Well, LAPD just called about an anonymous tip about a couple of hookers found sexually assaulted, beaten and murdered in an abandoned warehouse over on the east end of town a little while ago. Now this fits an MO that has long been suspected to be that of your pair of criminal geniuses. LAPD picked up Duncan a couple of times about three years ago for questioning about a series of prostitute rape-murders, but Centre legal-eagles always had him sprung before they could do more than read him his rights."

"Trust me, there won't be any more Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free cards for that animal provided by the Centre," Sam growled, making Crandall look up into the Security man's face sharply.

"You're taking this kinda personal, ain't you?"

"Yeah," Sam said darkly. "I am."

~~~~~~~~

Jarod frowned as he rose from his seat in front of the computer screen, where he'd been since his talk with Missy, and went to answer the door. "Mom," he stammered in surprise, not expecting to see her there. "What..."

"Can I come in?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

"I..." he began, feeling the pull to get back to the SIM he'd been running. Then he took another look at Margaret's face, and reconsidered. "Sure." He backed out of the way so that his mother could enter the house, and then shut the door gently behind her. "It's getting late, Mom... What are you doing out at this hour?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Margaret began, feeling about as insecure about dealing directly with her oldest son as she ever had since they'd found each other. "I..." She looked down, and then back up, her cerulean eyes swimming. "Ever since you came home, I've been feeling like I've been losing you - that every day that passes with us constantly bickering, you slip further and further away from me."

Jarod closed his eyes and sighed. This was NOT what he wanted to deal with right now. "Mom..."

"See?" she pointed out. "Just a mention, and you're sighing like you'd just as soon I shut up and went away."

"Mom, it isn't like that..."

"Yes it is," Margaret shook her head, "and I think I finally know why." She looked up into the cautious chocolate eyes of her son. "I've been driving you away myself, haven't I?"

He gave his mother a sharp and surprised look, then reached out and took her hand and led her into the living room and a seat on the couch. "What's up, Mom?" he asked finally, pulling his fractured attention together and focusing on the woman for whom he'd searched high and low for years. "What do you want of me?"

"Oh Jarod," she exclaimed, resting her hand gently against the bearded face, "I just want you to be happy." The fact that her simple statement spawned an expression of disbelief in his eyes made her drop the hand again, however. "You don't believe me."

"You've made it abundantly clear that whatever I want, I'd better want it HERE," Jarod said bitterly, rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses, "that unless I cut out half my heart and throw it away..." He sighed again, this time in impatience. "I don't have time for this right now, Mom. I'm working on trying to find Davy, and..."

"But I'm here because of Davy," Margaret told him defensively. "And because I don't want to lose you anymore than I already have."

"Mom..." Jarod drew out in exasperation.

"I'm trying to apologize," she said finally, bringing Jarod's attention back fully to her face.

"What?" His jaw dropped.

"It was Ethan who finally gave me the clue this morning," she told him, her voice getting shakier by the moment, "when he reminded me that the... Miss Parker... was HIS half-sister, and that he cared for her too. He was so tight, so... angry... when he walked out..." She looked down and studied her hands, which moved weakly and purposelessly in her lap.

Jarod's eyebrows climbed his forehead. She must have really said something, because Ethan was one of the most easy-going people he knew.

"And then, when I talked to Jay..." She looked up into very confused dark eyes. "Tell me how to begin to forgive, Jarod, because I'm starting to realize that I'm going to have to learn to live with some of the people I've hated for so long being in your life - and in mine, if I intend to be any part of your life too." She swallowed hard, and a tear finally slipped to her cheek. "You love that woman - I've been able to see it, even when it was the last thing I wanted to see. I know that if I ask you to choose, I'd..."

"Mom," he interrupted, grasping her two swimming hands in his own large ones and holding them gently, "those who are back there - those who are still alive, that is - weren't the ones who kept us apart. Those people are dead. Sydney raised me, and now that I've been back, I see how much of who I am came directly from him. If you hate him, you must hate me too because as much as I am Dad's son, I'm Sydney's as well."

"But I don't..."

"Then don't," he told her firmly. "Being bitter because Sydney had me all those years isn't going to make you feel better, or me - or Sydney. He KNOWS his part in things, and trust me, he's not proud of what he was made a part of. As for Missy, SHE could have killed me many times over during the years I let her chase me - and she didn't. We were best friends when we were kids - and she was just as trapped by the Centre in her own way as I ever was. In some ways, I think I had it better than she because I never had Sydney tell me he loved me on the one hand and then beat the crap out of me for it on the other."

Margaret's eyes widened. She'd never bothered to consider the kind of upbringing to come out of the Parker household. She had merely hated the name blindly, not caring about how just or unjust her judgment was to any individual wearing it. "Jarod..."

"And now we share this incredible little boy that neither of us knew was ours until just lately. I love her... and I love Davy... and now he's missing..." He looked down, his own eyes swimming, not knowing how else to put things.

That finally connected, and Margaret felt the anguish of knowing just how desperately her behavior had wounded her son - especially now. "I'm so sorry I've been so unreasonable," Margaret said in soft and heartfelt tones. "God, if I could take back the last few days and start over again, I would." Taking a chance, she once more put a gentle hand up to the bearded face. "Jarod, tell me what I can do to help."

"Tell me," he sniffled, raising anguished eyes to hers, "just how we're expected to go on living if we can't find him..." He put his fingers to his lips as he choked back a sob that had been a long time brewing unexpressed.


"Oh God," Margaret breathed and then opened her arms to her son, who settled on her shoulder and shook violently with the strength of his fears and his worry and his sobs. "We'll find him, Jarod, we'll find him..."

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 13: A Hint of Dawn


"Are you going to want me to come into the Centre with you today, Miss Parker?" Kevin asked quietly, mindful that Sydney had yet to awaken from his deep slumber.

"No." She sipped at her coffee half-heartedly after popping the rest of her toast into her mouth. "I've sent the same information I sent to Jarod yesterday to your email address as well. Since you're pretty well needed here with Sydney, I want you to use any free time you get and study the information and run the SIM you were starting to prep yesterday. Let's see if you can come up with any new ideas as to where Davy and Deb could have been taken. I've got Jarod doing the same thing in California, for what it's worth." She reached out a hand and patted Kevin's forearm. "But most importantly, you need to be here, keeping an eye on Calamity Clyde in there."

"Who?!" Kevin blinked in complete confusion.

She shook her head, having forgotten that Kevin had no idea of how to handle either her sense of humor or her many epithets. "Just keep Sydney from going crazy with nothing but watching his leg go up and down all day," she told him by way of explanation, then looked over at Ikeda. "As soon as the relief sweeper team gets here, you take off and get a good rest. Be back here at seven this evening - but if you want, stop by the Centre earlier and I'll get you properly put on the payroll."

"Hai, Parker-sama," the ninja bowed.

Miss Parker glanced yet again in the direction of the den, but didn't move toward it at all. "Tell Sydney I'll call him later, OK?" she told the young Pretender as she rose from the kitchen table. "With Sam gone, I'm going to have to go in early and probably work late tonight as well, so don't wait supper for me. Order in - and I'll munch on what's left when I get here."

"Yes, ma'am." Kevin nodded at her. "Have a..." He paused, as if realizing that such a leave-taking cliché was inappropriate under the circumstances. "I'll see you when you get back."

"And CALL if you have any inspiration, understand?" She was gathering purse and keys.

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, Miss Parker sighed and headed for the door and another day trying to pull the Centre onto its new path.

Kevin turned and eyed with unapologetic curiosity the Japanese who stood deceptively calmly at the doorway into the den. "Sydney said that you could make even Sam look like an amateur," the young Pretender stated carefully. "Is this true?"

Ikeda turned the majority of his attention to this young man who moved and spoke with the air of a sheltered and naïve innocent. "My training in the martial arts is highly specialized, Green-san," he hedged, not entirely sure how much Miss Parker wanted his actual background known. "Atlee-san is probably very skilled in the areas he has studied, but my training required I master many more topics of study. It is a rigorous program - not many finish."

"But you did?" The blue eyes were direct and without any guile.

"I did." Ikeda made the statement without either pride or flinch. It was nothing more or less than the truth. "And for a time, I was a teacher."

"In Japan?"

Ikeda smiled inwardly, remembering the isolated setting and traditional architecture of his teacher's dojo. [training center] "Hai. The particular kind of martial arts I trained in is taught nowhere else."

Blue eyes blinked. "Never?"

Ebony eyes gazed calmly and steadily. "There is more to the training than just learning the moves and use of the weapons, Green-san. There is an entire mental discipline and practice that is involved. The setting in which the teaching takes place becomes very important to the success of the student."

"So if I asked you to teach me, you couldn't?" Kevin tipped his head to the side, but his expression was very serious, very deliberate. "Because this isn't Japan?"

Ikeda could see that this young man was not just asking a question to kill time. There was a genuine interest behind the request. "That would depend on your motives for asking for teaching," he replied carefully, "and ultimately whether such a thing would meet with Parker-sama's approval. I am her servant in all things - if you wish me to represent your desire faithfully, you will need to convince me that the time will be well-spent."

"I want to be able to protect my family," the young man announced firmly, with conviction. "I don't ever want to be in a position of NOT being able to do that properly ever again."

"Gomen nasai, Green-san," Ikeda shook his head slowly, "but from the description of the fight that you put up a night ago, it seems you were quite effective at protecting your uncle. He was one of the kidnap targets, neh?"

"Yeah, but..." Kevin grimaced in frustrated complaint. "Deb still was taken."

"Ah. Let that be lesson number one then," the Japanese stated firmly and quietly. "This lesson in mental discipline I can give you anytime. And that is: be as prepared as possible, but be aware that the unexpected will happen anyway. A ninja is trained to let Karma be Karma..."

"Say what?" The Pretender frowned. "I don't get it."

Ikeda sighed. "The circumstances and situations in the world around us do not always progress in an obviously logical manner. We do not understand all the elements involved that will influence a situation from a distance in either time or space or relationship. One can only do one's best, but within that that framework, still be flexible to handle what seems to come from a tangent."

Kevin nodded. "That doesn't sound too hard..."

The ninja laughed out loud, and found the release actually refreshing. "No, it doesn't, young Green-san. But it is exquisitely difficult to put into practice with any kind of regularity. Even the best of us will practice our whole lives and never have that one simple lesson completely mastered."

A grunt from the den signaled that Sydney had awakened at last, and Kevin walked past the Japanese bodyguard with a very thoughtful look on his face to help his mentor rise and then hop slowly toward the bathroom. Good, Ikeda thought to himself. The mental lesson will give the boy plenty to work on until Parker-sama had rendered her decision as to whether he was to be trained and in what discipline.

Certainly the last thing he had expected to be asked was to begin teaching ninjitsu again. But then, as he had just told Green-san, he too needed to let Karma be Karma. This was a new life for him - and some of the old rules of the dojo may not matter anymore.

~~~~~~~~

One of the benefits of driving to the Centre every morning was that the drive was made at that hour on a relatively empty road that allowed the driver plenty of time to think. Miss Parker had driven this road thousands of times and knew every twist and turn, every break in the pavement. This morning she found herself thinking through the tentative schedule for the day as she slowly donned her Lyle façade. Too much was happening that depended on her remaining strong. She had meetings with department heads who had yet to have space in which to work until access to the sublevels was returned, to be followed by meetings with construction foremen to get an update on just exactly WHEN access to those sublevels could be expected. And somewhere in her day after that, she had three more personal interviews with satellite supervisors who still retained their positions.

If, in the midst of all that, the call came in that she was dreading, she would need the façade to fall back on - to get her through the day and out of there before she fell apart again. Frankly, she expected a call from Sam around mid-morning to bring her up to speed on what efforts were being made on the other side of the country - hopefully that call wouldn't be too upsetting. She made the ninety-degree turn into the gate of the Centre and waited for the guard there to give her access to the grounds. During those few short moments, she allowed herself one quick, fervent and frantic moment of wishful thinking that she would receive a call telling her that Davy and Deb had been found safe and sound sometime during the day. The moment passed, and she pasted the Lyle mask firmly onto her psyche and drove forward past the rapidly diminishing pile of wreckage that used to be the Tower to the parking area and her new designated spot.

"Miss Parker! Miss Parker!" The voice calling out to her was excited in a most satisfied manner. She turned from fetching her briefcase from the back seat to find herself face to face with a construction foreman.

"Yes?" she asked coolly. "Something that just can't wait until our meeting?"

"We all know how much you wanted access to the sublevels back," the man fairly danced in front of her in glee. "Well, access is restored. The elevator installers just informed me that they have repaired the damaged braking rail, removed the demolished elevator car and installed a construction elevator to handle all traffic. SL-1 is stabilized, and the structural engineers have ruled that the underground complex is ready for regular access on those days when the heavy equipment topside isn't rolling around too much." The worker's face beneath his hard hat beamed with accomplishment. "Harry saw you driving in and thought you'd rather have the news now than wait until this afternoon..."

The mask slipped. These people had worked twenty-four hours a day and double shifts to accomplish this much this quickly - quite a bit ahead of schedule actually - all because of the good will she'd built up in bringing her people out of the ground safely. Like Broots the day before, they didn't deserve the cold response of a monster.

"You're right," she beamed back, "I would rather know now. Limited or full occupation?"

"Limited for now on the upper levels - we still have the big truck moving heavy debris - but the lower levels can be used now."

"How about electricity? Is power fully restored?"

The man nodded. "Yup. As of two days ago." He beamed at her again. "Good news, huh?"

She shook her head in amazement. "You're right, that IS good news - something I haven't had a whole lot of lately..."

The worker immediately sobered. "Yeah. We all heard about that... we're all real sorry for your troubles, Miss Parker..."

"I appreciate that," she told him sincerely, wiping at the bottom of her nose to prevent any undue emotional outburst while she struggled to at least slip some of the mask's strength back into place without seeming too schizophrenic. "Look, everyone who's been working on restoring underground access gets a paid day off - with a healthy bonus on the next check - but I want everyone to be back to work bright and early the next day so we can get the rest of this mess cleaned up. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" The worker beamed, as much from knowing that the news had lightened his boss' day slightly as from knowing the substantial benefits of pleasing that boss like that. "And thank you, Miss Parker! I'm sure I speak for all the guys when I tell you that if you ever need us..."

"I'll call you, don't you worry," she smiled at the man. "Go on now, go give your crews the good news and let me get back to work here." The foreman saluted her casually and began walking away. "And thanks again!" she called after him, to have him wave at her again and continue on his way back to the site.

She sighed, this time with a feeling of accomplishment. Lower sublevels ready for occupation meant that a number of those department heads whose projects were just going to be postponed again that morning would now be told they could actually come back to work again, increasing the cash flow once more as goals could be met and progress made.

It also meant that the archives could finally begin to be excavated. THAT could be an interim task assigned to the many workers from the top few sublevels that would have to wait a while before being able to fully resume their duties. And Mr. Raines' former residence outside of town would make for an ideal temporary storage facility until the massive collection had been carefully gone through by someone trustworthy. Not all of that paperwork was needed any longer after all.

PLEASE let this be a hint of what the rest of the day will be like, she thought to herself as she squared her shoulders and turned from the clean-up site back toward the annexes that were now the operational hub of the Centre.

~~~~~~~~

"Gentlemen, I have good news for you - some of you will be able to go back to your laboratories starting tomorrow."

Miss Parker's announcement at the very beginning of the department heads meeting astounded everyone there. It took her a while and finally a two-fingered whistle from Tyler to get their attention again. "And for your information, gentlemen, your tours underground will be ending as soon as we can get new labs built for you. The Centre is coming up into the daylight, and we're bringing you all with it."

"Which of us can call our people in to work tomorrow?" The question that made the rest turn to her for her answer was made anonymously.

"You all can." She looked down at her notes, taken as she and Tyler had quickly reviewed the department assignments for the sublevels. "Bio-technology, Software R&D, Chemistry, Psychogenics, Renewal - which is going to be called Medical from now on, by the way - you all have finished prioritizing and purging your project files of the kind of work that the Centre will no longer be doing. What's more, you've all reviewed your conclusions with my assistant and received your go-aheads. As the departments most ready to move forward, you can all resume your duties in your established facilities. Physics, Pharmacology, we're still waiting for your prioritized lists."

"Our project load in Pharmacology was huge," Dr. Barnett complained bitterly, "and so much of it was need to know or classified at a higher level than I was granted as department head. I may have held the position on paper, Miss Parker, but most of the projects in my department were under the direct supervision of Mr. Raines himself. I'm having to read completely through the mountain of material you gave me - AND I'll need to visit our labs to gather up some of the hard-copy data that never made it into the computers before I can give you that list."

"I was only stating fact," Miss Parker assured the research pharmacologist, "not making a value judgement based on work finished or no. What I was meaning by mentioning this fact was that while you and Dr. Scheidler finish your analysis and prioritization, I have another task that can be assigned to your personnel to give them something to do besides sit at home now."

"What's that?" Scheidler, a short and squat little man with a tuft of white hair on his chin and no other hair to speak of, asked in a heavy German accent.

"We will be removing the hard-copy archives from SL-26 and transporting them to a new location for sorting. After all these years, you all can well imagine the amount of dead paper this place has amassed, so this is going to be no small task in itself. Be glad the elevator is working again - hauling all that junk up the stairs would be no fun." Miss Parker looked over at Tyler and winked, and the two of them shared a chuckle and a wince at the memory of climbing all the way to the bottom of the underground complex and then back up again.

"Where we gonna put all this paper?" Scheidler demanded to know.

"One of former Chairman Raines' houses will be turned into a processing center where initial sorting will take place. It isn't going to take rocket science to do this - anybody with a high school diploma and reading skills should be able to..."

"It's better than sitting around on our thumbs, Otto," Barnett shushed at his colleague. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starting to HATE soap operas..."

That brought a collective laugh to the room. "Very well," Miss Parker said to bring the meeting to a close. "If there are no other questions, I suggest that you all get on the phone to your respective people and have them make their car pool arrangements and be punching in bright and early in the morning. Any questions?" She waited. "That's it, gentlemen - thank you for coming. We'll meet again next week at this time."

"I got a question for you," Tyler said, leaning toward her as they collected their paperwork.

"What's that?"

"What are you going to do about the morgue - and the bodies that were still there when the bomb went off?"

Miss Parker blinked. "Bodies? Oh God..." Her mind suddenly brought back the image of Raines' sheet-covered body being rolled over next to a wall - the arm and hand partly dangling below the plastic sheeting - what was it, over two weeks ago?

"Yeah," he saw that she understood exactly what he was talking about. "It's GOTTA be a bit ripe down there, don't you think?"

"What other departments were situated on SL-8?" she demanded, swallowing hard against the idea of what it must be like down there at the moment and not exactly willing to ask any of her people to go back to work when...

"Mostly clerical, actually - data entry."

"Good - most of those folks are back at work up here in the annexes already." She thought for a moment. "I wonder if the gas is still on for the cremation furnace?"

Tyler looked at her steadily. "I'd think that if the concrete didn't buckle down there, most of those pipes should still be sound..."

"Something to run past the structural engineers at lunch," she pointed out and immediately noted the thought on her pad before tucking it away in her briefcase.

"As long as I'm not the one that has to go down there and take care of the mess," Tyler told her in no uncertain terms. "I like my top-side job."

"No more jockeying stiffs around for you, eh?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked jauntily.

"No, ma'am!"

"Well, we'll need to think of SOMEbody to take care of it for us - unless we intend to hand over THOSE bodies to the police as well..."

She could tell that thought wasn't at all acceptable Tyler either. "Give me an oxygen mask, then," Tyler sighed heavily - and one helluva good bath afterwards and the rest of the day off to get the stench out of my lungs - and I'll do the honors of vaporizing those poor bastards. We don't need any more law enforcement entanglements..."

She agreed. "How many were down there?"

"Three - including the friend you came down to visit," he answered with a sideways glance.

"That was no friend of mine," she informed him stiffly. "That was one of the biggest monsters the Centre ever knew. Ikeda did the world a favor when he put a bullet in that man's head." She looked over at her assistant. "And I'll be even happier when that man's stinking carcass is shoved into the fire. Good riddance to bad rubbish - at last."

"I'll take care of it..."

"No," she told him firmly. "You weren't the only morgue assistant back then. We'll get the report of the structural engineers, and then we'll get one of the others to take care of the mess. Remember, you're not a stiff-jockey anymore. Whoever does the job, gets a healthy bonus, so choose well - but that's not your job anymore. I need you HERE."

Tyler smiled up at his boss. "Yes, ma'am."

~~~~~~~~

Manuel Rodriguez yawned as he aimed the old pickup down the dirt road into the vast pastureland and then down a pair of barely-visible dirt tracks that led toward the windmill that was barely visible over the horizon. His once-a-week job for this day of the week was to make sure the watering troughs for the range cattle were full with fresh water. It usually took him the better part of the morning just to circumnavigate the ranch and check each of the four troughs and associated windmills. Provided he got started no later than an hour after sunrise, that was - and he'd long since learned to be attentive to that time frame. The old Ford had no air conditioning other than open windows and could become like an oven in mid-afternoon if he ran late.

He stuck his head out of the window and gazed up into the cloudless sky and nodded companionably at the slowly circling buzzards overhead. This day promised to be another scorcher, just like the day before and the day before that. The weather had been brutal lately - the wind, what there was of it, had been from the open desert. Still... Rodriguez sighed. That many buzzards circling already at that hour of the day meant something sizeable down - and from the looks of the circling, whatever was down was not far from the trough. It would be easy enough for him to check out, and hopefully not end up being bad news for el patrón. [the boss]

The old Ford bounced uncomfortably across the dry ground and Rodriguez reached for one of the wrapped breakfast burritos his Clarita had packed for him that morning. The spicy chorizo juices squirted into his mouth and brought a smile. She knew what he liked. He was just easing the truck over the top of the hill, burrito once again poised at his lips, when he saw it, or at least a glimpse of it.

Frowning, he put the burrito back down on the dashboard and twisted the steering wheel to bring the truck closer to the trough. This wasn't right. He'd been expecting to see a cow or a steer down, not... Was that PINK flowers?

He pulled the truck up short and climbed from behind the wheel, then limped over so that he could see behind the trough - and his mouth fell open. "¡Madre de Diós!" he gasped, barely able to believe his eyes.

~~~~~~~~

"Miss Parker?" Mei Chiang announced over the intercom, "Sam on two for you."

"Thanks." She closed the file folder on her desk and picked up the receiver after tipping her wrist and looking at her watch. "Sam. You're up awfully early..."

"Yeah, well I wanted to get an early start on things this morning." The ex-sweeper cast his eyes around the satellite office of the Centre that his key had unlocked only a little while before. "The FBI didn't leave us much to work with - the SAC here says he took it all."

"I'm not surprised. I'm sure Flores' files alone will have more than enough evidence to keep a dozen courtrooms busy for the better part of a year when all's said and done." She paused, not exactly knowing what to ask or how to ask it. "Any news?" she settled for finally.

"Crandall has APBs out on the kids and Duncan and Cordoba all over the place here - police, fire, hospitals - and Mayeda said he'd be getting his men right on it too." Sam had seen the sincerity of the man's expression. "And if the Yakuza catch them, they'll do the interrogation while I supervise - then turn what's left over to us to hand over to the law."

"I can live with that," Miss Parker commented coolly, leaning her chin into her palm and putting the face of her Security Chief in her mind as she spoke to him. "What about the FBI? Have they got anything tangible yet?"

"Crandall says there have been a number of reported sightings of Duncan and Cordoba, but nothing about the kids. AND there was a homicide last night that looks suspiciously like the work of our two winners." Sam hated reminding her of the nature of those two, but she needed to know...

"Damn!" The hand at her chin covered her eyes as if that would protect her from the vision of what might have happened to... NO!

"Anything from Jarod or Kevin yet?" Sam asked back. He knew that both Pretenders were going to be enlisted to SIM the situation from a number of perspectives, hopefully to come up with ideas that would occur to nobody else.

"Nothing yet. Jarod just got his information last night after I spoke to him - Kevin had his most of the day, but was involved with helping me get Syd home and taken care of."

"How IS Sydney?" Sam inquired carefully. "He gonna make it?"

She nodded. "It'll be a while before he'll be able to get around by himself, but he'll mend. And with Ikeda in the house last night..." She sighed.

"You keep Ikeda with you..." he began.

"The man has to sleep sometime, Sam," she countered. "I had Chet and Tad relieve him at nine this morning so he could go home and rest, so Kevin and Syd aren't without protection - and I'm HERE and surrounded by sweepers. And Tyler's not without skill."

Sam nodded. He'd made his way slowly through the various rooms of the suite and had finally found the office that had been Flores'. It was the most demolished of the lot. "Well, I'm in Flores' sanctum, and it looks like I'll have my hands full getting this place up and running properly again. I'd better let you go."

"Call," Miss Parker told him in no uncertain terms. "If you have news..."

"Trust me," he promised darkly, "You'll hear what I hear two seconds after I hear it."

"Thanks, Sam."

Sam closed the cell phone and put it back in his pocket and surveyed the mess that had been a supervisor's office. If Flores was anything, he was sneaky - and while the FBI had been thorough in their raid, they may not have taken the extent of that “sneaky” into full account.

He could hear the first of the office staff starting to trickle through the door and make exclamations at the disaster that overtaken their workplace. It would take an hour or two to get everyone organized into recovery mode - and then he would come back here and tear this office to pieces himself. There was something else here - he could smell it.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod yawned and made his way to the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker for another day. Then he turned and stared out the kitchen window at the ocean beyond, his thoughts so scattered that it was easier to just turn them off for a moment and enjoy the peace of the morning for its own sake. So much had happened... For one thing, he had slept better that night than he had for a very long time - and he knew that the shift in his mother's attitude had played a major role in that.

During the seven years that they had had since he'd turned his back on the Centre and everyone involved in it, they had been close - closer than he'd ever dared dream. That closeness and the chance to capture that closeness for the entire clan had been the reasoning behind the purchase of the several homes on this narrow lane. After keeping them apart for all those years, Jarod had thought it only appropriate that Centre funds be used to give each of the clan families a place distinctly its own while still maintaining the ability for close ties of love and mutual dependence to thrive. Margaret had helped Jarod in the establishment of his psychiatric practice after graduation - and Jarod had cooked almost as many meals in his home for his parents as his mother had for her son in hers.

But in all those years, he had cautiously hidden his regrets at having to leave such a large part of his life behind utterly. The love and familial happiness that had surrounded the Russells had been very real - but in the privacy of his own mind, only Jarod had known how superficial that happiness had been in so many ways. When Charles had died, it had suddenly no longer been enough - but he hadn't prepared his mother for the depth of emotions that he still held for those on the East Coast. No wonder she'd snapped in a way.

Now, miraculously, Margaret had come to understand the importance of those ties to her son - finally seeing them as something other than simply remnants of a sick and twisted upbringing. How the change had come to pass was really unimportant as far as Jarod was concerned. The reality was that he had his mother back as a loving and supportive member of his family, equally concerned about the loss of his son. They had sat for hours the previous night, talking as they had used to, and at long last Jarod had cautiously brought forth the pictures he'd brought back from Delaware and handed them over to her.

The one Jarod had had framed and had kept safely hidden in his bedroom was the family portrait taken by Ben at the Inn during that quiet time of refuge before all Hell had broken loose. But the others safely stored in a photo album were very telling, and it was they that Margaret studied most closely: the candid shot of Jarod, Missy and Davy, one of Sydney and Kevin, and another of Sam, Broots and Debbie. Margaret's hand had lingered over the face of the grandson she barely knew, searching for and finding all the little facets that were Jarod in the boy's face and then, finally, all the facets that were Missy.

At long last she had looked into the face of the man who had raised her son - and done a damned fine job of it too, she'd finally admitted to Jarod - and in the family portrait seen the loving and protective way he'd held his arm around Davy. The pride that shone in his eyes knowing Jarod and Missy stood directly behind him, her hand resting comfortably on his shoulder, was one with which she was well acquainted. She and Charles had felt very much the same way when their family portrait had been taken, little Sammy on his grandfather's lap and their grown children arranged behind them, Jarod's hand on her shoulder.

The long talk between mother and son had healed many wounds, but left the Pretender too exhausted to return to his SIM, and so he'd simply stripped and fallen into bed and a deep and dreamless sleep. Now he faced the new day, one in which he had a few patients to see and a SIM to complete.

Jarod pulled a mug of coffee from the pot the moment there was enough dark liquid in it to pour off, and he carried the mug with him as he headed back toward the bathroom. It was after eight already - he needed to be at the office at nine. He showered quickly while his coffee cooled to where it could be gulped, and then shaved. He rushed back into the kitchen, rinsed the mug and left it in the sink and was just pulling the last package of Pop Tarts from the box when his phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Russell, this is Tony Rizzo from CPS. I'm sorry to disturb you this early in the morning..."

Jarod tore open the flimsy foil wrapper around his breakfast. "You caught me on my way out the door to work. What can I do for you?"

"Well," Rizzo seemed to be in a fairly good humor that morning, "you can tell me if you could come down to the courthouse at around... two this afternoon to sign some paperwork?"

"You mean..."

"Your status as emergency foster parent has been approved, and we're hoping you'd be willing to take custody of Ginger Simmons immediately following finishing the paperwork."

Jarod's face slowly broke into a smile. "I'll MAKE the time, Mr. Rizzo. Two o'clock?"

"We'll see you there then."

The Pretender stood with the handset in his hand, suddenly presented with the mental image of both children - Ginger and Davy - and the sickening feeling that he would have to choose between them. NO! Ginger was coming home today - and Davy would be found. They would all be family soon.

He bit into his Pop Tart and grabbed up his briefcase determinedly. He couldn't let himself believe otherwise. Otherwise was simply not acceptable.

~~~~~~~~

Clarita stared at her husband in consternation, and then looked back down at the bed of the pickup as if hardly believing the story that these two proved was true. How in the world did a boy and a woman, in torn and filthy bed clothes that had dark blotches that looked suspiciously like blood, end up unconscious at the side of a cattle trough out in the middle of a million square acres of infierno [Hell]? Were they even alive? She reached out a hand and touched the wrist of the boy and easily found a pulse. The woman's pulse wasn't so easily found, and Clarita moved her hand to the forehead and then flinched back from the heat.

"She has fever - and they both look like they're almost dead..."

"What are we going to do, Rita? Do you know how to help them?"

Clarita shook her head. "We don't know what's wrong with them, Manuel. They need a real doctor."

"We can't take them in," Manuel complained. "If anybody asks for our identification..."

"Ya sé," [I know] his wife answered, "but if we don't do something, they'll both die."

The two stared at each other for a long moment. "What about Father Luís in town. He won't turn us in, and maybe he'll know what to do," Clarita finally said.

"You call the padre, I'll drive them in," Manuel nodded, finding the idea the most logical and the one that kept their existence in the country a secret. El patrón wouldn't like having word of his using illegals for his ranch work spread - and that would mean the end of the money for la familia in Guanajuato.

"Que tengas cuidado, mi vida," [Be careful, my love] Clarita told him as she watched him pull the blue tarp over the motionless bodies and climb back into the old Ford. "¡Pobrecitos! [Poor little ones] Who did this to you?"

~~~~~~~~

"You're sure you know how to do this?" The young Pretender sounded unconvinced.

Sydney nodded his head at Kevin, sitting in the easy chair in front of his couch, trying to convey confidence. "Kevin, I did this for Jarod for more years than you've been alive, my boy - as a matter of fact, I'd imagine I pioneered many of the techniques that Vernon used with you later. I promise you I know how to do this."

"It's just..." Kevin blinked down the length of his body at his new mentor - a man whom he admired and trusted. "...I've never done this without feeling..."

"Used?" Sydney supplied the word easily. He remembered the night that he and Jarod had gone over much of this same ground, only on a much more personal basis. Getting reacquainted with his former protégé had not been a painless process for either of them. They had had to sort slowly and patiently through a tangled relationship nearly thirty years old, building new understandings in place of the dominance and authority that had been the basis of that relationship. Sydney had come away from those long evening talks with a more complete understanding of just how thoroughly he had been used to torture a young man - it was a lesson that had never left him, and could still give him nightmares.

"Yeah. It made me angry, deep down where I didn't dare show it, that Vernon would treat me like I were just a machine." Kevin shuddered at the thought. "I hated it. And now I need to do it to help Davy - and I don't know if I can anymore."

Sydney moved as best he could so that he was sitting up as straight as possible while strapped to a machine that slowly flexed his damaged leg. "Then we'll work to use your discomfort with the SIMming process as part of the process itself. You have a right and a reason for those feelings, Kevin - you can't just turn your back on them."

"How about if I Pretend to be Jarod, Pretending to be Duncan," Kevin suggested with a hopeful tone of voice.

"We'll try that if nothing else works," Sydney shook his head. "But frankly, I'd rather you learned to deal with the negativity you developed for your former mentor so that it doesn't remain an obstacle for your mind. Now close your eyes," he told the young man, his voice dropping into the hypnotic tone and rhythm he had habitually used with Jarod almost without thinking about it. "Take deep breaths. Feel the chair beneath your body, the air moving in and out of your lungs."

Kevin did as he was told, and for the first time in his life, felt himself move smoothly through the preliminary grounding and cleansing meditation that preceded a SIM without resentment or bitterness as the background emotional medium. With the corner of his mind that played the referee to a SIM - that part of his dominant personality that would watch over the internal proceedings to make sure nothing harmful happened - he wondered if the difference was the fact that it WAS Sydney running the SIM with him? Then again, perhaps it was because he was doing this of his own free will for a change - after all, Miss Parker HAD taken the time to ASK if he would be willing to do the SIM, not merely ordered him to do it. So many of the facets of the situation were different, not the least of which being the fact that by SIMming this man, he was hopefully helping find Deb before anything more terrible happened to her. SIMming was what he was best at - the only real talent he had to lend to this situation. He HAD to be able to do this!

Sydney continued the talk-down meditation, watching the responses and unconscious expressions that flitted across his new protégé's face with fascination. It had been years since he'd last led Jarod through a SIM - years since he'd actively participated in the stretching of a human mind into realms of intuition and reasoning that most never imagined existed - and only now did he realize just how much he'd missed it. That realization was followed almost immediately by a wave of revulsion and guilt. How could he possibly justify feeling sentimental about a process that had caused Jarod so much pain and suffering? How selfish was that?

He shook himself and focused his mind on the matter at hand. Kevin, while a talented Pretender in his own rights, had obviously not had from Vernon the deeper meditative training that he had given Jarod as the boy grew into a man. Neither did Kevin recognize many of the shortcuts and trigger words that he and Jarod had eventually worked out together over the years of collaboration. From the looks of the young man's face, his new Pretender was struggling hard to keep up with the instructions he was getting now. He couldn't afford the distraction of mental self-flagellation - not if he intended the SIM to be successful at all.

So Sydney slowed down the meditative process even further to allow himself time to take Kevin into the SIM in a more prepared state that would allow for less stressful extraction when the SIM was at an end. The confused and stressed expression on Kevin's face smoothed away.

~~~~~~~~

Cordoba hauled himself out of bed, squinting as the light of the morning sun already well above the horizon blinded him through the ripped drapes. He then shuffled out of the extra bedroom and into the bathroom scratching at his crotch and his dingy tee shirt absently. Once he'd taken care of business, he shuffled down the short hallway past the door to his sister and brother-in-law's bedroom and into the apartment's tiny living room. Duncan hadn't made it past the couch before passing out, and the man was still noisily sawing logs, legs and arms draped exactly where they had landed at two o'clock in the morning.

Sandra was the only member of Cordoba's family still speaking to him - the only person with which he still had a good enough relationship that she could be called upon in this way. Rick, her husband, had argued with her about letting the two drunken men in standing there in the front door, but he had finally relented. Had it been anybody but Rick, Cordoba would have killed the man right then and there - but Sandra was two weeks shy of having her first baby, and Cordoba was NOT about to sentence his niece or nephew to a life without a father. Even if the man was a stupid fry-cook at a fast food place.

"Oye," he bumped Duncan's outstretched leg deliberately with his bare foot. "Abre los ojos, cabrón." [Open your eye, asshole.] We can't stay here too long. Sandra wants us out before Rick goes to work, and I wan..."

"Fuck off," Duncan mumbled semi-coherently and turned his head away from his tormentor.

Cordoba sighed and bent over, keeping a hand on the back of the couch so his own dizziness wouldn't get the better of him, and placed his lips close to the sleeping man's ear. "ANDY!" he shouted and backed away quickly as Duncan came roaring up off the couch.

"Shit!! Jesus, man, you didn't have to do that," Duncan blinked bloodshot eyes and looked around dazedly while trying to keep his heart from busting a rib or two. Finally he looked up at his disheveled associate. "What the Hell you do that for - you ain't even dressed yourself."

"Look at the time, cabrón," Cordoba shoved his filthy arm under Duncan's nose, the digital watch's light depressed to make the numbers stand out more clearly. "Time to go get the money."

Duncan rolled over so that he could sit properly on the couch, his head down and leaning his elbows on his widespread knees. "I wanna try to reach Flores one more time..."

"Fuck Flores, man. You didn't say nuthin' about needing Flores' permission to pay me when you called me in," Cordoba hissed. "I done what you said - even when my guts said that you were being estúpido - and now I want my money. I got business that can't wait much more."

The Anglo raised angry blue eyes to his Hispanic cohort. "You ain't gonna get squat if you don't let me try Flores one more time, got that?" He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his cell phone and punched buttons. "Flores holds the key to the next part of this - and without it..."

"Don't you tell me you won't give me my money, man," Cordoba threatened the Anglo, not caring that he was standing with the cell phone to his ear.

"Damn!" Duncan closed the device with an angry snap. "STILL not answering." He turned bloodshot eyes on his associate. "Alright, alright," he threw up his hands in frustration. "Get me down to the Bank of America on Sepulveda near the airport, if you're so damned hot to get your dough. Whatcha got," he shot at the man with wicked leer, "a hot tamale on the side with the rent due?"

"Ain't none of your business, cabrón." Cordoba grabbed up his shirt from where he'd thrown it over the back of the couch and slid arms into the sleeves, then parked his behind on the arm of the couch while he inserted his filthy stockinged feet into his boots. "Just keepin' you honest, my man."

"What's the matter, don't you trust me?" Duncan asked as he slid the security chain aside and opened the apartment door.

"No more than you would me in my place," Cordoba made sure the doorknob was locked when he pulled it closed, then tossed his jacket over his shoulder confidently. This was a rough neighborhood, and he wasn't going to leave his sister open to some homeboy looking for a quick score with a burglary.

~~~~~~~~

"Again, Doctor Jarod?" Cindy asked her boss as he leaned over her shoulder and took a look at his appointment calendar for the afternoon. He'd done the same thing the morning before, and she knew what that had been about...

"Yup," he grinned at her. "CPS called me to come in and sign some paperwork - and then I get to take Ginger home with me."

"Can I say “way to go, doc,” now?" she grinned back at him.

"I think so," he nodded.

"Way to go, Doctor Jarod!" She raised her hand and gave him a high-five, which he returned enthusiastically. "That little girl gonna get better now fast, I bet."

"I hope so, Cindy," Jarod nodded, then reached for the stack of mail that had been delivered to the office just a little earlier to sort through it. "Ah-HAH!" he gave a triumphant crow as three of the envelopes were addressed in the way he'd specified prospective new partners for Ethan submit their applications and resumes. "I'll take these," he waved the envelopes at his receptionist and headed down the hall to his brother's office. Ethan's car had already been in its parking place when he'd gotten there.

"Either you got here REAL early, or you burned the midnight oil and never went home, little brother," Jarod commented slyly, tucking the envelopes away in his breast pocket until later as he watched his brother flinch in surprise at the interruption.

"Didn't want to go home until REAL late, and didn't want to stick around this morning at all," Ethan explained shortly - "Mom and I..."

"I heard," Jarod responded, flopping on the comfortable leather couch.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Mom came by last night."

Ethan gave his brother a guilty grimace. "Sorry about that. I couldn't help it..."

"Nah," Jarod waved his hand. "Actually, I think your temper did some good finally - Mom came over to apologize."

"Say what?" Dark chocolate eyes, so much like those of his brother, were wide.

"Granted that it holds and wasn't just a momentary lapse, she's realized that Parker and Sydney are going to be important parts of my life from now on - AND she seems genuinely worried about Davy."

"Speaking of whom, anything new on that front?"

Jarod shook his head. "I was just getting ready to get into the meat of the SIM Missy wants me to do on that Duncan character when Mom got there. Barring any news as the day goes by, I'll try the SIM again tonight."

"Want some help?" Ethan offered.

"Couldn't hurt," Jarod replied with a nod. "Especially since I'll have someone else in the house with me after today. We'll have to wait until after supper and bedtime..."

"Jarod..." Ethan looked at his older brother in expectation.

"It's considered “Emergency Foster Care” for the moment," Jarod replied. "Got the call this morning to come in later to sign paperwork."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Ethan said, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at his brother, but he was actually more frustrated with himself than anybody else. "I suppose it was my verbal report that knocked things loose for you. I went into the shelter to see her last night after work - anything to keep from mixing it up with Mom again - Ginger's a mess, Jarod. Not quite catatonic, but definitely very shocky."

Jarod nodded. "That's kind of what I was expecting, after hearing what happened over at the Thatcher's. I'm hoping that figuring out that she's staying with me will help snap her out of it a bit."

"You're hoping for a lot," Ethan cautioned. "She may be too damaged now to..."

"No. Children are resilient, if given a reason to be." In his mind's eye, he was replaying the many ways in which Angelo had demonstrated that his reasoning powers hadn't been completely demolished by the horrendous procedures that Mr. - then Dr. - Raines had subjected him to. "She just needs to be in a completely safe and supportive environment on a continual basis."

"Your ten o'clock appointment is here, Doctor Ethan," Cindy poked her head inside the office, "and yours called to say that they'd be just a few minutes late, Doctor Jarod."

Jarod rose from the couch. "Look, I have some applications to go over with you when we have a free minute," he said, patting his shirt pocket with the envelopes in it. "Talk to you after a while."

"Catch you later," Ethan answered and then rose as Jarod opened the door for a little boy and his mother. "Hey there..."

~~~~~~~~

Father Luís Beltran was a short and almost painfully thin man who stood at the driveway of the Church of the Sacred Heart in Adelanto and watched the dusty brown Ford pickup lumber down the street. Manuel nosed the vehicle carefully over the sidewalk apron into the parking lot, whereupon Father Luís grabbed the passenger door handle and hopped up on the running board. "A la residencia," [To the residence] he directed, then hung on as the truck shuddered forward again across the smooth blacktop toward the low Spanish-style residence at the back of the property.

"Show me," he directed in terse Spanish after the truck had come to a complete halt. Manuel climbed from behind the wheel again and pulled the tarp back.

"¡Diós!" the priest whispered, appalled at the condition that both were in and the amount of blood that stained their clothing. "Help me get them inside," he ordered, pulling on the arms of the young woman and glancing up at the farm worker when he felt the fever through the thin fabric that was more than would be expected from the severity of sunburn she'd suffered. "She's burning with fever!"

"I know," Manuel replied, lifting the boy easily in his arms. "Clarita was afraid that if we didn't do something, or get them some help, they'd die."

"She's right," Father Luís replied, pulling the screen door open with a little difficulty and then letting them both into the cool interior of the residence. "Where in the world did you find them?"

"In the pastures, Father," Manuel responded, depositing the boy on an easy chair and pulling a footstool up to support his legs. "They were next to one of the cattle troughs."

"They were probably looking for water," Father Luís commented, carefully laying the young woman down on the couch and noting the parched and cracked lips that both were sporting. "Why didn't you just take them on in to the hospital?"

Manuel backed away from his finds, hat in hand and shaking his head. "I couldn't, Father. We... I mean I... don't have... If anybody asked..."

The priest had ignored the man's distress in favor of heading to the bathroom for a damp towel and a glass of water. "Did you at least try to give them some water?"

"No, Father. All I wanted to do was get them into town where they could get help." He twisted his hat in his hands. "Now, if you don't need me anymore, el patrón will be very angry with me if I don't check the other pastures..."

Father Luís simply nodded. "Diós te benediga," [God bless you] he pronounced almost absently while he lifted the young woman's head and tipped a tiny bit of water into her mouth. He didn't even turn to look when the farm worker cautiously took his leave, and only vaguely noted the sound of the door closing gently. "Come on, preciosa, drink..." His heart started beating again when the throat finally worked to take the water, and he quickly wetted the towel and placed it on her forehead and hurried to the boy. "You too, chico," he urged quietly, tipping another small amount of water into the second set of cracked and blistered lips and feeling relief when the second throat worked at taking in the life-giving liquid.

Straightening, he moved quickly to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed 911. This was more than he was prepared to handle. He gave his address, explained his emergency and then hung up and went back to alternating between the two invalids, giving each another tiny sip of water and finding their efforts to swallow a continual relief. As he worked, he prayed for the lives of these two desperately lost souls that had somehow found their way to his doorstep.

~~~~~~~~

Cordoba watched with narrowed eyes as Duncan came out of the glass doors of the bank and waited until the traffic had cleared on the wide boulevard enough that he could sprint his way back to the aging Cadillac. "Here," he barked in a sour tone, handing over a thick envelope. "Be sure to count it - I don't want you to come back at me later telling me you got shorted some C-notes."

The Hispanic opened the envelope and lifted one end of the green bundle so that he could lick his fingers and flip through them quickly. It was all there - all twenty thousand dollars that he'd been promised. "I knew you were good for it, man," he complained, sliding the thick envelope into an inside pocket of his jacket, which had remained across his lap the entire trip from East LA to the airport district. "I just didn't figure Flores as that important to the payday."

"Yeah, well, my payday doesn't come at the same time or from the same place that yours does," Duncan informed his cohort tightly. He turned on the ignition and put the car in gear. "Where you want me to drop you off?"

"Back at Sandra's - some of the business I got, I got with them."

"Listen," Duncan warned as he eased the Cadillac onto the 405 again, "Stay away from the warehouse district and bars for a while. Just in case somebody saw us go in with them broads yesterday."

"Nobody saw us," Cordoba shook his head confidently. "And even if they did, their heads are so screwed up with one batch of shit or another that they couldn't testify to it without getting laughed out of town."

The Anglo was shaking his head. "Don't count on it, cabrón. I'm telling you, lay low for a while - and don't flash the money around much. Don't call attention to yourself, whatever you do. Go see your parole officer before you get your ass reported."

"Shit," Cordoba spat out the open window. "I don't need you to tell me how to lay low."

"LISTEN TO ME," Duncan shouted. "If the Parker bitch is onto us, you'll have the whole fuckin' Centre staff watchin' for your sorry ass to pop up somewhere in town. And if Flores has ratted us out, she'll be SURE to have them swarming all over the place very soon." Duncan grabbed the man's arm painfully. "You play choirboy for a while, you got me?"

"When I'm done with my business," Cordoba told him in a stubborn tone. "THEN I'll lay low."

Duncan let go and took the next off-ramp, knowing it to be the one closest to Ricky and Sandra's place. He couldn't play Cordoba's keeper for long - and he intended to make tracks and get as far away from the quirky Hispanic as he could as soon as the man got out of the car. Cordoba was good for laughs and a good time with whores, but he was too damned cock-sure of himself to stay out of trouble for long. Duncan had no intention of being anywhere in the vicinity when that trouble came down.

~~~~~~~~

Mioda Soichi noted the license number of the Cadillac before it could get too far down the street, and then pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hai. The sighting is confirmed - Duncan and Cordoba. They're still together, moving nouth on Sepulveda toward the 405. 1990 Cadillac, metallic brown, license number 1TIQ942."

He snapped the cell phone shut. The word was going out, and the noose would soon begin to tighten. It was only a matter of time now.

~~~~~~~~

"No," Kevin was shaking his head vigorously, his eyes tightly closed. "I wouldn't take them to my uncle's ranch - if they figure out I'm involved, it would be the first place they'd look."

"Then where?" Sydney demanded urgently. Kevin had been much harder to guide into a full personality SIM than Jarod - partly because of his natural reluctance to step into the mind of a monster, and partly because of the poor training the younger Pretender had received in the process of SIMming itself. Kevin's successes had been the luck of the very talented - a level of success that could have been doubled or even trebled had Vernon only taken the proper time to train his protégé properly. Sydney's consideration for the psychiatrist/mentor that Raines had inflicted on Kevin had slipped even further.

"Somewhere close - I was raised here. I know lots of places to hide that nobody would expect, but I'd choose one I'm very familiar with. Somewhere just as isolated as my uncle's ranch..." Kevin shook his head and then suddenly opened his eyes, letting the monstrous personality that he'd been wearing like a tight suit slip away from his mind like water. "I can't see it, Sydney. I don't have enough information about Duncan's younger years to know what parts of the area he was most familiar with to postulate a possible place to search." The blue eyes filled with tears. "I can't help her... Deb..." His calling her name trailed away painfully.

"Kevin," Sydney soothed, once more frustrated that he was tied to this damned contraption with his bad leg and unable to move to comfort the young Pretender who had tried so hard. "It isn't your fault. Where would we go to get more information?" He waited, then repeated his question again in an attempt to break through Kevin's attitude of hopelessness.

The young Pretender sat up and swung the footrest of the easy chair back down. "Flores' records maybe?"

The psychiatrist pointed to the telephone handset on the coffee table, brought from the kitchen to save them both steps should a call with news come while they were working. "Call Tyler - get him to put all the information in Flores' file in your email. We need to take a break now anyway." He finally allowed himself to sink back against his pillows, surprised at himself for how tired he was. "We've been at this for hours now."

"But we didn't accomplish anything - we still don't know..."

"Kevin!" Sydney's voice grew firm and authoritative. "We've accomplished enough for the moment. We've learned we need more information." He pointed at the telephone again. "Call Tyler."

"Everything OK in here, Dr. Green?" Chet stepped into the den from the kitchen, where he'd been sitting at the table working the crossword puzzle in the morning paper. These two had been so quiet in the den until just moments ago...

"Fine," Sydney assured the sweeper while watching critically as Kevin finally rose from his chair and came over to pick up the phone and follow his instructions. "We're just both a bit on the worried side, and we've let it get to us a little more than we needed to for a moment there."

Frantic blue met solid chestnut while Kevin waited for Tyler to pick up his cell phone. Kevin's heart, which had been pounding hard in his chest at the idea of having actually failed to SIM properly, at having failed Sydney, began to slow a little. His mentor wasn't angry with him, wasn't berating him or belittling his abilities; there was no reason for him to become defensive or testy in response. For the first time since coming to stay with Sydney as a mentor, the full difference between the elder psychiatrist and Vernon Grey as mentors was readily and painfully clear.

"I'm sorry, Sydney," the young man said softly, still waiting for the call to connect.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," the psychiatrist soothed, his mind racing to evaluate the session itself before all the responses and events were lost. It had become obvious as the SIM had progressed that Kevin's mismanagement as a Pretender under Vernon Grey's aegis was having all sorts of repercussions. His mood at exiting a SIM was fragile and defensive, as if expecting abuse from his trainer. In fact, his entire personality when functioning AS a Pretender was fragile, ephemeral, VERY unstable. There was no sense of self-confidence in the process or in the talent that had justified his training. This lack of self-confidence had been only hinted at in previous mainstreaming situations and at the time assumed to be merely the consequence of ignorance. Obviously, the self-esteem and self-confidence issues ran much deeper than he'd expected.

Sydney knew that, as far as he was concerned, it would be better if Kevin never ran another SIM in his life. For one thing, he himself was too old to undertake the process of completely restructuring Kevin's conditioning as a Pretender from the ground up. The damage to the young man through mismanagement and probable abuse had been allowed to go on for too long to ever fully heal. There had to be another use to which that kind of powerful intellect could be put - Pretending, for Kevin, was to stretch his mind almost past the breaking point and, if continued, could do irreparable harm to the entire psyche.

No, the psychiatrist decided, his task in regards to this exceptional young man would be to mentor him back into finding a niche within mainstream society where his intellect would eventually find its own comfortable avenue through which to find expression. He then closed his eyes and gnashed his teeth as the first twinges that told him his pain medication was beginning to wear off completely echoed through the knee and radiated upward through his thigh. Having his mind partially clouded with a fog of pain medication wasn't helping matters either. Part of Kevin's difficulties with this SIM could easily have been his own mentoring skills having fallen into disuse, combined with slow reaction times from the drugs.

The CPM therapy machine continued to hum and extend his leg upwards into the air slowly, each inch of movement becoming a new adventure in pain. "Kevin," Sydney ground out finally as he saw rather than heard the phone get put back down again, "I could use some more pain meds fairly soon now."

Kevin blanched when his mentor actually ASKED for the medication, then looked at his watch and sprinted to the kitchen for a glass of water and the pill bottle. Sydney was right - the SIM had gone on for hours, at least one hour longer than the older man should have gone without taking another dose. "You should have had us take a break sooner," he chided the older man gently, putting one of the tablets into a now-shaking hand.

"Didn't want to break your concentration," Sydney told him tightly. "And if you'd discovered something, it would have been worth it." He tossed the pill into his mouth and immediately began drinking the water to wash it down.

"Please don't do it again," the young man begged him. "Remember the doctor told you that the pain is something you don't need to go through."

"I'll remember," the psychiatrist promised both his protégé and himself. He patted Kevin's shoulder as the young man crouched next to him. "Go take a walk in the back yard for me, will you? At least one of us deserves to take time to stretch his legs and breathe some fresh air."

"Are you going to be OK?"

He patted the Pretender's shoulder again. "I will be as soon as that pill kicks in, and your standing over me won't help that along. Go on now - go relax for a bit while Tyler ships you that material."

"He told me that Jarod had called last night for the same material," Kevin announced as he headed for the arcadia door. "Jarod hit the same dead end - just a bit earlier than we did."

"See?" Sydney closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling the medication start to work the moment it hit his system. "You didn't fail - if Jarod hit the same brick wall, it wasn't you."

Kevin didn't answer, but walked slowly across the back yard until he could rest a hand on one of the bottom rungs of the cobbled ladder into Davy's tree house. Somehow, even knowing Jarod had had the same trouble didn't help the feeling that he'd failed Deb somehow.

~~~~~~~~

"Thanks. I owe you HUGE!" Tyler smiled largely and disconnected his call. He leaned back in his chair and sighed in relief. The dirty job was done - he'd talked one of his former co-workers into taking a trip down into the morgue and firing up the old furnace to take care of very ripe and probably very messy human remains that had sat there unattended in the weeks since the explosion. Phil knew the probable state of affairs down there and had NOT been at all eager, but with a promise of a steak dinner Friday night and all the beer he could drink after work tonight, he'd finally agreed.

At least the engineers at the meeting earlier had confirmed that the natural gas piping to the underground complex hadn't suffered greatly -that any breaks in the line had been at ground level and were already repaired. This meant that the vast furnace could be fired up at any time safely. And if he knew Miss Parker's intent about such things at all, this was probably the LAST time the cremation furnace would see any action at all. Not that that bothered HIM any...

Completely at loose ends for the moment and growing curious by the moment, Tyler picked up the phone again and dialed another set of numbers.

"Sam Atlee here."

"Sam - it's Tyler. Just thought I'd check in and see how things were going over there on the other side of Creation."

Sam let out a tired burst of air. "Well, other than trying to make some sense of what we have left here, I'm standing in Flores' office tearing the place apart bit by bit."

"I thought the feds had already done that..."

"They did," the ex-sweeper admitted, "but knowing Flores for the loose cannon that he was, there has to be SOMETHING that we've missed."

"Like what?" Tyler leaned back in his chair and tried to imagine Sam and his surroundings.

"I'm not sure - I suppose I'll know it when I find it," Sam answered tiredly. "How are things going on that end?"

"As smoothly as they can, I suppose. Our Pretenders seem to be in sync so far - Jarod called last night and now Kevin called today for all the information we have on Flores, personal notes confiscated after the bombing from his hotel room - that kind of thing..." Tyler took a breath. "How'd things go delivering Fujimori?"

"Fine. Mayeda promises his best efforts. I'm hoping that by the end of the day..." Sam pushed the heavy leather chair out from behind the massive desk so that he could examine the seams.

"I hate just sitting around and waiting - I feel like I should be out DOING something..." Tyler grumbled as he rose and stomped over to the small casement window and stared out at the demolition work at once was the Tower.

"Just keep Miss Parker's day running smoothly," Sam suggested. "And make sure that she has adequate sweeper coverage, no matter where she goes - even within the Centre itself."

"You suspect something?" Tyler demanded in a worried tone.

"Not really, but I'm not taking chances anymore," the Security Chief told his colleague soberly. "I'm going back to tearing this place apart. You keep in touch, and I'll be talking to you when we get news from here."

~~~~~~~~

"This is Crandall."

"The information sheet we got from the Police Department this morning said that YOU were to be notified in the event of two people matching the description of a little boy and young woman were admitted to the hospital?" a woman's voice inquired in a professional tone.

"That's right... Wait a minute - who is this?" Crandall sat up straighter and waved madly for his assistant to pick up the phone and listen in, then pulled paper and pen close enough to use.

"My name is Doctor Shirley Dannings, and I'm the attending ER physician at Adelanto General. A few minutes ago, an ambulance delivered two patients to our ER that appear to match your description." The doctor turned slightly and watched her team working over the young woman on the bed nearest to her. Just beyond the cream-colored curtains she knew that another team was working just as feverishly over the young boy.

"What is their condition?" Crandall demanded as he wrote a quick “CALL ATLEE AT CENTRE OFFICE - HAVE HIM COME HERE NOW” and flashed it at another agent standing close.

"Dehydration, severe exposure - the young woman has a fairly deep cut on one foot and some indication of physical or sexual assault. Both are currently on IV saline to rehydrate and topical anesthetic creams to relieve the pain from the sunburns - the woman we've put on antibiotics for the infection in both the foot and the bite marks. We'll run a rape kit, just to be sure..." Doctor Dannings read from her notes. "Do you have any instructions for us?"

"No, no, not at the moment." Crandall was rising from his chair. "Are the patients conscious?"

"Not yet, but we're hoping the boy will revive soon. His condition is the most stable of the two."

"We're on our way, Doctor. And THANK YOU!" Crandall hung up the phone with force. "Did you get a hold of Atlee?"

"He's on his way," Javitz replied immediately, still in the process of hanging up the phone from making the call. "Is it the kids?"

Crandall was sliding into his sports coat. "God, I sure as Hell hope so. It's about time for the good guys to score at least one, dontcha think?" He pointed. "Get a car ready - we're outta here the moment Atlee arrives!"

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 14: The Pendulum Swings


Crandall had pushed the Taurus into the lane moving the fastest after skillfully navigating the freeway system to put them finally on I-15. Sam sat in the passenger seat hardly daring to breathe for fear that he'd dispel the aura of hope that had kept the mood of the car from being overwhelmingly morose. Two agents occupied the back seat, brought along just in case it WAS Davy and Deb in the small hospital - in which case they would remain behind and protect the two until both Duncan and Cordoba had been taken into custody.

Sam had debated calling back East when the excited call had come from the FBI office. Then, thinking about it, he decided that it would be better to call once with good news than to raise the hopes of those in Delaware only to call back and dash them should the patients NOT be the missing pair. Better that he shoulder the almost agonizing wishful hoping alone - better that it be he to handle the pain of not knowing yet - as part of the price for not having protected them well enough to begin with. Better that he be the one for whom the seconds crept by like hours.

He forced his mind to walk once more through the reported condition of the two in the hospital, and his stomach twisted hard. His memory of Deb had been of a smiling face with dancing blue eyes and a saucily tossed braid - to think that either Duncan or Cordoba had touched her, if it WAS her, was almost enough to double him over and make him lose his lunch. Crandall had told him that the doctor in charge was hopeful that the boy would revive soon, and that only barely helped him maintain his dignity.

The FBI agent found himself casting occasional glances to his side when he thought the Centre Security Chief wasn't watching. An almost defensive stoniness had descended over the man's face the moment that he'd heard the news - and Crandall remembered the earnest question that he'd asked the man when they had met that morning: "You're taking this awfully personally, aren't you?" The grim and jutting jaw and tightly pressed lips more than bore witness that this entire situation was agonizingly personal.

He didn't even want to think of how the man would feel if these were not the people he was searching so desperately for.

~~~~~~~~

Cordoba didn't even give Duncan a parting wave, but set off across the parking lot toward the stairs that led to the front door of his sister's apartment. He took the stairs two at a time, and then pounded on the door. "¡Sandra! ¡Abra la puerta!" [Open the door!]

There was the sound of stirring within, and then Rick had thrown the door open and pushed his face into his brother-in-law's. "She's still sleeping, cabrón," he growled angrily. "She didn't get much sleep last night with you coming and pounding at the door at a God-awful hour of the night... And now here you are again..."

"I know," Cordoba tried to push through Rick, only to get shoved back roughly. He tried again, only to have Rick's next shove become downright violent. He caught himself against the metal balustrade. "Hey!"

"Hey nothing," Rick's ebony eyes snapped. "I put up with you invading our home last night because Sandra asked it - but you aren't going anywhere near her today." He shoved at Cordoba's chest with angry fingers.

Cordoba straightened and pushed back. "Oh yeah? And you think you're man enough to keep me away from my sister?" he yelled.

Rick reached behind him and flipped his wrist, and suddenly had an ugly and lethal-looking switchblade pointed at his brother-in-law. "Look, I've asked nicely, but now I guess I have to be a little more clear. GET LOST! Get out of here and don't come back no more! We don't want you here."

"You little pulga," (flea) Cordoba narrowed his eyes at the audacity of his sister's husband - a man who had never had the cojones to join Los Cabrones when he'd had membership offered him as a favor to Cordoba. "You think you can handle that little mosquito-sticker?"

"Rickie? What's going on, querido?" Sandra's voice from deep within the apartment sounded sleepy.

"Stay inside, mi vida," Rick yelled behind him, partly turning to her but then spinning back just in time to not get slashed when Cordoba used the slight distraction to whip out a switchblade of his own. "You son of a bitch."

"I'M the son of a bitch?" Cordoba was shaking his head as he moved slowly in a circle, all the while watching for an opening. "I come here with an offering to help you get started with the muchachito, and what thanks do I get?"

"We don't want your money," Rick carefully kept himself between Cordoba and the open apartment door and never turned his head away from the more experienced street fighter. "Who did you kill to get it? How many kilos of marijuana did you sell?"

"I EARNED this money, fair and square, estúpido," Cordoba feinted to the right and gave a backhanded slash that came close to ripping Rick's arm open. "I wouldn't bring no blood or drug money to my little nephew..."

Movement behind him caught his eye - a police cruiser had pulled into the parking lot and the officers were climbing from the vehicle with their weapons drawn. "Drop your weapons!" the lead officer demanded of both men, his service pistol clearly set to drop whichever combatant made the first unauthorized move.

"This is just a friendly family argument," Cordoba raised his hands slowly in the air and turned toward the officer.

"Drop it!" the second office, still a few steps down the stairs, yelled with his revolver pointed directly at the jacketed Hispanic. "Drop it NOW!"

Cordoba turned and gave Rick a dirty look. "This could have been avoided if you'd just have let me talk to Sandra," he hissed and then dropped his blade on the walkway.

"Hands behind your head, turn and walk backward towards me," the officer ordered, then pointed his gun at Rick. "You - drop your weapon!"

Rick obeyed as Cordoba's wrists were one by one hauled behind his back and then affixed there with tight plastic ties. Soon both men were efficiently placed in custody and held several yards apart while the officers questioned each about the details of the confrontation.

At last Sandra emerged from the apartment, tying her bathrobe around her bulging middle and looking around sleepily. She took one look at her husband with his hands behind him, clearly in the custody of the police officer questioning him, and she flew at Cordoba, her hands bent into claws with which she tried to scratch his face and eyes. "You bastard! You bring trouble to our family every time you show up. What did Rick and I do to deserve this? We took you in last night, when you and your friend were too drunk to go anywhere else..."

The office caught Sandra back by the arms, more than aware that her size meant that she was literally ready to have the baby at any moment. "C'mon, lady - let us sort things out here..."

Meanwhile, the officer in charge of Cordoba was patting him down, searching for other weapons he might have on him, when he came across the thick envelope in the jacket pocket. "What do we have here?" He pulled the envelope out and opened it, then gave a low whistle. "Wanna explain this?"

Cordoba merely glared at him and decided that now would be a very good time to keep his mouth shut.

~~~~~~~~

"This is the last one, Doctor Russell," Rizzo said, sliding yet another paper across the desk in Jarod's direction.

"What's this one?" Jarod asked, picking up the paper and starting to read.

"It states that you are accepting physical custody of the child Ginger Simmons, and that you will take responsibility for her health and welfare while she is in your care. It spells out your rights in relation to the Department of Children's Services and CPS, tells you about the rights these departments have to inspect your home in order to make sure that you continue to provide quality housing and diet for her... Basically this one makes you an agent of those departments and agreeable to oversight by them."

Jarod browsed the document quickly and found it to be fairly straightforward and clear-cut. He bent and signed his name with a flourish. "You say that's it?"

Rizzo was gathering the many papers that Jarod had been affixing his signature to into a manila file folder. "That's it. Give me a moment to take care of these, and then we can go pick up your houseguest." He rose and left Jarod sitting in the chair in front of the desk.

The Pretender looked around him, surprised at the feeling of anticipation and insecurity that had come over him the moment that he knew that the last of the forms was signed. It was one thing to treat a sweet little girl, to dream of taking care of her the way she deserved. He was rapidly discovering that it was another entirely to consider that all the obstacles had just been cleared and he was now solely responsible for that child's welfare. He folded his hands in his lap and breathed deeply in order to calm himself as he stood literally on the brink of something he'd wanted for a very long time.

Rizzo popped his head around the corner of the office door. "OK, Dr. Russell. Why don't you come with me, and we'll collect your little girl." He waited for Jarod to stand and join him. "The secured facility is just this way."

The two men walked down a long corridor, then paused as Rizzo punched in a security code so that the thick, metal door could open. He let Jarod through and into almost a hospital setting - a corridor lined with endless closed wardroom doors and freshly waxed linoleum on the floors, where the hum of voices, not all of them happy ones, was non-stop. He counted down several doors and then checked the room number. "Here we are." He turned to face the Pretender before opening the door, feeling the need to explain the circumstances. "We put her in here by herself - her behavior was strange enough that we didn't want the other kids harming her." Rizzo punched in another code and then pulled the door open.

Jarod entered the room with a smile on his face, but that smile died a quick death. Ginger, her braid obviously untended and her clothing torn and stained, was sitting up and curled into a tiny knot up by her pillow, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her back was pushed as far into the corner of the tiny room as she could get, and her eyes gazed almost blankly at a spot on the bedspread. She paid no attention to anything going on in the room around her, and a tray with breakfast sat utterly untouched on the table next to the bed. Jarod turned half-angry eyes on Rizzo. "How long has she been like this?"

Rizzo could understand why the man was upset. "This is why things were expedited for you," he replied sympathetically. "She was withdrawn when she got here, but has slowly been getting worse, as you can see. Her psychiatrist was by to see her last night, and he expressed serious concerns about her ability to recover if she weren't removed from here as soon as possible."

Jarod wasn't listening anymore. He moved slowly over to the bed and sat down close to the little girl. "Ginger?" he called softly and then reached out to lay his fingers very softly on her closest arm. "Sweetheart? Can you hear me?" The child didn't flinch or even twitch, she merely continued staring at her bedspread as if nothing had happened. After a short time passed in silence and complete stillness, Jarod moved again to sit just a little closer and let his fingers move a tendril of dark and tangled hair out of her face. "Come on, Ginger, I know you know I'm here. Look at me, sweetie. I'm not going away. I'm right here next to you."

Rizzo couldn't say exactly what it was about the child that changed, but suddenly he had the feeling that she was listening and paying attention, even if not turning to look at the man who was going to be her new foster father. Then he blinked - a single tear had fallen to the little girl's cheek. It was the first sign of response he'd seen since she'd been brought in.

Jarod saw it too. Finally, he reached across the bed and surrounded the little body with his arms and pulled her up into his lap, leaning her against his chest and then holding her very tightly to him. "I have you now," he murmured to her softly. "You're safe, and I won't let anyone hurt you again."

The little girl finally breathed a very soft sigh and the eyes blinked closed, and then she turned ever so slightly into Jarod's chest as she relaxed into him. Jarod looked up into the social worker's astounded face. "Are her things all packed?"

"She never really got UN-packed," he replied, pointing to a small fabric suitcase that lay closed and zipped on the table next to the uneaten food. "Are you going to want some help..."

"Yeah... just give us a few minutes here." Jarod nodded then turned all his attention back to the girl on his lap. "You're going to come and stay with me for a while, sweetheart, where you'll be safe and I can take care of you all the time. Does that sound good to you?" The little head nodded almost undetectably against his chest and then pushed in against him just a little bit harder. He let her snuggle against him quietly for another long and quiet moment, feeling her relax just a little more. Then: "Time to go. Now, put your arms around my neck, so I can lift you," he directed gently at last, and finally the girl unfolded herself and turned to wind her arms around him and hold on tightly.

Jarod rose and settled her in his arms. "Sorry but... do you mind?" He nodded at the suitcase with lifted eyebrows.

Rizzo bent to pick up the luggage, turning his eyes from the way the little girl had settled her head on the tall man's shoulder with her nose buried in his neck. "We go back out the way we came," he directed, then led the way again. He'd seen the application land on his desk regarding this man's intent to adopt this little girl. From what he'd just witnessed, he was more than willing to throw whatever support he could behind the effort when the time came. Those two seemed to belong together.

~~~~~~~~

The processing officer handed Cordoba a piece of moistened paper towel to help wipe the ink from his fingertips and dragged him over to have his photo taken with his current case number. It was a process the Hispanic had been through many times in his life, and he knew better than to protest or struggle. The next stop was the pay phone for his one call - which would normally be placed to his sister, but now he only one other option...

"Bueno..." The voice answering at the Los Cabrones flophouse was one with which Cordoba was not familiar.

"Lemme talk to Miguel."

"He ain't here."

Cordoba waited, but no more information was forthcoming. "Well," he growled, "how about letting me talk to José."

"He ain't here either."

"Where the Hell is everybody?"

"Most all of 'em got nailed by the cops breaking into one of the warehouses on the Long Beach waterfront. They're in jail - Miguel, José, Nico, Pato, Cacho..."

Cordoba blanched. That was almost the entire upper echelon of his gang, now housed apparently where HE had now landed.

"How'd that happen?" he demanded.

"Miguel guesses that it was this dude Flores what set him up good," the voice confided, then hesitated. "Say! Who is this?"

"This is Cordoba, ése," the Hispanic retorted. "I just get outta the joint, and this is what I find?"

"Hey, man, don't jump my case - it ain't MY fault the cholos (idiots) got themselves busted!" the voice snapped back.

"Damn! Who I gonna get to bail me outta here?" Cordoba grumbled.

"Man, maybe you better call you a lawyer. It's just Julio and me around here right now."

"Shit!"

"I hear that..." the voice commiserated, then disconnected abruptly.

"That's it," the officer in charge of the telephone motioned to Cordoba to move along and let the next prisoner have his turn.

"Shit!" Cordoba was livid. This Flores must be one crafty diablo to order Duncan to bring him in on this the way he had on the one hand and sell out Los Cabrones on the other. Then Cordoba's eyes narrowed. That's what Duncan was doing, calling Flores all the time. The cabrón must have been getting instructions from the bastard all along. Flores had intended on stiffing him - and God knows how long Duncan would have played along. Well, TWO could play at THAT game. He knew things - things for which folks back East might be willing to deal to know.

"I wanna talk to someone..." he called over his shoulder at the officer behind him.

"You will, trust me," came the retort. "Just hang in there..."

~~~~~~~~

Sam, Crandall and the two other agents trouping through the corridor of the hospital en route to the Emergency Room sounded like the cadence of a military unit. Their strides were long and deliberate down the echoing corridor and then through the double doors. "You gentlemen," a nurse came charging forward with her hands held up defensively, "will have to..."

"We need to speak to the physician on duty," Crandall interrupted, flashing her his badge. "FBI. I'm Special Agent Crandall. I received a call in regards to two patients brought in here earlier - a young woman and a boy?"

"Agent Crandall? I'm Doctor Dannings." A tiny woman in a white coat over surgical blues complete with stethoscope wrapped around her neck pushed through a set of curtains and walked briskly to meet the group.

"Doctor." Crandall shook hands with the diminutive doctor. "This is Sam Atlee - he knows the individuals we're looking for. We need to have him see if he can identify..."

Doctor Dannings extended her hand toward the first curtain-ringed area. "Right this way, Mr. Atlee. I'd sure like to put something at the top of these charts other than John and Jane Doe..."

Sam moved up next to the boy's head and looked down at Davy, apparently asleep on the examination bed, and felt his stomach twist. Davy's face was beet red with a vicious sunburn, and he could see where the medical staff had slathered his skin with soothing salve. Davy's lips were cracked to the point that they had probably bled at some point, his hair dusty and tangled. He glanced up at Agent Crandall and nodded sadly. "This is Davy Parker... David Thomas Parker," he amended for the blonde Doctor taking notes at the top of the medical chart. "How... how is he?"

"He's stable," she responded, checking the monitor that measured blood pressure and heartbeat. "I don't know how much longer he would have lasted if he'd stayed out wherever it was he's been - but his vitals are picking up nicely as he rehydrates on the saline solution. Granted that he doesn't have any other serious medical issue, I'm hoping that he should regain consciousness sometime this evening."

"What about..."

"She's over here," the Doctor anticipated the huge man's question and moved the curtain aside so that he could move into the next cubical and see Deb lying motionless on the bed. Her face was as red as Davy's, her lips just as cracked.

"Is that..." Crandall began.

"Deborah Ann Broots," Sam nodded. He noted that Deb had two IVs. "How is she?"

"She's not so good. She's got the sunburn and probable heat prostration that the boy - Davy - has, and she has a deep laceration on her foot that probably bled quite a bit. She had it wrapped with a strip of cloth from somewhere, but it was quite dirty, which may be the cause of an infection that right now is raising Hell with her system. The blood loss from the laceration didn't help any as the dehydration began to play havoc with her BP either."

"Christ!" Sam blanched.

"She also had suffered bite marks about the breast area that indicated that she suffered some physical abuse, possibly sexual. We did a rape kit and it came up negative... thank God... but no penetration doesn't mean that she wasn't assaulted." Dannings could see that the news of the young woman's condition was truly upsetting to the huge man. "We have her on antibiotics for the infection and we're rehydrating her as quickly as we can. But her condition is far more serious than that of young Mr. Parker. When she arrived, she had an extremely low blood pressure and some cyanosis of the fingers and toes. Once we have her stabilized a little more, she'll be sent up to ICU for close monitoring until she rallies."

"Damn," Sam whispered almost inaudibly as he stepped close enough that he could brush a very gentle hand across the top of her head, barely touching her hair. "Deb - I'm so sorry..."

Crandall cleared his throat. "Doctor, I'm leaving my two agents here to keep an eye on these two while they're patients, and I'd like to make sure that one of my men is with each of these people no matter where they're taken."

"That's a little out of the ordinary, but..." Dannings shrugged. "Just as long as your men stay out of the way of the medical personnel, we should have no problems."

A beeper went off suddenly in the room, and Sam, the doctor and the FBI agent quickly checked their belts. "Mine. Is there a phone I can use?" Crandall demanded suddenly.

"The pay phone is in the corridor just outside the double doors," a nurse directed him with a pointing finger.

"What can you tell me about them?" the doctor moved closer to Sam. "Do you have any idea how they came to be in such condition?"

"They were kidnapped." Sam brushed his hand across Deb's head again. "We suspect that they were taken out into the desert and just dumped there somewhere."

"Jeez!" That shocked even the weary doctor. "Where were they kidnapped from?"

"Delaware." Sam's voice was defeated, and sounded as if he was almost on the verge of tears.

"Sam!" Crandall burst through the double doors again. "We've caught ourselves another lucky break. Seems a couple of officers went to a housing complex in East LA to answer a domestic dispute call, and who do you suppose they ended up arresting?" Sam looked up at the man blankly. "Cordoba."

The blank look slowly faded to an expression of pure fury.

"I take it you'd like to be in on the interrogation?" Crandall asked without really needing to hear the answer.

"You're damned right I do," Sam demanded. He turned to the doctor. "Do everything you can for them, OK? Money is not an object, trust me."

"We'll take good care of them for you," Dannings promised. "Give me your number, and I'll call the moment we have some good news for you."

While Sam was writing down his cell number, Crandall gave a few quick gestures of the pointing finger that indicated his fellow agents should stay and then was on his way once more out the doors with Sam right behind him.

"Back to LA, huh?" Sam growled dangerously.

"Yup. To the Central Jail."

Sam pulled out his cell phone as his long legs strode purposefully toward the exit and the car, keeping pace with Agent Crandall easily. He needed to let them know - to let Miss Parker know - that the two had been found. But he dreaded giving the news that while they'd been found, they had not been found in good condition.

"Miss Parker's office," Mei Chiang's voice announced efficiently.

"It's me, Mei. Lemme talk to her."

"She's in a meeting, Sam..."

"I need to talk to her NOW," he insisted vehemently. "It's important."

The Chinese secretary heard that special tone of voice, and then remembered WHY Sam was in California rather than in Delaware. "Oh! I'll connect you right away!" she breathed and clicked off the line and activated the intercom. "I know you asked not to be disturbed, Miss Parker, but it's Sam on two..." she announced. "He said it's important."

Miss Parker glanced over at Jake Swanson, the supervisor from Baltimore. "Would you mind stepping out for a few minutes? I need to take this call privately."

"Not a problem," the elderly gentleman smiled congenially at her. "Would you rather I just rescheduled?"

She nodded. "That probably would be best. I have no idea how long this is going to take."

"I hope it's GOOD news," the kindly man told her as he rose. The news of the kidnapping had spread through the Centre grapevine like wildfire, as had the updates on the more visible action taken in regards to it. Everybody who was anybody knew where Miss Parker's Security Chief had gone the previous day, and what he was there to do.

"Thank you," she replied with surprised honesty, and then waited until he had closed the door behind him to punch the blinking light on her telephone. "Talk to me, Sam."

"We found them - and they're alive," Sam told her succinctly as he climbed into the car and buckled his seatbelt again.

"Oh my God!" Miss Parker sat back in her chair and turned so that she could face out the window behind her with eyes that stared without seeing as they slowly filled with tears of relief. "They're OK?"

Sam's pause was enough to make the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. "They're alive, Miss Parker - but they aren't..." He took a deep breath to calm his voice to a more stable delivery. "They're both still unconscious, and suffering from dehydration and exposure. Deb..."

"Did they touch her?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"Assaulted, probably - raped, no." Sam heard the tiny whimper on the other end, and it cut him to the quick. "They're waiting for her to get a little more stable, then they're moving her to the ICU for monitoring."

"Where?" Miss Parker could hardly hold the handset to her ear because she was trembling so badly.

"They surfaced in a hospital ER in Adelanto - not too far from Victorville after all."

"You're staying with them, of course..."

"I'm on my way back in to LA," he informed her. "LAPD picked up Cordoba for unrelated charges."

"I want that bastard," she hissed, her fury spewing forth suddenly. "I want him..."

"We have him," Sam assured her. "We're getting there."

"Who's staying with..."

"The FBI has left an agent with each kid," he reassured her. "Nobody will get at them in the hospital - I promise."

"Are you going to call Jarod?"

"He's next on my list while we drive back in."

"What about Duncan?"

Sam shook his head as if she could see him. "We haven't had any word on him yet. But the day's not over yet..."

~~~~~~~~

Duncan sat at the stoplight and ran his hand through his short hair in frustration. NOW what was he supposed to do? Flores had deliberately left the follow-through of the scheme to push Miss Parker out of her position for after the kidnapping had taken place. He had entrusted his second with only the commission of the deed that would destabilize the Centre and allow Flores to assume control, not the particulars on how to cement that control into permanency. Without that second step being taken in a timely fashion, even HE knew that the chances of this scheme actually working were very slim.

And now Flores was nowhere to be found - the cell phone company was reporting the phone either turned off or out of the service area. He pounded his hand into the steering wheel in impotent rage. This had seemed so simple at the outset - swipe a kid and an old man, take 'em out into the middle of nowhere where they stood little to no chance of surviving, then head back to town and wait for things to start coming back to normal.

It wasn't simple any longer. The call that had put the kidnapping into motion had been way too early, the execution of the snatch had been flawed, and virtually nothing had gone right since then except that the two they DID snatch were taken out into the middle of nowhere as planned. Paying off Cordoba had emptied the discretionary fund Flores had set up in the Centre's name to handle such jobs, leaving very little for Duncan to fall back on until Flores got back to LA. Granted that paying Cordoba off had gotten him out of the man's company - and, considering the circumstances, that would give him a chance to think things through clearly.

The light changed, and Duncan pushed on the gas, his mind anywhere but on his driving. He HAD to consider the unthinkable now. If the Centre had Flores, and had put two and two together that he was involved in the snatch, then he couldn't go home. They'd be watching the place. He couldn't go to the Centre LA office either. No doubt there was a new supervisor in place that was loyal to the Parker bitch who would have no qualms about having a sweeper take him down, sit on him, hog-tie him, and deliver him back to Delaware with a bow around his Wilson. He had few real friends here in this part of town - and so many of the old gang were either dead or serving prison time now.

Wait a minute! Slowly he began to smile. There was always Las Vegas - Stu Berringer would know what to do. Flores had mentioned that Berringer had been supportive of the idea of dislodging the Parker woman from Chairmanship. He glanced down at the gas gauge and decided to use some of his rapidly dwindling cash to fill the tank and head north to Nevada.

He guided the heavy car into the filling bay of the AM/PM station closest to the 405 freeway and turned off the engine. With a deep breath of a man who finally had a plan and intended to put it in motion, he pulled the key from the ignition and climbed from behind the wheel. He walked toward the QuickPay box closest to him and pulled his wallet from a back pocket to extract a twenty and a ten sufficient to fill the huge gas tank.

Duncan had just watched the pay machine's suction slot gobble up the twenty when something or someone shoved him face-first into the machine - hard. His arms were commandeered then dragged and tied behind him, a piece of tape slapped across his mouth and a hood thrown over his head. Blinded and subdued before he had a chance to react, he felt himself get dragged a short distance by his forearms, then pushed until he fell backwards into what must have been the open trunk of a car. The lid slammed shut with a very final sound.

Before anyone at the station could react, the car had been thrown violently into gear and was vanishing down the boulevard, heading away from the freeway and leaving the brown Cadillac sitting abandoned at the gas pumps.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod pulled his car into the carport of his home and looked over at Ginger seated next to him. Under normal circumstances, he knew that it was safer if younger children rode in the back seat. But Ginger had clung so tightly to him when he'd tried to put her down in the back seat of his rental that he'd finally relented and, with an apologetic glance at the CPS representative carrying her suitcase, opened the front passenger door as well. Then it had taken only a little coercion to get the little girl to release her stranglehold around his neck and allow herself to be settled into the seat. He'd taken the suitcase and placed it on the seat behind her and then closed both doors.

And now he had her home. Serious and huge dark eyes watched while he reached over and unbuckled the seat belts for both himself and her, then climbed from behind the wheel. He came around the front of the car and opened the door for her to climb out and then opened the back door to retrieve the suitcase. He looked back, surprised to see that Ginger hadn't yet moved an inch from the seat. "Come on," he urged and held a hand out to her. Slowly she put her tiny hand in his big one and let him draw her out.

There were two ways to enter Jarod's home, and he decided that her first impression of her new home should be as she came through the front door. He led her around the edge of the carport and through the gate into the foliage-lined walk that opened into the small inner yard that had the house on three sides of a small, grassed area. He paused as he let her take in the peace of the lawn - the tall trees and bushes that hid the lawn from the street and protected it from stiff ocean breezes - and then led her to the front door. Putting the suitcase on the ground for a moment, Jarod punched in the security code and then turned the key in the lock, then pushed the front door wide open and let Ginger into her new home.

Her hand in his tightened as she stepped into the roomy foyer and looked through the living room at the wall of glass that overlooked the cliffs and the ocean beyond. Jarod let her cling, knowing that at the moment he was her only anchor in a wildly tossing world. He could remember wanting very much to have had a hand to cling to when he was only a little younger than she and had been turned loose, scared and traumatized, into a glassed-in room to await what turned out to be Sydney's first appearance. He could even remember the few times during those first few days at the Centre when Sydney HAD allowed him to cling a little during private moments when Sydney was taking him to or from his space. There had even been one time in Sydney's office when he'd been allowed to seek refuge in Sydney's lap very early on.

Those fleeting and rare times, along with the humane but distant relationship Sydney had allowed him after that, had been the only comfort he'd had to sustain him for decades. Yet the memory of how Sydney's huge hands had surrounded and sheltered his, of how those strong arms around him had given him a sense of safety amid loss and grief, had remained strong and comforting still. His entire relationship now with his former mentor had as its foundation that caring that had been expressed during those first, horrific days. Because of those memories and the caring it had implied despite everything, he had come back to Delaware looking for the man who raised him when his real father had died.

"Would you like to see your room?" he bent and asked gently. Ginger looked up into eyes as dark as hers and nodded very slightly. "Come with me, then," he said and pulled on her hand to follow him down a short hall to the right of the front door. He pushed the first doorway to the right open and walked into the larger guestroom. "This is your room." As if to punctuate the statement, he put the suitcase on the bed.

The little girl's dark eyes swept around the room, taking in the vanity and the dresser against the wall opposite the bed, which stretched below a long and high window that let the light in from outside. "You and I can go out sometime and get some things that would make this into more of a little girl's room," he told her gently, loosening his hold on her hand so that she could step away and explore if she wanted to. "I did get you something..." he remembered and moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer and drew out an incredibly soft teddy bear. "You'll have to name him, though," he told her and held out the toy.

Ginger's gaze slipped back and forth from his face to the bear several times before she finally put out a hand and touched the bear hesitantly. "Yes, he's really for you," Jarod reassured her without moving the toy. Finally Ginger's hand wrapped around one of the toy's arms and pulled it to her so she could rub her nose lightly against the soft velour at the top of the toy's head. At last she released her tight hold on his hand so she could cuddle her new toy tightly against her.

The telephone in the livingroom began to ring, and with a glance at the girl to make sure that she was OK, Jarod moved past her and out the bedroom door for the cordless handset in the base in the livingroom. "Hello?"

"Jarod? Sam." Sam's voice echoed in his ear.

"Sam!" Dark eyebrows climbed his forehead. "What's up?"

"We found them," Sam told him bluntly, without preamble.

Jarod reached out a hand for the edge of the couch and settled on the arm, feeling the strength drain from his legs to hold him upright. "Where?"

"Hospital ER not far from Victorville. In a little berg named Adelanto."

"Are they..."

"They're alive." Sam really didn't look forward to having to tell another parent that his child had been hurt...

"How bad?" Jarod squeezed his eyes closed as his mind sped ahead of Sam. Victorville was on the edge of the Mojave Desert - and they were in an ER. It didn't take a genius to connect THOSE dots...

"Exposure, dehydration..."

"Anything else?" The Pretender felt a soft touch on his thigh and saw that Ginger had emerged from her room and found him again.

"Probable sexual assault on Deb - but no signs of rape."

Jarod sighed. That wasn't good. "What about Davy?"

"What?!" That caught Sam utterly by surprise.

Jarod allowed his backside to slip from the arm of the couch to the couch itself and held out an inviting arm to Ginger, who clambered up into his lap still holding her new teddy bear tightly. It took discipline and iron control to keep his voice neutral and unaffected by the conversation he was having so as not to alarm or frighten her. "Duncan's psych evaluation said that he was a potential sexual predator that liked young boys as well as women..."

"Oh shit, Jarod! The ER staff didn't notice anything - at least, they didn't mention..."

"Are they conscious?"

"Not yet. And guess what? I'm on my way to sit in on the interrogation of Cordoba. He got picked up by the LAPD for other stuff and is sitting in the pokey. So we've almost got the lot." Sam let a hint of satisfaction slide into his voice.

"Have you talked to Mi... Miss Parker yet?"

"Yeah. Just before I called you."

Jarod slipped his arm around Ginger and dropped a silent kiss onto the top of that unkempt head - wishing for a brief and fervent moment that he could be holding and loving his son too. "Do you think I should take off for..."

"I'd wait for a while, if I were you," Sam shook his head. "Deb's in considerably worse shape than Davy, and we've got the FBI watching both of them. You confer with Miss Parker and get back to me on when you'll be coming down so I can see to it you have everything you need. In the meanwhile, I'll let you know what we get out of Cordoba."

"Fine. Let me know when you have news."

"Will do." Sam paused, wondering just how to end the call gracefully. "Take care of yourself, Jarod."

"You too, Sam, and thanks!" Jarod disconnected the call, put the handset down on the coffee table ahead of him and wrapped his arms tightly around the little girl on his lap. "Hey there," he said softly, talking to one child and thinking of two others.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker stared at the briefcase on her desk for a long moment before closing it and setting it aside again at her feet. What did she think she was doing - pondering walking away from work early? She had another appointment in... she checked her watch... ten minutes, and these were appointments that really needed to be kept. These were the men who would form the backbone of the New Centre she wanted to create, and whose loyalty would be cemented by the issuance of private stock in the firm and then with a stockholder's vote on the managerial direction of the Centre as time when on.

She and Jarod had spent long hours crafting the most effective and financially sound way to turn the Centre around, keeping it hugely profitable while turning away from the “black ops” projects and underworld dealings that had been its bread and butter for decades. Essential to that redirection was giving those with authority a substantial financial stake in the organization itself. She was the only one on-site in Delaware right now who understood the entire reorganization process from beginning to end - she couldn't just walk off. So much of what she was doing right now was time-sensitive negotiation with people who needed to return to their normal place of business as soon as possible.

What was more, she knew that even finishing her day at the Centre wouldn't be the end of her day. Now that she had news that Deb had been found alive, she knew she had to tell Broots the truth of what was going on. He was her friend - a brother to her for seven years now - he didn't deserve to be lied to for any longer than necessary. Just thinking about how she was going to break the news to him made her appreciate the tact that Sam had used when he'd called her.

But she had ten minutes - and in those ten minutes, there were two phone calls she HAD to make. Two others were recuperating at home from their injuries and worrying about those who had been taken, and another one had been quietly working in his office all day - all of whom deserved to be at least given some hope. Miss Parker picked up her phone and dialed.

"Hello?" Kevin answered after a few rings.

"Hi, it's me. Let me talk to Sydney."

"He's sleeping..."

She nodded. "I figured he would be, but it's important. Please."

She could hear that Kevin would have preferred that she give the news to him first, but had moved to rouse Sydney at her request after all. She heard Sydney's sleepy voice, then Kevin saying something softly, then the rustle as possession of the receiver was passed from person to person. "Parker, what is it?" Sydney rumbled, obviously working to awaken more fully.

"Sam just called. They found them - and they're alive."

"Oh, thank God!" Sydney breathed, then looked up into Kevin's anxious eyes and nodded so that the young Pretender could share the relief. "Where are they?"

"In a hospital ER not too far from where we were looking for them. Exposure, dehydration..."

"What about..." Sydney didn't want to say the words, but couldn't help thinking it.

"Deb was assaulted, but not raped," she answered, knowing what he wanted.

He sighed deeply as one of his wishes evaporated. "That's bad enough," he told her bleakly.

"I know, Syd." She glanced at her watch again. "Look, can you break the news to Kevin - and tell him that he doesn't need to SIM anymore now that we know where they are? I have to call Tyler, and then I have another meeting, or I'd tell him myself..."

"I'll take care of it. How are YOU?" he asked pointedly.

She sighed. "Functioning the best I can right now - and wishing I could just drop everything and go to California."

"Call Jarod. He's there - let him take point on this. Davy's his son too."

"I'll call him later - AFTER I talk to Broots."

Sydney could hear the bleak determination in her voice. From the sound of things, she would be a basket case by the time she got home again - he just KNEW it. "Drive carefully, Parker," he cautioned. "I want YOU home safely tonight too."

"I will." She struggled to get a handle on the Lyle mask again which had slipped away in the moments she'd spoken to Sam. "Talk to you later, Syd." She disconnected and took a deep breath to slide the mask into position before dialing an internal extension this time. "Tyler, I can't talk long, but I wanted to tell you - there's been news..."

~~~~~~~~

Sam's cell phone began chirping at him as Crandall began navigating the interchange between I-15 and the most direct route to LAPD's Central Booking. He checked the display and frowned - riding in a car with the FBI SAC for Los Angeles was not the best time to be receiving calls from this person. Still...

"Sam Atlee."

"Atlee-san, we have news for you." Mayeda's voice was cheerful.

"Oh?"

"We found one of the men you are looking for - he's being brought to our offices as we speak. A Mr. Duncan?" Mayeda stroked his moustache proudly.

Sam glanced over at the driver of the car, suddenly VERY grateful that Crandall couldn't hear what was going on. There was no way he was going to let law enforcement get their hands on the apparent leader of the kidnap party before Miss Parker could weigh in. "That's good news. Listen, I'm in the car on my way into LA with Special Agent Crandall to interrogate Cordoba at the moment..." He kept his eyes on the road straight ahead. If Crandall thought he was conferring with one of his Centre contacts or even his boss, the mention of Cordoba wouldn't raise an eyebrow.

"So - law enforcement has Cordoba, eh?" Mayeda could read between the lines. "And you're not in a position where you can speak freely.

"That's right."

"So... What would you like us to do with Mr. Duncan while we wait for you? Would you like us to... loosen him up a little for you?"

Sam had to work hard to keep a sadistic and vengeful grin from spreading across his face. "That might not be a bad idea. I'm not exactly sure how long it will be before I can get over there."

"Very well, Atlee-san. Please to give us a call when you're on your way so we can... clean up... Mr. Duncan for the more formal interrogation?"

"That I can do," Sam assured his underworld associate firmly. "Thanks for calling." He disconnected and tucked the cell phone away in the pocket of his sports jacket again.

"More news?" Crandall asked casually without taking his eyes off the road.

"Things are coming together on a number of fronts," Sam said cryptically. Let Crandall make of that what he would. He looked around him in apparent interest to divert attention from the side of his phone call that the agent had heard. "How far is it now?"

"About twenty minutes yet..."

~~~~~~~~

Rarely had Thomas Gillespie looked forward to an interview with a suspect as much as he did with his upcoming interview with Gilbert Flores. Two phone calls within an hour of each other had given his previously flagging mood a serious shot in the arm. The first had announced that the kidnap victims had been found alive in a hospital and were receiving treatment; the second that an accomplice had been taken into custody in Los Angeles for other offenses and was awaiting interrogation. With this in mind, he settled down at the interview table, his file folder sitting closed and prepared ahead of him, his partner ranging behind him prepared to note responses and the dynamics of the encounter.

Flores was wearing the orange-pink jumpsuit of a prisoner and had both his hands and his feet shackled with the stainless steel chain used in transporting prisoners. The attending officer brought him into the interrogation room and didn't let go of him until he'd planted his backside into the chair opposite Gillespie. The door to the room clicked shut - locking the Hispanic in with Gillespie and Andrews, a second FBI agent. Gillespie was sitting with a Cheshire smile below sparkling blue eyes while Andrews lolled in apparent disinterest against the back wall of the room.

"It's all falling apart for you now, you know," Gillespie said slowly and with obvious satisfaction, watching the man's response carefully.

Flores was good - the agent had to give him that - he never batted an eye. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped back.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Gillespie flipped open the file folder he'd brought to the room with him. "And these aren't transcripts of telephone conversations that you had with Andrew Duncan telling him to “do it.” Nor are they transcripts of conversations with Stewart Berringer where you discuss your desire to move against Miss Parker. Nor are they the transcript of a meeting you had with a member of the Torzulo Crime Family..." Gillespie moved each document from one side of the folder to the other as he mentioned them.

"I know my rights," Flores shook his head confidently. "Unless all of those were obtained with a search warrant, you can't use them."

"Ah, but you see, I was not the one who obtained them," Gillespie smiled coldly. "These are gifts to the FBI, courtesy of a certain Miss Parker who happens to be the Chairman at a place called The Centre. Evidently she was investigating some questionable dealings involving some of her higher-ranking employees, and this is what she and her team came up with. She felt that since so much of what she was hearing was of interest to us that she turned her material and evidence over to us. And before you complain that we still can't use these," he inserted before Flores could more than get his mouth open, "you should review the legal ramifications of this paper that you signed when you started working for the Centre. Incidentally, this is only a copy..."

Flores looked down at the paper and groaned. Gillespie's grin only got wider. "You can see that by signing this form, you gave the Centre permission to keep you and your activities under surveillance while on Centre-owned properties or while using Centre-owned communications devices. The Centre OWNS the Regency Hotel in Dover, as well as Pakor Frozen Foods, incidentally - in case you weren't aware - as well as the contract on the cell phone you were using at the time you called Mr. Duncan..."

The FBI agent retrieved the copy of the permission form and filed it with the transcripts then began flipping through some of the other documents in the folder. "As the result of suspicion raised by the transcripts, we got a court order to search the LA offices of the Centre for further evidence of racketeering and other crimes. As you can see by the thickness of this folder, our initial findings have been very fruitful. You've been a very busy man, Mr. Flores - we have evidence of bribery, collusion, blackmail, assault... and that's just the stuff we have against you personally to date. There's plenty of other evidence that you ordered others to engage in such activities as well." Gillespie's smile died. "You might as well get used to wearing prison garb, because you're going to be a tenant of one correctional facility or another for much of the rest of your life."

Flores swallowed hard and struggled not to let his emotions play across his face. The fed was right, things WERE unraveling. Still, the fed hadn't mentioned anything about his latest venture. Miss Parker didn't dare say anything, if she ever hoped...

"Oh, and by the way, I got a couple of telephone calls just a little while ago. Davy Parker and Debbie Broots - the two you ordered kidnapped with your “do it” call - have been found alive. Also, a Jesús Cordoba, close associate of Andrew Duncan, has been taken into custody by LAPD - and just HAPPENS to be calling for an interview. He keeps saying something about how a man by the name of “Flores” double-crossed him and his gang in the acquisition of some drugs at Long Beach harbor in exchange for protection services. He says he has some other information that we would be VERY interested in..."

And with that, Flores' dreams of managing to squeak through this relatively unscathed and still in a position of some power fell like stones and shattered against the cold reality of shackles and prison walls.

~~~~~~~~

Miss Parker walked slowly down the hospital corridor from the elevator doors toward the room that Broots was in. She'd been trying to plan just how she was going to explain to him what had happened to both their children - and her mind had not been cooperating at all. Never, in all the years she'd known Broots, had she been downright nervous facing him. Then again, never, in all the years she'd known him, had she ever had to deliver bad news about his beloved daughter.

She paused outside his door and took a deep breath to steel herself against what was bound to come next and then pushed through. "Hi there," she greeted him as cheerfully as she could.

"Miss Parker! This IS a surprise!" He smiled as she bent over him and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I keep thinking that Debbie should be coming in..."

"How are you doing?" she asked, skittering away from that topic as yet.

He pointed to his midriff where the metallic framework literally holding his pelvis together had finally been removed. "They took me out of my cage," he deadpanned, then cracked a smile. "They put on a regular cast instead - and believe me, I'm much happier. Even if it does itch..." he grumbled good-naturedly.

"That's good news," Miss Parker smiled sadly at him. It WAS good news to hear that her friend was progressing along nicely.

Broots saw the pall of sadness flit past and dampen the smile. "Miss Parker? What's wrong?"

She took her time pulling the chair from the foot of the bed up to where she was close to his shoulders. "Broots," she began nervously, "I... have something to tell you..."

"God!" he breathed, all the blood rushing from his face. There was only one thing that would cause her to say those particular words. "What's happened to Debbie?"

If he had been frightened before, the way her face drained of all color at the mention of his daughter's name again made his stomach twist. "There was an attempt by one of the supervisors - the man in charge of the Centre's LA operations - to blackmail me into stepping down from the Chairmanship. The plan called for them kidnapping Davy and Sydney..."

"What?" Broots could hardly believe his ears. "WHY?"

"Because I'm going to take the Centre legit," she explained bluntly. "Because I was telling them that all our dealings with the Yakuza, the mob, “black ops” deals with elements of the government - all of those things were going to stop. Flores and a few others weren't happy with that."

"And they thought that by taking..."

"Yeah." Miss Parker shook her head. "But things didn't exactly go down as planned. They didn't know Kevin was staying with Sydney - and the two of them put up a fight. But in the chaos, Debbie ran from the house... and..."

Broots' hazel eyes were now blazing. "You mean to tell me that instead of grabbing Syd, they grabbed DEB? They have my daughter?"

"Calm down!" she patted his arm gently.

He jerked his arm away from her. "Calm down nothing! You're telling me my daughter is missing..."

"Broots! They found them. They're alive, and they're not with the kidnappers anymore." At least that part of the news was good - and hopefully it would give Broots a reason to settle down a bit.

And it worked. Broots paused in his tirade, suddenly realizing something that he'd not fully comprehended. "Did they grab Davy too, like they'd planned?"

"Yes." Miss Parker's gaze dropped to her hands in her lap.

"How long ago?"

"It's been almost two days now." Her voice was soft, almost breaking.

"They found them," he repeated, and she nodded. "Where?"

"In California - in a hospital emergency room. Sam's there - and he called to say that he'd seen them."

"California!"

"They were evidently taken out on the edges of the Mojave Desert and just dumped. They..." She paused and glanced up at him to find him listening to her very closely, worry written all over his face. "They both are still unconscious - suffering from dehydration and exposure."

She still wasn't finished, Broots decided, because she wasn't looking him directly in the eye yet. "What else?" he asked, dreading what else could be coming at him.

"Deb was... probably sexually assaulted..." He whimpered and put a hand over his eyes. "...but not raped, Broots. That's good news, considering she was with some really dangerous predators."

"And I have to lie here," he snarled, balling up a fist and knocking against the cast that covered most of his lower body in utter frustration.

"And if I want to save the Centre from men just like this guy, I'm stuck here too," Miss Parker told him, her voice as tired and frustrated as his. "But Jarod's in California, and so is Sam. They'll take care of them..."

"Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" Broots asked her, his brows furrowed in accusation.

"Oh God - I had come to pick Sydney up after knee surgery yesterday, and I wasn't expecting you to be waking up. I didn't know how..." She looked at him directly now, pleading in her eyes.

"You didn't know how to tell me," Broots realized.

She nodded. "I'm sorry I lied. I just couldn't face it yet..."

Broots stared at his friend for a long moment. She'd lost her child too - and around the edges of the control she was showing at the moment were signs of her own frantic panic and grief. She'd brought him the truth - along with news that his daughter had been found alive - as soon as she could, and told the tale herself rather than let another carry that load.

"When are you going?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, not surprised that he'd guessed. "As soon as things here are at a place that I can pause them for a bit," she said simply. "And a lot will depend on how soon they regain consciousness. Deb's condition is a bit more serious than Davy's."

"Look, I may be laid up in here and on some pretty strong pain medication, but I don't want to be kept out of the loop anymore," Broots told her firmly. "I want a computer link, and I want updates when you get them."

"You've got it. I'll have a laptop with me tomorrow when I come," she promised, "and you'll hear what I hear when I hear it."

"Fair enough." He extended his hand out to her. "Are you OK?" Her face was pale, and her fatigue was becoming very evident. Something told him that he was seeing only the tip of the iceberg that was her way of handling things while under that kind of pressure. He hoped that Sydney was staying on top of this; for at the moment, Miss Parker was all that was holding this little group together. If she fell apart...

"No," she admitted with a sigh, taking his hand in hers and finding comfort in sharing the truth of things at long last. "Not yet. I won't be until they're home."

~~~~~~~~

Duncan lay on his side on a hard surface - he had no idea what he was lying on or where he'd been taken. The hood over his head had not been removed, but rather tied about his neck tightly enough that there was no way for him to dislodge it by simply moving his head. His hands and his feet were secured - with handcuffs or duct tape or plastic ties, he couldn't be sure. The voices around him, when anybody spoke at all, were not speaking either English or Spanish - the two languages he did understand. He thought that they might be speaking Japanese, but he couldn't be sure.

He was confused, and he was more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. The ones who had snatched him had done so with a level of professionalism and ease that made his efforts in Delaware look like amateur hour. He had no idea how long he'd been held now - the only thing he knew for sure was that he'd been transported some distance, then hauled out of what was probably the trunk of a car and taken into a building in which he'd needed to travel by elevator. The sensation of going up in altitude while draped over somebody's shoulder as that person had stood stock-still had been unmistakable.

Rough hands grabbed at his elbows and hauled him painfully to his feet again, then broke whatever bonds had been holding his feet together so that he could actually walk on his own. The hands dug painfully into the flesh of his arm through his jacket as he was guided in his steps forward, then around a corner, and then forward for another short distance. There was a pause while a door was being unlocked, and then he was dragged forward once more and then pushed roughly into a chair.

"How does it feel to be captured completely by surprise, thrown in a trunk and dragged off to a strange place?" a heavily-accented voice asked from a short distance in front of him.

Duncan could only moan for the tape that continued to cover his mouth beneath the hood.

"How does it feel to be helpless and at the mercy of people you don't know? How does it feel to not know why you were taken, or what is wanted of you?"

The bonds of his hands were broken, and each arm commandeered by a set of very strong hands that forced his hands down on a table that sat in front of him.

"How does it feel to not know whether you're going to walk out of this room alive?" the voice hissed in a low and threatening tone.

Duncan swallowed hard. He had a feeling that before these people were done with him, he'd know the answer to each and every one of those questions that had been put to him - and probably a few others that hadn't been asked yet - intimately.

Truth and Consequences - by MMB

Chapter 15: Breathing Again


Sam stood next to Jack Crandall with his arms folded over his chest and a very tight expression on his face while he watched through the one-way glass into the interrogation room. An LAPD detective was seated at the table waiting for the prisoner to be delivered, while one of Crandall's FBI agents ranged casually behind him. As the door opened and an orange-garbed and shackled Cordoba was escorted into the room and to his seat, Crandall could hear Sam breathe in and out in a sudden snort. He was glad that he hadn't given permission for this very big and very well-muscled Centre security man to actually be in the room with the prisoner - he couldn't be sure that Sam would attempt to take Cordoba apart before anybody could stop him.

"You've been asking for an interview, well here I am," Detective Jim Porter opened his notebook and pushed the button on the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table. "Before we start, I want to remind you that you have the right to remain silent, and that anything you say here can and will be used against you in court. You have a right to have an attorney present during questioning..."

"Let's get on with it," Cordoba waved his hand in front of his face. "I've heard that spiel a thousand times - if I didn't get it by now, I doubt I ever would."

Porter took from his pocket a folded paper. "Before we start, then, I'll need to you sign this statement that you understand and wave your rights to council and to remain silent."

"If that'll get things moving faster," Cordoba growled and waited for his LAPD guard to release his right hand from the restraining shackles so that he could take the pen and scribble his name on the paper. "There. Happy?"

"Thank you," Porter replied, refolding the paper and putting it back in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. "Now, I think, we're ready to listen to what you have to say."

"Who's this?" Cordoba pointed at the man leaning against the far wall and watching him with deceptive nonchalance.

"This is Agent Smythe from the FBI. You suggested to the people you spoke to that someone from that office might be interested in what you had to say as well."

Cordoba peered suspiciously at the apparent mirror at one end of the room. "Is there a representative of the Centre here too, I hope?"

"You can say whatever it is that you have to say to us," Porter told the Hispanic, "and if we think the Centre needs to be informed, we'll see to it the information gets passed along." He clicked the ballpoint pen a couple of times, staring at the man across the table from him. "Now..."

Cordoba seemed to be directing his words to the FBI man at the back wall. "You heard about that kidnapping in Delaware - little boy and cute girl?"

"I may have," Smythe responded, not sounding all that enthusiastic. "What about it?"

"Well, I have information about who organized it, and who was in on it, and where the... where they were left." Cordoba sat back and waited to be pumped for information.

"OK," Porter wrote in his notebook quickly. "First, where are the victims being held?"

"Duncan said that the man's name that owned the place was Peterson, Patterson... something like that. It looked like nobody'd been there for years. We left 'em..."

"“WE left them”?" Smythe repeated. "You were part of the group that carried out the kidnapping?"

"Yeah," Cordoba admitted softly. "But you need to get to those kids before too much more time goes by. Duncan said that Flores didn't want them to survive, and that was why we were leaving them out there in the middle of nowhere on the desert. It was supposed to look like they died of natural causes if they DID get found."

"You've mentioned two people here," Porter halted the narrative. "Duncan - who's he?"

"He's an old friend of mine from the old days," Cordoba said with a crooked smile. "We like to hang out together sometimes."

"And what about this Flores?"

"That cabrón is a snake, man. He was the head of the LA office of the Centre. He and Duncan and I used to get hired to help another gentleman from back East with... finding Asian ladies for the evening sometimes." Cordoba smiled coldly at the detective. "If you know what I mean, that is..."

Sam snorted again. This low-life was one of the ones who... He glanced at Crandall and found the SAC almost as carefully watching HIM as he was observing the interrogation, so he reined in his disgust and ire.

"No, I DON'T know what you mean. Why don't you explain it to me?" Porter sat back in his chair comfortably.

"Uh-uhn." Cordoba shook his head. "I wanna know what my testimony against either one of those assholes will get me."

Porter looked over his shoulder at Smythe, who only shrugged silently. "A lot will depend on what all you tell us. Give us plenty of information, and the DA will hear about your willingness to help out."

"I want guarantees..."

"Well, you ain't gonna get them right now," Porter cut him off effectively. "Give us something else - like maybe where Duncan is right now."

"Hell, I don't know," Cordoba threw his one free hand in the air. "He paid me my money for giving him a hand in Delaware and dropped me off at my sister's - and that's the last I knew of him."

"You mean the twenty thousand dollars we found on you when you were arrested was your pay for kidnapping two people?" Smythe asked from his leaning post.

"That's right."

"Did you touch them?" Smythe moved forward and leaned on the table. "The girl was pretty..."

Cordoba smirked. "She was, wasn't she. I think she was virgin meat too - but Duncan told me to leave her be. He didn't want no DNA evidence on the bodies when and if they ever did get found." He chuckled. "I got me a little bit of titty and couple of good feels on the babe before he stopped me tho... and I think Duncan copped himself a little feel on the kid too just before we locked 'em in the house. Andy's a pervert, ya know - likes little boys almost as much as he likes broads - although he usually like to have 'em awake while he..."

Sam snorted louder and dropped his hands to his sides balled up in fists. "Don't let him get to you," Crandall warned the big man warily. "This slime just ain't worth getting yourself locked up back there with him..."

"He's standing there and bragging!" Sam shook his head in absolute wonder of the audacity and stupidity of the man. "He's talking about molesting those kids as if it were the most natural thing in the world...

"Kidnap, sexual assault, conspiracy to commit murder - his big mouth is getting him so far in a hole he'll never climb out again," Crandall pointed out in a firm and soft voice. "And he's tied Flores firmly to the plot - which corroborates the evidence your boss turned over - AND made it clear that Flores intended that Davy and Deb not live to tell their story." The FBI SAC shook his head. "He thinks he's giving us information we don't already know. I think Smythe's about to let him know the error of presuming..."

"Well," the lanky FBI agent straightened from leaning on the table and walked back to his place on the far wall, "to be honest, Jesús, you haven't told us much of anything we didn't already know - except, maybe where the kidnap victims WERE held. They walked out, you know..."

"Whaddya mean, they walked out?" Cordoba was aghast. "We left them so trussed up with duct tape that they weren't going to get loose much before next year - and the heat woulda got 'em a whole lot sooner than that..."

"I don't know what to tell you," Smythe shrugged again. "They're in a hospital right now, both of them very much alive. And we knew about Duncan and Flores already - although having you confirm the story on Flores and tell us that he intended those kids dead helps a little, it isn't enough to give you anything to deal with."

Cordoba stared. All of his bargaining power had just slipped through his fingers - leaving him with the sudden realization that he'd just implicated himself in several very serious offenses that would land him right back in the joint. "I want a lawyer right now," he suddenly demanded.

"Fine," Porter replied and shut off the tape recorder. "We'll have someone from the Public Defender's Office get in touch with you as soon as they can." He rose and went over to the door and pounded on the heavy wire-filled glass for the police office to take the prisoner back to lock-up.

"Looks like the show is over," Crandall commented as he observed Sam running his hands through his hair as Cordoba was led away.

"I want to see that weasel suffer," Sam hissed.

"Don't worry about that part - we're just getting started on this slime," Porter responded as he joined the men in the observation room. "We have that pair of dead hookers in East LA that we think we're going to be able to tie him to - him and Duncan too, for that matter. They thought they were being sneaky, but we got a few eye-witnesses to their picking the girls up."

Sam twisted his gaze away from the room beyond the glass as Cordoba was led away. "I suppose," he conceded reluctantly, then remembered that he had one more stop to make that day before heading back to the office - the Yakuza headquarters and Duncan. "Thanks for at least letting me watch," he backpedaled carefully and, "I should probably get back..." he hinted at Crandall and stalked from the room.

"Oh. Right." Crandall remembered that Sam had left his car at the FBI office. "Thanks, Porter - we'll be in touch."

"Don't mention it," the detective gave the pair a casual salute as they turned to leave. It felt good to get one of the genuinely “bad” bad guys - very good indeed.

Crandall walked toward the exit of the building keeping a very close eye on his Centre associate. The man was like a tightly-wound spring, just itching to mix it up with someone who got in his way - but he was walking away from Cordoba all too easily. If he didn't know better, he'd think that he knew something else - something he wasn't sharing.

It was just a hunch, and without some reasonable justification, he couldn't act on THAT.

~~~~~~~~

"Hello?"

"Jarod, it's me."

"Missy." Jarod backed out of the bathroom where Ginger was now contentedly playing with some of his own bath toys, her teddy bear watching the goings-on from the safety of the toilet seat. "Sam called you."

"Yeah." Her voice was tired.

"You sound awful," he told her gently. "Are you OK?"

"I just talked to Broots - told him everything," she explained, running her fingers through her hair and leaning back against the headrest of the driver's seat. It was getting dark now, and the hospital parking lot lights were beginning to blink on.

"How'd he take it?"

She sighed. "About as well as you'd expect."

"When are you coming out?" he asked after a pause.

"As soon as I can get free for a bit," she told him. "I told Tyler to have the Centre jet on standby, and I'm hoping I can be ready to let things sit here maybe tomorrow sometime."

"Put a jet on standby at the Monterey airport for me too, OK?" he asked, leaning back against the doorjamb and watching the little girl run her ducky through a mountain of soap bubbles. "It's a helluva long drive from here to..."

"I'll take care of it," she promised tiredly. "And I'll be calling the hospital and getting a report myself after a while - I'll tell them to expect your call as well."

"I appreciate that."

She fell silent again, and Jarod could feel the anguish pouring over the phone line. "Did you talk to Sydney last night?"

"Yes."

"You're going back there tonight too, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"You need to talk to him again," he told her firmly. "I can hear it in your voice, sweetheart."

"I know. Talking to Broots was just so... hard... you know?" Her voice broke.

"I know."

"Look, I gotta go. I want to get back to Blue Cove before Sydney takes his pills and is out like a light. I just wanted to bring you up to date..."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jarod. I just wish..."

"Hush. They're alive. We can overcome anything as long as they're alive."

"But they're so far away..." Her voice trailed off.

"Don't think of that right now. They're alive, and they're where they can get the care they need right now. Just think of how good it will be to have them home again. Focus on the positive, Missy - the other stuff will eat you alive."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow evening - sooner if I decide to fly out there."

"Rest, if you can," he suggested. "Take tomorrow off completely - and sleep in tomorrow morning."

"I can't sleep," she said very softly. "I keep thinking that if I hadn't been asleep in the first place..."

"Sweetheart..." he warned, now concerned. "Have you told Sydney this?" Her silence was an eloquent answer. "You need to tell Sydney this - have him help you work through that - or I will."

"Don't blackmail me, Jarod," she warned back, her anger a tired and half-hearted one.

"I don't want to," he said gently. "But I don't want you falling apart or getting yourself in trouble because you're suffering from sleep deprivation either, though. Too many people are depending on you right now."

"I'll talk to you later," she promised.

"You promise me that you'll talk to Sydney," he repeated, "and I'll talk to you tomorrow. I love you."

"I'll talk to Syd, Jarod, I promise. I love you too."

Jarod turned off the handset and turned to watch Ginger continue her bath play with fully half of his mind now thoroughly absorbed with the fear that Missy was on the verge of losing it. He thought for a minute, then dialed a number from memory.

"Green residence," came Kevin's voice.

"Hi there, Shadow. Lemme talk to Sydney, OK?"

"Jarod!" Kevin's smile echoed through his voice. "You heard?"

"Yeah, I heard. Is Sydney there?"

"Yeah, just a minute." There was a rustle of a telephone exchanging hands.

"Jarod!" Sydney's voice sounded tired but strong. "How are..."

"Sydney, I haven't got a lot of time..." Ginger was starting to make movements like she wanted to climb from the tub at last. "I just wanted to tell you that you REALLY need to talk to Missy tonight. She's falling apart."

"I'm not letting Kevin give me my evening dose until she gets home," Sydney assured his protégé gently. "She didn't sound good when I talked to her just before she went to Dover. I'm worried about her too."

"Good - because I just got off the line with her, and she sounds like Hell."

Sydney sighed. "I'll do what I can for her," he said.

"She's not sleeping, Sydney..."

"What?"

"Survivor's guilt - or something akin to it. She feels that if she hadn't been asleep originally..."

Sydney nodded - yes, that would be one way that Miss Parker would blame herself for everything that had happened. "Thanks for the head's up, Jarod. I'll take it from here."

"Don't tell her I called, and you take care too," the Pretender told his mentor. "How's the knee?"

"It hurts like Hell," the elder psychiatrist grumbled. "And I'm already tired of being tied to this damned contraption for hours at a time."

"Just get well this time - don't go off and hurt yourself again before you get a chance to enjoy some good health for a while. I'm sure Missy will want you to walk her down the aisle too - so that knee HAS to get better." Jarod moved into the bathroom and handed Ginger a big and fluffy towel. "I gotta go."

"You take care too," Sydney replied and disconnected the call the moment he heard the empty air from California. He leaned slightly and put the handset down on the coffee table within reach while watching Kevin make sure the pillow under his injured knee was fluffed properly. "You look tired," he told his new protégé.

"I am," Kevin admitted. "That SIM took more out of me than I expected, and then the news..." The SIM had indeed been hard enough - as had the sense of having failed, even after getting the extra material, to uncover anything new as yet. Then the relief of hearing that Davy and Deb had been found had collapsed into a realization that he didn't need to do the SIM at all anymore...

"Why don't you head off to bed early then," Sydney suggested easily. "Mr. Ikeda can get me some water to take my pills when the time comes. You go get some rest."

Kevin frowned. "You sure?"

Ikeda bowed shallowly. "I shall be honored to assist your uncle so that you can get some rest, Kevin-san."

"Go on," Sydney urged. "I don't want you falling apart on me. I can't do much on my own. Get some rest - between Mr. Ikeda and Miss Parker later on when she gets here, I'll be fine."

"OK." Kevin gave Sydney a slight wave, then nodded at Ikeda before turning and heading back for the kitchen and the stairs beyond. Sydney rubbed a finger beneath his nose thoughtfully. Kevin had been very quiet and subdued - almost withdrawn - since he'd received the news that the lost had been found and he was off the hook as far as SIMming was concerned. He had a sneaky hunch that the morning would be occupied as much with intensive therapy for a frustrated Pretender as it would be with more of that damned machine therapy for his knee.

"You worry about him," Ikeda commented quietly after watching the older man remain pensive.

Sydney's chestnut gaze connected solidly with the deep ebony of the Japanese, and then he nodded.

"And you worry about Parker-sama," Ikeda continued, his face a calm and serene neutral.

"Yes," the psychiatrist offered cautiously, not exactly sure where the inscrutable ninja was intending this conversation to go.

"Kevin-san has asked me to teach him what I know," the Japanese moved to the opposite side of the coffee table and then sat on his heels as if at a dining table in his own apartment in Tokyo. "He said he wanted to be able to defend his family."

Sydney nodded. "I'm not surprised," he responded. "He took what happened here very hard. He and Deb..." He paused. "He feels very close to Deb Broots, and having her taken from here has shaken what little security he's begun to feel with us." He gazed at the ninja. "Are you going to teach him?"

"I don't know," Ikeda admitted freely. "My time is Parker-sama's to allot - if she gives her permission..."

"Her attention is likely not to be on Kevin right now," Sydney said gently, "and it would probably ease Miss Parker's mind not to have other issues brought to her at the moment. Besides, I can imagine that you are quite capable of teaching him while you are here in the evening anyway." He relaxed into his pillows. "Frankly, I think it would be a good idea. He needs an ethical framework upon which to begin to base his life, and if I'm not mistaken, that's one of the major elements of most martial arts, is it not?"

Ikeda's eyes were concerned as he nodded. "Kevin-san has no ethical background training?" The accented voice sounded both surprised and appalled.

Sydney sighed again. "Kevin was, until only very recently, a virtual intellectual slave of the Centre - a young man with a powerful and flexible mind forced to use his intellect in service to the avarice of others. Mr. Raines, as a matter of fact..." Ikeda shuddered. He HAD done the world a favor it seemed. Sydney continued, "When we rescued him, he'd never been outside the house in which he'd lived all his life, never even seen a girl, gone to a movie, watched television... He'd never had any instruction in telling right from wrong, and never known anybody who actually cared about him and about whom he cared in return."

That was hard for Ikeda to believe - and yet between the utter naivete of Kevin and the deep sadness of Sydney's voice, he suspected that it was a very uncomfortable truth. "How did he end up with you, then?"

"I have considerable experience working with such individuals," Sydney explained lamely. "The man who is the father of Miss Parker's son - Jarod - was once my... responsibility... in the same way that Kevin had long been the responsibility of the man who was HIS trainer. When we rescued Kevin, Jarod felt that I would be the best suited to the task of undoing the damage of a lifetime of abuse - because I knew intimately what went on in such a situation."

Ikeda could see the ocean of guilt and remorse swimming in the back of those chestnut eyes - eyes that had seen too much in their time. "Karma has given you the same lesson again, and incentive to learn differently from it," he nodded serenely, "and you take that lesson very seriously. Not all of us get that opportunity, and even fewer know to use such a gift wisely. In many ways, you and I are in the same situation, Green-san. We each have a second chance to use our talents and chosen art in more beneficial ways than we did previously - and we both take our precious opportunities very seriously."

Sydney's gaze flicked up and connected with Ikeda's again, finding it remarkably free of judgement or condemnation. "Yes," he said slowly as understanding dawned, "I suppose you're right at that."

Oddly, he found the unexpected company of someone who understood him so well in such a short time very comforting.

~~~~~~~~

Duncan was too busy focusing on his right hand and sweating to notice that someone had come into the room to his side. The point of the knife wielded by the man across the table from him was thunking into the table in the small spaces between his outstretched fingers with incredible speed, moving from one space to the next up and down his hands. The one time he'd flinched and moved a finger precipitously, the razor-sharp blade had sliced easily through the webbing of skin between those fingers.

This was only the latest in a series of tests of endurance and self-discipline that he'd been put to. His shirt hung on his body in tatters from where that same incredibly sharp blade had been flipped in his direction and sliced material without at the same time slicing the skin beneath it. His other arm had a long and thin red line on it as if drawn by a pen - when the point had been driven home just how sharp and lethal the blade could be.

Sam watched the man sweat for a while, feeling an incredible satisfaction at seeing the bully who had taken Davy and attacked Sydney so completely cowed. His gaze rose to that of Mayeda's as the Yakuza boss stood to the side of the table, and he felt his gut twist in a sick spasm of happiness at the suffering of another such as this.

"Mate kudasai," [Stop!] Mayeda uttered softly, and the blade ceased its rhythmic thunking. The black eyes of the warrior with the skill with the blade flicked up at Sam, and then the man rose and bowed first to Mayeda and then Sam. Mayeda gestured at the Centre Security Chief to take the recently vacated chair, and Sam seated himself slowly and deliberately across from Duncan.

"I see my friends have been keeping you company while I was otherwise occupied," Sam said quietly in a deceptively calm tone. He slapped a palm down on the table without warning. "I hope you've been well entertained..."

Duncan's eyes glanced up into the face of fury, and he licked nervously at his lips but refrained from saying anything. This man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him.

Sam could see the man's confusion, and it only added the enjoyment of the moment. "I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about - who I am, who they are," he waved about the room at the silent Japanese, "and why you're involved. Although..." he smiled coldly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "to be honest, seeing you sitting there without a clue does me good."

Duncan felt the beads of perspiration bud on his upper lip again. This man was easily as dangerous as any of these Asian devils that had been tormenting him, and something told him his situation had just gotten a lot more precarious. "What do you want of me?" he whimpered.

"I'm sure that those two that you stole from Delaware were thinking much the same thing," Sam hissed, his eyes narrowing. "I'm sure we'll find out all about it when they start to talk."

Duncan blinked. What WAS this man talking about? The two from Delaware - the kids he'd left for dead out at the Pederson ranch? "I don't know what you're talking about," he choked out, his mouth going dry.

Sam shook his head and tsked at him. "Come now," the voice cajoled none too kindly. "For an assistant supervisor, you have a lousy memory. Let me jog it." He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the photos Mayeda had returned of Davy and Deb and laid them very gently on the table in front of the prisoner. "I'm sure you remember them - a cute kid of eight and a pretty young girl of nineteen."

Duncan's eyes refused to meet and hold Sam's. "I haven't ever seen them," he lied and licked his lips again.

"Of course not," Sam took the photos back and tucked them in his pocket again. "That will be a good thing for you, then, when I take them YOUR picture and see if they know you." He leaned forward menacingly. "You see, they got away from the ranch - made it to safety, both of them. They WILL identify you, you know..."

Duncan's gaze now did meet Sam's, and it was filled with apprehension. "What do you want?"

"A friend of mine calls what is about to come your way 'payback,'" Sam grinned toothily. "Just exactly the kind and duration of yours being entirely of your choosing. Depending on whether you tell me the truth, of course."

"What?"

"What were your precise orders regarding your prisoners, and who gave them to you?"

"It was Flores' idea," Duncan sagged. "He wanted them dead, I told him I knew where I could take them where chances were they'd never be found." He shook his head. "I didn't want to..."

"Who was part of this?" Sam demanded harshly, "and where can we find them?"

"I got Jesús Cordoba from East LA to come over, and then hired some Big Apple muscle. One was named Jones, the other Smith - they were old friends of Stewart Berringer's mob cronies. They were dumb as posts, but they did what they were told. We let them out in Jersey City on our way to the airport..."

"Jones and Smith," Sam slapped the table again hard, making Duncan jump. "Just what kind of fool do you take me for? FULL names!"

"Shit - I didn't ask, and I didn't want to know," Duncan found himself hemmed by menacing Japanese again. "I called a contact of mine in the Torzulo family, and they made the arrangements. All I had to do was pay 'em when the job was done..."

"How about the kids - did you... do anything to them?"

Duncan's gaze slithered up to Sam's. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Sam said very softly and dangerously. "Did you touch either the girl or the boy... other than to just truss them up, that is?"

"Cordoba was doing a good job of messing with the girl," Duncan replied slowly with a shudder. "I stopped him from actually... doing anything... you know?"

"What about you? Did you touch the boy?" Sam demanded with his voice still soft but the restrained fury becoming hard to ignore.

"I..."

"DID YOU TOUCH HIM?" Sam yelled, his hand slapping the table again even harder this time.

"Only a little bit," Duncan whimpered, "and he was unconscious at the time, so he didn't know..."

"Do you want us to dispose of this piece of human excrement for you?" Mayeda leaned close to Sam and whispered in his ear.

Sam was tempted to take the Yakuza boss up on the offer. Then again, disposal of Duncan really was something for the Centre to handle since it was the Centre that he'd struck at. If it were up to just him, he'd be tearing the man apart limb from limb for what he'd done - but Miss Parker deserved to get her own back from this man in whatever form SHE wanted to collect it. "Can you hang onto him until I get back with Miss Parker? If she doesn't want him, I have some ideas on how we can give him a taste of his own medicine."

"I have a nice storage bin all chosen for him then," Mayeda grinned at Duncan, and the man felt a shudder climb his spine.

Sam nodded, then rose and bowed deeply to Mayeda. "Thank you for all your help. I'll call you in the morning with Miss Parker's decision."

"Sayonara, Atlee-san. Until tomorrow, then." Mayeda gave a curt gesture, and Duncan found himself hauled to his feet and his hands once more bound tightly behind him. One of the Yakuza soldiers tore off a fresh piece of duct tape and slapped it over the prisoner's mouth just before the hood was once more replaced. Duncan didn't know whether to be alarmed or relieved that he was remaining with his Japanese captors - all he knew was that the Parker bitch would be the one making the final decision as to what happened to him, and that wasn't good.

~~~~~~~~

Catherine Ryder walked into the hospital room and began her hourly monitoring of vitals for the little kidnapped boy, as he was now called on the floor. From a chair at the foot of the bed, the watchful gaze of the FBI agent responsible for keeping an eye on the boy kept track of the nurse's movements as she checked the flow and level of the IV liquids being dripped into the boy's system.

She smoothed the dark hair back from the forehead, as much to feel the heat from his sunburn and see whether another application of the soothing salve was called for yet as to give what little comfort she could to the unconscious child. Her son wasn't all that much younger than this lad - it made her heart ache to think of the rumors that were circulating about him and why he'd landed here.

Davy felt the light caress against his inflamed skin and moaned. His face was on fire and he ached everywhere. At least it was cool, however, he decided - maybe it was still night? He worked at it and finally convinced his burned and sore eyelids to flutter open - and then his brow tried to fold in confusion. This wasn't the California countryside he'd been in when last he could remember anything... He looked around him in increasing confusion and concern - where was Deb?

"De..." he tried with a mouth that hadn't had much moisture in over two days. The woman standing next to him reached and patted a shoulder as if to comfort him.

"Your friend's in Intensive Care," she told him as if reading his mind. "You're in a hospital - and you're going to be fine." She twisted to the tray table behind her and poured him a tiny bit of water into a cup and took a straw out of a protective paper wrapping. "Here," she said as she slipped the straw between his cracked lips, "just a little bit, now..."

Davy obeyed, sucking weakly at the straw and finding that nothing in his short life had ever tasted or felt as wonderful as the spurt of water that filled his mouth. He held the liquid in his mouth for a long moment, feeling it refreshing the tissues of his mouth and tongue, and then swallowed slowly to feel it work its magic all the way down his throat. The water landed in a stomach that had been completely empty for over a day, and the sudden sensation was almost painfully pleasant.

He whimpered as the straw was withdrawn, and the nurse smiled gently at him as she replaced the cup and straw where it was within reach. "You will want to take it very slowly with the water," she told him, "because your system is still recovering from not having had any for so long. Trust me, you don't need to throw it up."

He shook his head - she was right. "Mommy..." he said next.

"I'll call and see that your people know that you're awake now, kid," the FBI agent said, rising and heading for the telephone on the little cabinet behind Davy's head. "I know there's some guy who flew in and was real glad to see you earlier today..."

Davy settled back on his pillows and closed his eyes against the feeling that he wanted to cry but had no tears to work with. The relief was crushing. They'd done it - they'd actually made it out alive. He could hardly believe it.

~~~~~~~~

Sam's cell phone chirped just as he was unlocking the front doors of the Centre office. "Atlee here," he answered as he pushed the doors open and then locked them behind himself again.

"Jack Crandall. Just got a call from Iverson, the agent who stayed behind with Davy Parker. He said the kid is awake." Crandall's voice sounded comforting. "I just thought you'd want to know right away."

Sam breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. "That's good news, Jack. Thanks." Then he thought and asked, "Any news on Duncan yet?"

"Nope," Crandall replied. "It's as if the guy just vanished into thin air. I've had my guys check out all his regular haunts, according to any information we have here, and not a hair."

"Well," Sam smiled grimly, knowing that for the time being, there WOULD be no sign of the other kidnapper. "Let me know if you hear anything."

"You got it," Crandall answered. "You heading out to Adelanto again?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sam nodded. "The kid could probably do with a friendly face right about now - and I'd like to check on the girl's condition too."

"Gotcha. Talk to you later, then."

Sam disconnected the call and then immediately punched in another number and put the device to his ear.

A continent away, Miss Parker pulled to the side of the road as her cell phone chirped its melody at her. "What?" she demanded tiredly. She was only two blocks from Sydney's and a chance to let down all her defenses again, and to get a call now was almost distressing.

"Sam here, Miss Parker."

She turned off the ignition. "Sam. You have news?"

"Good news all around. Cordoba's in LAPD custody and singing like a canary. Duncan, on the other hand..." He chuckled coldly. "Mayeda's got him, and depending on what YOU want done with him, we'll go from there."

Miss Parker leaned back against her headrest and felt the hot rush of anger and frustration simmering just below the surface. "I want him back here - where I can look him in the eye..."

"I kinda figured you might want something like that," Sam commented with a chuckle. "Our Yakuza friends are keeping him on ice for us for a while, until they hear from me in the morning."

"Have they hurt him yet?"

"Not really," he replied. "Scared him pretty good - had him sweating just before I got there with some of their knife games."

Miss Parker nodded. She could remember seeing some of that knife skill being practiced in Tokyo when she was younger. She had even met a challenge that Tommy Tanaka had issued for her to put her hand on the table and let the practice take place around HER fingers without flinching or needing to be held. She'd won a very nice dinner with that... She turned her mind back from the memories. "Good." She paused. "Any news from the hospital?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm on my way back there," Sam put as much hopefulness as he could in his voice. "Davy's awake."

"Oh, thank God!" she breathed. "What about Deb?"

He shook his head. "Nothing on that front yet. I'll check up on her, though. You want me to call again?"

"No. Give me a call in the morning, especially if things change at the hospital, though."

"Yes, ma'am. And get some rest tonight. They're safe and sound, and we've got at least one of the bad guys ourselves. I haven't shared him with the feds yet."

"Thanks, Sam," she sighed tiredly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Miss Parker." The line between California and Delaware fell silent. Sam unlocked the door and let himself back out again. There was a map to the LA freeway system in the glove box of his rental - it couldn't be THAT hard to get back out to Adelanto...

~~~~~~~~

"Anybody home?" Ethan called from the front door of Jarod's home.

"We're back here," Jarod called back from in the direction of the bedrooms.

Ethan followed the sound of his older brother's voice to the open doorway of Ginger's new bedroom and then stood with an amazed look on his face. Ginger had bathed and was now wearing a clean set of warm, flannel pajamas, and she now stood between Jarod's legs while the Pretender was sitting on the edge of a bed very cautiously and carefully working a brush through wet and tangled, dark hair. "Congratulations, big brother," he nodded in impressed approval. "You've done better in the little time you've had her than the CPS folks managed to do in almost twenty-four hours. Seems your little angel here wouldn't let anybody touch her," he told the older man as he leaned against the doorjamb. "Anytime anyone would even come close, she'd scream and..."

"That's what I figured," Jarod commented in a very calm and gentle voice, drawing the brush very gently through the hair and smoothing after it with a caressing hand. "I doubt they would have left her in that condition for long otherwise. I almost bit the head off of the representative who walked me through the rest of the process when I saw the state she was in."

Ginger was standing very still for Jarod's ministrations, her arms tightly wrapped around a very new-looking teddy bear. Ethan quit his post at the door and came over the crouch in front of the little girl. "So, what do you think of your new home?"

Dark eyes that just a little over twenty-four hours earlier had been nearly dead gave a very tiny and shy twinkle of cautious happiness, and then the child buried her nose in the soft velour at the top of her toy's head again.

"What's your new friend's name?" Ethan asked again, encouraged that the girl was actually responding to what he said again. He put out a finger and flipped the teddy bear's ear.

Ginger twisted her head to look over her shoulder at her new guardian, and Jarod smiled down at her. "You haven't told me either," he informed her as if answering her and with a gentle hand turned her head away from him again. "I guess you'll find out when I do," he told his younger brother with an indulgent smile.

"I'm going to make a bet with you, big brother," Ethan rose to his full height and gazed down at the pair. "I'm going to bet that you aren't going to be able to get much accomplished this evening until this little wood sprite has crashed for the night."

"No takers," Jarod chuckled. "She's been sticking pretty close to me ever since we got here. Haven't you?" he aimed the question at the child in front of him, and Ethan chuckled again as she tucked her nose into her teddy's head again. Jarod gathered her hair together and began twisting it into a single braid down her back as if it were something he'd done nightly for years. "Wood sprite?" he asked his younger brother, then peeked around the corner of Ginger's shoulder. "Is that what you are - a fairy child?" His answer was a little more obvious twinkle of dark eyes over the top of a teddy's head.

"You got anything to eat around this place?" Ethan decided to go foraging while waiting for Jarod to finish, to give him just that much more private time with the little girl. It was amazing the change in her in the few hours his brother had had her already. Maybe Jarod had been right all along, and Ginger just needed a secure and loving home to give her the space to find herself again.

"We just had sandwiches," came the answer from the bedroom, "but I think there's enough left for you to make yourself something. Chips are on top of the refrigerator."

"Thanks." Ethan proceeded to make himself a double-decker sandwich and heap a plate with chips, then pour himself a tall glass of milk and carry his load back to the kitchen table. While he ate and waited for the other two to join him, he stared out at the dwindling play of colors in the sky over the ocean as the sunset faded to blackness.

"Here we are," Jarod announced finally, leading a cleaned and ready-for-bed Ginger into the kitchen. He poured her a shorter glass of milk and brought it over to her at the table. "I thought she might like to say goodnight before we see about settling down for our first night."

"I don't think we're going to get much SIMming done tonight, Jarod," Ethan said after watching the way Ginger hung on Jarod's every gesture.

"I heard from Missy," Jarod told him without taking his eyes from the little girl. "They found the kids - I don't need to SIM anymore."

"Thank God! They're alright?"

"In a hospital recovering from dehydration and exposure, mostly," Jarod replied. "So you're off the hook for having to SIM Sydney so I could do a full SIM to find them."

"That's good - because I don't know Sydney well enough to SIM him properly," Ethan answered with a wide grin. "And that explains some of the release of tension I got earlier today from Miss Parker. She's feeling better, even though things are very hard for her being so far away."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she flies out to be with Davy soon," Jarod told him frankly. "She said she wants to get the Centre to a point where she can “put it on pause.” At least, I think that's the way she put it." He glanced up at his younger brother. "I'm actually hoping that I can talk her into staying here for at least a day when she comes. She's... not doing well..."

"I know," Ethan sympathized with his older brother. "But be careful. I get rage from her sometimes as well - she's very tightly controlled right now. She doesn't need unexpected surprises." He nodded at the little girl who had, by now, finished her milk and was sitting cuddling her bear and just listening to the conversation flowing around her.

Jarod shot his younger brother a sharp and aware look and then followed his glance to Ginger. "Ah-hah!" he crowed, rising, and reached down to pick the girl up in his arms from her chair. "Say goodnight to Doctor Ethan, Sprite, and it's off to bed with you."

Ginger turned her expressive, dark eyes on the younger man. "Good night, Ginger," Ethan ran a hand over her head gently. "Shall I hang around?" he asked his brother.

"We could discuss those applications for my replacement instead of running SIMs - if you don't mind waiting?" was the reply. The telephone rang, and Jarod cast a pleading look at Ethan. "Will you get that and take a message for me, please?"

"Sure." Jarod carried off his new foster daughter, and Ethan turned back to pick up the handset before the third ring.

"Russell residence."

"Jarod?"

Ethan's smile grew wide. "No, Miss Parker. This is Ethan. Jarod's... busy at the moment. Can I take a message?"

She sounded incredibly exhausted - and now confused. "Busy?" She decided to ignore it. "Tell him Davy's awake - and that Sam called to say that we have both the bad guys, one way or the other. It's over."

"That's good news, Miss Parker. I'll be glad to pass it on." Her younger half-brother paused. "Are you OK? I've been so worried about some of the feelings I've been getting from you..."

"You and Jarod... I swear - I never had the two of you pegged as a couple of worry-warts," she chuckled tiredly. "I'm just about to drive up to Sydney's, and you can tell Jarod that I'll keep my promise and talk to him - that I haven't forgotten."

"OK. You take care..."

The call was disconnected from Delaware, and Ethan found himself very glad that she was almost home. There was an undercurrent of rage and pain that she was ignoring at the moment that was genuinely frightening. He found himself hoping that Sydney was as astute as Jarod kept claiming - the man was going to have a real job on his hands this evening.

~~~~~~~~

"Hi," Miss Parker called into the depths of the house.

"Parker-sama." Ikeda moved into sight in the pool of light that was the door to the kitchen. "We're back here." It appeared the only lights on in the house were the foyer light, the kitchen, and then the den.

She sighed as she dropped her purse and briefcase in the hall closet and walked tiredly toward the welcoming light. "It's awfully dark in here for only nine o'clock..."

"Kevin-san has retired already, and so it has just been myself and Green-san."

"Parker..." Sydney called from his lair.

Ikeda bowed to her as she began to move past. "I'll be in the front of the house, Parker-sama," he told her and then moved so that his employer and her foster father could have total privacy.

Miss Parker stepped into the den and gazed at Sydney. His face was obviously pale again in the light of the reading lamp next to him, and she suspected that he'd not taken his pain medication on time again. "Sydney, you promised you'd take your pills on time..."

"Sit down, Parker," he ignored her chiding and shifted on the couch to make room for her.

He wasn't that surprised when, the moment she had settled next to him, she leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder. As he wrapped his arms around her, he could feel the fatigue in the tension. "Talk to me, Parker."

"I got a call from Sam just before I got here. He said that Davy's awake again - and that we have both of the men responsible for taking them. It's over. And I talked to Broots - at least he knows what's going on now..."

"Parker..."

"According to Sam, evidently LAPD has the one who... assaulted...."

"Parker, stop..."

"...and Mayeda has the other one. Sam said they'd keep him on ice for us until..."

"For God's sake, Parker!" He pushed her shoulders until he had forced her to sit up again so that he could look into her face. "Listen to yourself. You sound like a robot, reciting math facts. TALK to me!"

Her face was bleak, and her eyes dry. "What do you want me to say, Syd? That I want - NEED - to fly to California to be with my son? That I'm sick to death with worry about Deb and what this is going to do to her? That I want to tear those men apart limb from limb and leave NOTHING behind for the court system to deal with?" Her eyes began to snap as, at long last, the anger she'd been stomping down could no longer be held back.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to sit in my office and do interviews with supervisors to make sure the financial underpinnings of the Centre remain stable and viable while my son lies in a hospital bed..." Her voice broke, and she needed to breathe deeply a few times to regain her control. "Do you know how hard it is to know that I'm the one responsible for all this - your knee, Davy and Deb..."

"NO!" Sydney burst forth loudly and vehemently enough to break through her ranting. "You are NOT responsible for this."

"Yes I am, Syd! I chose to accept this damned job. I chose to try to turn the Centre around - turn it legit..."

"Parker, yes. You made those choices - they were yours to make. But you did not choose to sic kidnappers after your family - those were the choices of another." Sydney cupped his hand around her cheek. "You did NOT do those things."

"But if I'd just said “no” to Ngawe, none of this would have happened..."

He gazed at her in indulgent fondness. "You know you couldn't have done that," he chided gently. "Once I got over my being upset at your decision, even I could see that you couldn't walk away. The Centre is in your blood - just as it is in Jarod's."

She glared at him in amazed frustration. "But here I am, doing to my son exactly what was done to me when I was a child - I'm putting the Centre's interests ahead of my own family..."

"You are NOT - stop whipping yourself like that!" He glared back at her unflinchingly. "You forget that I was THERE when Centre interests came ahead of you and your well-being, Parker. I SAW Mr. Parker not only thrust you aside, but also put you out of his mind entirely. You forget that I was there and ended up picking up the pieces for you for a while - before you were sent away to school." He relaxed back into his pillows with a challenging look in his eyes. "Convince me then that you've put Davy and Deb out of your mind utterly over these last few days while at work - that you haven't thought of them even once..."

"I used Lyle..."

"I know - you told me about your Pretending." He gazed at her calmly. "But a mask only hides what's behind it, Parker. If you were truly doing to Davy what Mr. Parker did to you, you wouldn't have needed the mask in the first place."

The glare in stormy grey eyes abated. "Sydney..."

"Don't you see?" The hand cupped her cheek again. "That's where all of this is coming from - the fact that you HAVEN'T been able to completely shove your son out of your mind and forget him completely so you could do your work. Look at you - you're so itchy to throw over the Centre's interests and run to be with Davy that you can't even think straight."

"Right now I'm so mad at myself for being determined to take this place legit - and the only thing worse is that now all I want to do is resurrect the “old Centre” long enough to take care of Flores and his cronies..."

"Parker, you're a much better mother than Mr. Parker ever was a father to you. I am so proud of you, and your mother would be too." He reached out both hands to her shoulders and pulled her down into his embrace. "It's OK to be angry at those who hurt you and those you love - it's really not a crime to wish you could take revenge personally. God knows that if I were feeling better, we'd be in a race to see who could tear them apart first. You're human, sweetheart, just like I am. So give yourself room to have the emotions of a healthy human. Don't tear yourself apart with guilt you don't deserve."

She trembled as she lay against him. "Right now I hate this job, and I hate the way I feel. I..." She knew she'd promised she'd talk to Sydney about her sleep difficulty. "I can't even feel safe at home anymore. I keep thinking that if I'd stayed awake that night, they wouldn't have been able to take Davy in the first place. Look at how you and Kevin fought off three men..."

"Sweetheart, the only reason we were able to fight them," Sydney tightened his arms around her, "was because Kevin's attack was a complete surprise - they didn't even know he was here. And even then, if you think about it, it didn't help Deb at all. Face it, even awake, you would have been alone against three, Parker. I don't think the results would have changed - except that you would very likely have been seriously hurt."

"Sydney, I'm afraid to go to sleep, in case..."

"Mmm-hmm," she felt him nod above her. "I was thinking there was more to this than just guilt. No wonder everything seems so acute, so distressful. You're exhausted, and not thinking clearly." His hand found the back of her head. "For what it's worth, you're not the only one feeling less than secure. Kevin is showing signs of stress, and even I don't like the way the medicine clouds my mind because I wouldn't be able to defend myself. We were ALL assaulted in a fashion that night - Davy and Deb just caught the worst of it. It's going to take time for all of us to feel really comfortable and secure again. Until then, none of us are going to sleep all that well..."

"That isn't going to help me sleep, Syd..." she said quietly, grateful for his arms around her. Other than Jarod, he was the only one with the power to make her feel safe and protected just by putting his arms around her.

"Yes, it will - eventually," he told her. "You said it yourself, Parker - it's over. You have Flores, and Berringer, and Duncan, and the other guy. Davy and Deb are being taken care of in a hospital, where they'll get the kind of care they need right now. You know that they'll be on their way home soon. And slowly life will come back to the way it was before - as much as it can, that is. Tonight, at least, you can rest better knowing that nobody is still in danger - not Davy or Deb, and not us."

"Easier said than done..." she commented wryly.

"Go bring me my physician's bag then," he pushed at her shoulders to rouse her into sitting up again. "I can give you something that will help you relax - your body should be able to take it from there."

"Syd, I don't want a sleeping pill..."

"Hush!" he shook his head at her. "You heard Doctor Hightower lecturing me on taking my pain medication - that I don't need to suffer needlessly. Well, the same holds for you. If you need a good night's sleep, then let me help you get one. You don't need to suffer needlessly either." He smiled at her. "We just won't make a habit of it, agreed?"

"You'll take your pain pill then too?" she asked him with an eyebrow cocked.

"Yes, I'll take mine then too," he answered without hesitation. He didn't mention that it would be a relief to take the medication - that these late-night therapy sessions were agony because of the clear mind needed to manage them properly. She was already feeling guilty enough about things that weren't her fault. "Go on. It's in my bedroom, on the floor of the closet on the right-hand side."

As she rose slowly to follow his instructions, he wondered how much more effort it would take to talk her into dropping the Centre business into Tyler's lap for a few days and flying out to California. Maybe he'd tackle that one in the morning, before he was strapped into that contraption again...

~~~~~~~~

Sam walked through the halls of the hospital toward the room to which the volunteer in the lobby told him Davy had been moved. He stepped into the room and nodded at the FBI agent seated against the wall - and the man silently rose from his chair and nodded to let him know that he'd be just outside. The two men quietly exchanged places - Sam gazing up the length of the hospital bed at Davy.

The boy was again asleep, but the redness of his sunburned face wasn't quite as angry and painful as Sam remembered. His lips were still broken from where they had cracked with dryness, but there was a cup with a straw in it on the tray table near the bed that looked as if it had been used.

A nurse bustled into the room, glancing with surprise at the apparent changing of the guard at the foot of her patient's bed. Without a word to Sam, she moved to check on the IV that continued to drip steadily into Davy's system, then took his wrist in her fingers to take his pulse. Her touch roused the boy, who whimpered at the handling of skin that was also red and painful-looking. His eyes eventually flickered open, aimed at the nurse.

"Do you want some more water?" she asked him gently. When Davy nodded, she reached for the cup.

"I'll give him the water," Sam interrupted her.

"Sam!" Davy gave a happy but hoarse whisper of joy.

"Just a sip or two - he has to take it slowly still," she instructed the big man who towered over her. She handed him the cup and backed away to let him step up to the head of the bed.

"You heard the lady, Squirt," Sam told the boy with a twisted grin of pure relief on his face. "Just a sip now..."

Davy sipped obediently on the straw until he had his sip, then held it again in his mouth for a long moment before letting it slip deliciously down his throat. Then, as Sam set the cup back on the tray, the boy held out his arms to his friend.

Sam settled on the edge of the bed and gently took the boy in his arms and held him very carefully, very aware of not wanting to hurt him at all. Davy sighed and settled against the big ex-sweeper. "I thought nobody knew..." he managed finally.

"We know, Davy, we know," Sam murmured to him gently and felt him relax as if a burden had fallen away. "I talked to your mom just a little while ago - she knows you're awake again. I talked to your dad too." He stroked the boy's back very gingerly. "They're worried about you and send their love. You'll see them soon."

"I want to go home..." Davy whispered, his voice still not completely recovered.

"I know you do. But right now you need to get better." Sam released his hold on the boy and laid him back into his pillows.

The small hand came up and landed on the husky forearm. "You're not going away, are you?" Davy croaked.

"Not for a while," Sam promised.

"Deb?"

Sam shook his head. "I haven't had a chance to check on her yet. Do you want me to?" Davy nodded. "OK - I'm going to call the FBI agent back in to keep an eye on you while I go see how she's doing, and then I'll be back. OK?" Davy nodded again, his eyelids already drooping a bit again. "You snooze for a bit - I'll probably be back when you wake up next time."

"OK." Davy let his eyes fall closed again. He was safe - Sam was here.

Sam brushed his hand carefully through the dark hair and then rose to his feet. He nodded at Iverson to resume his post and headed back up the hallway to the nurse's station. "Is there any news on Deb Broots' condition?"

The nurse ran her fingers through the charts on her desk then looked up at him. "I don't have a Deb Broots on the medical floor, sir."

"I think she was being taken to ICU..." Sam remembered.

"I doubt you'll be allowed in," the nurse warned him, "but you can go down that hall, hang a left to the double doors and talk to the duty nurse just beyond."

"Thank you." Sam turned on his heel and headed down the hall. He turned left and walked until he'd gone through the swinging double doors and found himself at a nurse's station in front of a glassed-in ward of several beds beyond. "I'm here to see about the condition of Deb Broots - I think she was brought here this morning..."

The nurse only had to glance over at a particular pile of forms and documents. "She's in serious but stable condition. She had some trouble with her blood pressure earlier, but she's starting to rally finally."

"Can I see her?"

The nurse shook her head. "Visiting hours at the ICU are 10 AM to 4 PM. You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. But you can see her from here..." She swiveled her chair around and pointed to one of the curtain-defined spaces.

Sam stepped closer to the glass. Deb was so quiet with all those tubes running into her arm and nose - and her sunburn still a very angry red. Like Davy, her lips were broken and scabbed from having dried out and burned in the hot sun. He nodded at the FBI agent who, like Iverson, had taken up a post out of the way but close enough to be but a pace or two away.

The nurse touched his arm. "Are you family?"

Sam shook his head. "Just a very close family friend. Her father's in a hospital in Delaware - she doesn't have any close family other than him..."

"Give me your name, then," the nurse reached for a pen and one of the documents in what must be Deb's stack, "and I'll get your name on the approved visitor's list for her."

Sam gave her his name absently, staring at the still form on the bed and feeling his heart twist into a tight knot. Deb almost died, he told himself, because I didn't do my job well enough to protect her. They both almost died - and it was my fault.

With that, he nodded his farewell at the nurse and opened the door to head back down the hall to Davy's room again. By God, he'd see to personally it that Davy was protected properly until the boy could be returned to his mother's care. Agent Iverson could take the rest of the night off, for all he cared. The Devil himself wouldn't be able to pry him out of Davy's room until morning.

~~~~~~~~

Jarod waited until he heard Ethan's car pull out of his driveway before he extinguished the outside light and sighed. Only one of the three applications that had come in the morning's mail had been worth processing - the others had come from recent graduates from medical school looking for an internship. Ethan would need a full partner - a fully qualified psychiatrist capable of carrying a full load of his own. Between the two of them, they had decided to give their ad two weeks to see what kind of responses they got, then call the survivors of the initial sorting process in for preliminary interviews.

This had been a discussion that had been needed for days - and one that had ultimately had its share of interruptions from first an over-excited and then a more terrified little girl unused to sleeping by herself in a strange place, even if it did have a night light. The last time she'd come padding out of her bedroom on bare feet, her new teddy bear clutched to her in a stranglehold and eyes wide with terror. Jarod had simply opened his arms to her and let her climb up into his lap to nestle down against him while he rubbed her back and continued his discussion with his brother. Ginger had fallen deeply asleep almost immediately.

Ethan had helped him tuck her back into her bed once more just before he'd left - then given Jarod a pat on the back and a "Have fun, Daddy," on his way out the front door. Jarod went through the house turning off lights and locking up, getting ready to retire. It had been a big day for him too; he'd had his share of excitement, bringing his little girl home with him at last. And tomorrow's schedule was entirely up in the air - so much depended upon reports from Sam and Missy about Davy that he couldn't predict whether he would be actually seeing patients or...

What was he going to do if he needed to drop everything and fly down to the hospital to be with Davy? Where would he go with Ginger? She knew nobody in the family - she had just arrived - he couldn't just hand her off to Em or to his mother. And he couldn't take her with him...

He dismissed those troubling thoughts in order to debate how many lights to leave burning in the house through the night. If Ginger awoke again, frightened and confused, how would he lead her to his room to find him? The last thing he needed was to wake up to a child traumatized at HIS hands this time...

Eventually he decided to use a night light in his room and leave his door open so that if a lost child decided to go looking, she'd have an indication where to look. Just to make sure things were still settled he tiptoed to the door and peeked in at Ginger - only to find her still dead to the world and snuggling her teddy tightly. He smiled, thinking how such a simple toy could provide a sense of security for such a tiny child. He closed her door again and plodded into his own room, stripped to his boxers and slipped into a pair of pajama pants and finally slid between the sheets with a sigh. He WAS tired...

His eyes seemed to droop of their own volition and finally fell closed, and he dreamed of a family picnic with himself, Missy, Davy and Ginger, everyone smiling and laughing.