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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Part 4
Jarod
Jarod heard the name with a feeling of shock, and felt his father’s eyes on him immediately as he heard a soft gasp come from his own mouth.
“You know her, Jarod?” Charles asked tensely.
“From a… a long time ago,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the woman’s features.
There was a second of silence before the older man spoke, but Jarod didn’t hear what was said. His mind was full of the few meetings he had had with the woman who now appeared to be the one who would be in charge of hunting for him. He had already heard from Nat and Cici about pursuit teams and the fact that they generally consisted of people known to the former subject. Jarod had guessed that Sydney would be a participant, but that they had gone so far back in his past as to reintroduce Miss Parker to his life in this way was almost unbelievable.
“Jarod!” his father’s voice called sharply, and he awoke from his reverie, feeling his cheeks flush as he looked up.
The map was rolled up in Charles’ hand and the others had already stood up, ready to leave. He hurried to join them as they left the room.
“We’ll be around at eight o’clock tomorrow night,” Charles reminded them as they left the house.
The four people returned to the car, the conversation being about the forthcoming assignment, as Jarod discovered that it was generally called. He contributed little, beyond accepting the invitation to watch them prepare the following evening.
“Just so you know,” Charles suddenly remarked from the driver’s seat, “we don’t usually do more than one rescue in such a short time, but this is pretty important.”
Jarod simply nodded, only hearing part of what was being said, still thinking about Miss Parker and her reintroduction to his life.
Nat and Cici were dropped off outside a tall apartment building, instead of being taken back to Shannon’s house. Charles watched them enter the building before turning to his passenger.
“Who was she, Jarod?” he asked gently.
“Someone I… felt things for… a long time ago,” the Pretender murmured, remembering the way Sydney had phrased it when Jarod had asked questions about what had happened to him during that sim, why his heart rate had increased, and other biological signs had changed.
“That’s how they work,” Charles remarked as he steered the car into traffic. “They take the things that affect your emotions and twist them around so that they can be used against you.”
“They did that to you?” Jarod suggested.
“Many times,” his father responded softly. “More times than I care to remember during the thirty-three years that I’ve been searching for you.”
“It’s over now,” the younger man responded, as much to himself as to the man beside him, feeling relief surge inside himself at that statement.
Jarod’s mind suddenly presented him with the day Sydney had told him that his parents had been killed in a plane crash, remembering the sense of loss, destroyed hope and guilt that had affected his work for days afterwards. He had been punished frequently for that, Jarod remembered. It was strange that the people who had told him the lies had felt that his unsettled emotional state would be more beneficial for them in the long run than continuing to let him hope that one day his parents would come to him.
Then he felt a warm hand on his, pressing firmly, and looking up to see his father smiling at him, his brown eyes shining.
“I’m right here, Jarod,” his father assured him softly, “and we’re never going to lose each other again, I swear.”
“I forgot you,” he whispered harshly.
“They wouldn’t let you remember,” Charles corrected gently. “I know how they work. It’s not your fault. Trust me, Jarod, I would never blame you for something like that.”
The younger man’s eyes misted over and then he felt the car pull to the side of the road and his father’s arm sliding around his shoulders, drawing him close.
“Please, son,” the man’s voice begged, “believe me when I say that nothing you’ve ever done at that place will change the way I feel about you. We lost so many years together because of what they did. I’m not going to waste any more time grieving over it. I want us to move on and create a future together, with your mother, sister and brother, when we find them – and you can be sure we will.”
“I know,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his father’s back and holding tight. “I missed you, Dad, for so long.”
“I did, too, Jarod,” Charles assured him, without loosening his hold, “so very much.”
Jarod quietly let himself into the house, remembering his father’s advice that Shannon could well be asleep, and switched on a light before securing the door, dropping the key on the table and putting his bag on the floor. A note lay on the bench and he saw that it was directions for heating pizza, something to which his father had already introduced him earlier that evening, so he replaced the container in the fridge, as the note requested, and put the empty plate back into the cupboard where it belonged.
Turning, he was about to switch off the light when he saw a boy sitting on the sofa in the living room behind him and jumped violently.
“Who are you?”
The boy’s dark eyes met his steadily. “Apparently,” he offered quietly, “I’m you.”
Jarod froze at this unexpected response. He wasn’t ready to deal with this yet. He wanted someone else there who knew the situation and could give him clues as to the best responses to make. But it seemed like he wouldn’t have that luxury and he sat down opposite the boy, the light from the kitchen streaming over his shoulder and illuminating his clone’s face.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” he proposed.
“I decided not to put this off,” his double replied. “I don’t like leaving things.”
The older man was about to remark that he felt the same when he realized that there was a perfectly natural reason for it and refrained from commenting. An awkward silence continued for a few minutes, before Jarod broke it.
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” came the somewhat surprising reply. “I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see if it was true or just another of their lies.”
“And is it true?”
“I think so.” There was audible pain in the young voice. The dark eyes traveled up and down his body. “So in twenty years, I’ll be you.”
“No,” Jarod said quickly, “no, you won’t. We might share the same genes, but that’s only a part of what makes people what they are. The rest is environment and training. You’re younger. You’ve got time to get over what was done to you there. You’ll be a very different person from me.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” the boy stated. “I don’t know whether it is or not.”
“Josh?” a sleepy voice interrupted, and Jarod turned to find Shannon in the doorway, pushing hair out of her eyes with her right hand.
Joshua jumped off the sofa and ran over to give the young woman a hug. She returned it warmly before drawing back to look at his face.
“I thought you were going to stay the night.”
“I decided not to,” he replied. “Pete’s mom drove me back here.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Uh huh.”
He nodded before turning to the sofa and gathering up the pile of books that lay there. Shannon glanced at Jarod.
“How did it go?”
“It’s a lot of work,” he confessed.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, “but generally worthwhile. Only…”
She broke off the beginning of her next sentence to kiss Joshua, who came trailing up, yawning, to say goodnight. When he had disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door, she turned back to Jarod and gestured in the direction of the hallway that held their rooms.
“It’s going to be a short night tomorrow, if you’re coming,” she reminded him as he picked up his bag.
“The Boss invited me,” he replied carefully, quietly switching off the light before following her into the passage. “I’d like to see how it works – without being the victim, this time.”
Shannon giggled softly. “I know what you mean,” she admitted. “But the process will be different, because the Centre will administer the sedative – standard procedure for moving someone. But you’ll see the result when they get back to New York.”
“Will you be there?”
“I’ll be helping with preparations in New York,” she replied, “although I don’t think there’s a lot of make-up and other disguise work this time. That’s really my specialty.”
“Is that what you had to do at the Centre?” he proposed.
“Sort of, yes.” She leaned against the wall behind her, sliding her right hand into her pocket, the left hanging in the sling. “I designed equipment and disguises for undercover agents. I was told that it was for them to do their job better and help various nations. Of course, it really helped the Centre sweepers to get information that Raines wanted.” Shannon shuddered slightly. “I hated to read about how my results were misused. I still do.”
“I know,” Jarod murmured sympathetically, thinking about the book lying on the table beside his bed.
With one of the sudden changes that seemed to be part of her personality, she smiled and then waved at the bathroom door.
“If you want to clean your teeth, I’ve put a toothbrush and paste in there for you. I think the Boss said you’d buy some clothes and other things you’d need, but let me know if you find yourself lacking something vital.”
She dimpled at him before disappearing into her room, closing the door. A moment later, he heard a faint creak and a slight groan before there was silence.
He moved into the bathroom, putting the bag onto the vanity and opening it, extracting the brush and comb that had been purchased for him and running the fine teeth of the comb through his hair. Suddenly dropping the comb into the sink, he reached into his pocket and took out a series of photos that his father had given him earlier that evening showing the first four years of his life. Holding them up to the mirror, he compared himself to the child he had been before being stolen by the Centre. He now knew the details of that night from his father’s point of view and wondered again that he had believed the lies he had been fed for so many years.
After rescuing the comb and filling the sink with warm water, he splashed it onto his face, thinking that the following morning he would have to shave, before foaming the soap between his hands and rubbing it on his face. Even this had a different feeling, being somehow softer and more pleasant against his skin than the Centre’s soaps, which had always left his skin stinging and raw. Rinsing his face clean, he dried it with the towel on the rack that had been pointed out to him as his before returning his things to the bag and leaving the bathroom.
In his room, he changed into the pajamas his father had chosen for him, wriggling in between the sheets and laying his head against the blissfully soft pillow. But sleep didn’t come immediately. As it had on occasions when a sim had caused him problems or was unfinished, details of what had happened circled in his mind, making him unable to relax. Added to the already overwhelming activities of the day was the appearance of the boy that had been made from him, and Jarod was aware that the problem of their relationship to each other would not be easy to solve.
Giving up on the idea of sleep, he raised himself on his elbows to look around the room. His eyes fell on the book beside his bed, but revulsion made him unwilling to open it. Instead, he got out of bed and padded over to the small bookcase, looking at the various titles. They covered a wide range of subjects, including some that he had covered for various sims, but he felt like learning something knew. Intrigued with one that had a picture of a machine seeming to fly through the sky, he took it off the shelves and got back into bed, tucking another pillow behind his shoulders, settling back against it and opening the book.
But Jarod was more tired than he realized. After only having read a few pages, the lines of print began to blur. Gradually, his head sank forward and the book fell from between his limp fingers as he slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Miss Parker
The three people were called into Mr. Parker’s office and he handed each a thin file.
“This has all the information we know about what happened here,” he told them, nodding at his daughter. “That includes the security reports you wanted, Angel.”
“Good,” she replied tersely, surreptitiously eyeing her companions.
She hadn’t seen Sydney for years, except occasionally in the elevator or the halls. On those rare meetings, she had greeted him with a distant nod and moved on as quickly as possible. She had no idea why she felt uncomfortable around him, only that she did.
Broots was someone she knew slightly better. He had begun work in SIS during her last few days there, but she had had a chance to see his skills and knew that he was probably one of the best technicians the Centre had ever had.
“I want reports about every incident,” Mr. Parker announced. “Any time you’re out of the Centre, following a lead, I want a written report about everything you saw and did.”
“Of course, Daddy,” Miss Parker agreed, before catching Sydney's eye. “Let’s go.”
She swept out of the office, leaving the other two men to follow. They caught up with her at the elevator, and she turned to them with her first orders.
“Broots, I want you to go through the security details and see if there’s any leads that we might be able to work on. Sydney, you’re coming with me.”
“Where?” the psychiatrist asked.
“Jarod's old room,” she replied. “Maybe there’s some clue there that’s been overlooked.”
“I’ve been through Jarod's room a thousand times,” the older man said, as Broots disappeared in the direction of SIS.
“I haven’t,” she reminded him sharply, as the elevator doors opened on the relevant floor and they got out.
“You were such a happy child,” he murmured. “What happened?”
“I grew up, Sydney. So should you,” she snapped. “You’re not in the clear yet about exactly what happened and how Jarod got away, and if the investigation finds that you were in any way responsible, I’ll hand you over to the Triumvirate myself.”
Sydney remained silent while she looked around, occasionally comparing something to a detail in the folder she still held. There was really nothing he could say. If he was found to be involved, as they both knew, he would be quickly and quietly taken care of, and another plot in the graveyard behind the Centre would be filled.
She finished her inspection, which included hearing everything Sydney had to say about the sim Jarod had completed to demonstrate his skills. The faux-Italian woman claimed to be part of a major international organization with whom the Centre had worked in the past, and who had, on more than one occasion, been a profitable client. Now their relationship with that group would come under intense scrutiny, as the Centre tried to locate their missing prize.
Miss Parker dismissed Sydney as she returned to her office and then sat down at her desk to look through the material with which she had been provided. She already knew that Sydney believed it would take time to catch Jarod, but she had more confidence in her own abilities. No matter who was helping him, his lack of knowledge of the outside world would be a handicap, and regardless of his abilities to blend in, his naïveté would be his downfall.
Jarod
After lunch the following day, the Boss arrived at Shannon’s house and started to check the final few things they would need for the events of that night. Shannon disappeared into her room, and Joshua began hovering around the living room, clearly waiting for something, although Jarod was unsure what he wanted.
It was made clear to him when Charles sighed deeply, straightened up and met the young man’s gaze. “You want to come tonight, don’t you?”
“Please,” Joshua begged immediately. “Even if it’s just to the meeting place. I want to get a feel for what happens, so that eventually I can help, too.”
Charles thought for a moment, busily checking that guns in a case were loaded, before looking up again. “All right,” he agreed, and had to grin at the enthusiastic cheer that came from Joshua’s mouth. “As long as you keep out of the way, and do whatever you’re told immediately,” he added. “We don’t want to risk your life, or anyone else’s, more than we have to.”
“I promise,” the boy vowed, before adding seriously, “But I do want to help in this. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I know that’s what I want to do.”
The older man smiled and gently ruffled his hair. “I appreciate that, Josh. And if you still feel that way after tonight, I’ll have you trained in whatever area you want to work in.”
At this point, Shannon reappeared, carrying a bag, and suggested they leave. When Charles agreed, the four people left the house, Shannon locking it behind them, and the Boss suggested that Jarod travel with Shannon, who could give him a few driving lessons and tips about the night. Guessing that his father wanted to talk to Joshua, Jarod agreed and was about to get into the passenger seat of the new black convertible that had been purchased the day before when the woman tossed him the keys.
“I’m driving?”
“Cici told me not to, and you need to learn how to drive,” Shannon told him, as he came around to sit in the driver’s seat and she gave him initial directions. “Nat will make you a driving license and put you into the records – with a slightly modified picture, of course, so the Centre can’t trace you – and then, if you want to, you can work with us.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he carefully steered the car out of the driveway. “Have you thought about it?”
“I’ve started to,” he responded carefully. He had already made up his mind to be part of the team, but guessed that few people made that decision so quickly. But he had ulterior motives for his decision and believed that working with him was the best way to stay in contact with his father. A few moments later, when he was more comfortable with driving, he glanced at her. “What’s going to happen tonight? I know some things, but not every step.”
Shannon smiled. “You’re born to be a part of this unit,” she teased, and Jarod, having now spent enough time with her to know that jokes and teasing were part of her nature, smiled in reply. “If you were this curious as a boy,” she went on, “it’s no wonder the Centre wanted you.” She giggled before continuing. “A place will be set up for an ambush about 45 from the Centre. We’ll stage an accident or some disturbance on the road – I think it’s road works this time – and the team will use the chance to grab the victim. There will be a team of about twenty sweepers on this transport, but at least four of them are ours, and we’ll have a team of more than thirty people attacking it, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
“But they’re trained,” Jarod reminded her.
“So are our people,” she retorted. “We have a small army of our own, kept for occasions such as this, who are trained in the same way sweepers are. Once we’ve got our target, our people withdraw and leave gas bombs behind, inside the cars, which go off as soon as sweepers try to get into them to chase us.”
“What kind of gas?”
“Tear gas.” She giggled. “There’s no funnier sight than watching a great big sweeper wiping away tears and gasping for breath.”
“I can imagine,” Jarod agreed, picturing the scene in his mind and hard-pressed not to laugh at it himself.
“After that,” she went on, “we’ll drive back to our meeting house, and then come home from there. Oh, and you don’t have to wait for me, if you don’t want to,” she added. “If you want to spend the night at someone else’s house, or get a lift with someone else, you can.”
“I’ll think about it,” he offered cautiously.
The conversation shifted to more general things, and Jarod put to Shannon a few of the questions that had occurred to him over the previous 24 hours, some of which she found difficult to answer.
Nat and Cecilia were already at the house Jarod had visited the previous day when they arrived, the two people poring over the map that was again spread out on the table in the windowless room. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, with plans being double-checked and watches set to the same time. Jarod was amazed at the amount of detail that was examined. It seemed to him that no point had been ignored, but someone always seemed to find something else that needed discussion, and the hours flew by.
Jarod accepted his father’s invitation to accompany the group, agreeing to stay in the van with Nat, who would be controlling proceedings a distance from the action. Joshua was to stay behind with Lucy and Tom, and they would use a radio to keep in contact with the group involved in the assignment.
Those who would stay behind farewelled the group at midnight. It would take three hours to get to the chosen site, and then time to check that everything was still secure enough for the rescue to take place. Jarod and the others piled into the back of a black van, Charles driving and Cici in the passenger seat. Much of the van was taken up with seats, but Nat told Jarod that these could be folded away and replaced with the computer station from which he would work. As everyone would be wearing microphones, and some people would be equipped with tiny cameras, he could view the entire scene and create any necessary diversions, if they were required. He seemed to get a great deal of joy out of describing the diversionary tactics to Jarod, who found it interesting, but not quite as fascinating as Nat obviously did, particularly as he, Jarod, had been responsible for the creation of a number of them, and was now fearful about the way the Centre might have misused the technology.
Finally, as the moon was starting to sink towards the horizon, they pulled off the road along which they had been traveling and Charles steered the van in behind a high clump of bushes that was nearly a complete circle. Several other vans, which had joined theirs at various places along the route, steered in behind trees and other areas, and killed their engines. The silence that followed this was almost stunning, and nobody moved for a moment. Then Nat opened the door of their van and reached up to put something on the roof, while the Boss got out and crossed a stretch of open ground to one of the other vans.
“Heat sensor,” he told Jarod sharply. The lightness of his tones had vanished, and a furrow had appeared in his forehead.
He quickly folded away the chairs and unpacked a series of boxes that revealed various pieces of equipment, including a radio. One box, Jarod saw, was full of what Nat told him were radio headsets, and he directed the Pretender to give one to each man as they came to the van.
Handing them out, Jarod had a chance to look at each man, and saw that they were of a similar build to sweepers, but that there was an intelligent look on their faces, in stark contrast to those people hired as muscle by the Centre.
As each machine was turned on, most emitted light of some kind, until the van was illuminated enough for Jarod to be able to see various things inside it. He sat down on the one remaining seat and watched as Nat began turning switches, until voices could be heard from speakers that Nat had attached to the radio receiver.
“Twenty minutes to go,” Nat said suddenly, and Jarod glanced down at the new watch he had on his wrist. His father had taught him to tell time that afternoon – or rather, taught again, as Charles told his son that one of the last things he had learned before being taken by the Centre had been to read a clock. The Centre had kept the watch he had received for his fourth birthday, along with everything else he had been wearing on the night he was taken, and Jarod had never seen any of it again.
Even as Jarod thought this, the silence was broken by a rumbling sound, which grew louder with every passing second, and an unknown voice spoke over the radio.
“Here they come.”
Suddenly the darkness was broken by the flashing of orange lights and the rumble of machinery. Through the tinted windscreen, Jarod could see men in dark clothes with vests that reflected the oncoming headlights. Through the gloom, made worse by the bright lights that shone on the fake work-site, he could just make out three vehicles, and a voice through the radio confirmed it.
“Three cars – maximum fourteen sweepers and the target.”
“Only fourteen,” Nat muttered in obvious relief. “We’ve got double that.”
The cars were halted by a man who stepped out into the middle of the road with an outstretched hand, and Jarod inhaled sharply as he recognized his father’s features in the bright light.
“What’s the hold-up?” an angry voice demanded.
Only four men had been dressed as ‘workmen’, the others being hidden along the roadway, and they now came out of the shadows and surrounded the cars, ten people to each car, most with guns drawn. The doors were yanked open, and in the background, Jarod could hear a voice over a radio, calling for backup.
“No, you don’t,” Nat murmured, and Jarod saw him press a button on the panel, which was the new device he had created to scramble the Centre’s radio communication.
A violent fight was taking place outside the cars, although it was obvious, even to Jarod, that the sweepers had no chance. They were quickly overpowered, tied up and dumped back into the car. Two figures came towards the van, carrying a limp body between them, and Cici, who had so far remained in the passenger seat, grabbed her bag as she got out, running over to join them.
The resistance lasted less than ten minutes. By the end of that time, the sweepers were tied up and most were apparently unconscious. They were dumped back into the cars, several being left at the side of the road. They wouldn’t be there long. The first part of the radio message would have been received at the Centre, and sweepers would already be on their way, but this gave the rescuers some time to get away. While some people busied themselves with this, others shot their guns into the surrounding trees to make it appear that the situation had been more violent than it really was. This was a ploy they always used in the hope that it would prevent anyone they attacked from trying to fight back, and so far that, with the element of surprise, had achieved the aim.
As the men checked their knots, Charles came back to the van, smiling grimly. “Looks like it was a success,” he told the two men inside. “Nat, do a sweep and check we haven’t missed anyone, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man muttered, and turned on the machine attached to the heat sensor on the van’s room. As Jarod watched over his shoulder, Nat identified the various groups visible on the screen. “Cici, the target and two of our guys,” he said, pointing to a group nearby. “The convoy from the Centre,” circling the area several hundred feet away, which was a hive of activity, as everything was packed away.
“Wait,” Jarod said, as Nat slid the scanner over another area and the Pretender caught sight of something. “What’s that?”
Swiveling the camera back in that direction, Nat raised his eyebrows at the faint light, which was only just visible even to the powerful camera.
“Good job,” he said, before activating the radio. “Boss, check twenty-five feet to the left of the last car. Dig around a bit. There’s something there.”
Immediately, several figures raced over to the indicated spot, and Jarod could see them digging around under the leaves that thickly covered the ground. Then they lifted something and the two men in the van could see a human form on the ground.
“Cici,” the Boss’s voice barked over the radio, and the doctor left the group gathered around the target and raced over. A moment later, Charles’ voice spoke again, so softly that Jarod doubted he had heard properly. “Oh, God. Emily.”
That name was already fixed in Jarod's mind, along with details of his daughter that Charles had spent many hours describing to his son. Without hesitating, and ignoring the call of “Jarod, come back!” that came from behind him, the Pretender yanked open the car door and raced across the ground to where the group was gathered around the motionless young woman. Charles looked up as his son approached and smiled, his eyes glistening in the torchlight.
“It’s her, Jarod,” his father murmured happily, as Cici checked the young woman over. “It’s your sister. At last.”
“Boss,” Nat’s voice suddenly said, and the silence of the area was so complete that Jarod could hear it, even without wearing a headset himself. Charles straightened and pressed a button on a box at his hip.
“What is it, Nat?”
“Teams have just left the Centre, including a helicopter. It’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Everybody scram,” Charles ordered, jumping to his feet, before turning to his son. “Can you carry her to the van, Jarod? I’ll get our target.”
Without bothering to answer, Jarod slid his arms under his sister’s shoulders and knees, lifting her gently. Then he saw, on the ground, something silver reflecting the light, and bent down again to pick it up. It was a key, and he awkwardly managed to slip it into his pants pocket, before turning away to the vehicle in the shadows.
In the van, he gently placed Emily on a pile of blankets in the back of the van, while Charles, having put the other unconscious figure across a bank of seats, came to help Nat and Margaret pack everything away. Through the windscreen, he could see other people racing for the vehicles that were hidden around the area, supplemented by the sweeper who had finished his time inside the Centre and had been replaced by another. Even as they did so, several explosions were heard near the vans, and clouds of something thicker than smoke billowed into the air. Jarod guessed that these were the smoke bombs Shannon had mentioned.
Moments later, even as Nat was closing the last box, the van started, and Jarod looked up to see Cici at the wheel. Charles checked the young girl who lay on the seats and then ordered Nat to stay beside her, before he came over to where Jarod sat, Emily’s head resting against his leg, her eyes closed.
“Oh, Jarod,” his father murmured happily, his voice cracking, “I know I promised we’d be together again, but I never imagined it would be so soon!”
“Neither did I.” The younger man smiled as his father sank to his knees beside them and reached out to brush back a strand of his sister’s hair. Then he looked up at Jarod and managed a watery smile.
“She’s going to be so happy to see you, Jarod. I know she’s been searching for you for as long as I have.”
“She’ll be happy to see both of us,” his son contradicted gently.
“Boss,” Nat’s voice called at this point, and Charles straightened up, moving to the front of the vehicle. Jarod noticed that the tension was now gone from Nat’s voice, and he sounded just as he had during their first meeting.
“What’s up?” the older man asked.
“The helicopter just arrived,” the technician said, and Jarod looked up in time to see him point out something on a box in his lap. “The first cars should be able ten minutes behind them – maybe 15, depending on how quickly they got going.”
“Did our people get away?”
“Well and truly,” Nat replied in satisfied tones. “Two cars arrived at the airstrip, and the guys will be in the air as we speak. The others just crossed the border.”
Charles clapped him on the back. “Great job. Everything went like clockwork. Now, let’s get Freya to her safe-house and then maybe we can get some shut-eye.” He came back to where Jarod sat and lowered himself to the floor of the van beside them, looking down at his daughter. “When we get back to Lucy’s, I want Cici to take another look at her. If she’s been at the Centre, God only knows what they could have done to her.”
“And if she hasn’t been there, how did she know where we were?” Jarod asked suddenly, lifting his head from where it was resting against the van’s rear door. “Dad, she must have been inside the Centre, and even with the transport, or else Nat would have spotted her earlier. Someone must have knocked her out and dragged her away from the convoy. And if it was one of your people, why didn’t they say so? Everyone knew we’d found her.”
Charles stared at his son in horrified realization. “Working for them?” he suggested, flinching back from the unconscious young woman. “Could she be?”
“I don’t know,” Jarod said softly. “And we probably won’t, until she wakes up and can tell us for herself. But I’ve never seen her, if that helps.” His eyes traveled over his sister’s face. “I’m sure I’d remember, if I had.”
“Nat,” Charles snapped, and the young man rose immediately, moving to the back of the van.
“What is it, Boss?”
“I want you to run an ID search on her,” the older man directed, waving a hand at his daughter. “Get a photo and run it through the whole Centre system. I want anyone who even looks vaguely like her, as well as all the details you can find.”
“Yes, sir,” Nat agreed at once. “I’ve got my camera at the house, so that I can start making a pass for Freya, and I’ll run that check as soon as we get there.”
Nat moved back to his seat, and Charles walked over to look at Freya, the twelve-year-old girl who had been the target for the night’s successful operation. As the project name allocated to her implied, she had blond hair, which had been cut short, and a finely boned face. The Centre had exploited her extraordinary memory skills for almost ten years.
Jarod looked down at this sister, pulling the blanket around her slightly closer, so that the draft he felt wouldn’t affect her. He couldn’t feel anything but pity for her, knowing now how the Centre worked and what ruses they might have used to tempt her into working for them. Leaning his head against the back of the van, he imagined the ways in which they could have persuaded her to stay. He could see himself, a prisoner again, responding in exactly the way they wanted to the requests they presented, giving them information, which they could later use in any way they wanted…
A hand gently shaking his shoulder woke Jarod some time later, and he could make out his father’s features in the half-light.
“We’re here, Jarod.”
Stretching, the Pretender found that his leg had gone to sleep, and had to let Nat and his father lift his sister out of the van and carry her into the house, while Tom came out to bring Freya. By the time Jarod got inside, having secured the van, the blond girl was being taken into a bedroom, with Cici following behind, and Emily, still unconscious, had been put down on a sofa in the living room, with Charles beside her.
Jarod sank into an armchair opposite, watching as his father leaned over the woman, who was clearly starting to regain consciousness.
“Cici,” the Boss called in a low voice, and the doctor appeared almost immediately, hurrying to the sofa and picking up Emily’s wrist to time her pulse.
“She’s doing fine.” Cici smiled as she saw the girl’s eyelids flutter.
Charles leaned over his daughter and spoke quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Emily? Are you waking up, honey?”
Even as Cici took a step back, her eyes widening in surprise, Emily opened her eyes, looking up at her father, and a faint smile curled her lips.
“Daddy,” she muttered in a cracking voice, and Lucy immediately hurried forward with a glass of water.
“Yes, baby,” Charles assured her, stroking her cheek. “I’m here.” Then, as she struggled to sit up, he put a hand on her shoulder in gentle restraint. “No, Emily. Stay still and drink this.”
He held the glass to her lips, and she sipped at the contents, her eyes still fixed on her father’s face, opening her mouth to speak again as soon as he moved the glass away.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked, her voice stronger, and Jarod saw Cici’s eyes narrow as she looked at the younger woman.
“It’s a long story,” Charles said, still in that gentle tone. “For the moment, I want our doctor to look you over, and then I’ve got a few things I want you to tell me.”
Cici came forward on the word, and Charles rose from his knees, backing away slightly. The girl lay still while the doctor gave her a cursory examination, and then smiled slightly.
“Thank you, Doctor Simpson.”
Jarod heard a united gasp and saw that everyone in the room was staring, wide-eyed, at Emily, who pulled herself upright and cast a grin at her father.
“Daddy, can I explain now?”
“I think you’d better,” Charles said quietly, but with great meaning in his tones.
“I’d like to ask a question first,” the doctor remarked, looking down at the patient. “What happened to you – do you know? You weren’t knocked out, because there’s no wound, and you’re totally lucid, which I’ve never seen after a hit like you would have needed to knock you out.”
Emily settled back against the cushions and looked thoughtful. “It’s a little hard to know where to begin without saying something that will have you thinking I’ve been working with the Centre. I haven’t,” she exclaimed, looking at her father. “I only went in about two months ago, to try to find Kyle and Jarod.”
Jarod sat bolt upright at this, but his father gestured to him to stay quiet.
“I was working for a corporation that was searching for improvements to one of their ideas,” Emily went on, “and they mentioned something about a think-tank in Delaware that might be able to provide the answers they wanted. It was the first I’d heard about the Centre, but the more research I did, the more it sounded like the kind of place that might have been involved somehow, so I applied for a job as a sweeper two months ago.”
“Nat?” Charles snapped, and the young man, who was bent over his computer, looked up to nod in agreement at what had been said. Jarod could already see a photo of his sister that had clearly been taken while she was still unconscious. When the Boss was reassured, he came over to sit on the edge of the sofa and looked steadily at Emily. “What did you find out, baby?” he asked, and Jarod could hear that the former reserve in his voice was gone.
“I couldn’t find them,” Emily replied, her voice suddenly choky, and she slipped her hands into those of her father as her brown eyes filled. “I wanted to, Daddy, so much! And the more I found out about the Centre, the more I knew I had to try to get them out! It’s so awful, that place…”
“I know,” her father agreed softly. “But tell me, Em, what happened tonight?”
Emily’s head sank and she examined her feet. “I’m a coward,” she confessed in a low voice. “I was so scared of that place, and the more I found about what they’ve done to our family, the more frightened I was. Then I saw that they were planning to transport one of the subjects to one of the Centre’s partner companies, and I thought that, if I went along, I might have a chance to escape.”
“But you didn’t,” Cici put in. “So what happened?”
“Someone grabbed me as I got out of the car and pulled me away,” Emily replied. “She took my gun – the one I got from the Centre – and said that I had no right to be where I was, that my family was worried about me, and that this was the worst place I could be – that I was even lucky to still be alive!” The woman’s eyes were wide as she looked up. “And she was right! But I never knew how bad it was until I was involved, so how did she know?”
“She could have been one of them,” Cici mused. “One of the helpful ones.”
“There aren’t any,” Nat snorted quietly, and Tom nodded in agreement.
“Or one of our guys,” the doctor added.
“They’ve never known about Emily,” Charles contradicted at once. Then he looked back at his daughter. “What happened after that?”
“She produced a bottle of something and told me to drink it. She said that when I woke up, I’d be safe – she’d make sure of it. So I did what she said, and that’s all I remember.” Emily patted the pocket of her jacket, and then her expression became anxious. She patted her other pockets, but clearly failed to find what she wanted. “Oh, Daddy,” she wailed. “I brought all the information I’ve been gathering about the projects I saw working, so that I could expose the place and get it shut down, but it’s gone!”
“What about your ID card?” Nat asked suddenly. The young woman eyed him for a moment before feeling in her shirt pocket.
“That’s gone, too!”
“Why, Nat?” Charles asked in suspicious tones.
“According to this,” the young technician said, “the sweeper with the ID card bearing your daughter’s photo has just swiped in at that Centre.”
“What?!” The Boss leapt to his feet. “Let me see that.”
He was shown the screen and sent a bewildered look at the other people in the room.
“But who is it?” he demanded. “Who would take the card and pretend to be Emily? And why?”
“Pretend?” Jarod, forgetting his father’s direction, spoke, as he looked around at the people in the room – his father, Cecilia, Nat, Tom, Lucy, Margaret, Emily and Joshua. “Where’s Shannon?”
There was an instant of stunned silence before Charles spoke again, shaking his head, his face wearing an expression of horror as he dropped into a vacant chair beside Nat.
“Oh, no,” he begged softly, staring at the floor, as he sank his head into his hands. “Oh, God, no – she’s gone back in to find Peter!”
