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Disclaimer: All characters and are the property of NBC and TNT. I don’t own them, I just borrowed them.
Not in Kansas Anymore
part 4
by Charlatan
SL22
He moved obediently between the two sweepers, as he had done every morning for the last two weeks. This day would be different. Today he would be free. As much as he had enjoyed his reminder of why he hated the Centre so much, the magician had realized his act was over. It was time to come back to reality—even if it meant enduring the blinding pain of his injured leg.
They came to the bend in the hallway, where the two fields of the cameras, according to his precise calculations, did not completely overlap. He pretended to stumble, and the sweepers, who had in the last few weeks grown placate, were caught off guard. They both reached down to pick him up, and at the precise moment he neatly slammed their heads together. One crumpled instantly, but the burlier sweeper grabbed for his throat. Jarod reached around, and placed pressure at the perfect spot on the base of the man’s neck; the sweeper fell to the floor.
“Resistance is illogical,” he quipped to the fallen sweepers. Then a nearby grate popped open and Angelo crouched there smiling at his longtime friend.
“Jarod come,” he said. “Don’t keep queen waiting.”
***
The Helen Keller
“This is ingenious.” Broots giggled for the millionth time. “Jarod’s really outdone himself this time.”
Miss Parker closed her eyes and counted to three.
“Broots,” she said with exaggerated patience and a hint of danger, “Will you stop acting like a tourist, and start acting at least like the half-baked moron I know you can be?”
The computer tech got to work. He pulled up a map of the world on his computer screen. Red lines crisscrossed each other, but they all seemed to end at one point. A little spot in Boston.
“You can see that each of these lines represent individually activated telephone calls. These calls came here, and acted as passwords to send Data Files. Those files all went to the same place. “
“The Centre.” Miss Parker said with a caustic smile.
Broots nodded. “It seems that all the sims Jarod has been doing were created by him. He even left his calling card, so to say. All the companies names contained the number “3” in some way. For example, Dreidesert, had “drei”, which is German for 3. It seems that he most commonly inserted “tri”—I’m not sure why.”
Miss Parker shook her head. “Our favorite labrat must be stretching his opposable joints with all the nose thumbing he’s doing at us. Tri, Broots?” She pointed to the firm that had caught her interest earlier. “Perhaps you recognize Troika?”
Understanding lit his face. “Troika is another word for triumvirate: a ruling body with three members. And the rest…tri as in triumverate. I can’t believe he’d send such an obvious clue.”
She sighed, “Jarod’s clues are always obvious—from a certain point of view. I’m guessing he doesn’t think the Centre can see the “obvious” very well with its head stuck in the sandbox.”
She shook her head again and moved on. “So all those spots in the world contain some device designed to make a telephone call?”
“Possibly,” the balding man replied.
“Broots,” she said as inspiration hit her. “Pull up a map of all the sites for Jarod’s pretends.” The computer tech nodded, and the information flashed up on his screen. “Now superimpose it over the map of the calls.” Broots hit several keys, and the request was accomplished. “Look familiar?” she asked in a satisfied tone.
“They match.” The man noted.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind them. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
Miss Parker stood up and turned around. The man’s eyes widened with recognition.
“Well, Mr. Belugi,” she said softly, “You don’t look dead to me.” She pulled out her Smith and Wesson. “But don’t worry, I can fix that.”
***
Centre VIP Parking Lot
From his hiding place amongst the trees Jarod frowned. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I designed Triple Jeopardy. Well, I guess it is figuratively,” he said with a hollow laugh.
The pretender shook his head; the failure of Triple Jeopardy still smarted. What a waste of all that work! If anything, this would reinforce their power over her. She would never learn that the only way to end the game was to stop playing by the rules. Triple Jeopardy would have given her a push—bent those rules. But now it was over. Another fantasy slashed by the reality of the Centre.
There was no time to think about that now.
He glanced back at the contents of the tote before him. “This is never going to work, Angelo.”
“Have faith.” His coconspirator said with a grin. Jarod reluctantly picked up the bag, sitting next to them.
“This is going to be my hardest pretend ever.”
***
The Helen Keller
Miss Parker’s aim never wavered. “You had five seconds to convince me not to shoot you. I want to know everything you know, and I want to know it right now.”
“Had?” he queried. Her glare riddled him with holes. The man gulped, and began eagerly.
“A couple years ago a man came to work for my employer. He said his name was Jarod, and that he was, well, a fixit man of sorts.”
“Let me guess,” Miss Parker said wryly, “Your employer wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen.”
The man nodded. “He had me trapped. Made me do things I didn’t want to do. We were into drugs at first, but than they asked me to kill someone—a client who couldn’t pay. I decided that I wasn’t going to be a part of the “team” anymore, and tried to walk away. Than he threatened my sister’s life.”
“Several weeks before that I refused to help them with another “case”, and by the next day my stepfather had disappeared. He went fishing and never came back. He was missing for a week before they found him; he washed up onto shore. The coroner concluded he drowned while swimming, but he was an excellent swimmer. The warning was not lost on me. Nor was my part in the deed. I never pulled the trigger, but I killed him….” The man’s voice trailed off sadly. “The Belugi is his boat, and I used his last name for Jarod’s scheme to, well, honor his memory with something good. Something that would help instead of hurt someone.”
He sighed, and returned to his tale, “I knew they were responsible for his death, and I had no illusions that they wouldn’t hurt my sister as well. She had a family, with two beautiful daughters. How could I ever look my nieces’ in the eye and tell them their mother wasn’t ever coming home—just like their grandfather?”
“And Jarod helped you?!” Broots chirped in eagerly. Miss Parker wiped the smile off his face with a single look.
Jim ignored the exchange. “After it was all over, I asked Jarod if there was anything I could do for him. He gave me a device that plugged into my computer. He told me that there were people after him, and he had a “feeling” they would be catching up to him shortly. Apparently, this device would offer him a safety net for a short time against these people. It’s strange though, I think a relocation to another country would have been my idea of a safety net, but Jarod almost acted like he wanted to get caught…eventually.”
Miss Parker digested the information for a moment. Clearly the untalented Mr. Belugi had grossly underestimated Jarod’s intentions. Jarod, wanting to get caught? Never. A flash on a computer screen woke her from her reverie. “What about the Helen Keller? Did you help Jarod set this up?” she asked.
The man shook his head. “This ship was destined to be scrapped, but Jarod was determined to buy it. He said that a ship with the name of Helen Keller deserved a second chance. The owner told him that it was a lost cause, but Jarod informed him that he didn’t believe in lost causes: only that the people who had created them were lost. It’s kind of funny, now that I think of it, he told me that he was going to use this ship to steer someone back onto their path. I wonder who that was…” he looked at her, “Maybe it was you?”
Her hardened features wavered for a moment, and then resumed their cold appearance. “The only reason I ever step off my path is because Jarod’s left another obstacle in my way. Taking his help, would be like jumping headfirst into ocean waters newly chummed for sharks. Either way, you can hope for the best, but you’re not getting anywhere without losing a few appendages.”
‘Besides,’ she continued to herself, ‘he probably was just referring to the victim he was going to help in his next pretend. And, when it you really came down to it, who knew why Jarod said half of the strange things he did? Probably just because he liked to think of cryptic one-liners to leave behind for the sweeper teams. Ones that had an uncanny habit of wedging their way into your thoughts…just like now.’ Her face flushed. ‘Get it together Parker!’ an inner voice ordered. She dismissed the confusing implications, and focused on the matter at hand.
The man squirmed under her penetrating gaze.
“How did it work?” Broots interrupted. As a frequent victim of that same piercing laser, he could sympathize with the unfortunate prisoner.
The man looked up thankfully, but without a clue as to what the computer technician was asking. Miss Parker had a way of rendering her prey dumb.
“The system?” Broots elaborated. “How did it operate?”
The man smiled gratefully, thankful to be led to more solid footing. “Well every three days it received a message from Jarod, and as long as it did it was not to be activated. Then, one day it began beeping. Jarod told me that if this ever happened I was to call the number he gave me, and punch in a passcode. He warned me that people like you might show up, and that I should just talk in vague phrases, and be friendly and you would go away. He said everything would be fine as long you had your money, and the passcode I typed in would ensure that.”
“It’s true,” Broots confirmed from his place in front of the computer. “All of these “accounts” are linked to separate anonymous banks. I guess, Jarod must have given those devices to people he met on his pretends.”
Miss Parker sighed. “So now we know how the process works, but the question is, how long does it last? How long can Jarod go before he comes across a sim he didn’t invent?”
“Two weeks,” the man at the end of her gun said helpfully.
“But that would be now!” she exclaimed. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
***
The Centre
“This is Sydney,” came the familiar Belgian accent.
“Sydney,” said Parker. “Is Jarod there?’
The man hunched over his desk, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “It seems Miss Parker, that Jarod is missing. They haven’t found him yet. Where are you? In your office?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m on my way back there right now.”
***
Centre Guardpost
Mr. Lyle was in a bad mood. He’d been called back to the Centre from a crucial business meeting. This had better he important, or heads were going to role.
As he drew nearer to the guard post he noticed a car approaching from the other direction. “Well if it isn’t my favorite twin,” he murmured to himself. “Cutting the day a little short aren’t you?” In fact, it was almost unheard of to see that car and its occupant moving around in broad daylight. His sister usually arrived at a time he considered excruciatingly early, and left long after dark. He doubted her schedule would drastically change now that she was back in corporate.
He frowned, as the cars passed each other at the exact moment that the guard post was between them. He might have felt better if he could have at least seen her face. Even an angry scowl might have clued him in on what she was up to. Another opportunity for sibling torture missed. He pulled into the parking lot, and stepped out of the car. Across the lot he could see two sweepers talking, clearly discussing some business outside of the range of the Centre’s cameras, and listening aids. He approached them.
“What can we do for you Mr. Lyle?” Willie asked.
Lyle liked Willie. No matter how many times this sweeper switched teams he still liked him. After all, they were both in a way “brought into their own” by Raines, and that made them what—kindred spirits? Probably not, but at least it made them dangerous.
“I want you to follow my sister,” he informed them. “She just left, and I want to know why.” He paused. “Use the tracking beacon placed in her car if you need to.” The seasoned sweeper nodded professionally—always the good soldier.
“We won’t let you down Mr. Lyle.”
The thumbless man watched as they climbed into a nearby towncar and drove off in pursuit. His cell phone beeped.
“What!” he answered, sounding exactly like the woman he was currently hunting. Lyle only listened to part of what the person on the other line had to say before he threw the phone into the nearby wall in frustration. “Damn it!” he yelled. This was going to be a very lousy day.
part 4
by Charlatan
SL22
He moved obediently between the two sweepers, as he had done every morning for the last two weeks. This day would be different. Today he would be free. As much as he had enjoyed his reminder of why he hated the Centre so much, the magician had realized his act was over. It was time to come back to reality—even if it meant enduring the blinding pain of his injured leg.
They came to the bend in the hallway, where the two fields of the cameras, according to his precise calculations, did not completely overlap. He pretended to stumble, and the sweepers, who had in the last few weeks grown placate, were caught off guard. They both reached down to pick him up, and at the precise moment he neatly slammed their heads together. One crumpled instantly, but the burlier sweeper grabbed for his throat. Jarod reached around, and placed pressure at the perfect spot on the base of the man’s neck; the sweeper fell to the floor.
“Resistance is illogical,” he quipped to the fallen sweepers. Then a nearby grate popped open and Angelo crouched there smiling at his longtime friend.
“Jarod come,” he said. “Don’t keep queen waiting.”
***
The Helen Keller
“This is ingenious.” Broots giggled for the millionth time. “Jarod’s really outdone himself this time.”
Miss Parker closed her eyes and counted to three.
“Broots,” she said with exaggerated patience and a hint of danger, “Will you stop acting like a tourist, and start acting at least like the half-baked moron I know you can be?”
The computer tech got to work. He pulled up a map of the world on his computer screen. Red lines crisscrossed each other, but they all seemed to end at one point. A little spot in Boston.
“You can see that each of these lines represent individually activated telephone calls. These calls came here, and acted as passwords to send Data Files. Those files all went to the same place. “
“The Centre.” Miss Parker said with a caustic smile.
Broots nodded. “It seems that all the sims Jarod has been doing were created by him. He even left his calling card, so to say. All the companies names contained the number “3” in some way. For example, Dreidesert, had “drei”, which is German for 3. It seems that he most commonly inserted “tri”—I’m not sure why.”
Miss Parker shook her head. “Our favorite labrat must be stretching his opposable joints with all the nose thumbing he’s doing at us. Tri, Broots?” She pointed to the firm that had caught her interest earlier. “Perhaps you recognize Troika?”
Understanding lit his face. “Troika is another word for triumvirate: a ruling body with three members. And the rest…tri as in triumverate. I can’t believe he’d send such an obvious clue.”
She sighed, “Jarod’s clues are always obvious—from a certain point of view. I’m guessing he doesn’t think the Centre can see the “obvious” very well with its head stuck in the sandbox.”
She shook her head again and moved on. “So all those spots in the world contain some device designed to make a telephone call?”
“Possibly,” the balding man replied.
“Broots,” she said as inspiration hit her. “Pull up a map of all the sites for Jarod’s pretends.” The computer tech nodded, and the information flashed up on his screen. “Now superimpose it over the map of the calls.” Broots hit several keys, and the request was accomplished. “Look familiar?” she asked in a satisfied tone.
“They match.” The man noted.
“Hey!” came a voice from behind them. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
Miss Parker stood up and turned around. The man’s eyes widened with recognition.
“Well, Mr. Belugi,” she said softly, “You don’t look dead to me.” She pulled out her Smith and Wesson. “But don’t worry, I can fix that.”
***
Centre VIP Parking Lot
From his hiding place amongst the trees Jarod frowned. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I designed Triple Jeopardy. Well, I guess it is figuratively,” he said with a hollow laugh.
The pretender shook his head; the failure of Triple Jeopardy still smarted. What a waste of all that work! If anything, this would reinforce their power over her. She would never learn that the only way to end the game was to stop playing by the rules. Triple Jeopardy would have given her a push—bent those rules. But now it was over. Another fantasy slashed by the reality of the Centre.
There was no time to think about that now.
He glanced back at the contents of the tote before him. “This is never going to work, Angelo.”
“Have faith.” His coconspirator said with a grin. Jarod reluctantly picked up the bag, sitting next to them.
“This is going to be my hardest pretend ever.”
***
The Helen Keller
Miss Parker’s aim never wavered. “You had five seconds to convince me not to shoot you. I want to know everything you know, and I want to know it right now.”
“Had?” he queried. Her glare riddled him with holes. The man gulped, and began eagerly.
“A couple years ago a man came to work for my employer. He said his name was Jarod, and that he was, well, a fixit man of sorts.”
“Let me guess,” Miss Parker said wryly, “Your employer wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen.”
The man nodded. “He had me trapped. Made me do things I didn’t want to do. We were into drugs at first, but than they asked me to kill someone—a client who couldn’t pay. I decided that I wasn’t going to be a part of the “team” anymore, and tried to walk away. Than he threatened my sister’s life.”
“Several weeks before that I refused to help them with another “case”, and by the next day my stepfather had disappeared. He went fishing and never came back. He was missing for a week before they found him; he washed up onto shore. The coroner concluded he drowned while swimming, but he was an excellent swimmer. The warning was not lost on me. Nor was my part in the deed. I never pulled the trigger, but I killed him….” The man’s voice trailed off sadly. “The Belugi is his boat, and I used his last name for Jarod’s scheme to, well, honor his memory with something good. Something that would help instead of hurt someone.”
He sighed, and returned to his tale, “I knew they were responsible for his death, and I had no illusions that they wouldn’t hurt my sister as well. She had a family, with two beautiful daughters. How could I ever look my nieces’ in the eye and tell them their mother wasn’t ever coming home—just like their grandfather?”
“And Jarod helped you?!” Broots chirped in eagerly. Miss Parker wiped the smile off his face with a single look.
Jim ignored the exchange. “After it was all over, I asked Jarod if there was anything I could do for him. He gave me a device that plugged into my computer. He told me that there were people after him, and he had a “feeling” they would be catching up to him shortly. Apparently, this device would offer him a safety net for a short time against these people. It’s strange though, I think a relocation to another country would have been my idea of a safety net, but Jarod almost acted like he wanted to get caught…eventually.”
Miss Parker digested the information for a moment. Clearly the untalented Mr. Belugi had grossly underestimated Jarod’s intentions. Jarod, wanting to get caught? Never. A flash on a computer screen woke her from her reverie. “What about the Helen Keller? Did you help Jarod set this up?” she asked.
The man shook his head. “This ship was destined to be scrapped, but Jarod was determined to buy it. He said that a ship with the name of Helen Keller deserved a second chance. The owner told him that it was a lost cause, but Jarod informed him that he didn’t believe in lost causes: only that the people who had created them were lost. It’s kind of funny, now that I think of it, he told me that he was going to use this ship to steer someone back onto their path. I wonder who that was…” he looked at her, “Maybe it was you?”
Her hardened features wavered for a moment, and then resumed their cold appearance. “The only reason I ever step off my path is because Jarod’s left another obstacle in my way. Taking his help, would be like jumping headfirst into ocean waters newly chummed for sharks. Either way, you can hope for the best, but you’re not getting anywhere without losing a few appendages.”
‘Besides,’ she continued to herself, ‘he probably was just referring to the victim he was going to help in his next pretend. And, when it you really came down to it, who knew why Jarod said half of the strange things he did? Probably just because he liked to think of cryptic one-liners to leave behind for the sweeper teams. Ones that had an uncanny habit of wedging their way into your thoughts…just like now.’ Her face flushed. ‘Get it together Parker!’ an inner voice ordered. She dismissed the confusing implications, and focused on the matter at hand.
The man squirmed under her penetrating gaze.
“How did it work?” Broots interrupted. As a frequent victim of that same piercing laser, he could sympathize with the unfortunate prisoner.
The man looked up thankfully, but without a clue as to what the computer technician was asking. Miss Parker had a way of rendering her prey dumb.
“The system?” Broots elaborated. “How did it operate?”
The man smiled gratefully, thankful to be led to more solid footing. “Well every three days it received a message from Jarod, and as long as it did it was not to be activated. Then, one day it began beeping. Jarod told me that if this ever happened I was to call the number he gave me, and punch in a passcode. He warned me that people like you might show up, and that I should just talk in vague phrases, and be friendly and you would go away. He said everything would be fine as long you had your money, and the passcode I typed in would ensure that.”
“It’s true,” Broots confirmed from his place in front of the computer. “All of these “accounts” are linked to separate anonymous banks. I guess, Jarod must have given those devices to people he met on his pretends.”
Miss Parker sighed. “So now we know how the process works, but the question is, how long does it last? How long can Jarod go before he comes across a sim he didn’t invent?”
“Two weeks,” the man at the end of her gun said helpfully.
“But that would be now!” she exclaimed. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
***
The Centre
“This is Sydney,” came the familiar Belgian accent.
“Sydney,” said Parker. “Is Jarod there?’
The man hunched over his desk, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “It seems Miss Parker, that Jarod is missing. They haven’t found him yet. Where are you? In your office?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m on my way back there right now.”
***
Centre Guardpost
Mr. Lyle was in a bad mood. He’d been called back to the Centre from a crucial business meeting. This had better he important, or heads were going to role.
As he drew nearer to the guard post he noticed a car approaching from the other direction. “Well if it isn’t my favorite twin,” he murmured to himself. “Cutting the day a little short aren’t you?” In fact, it was almost unheard of to see that car and its occupant moving around in broad daylight. His sister usually arrived at a time he considered excruciatingly early, and left long after dark. He doubted her schedule would drastically change now that she was back in corporate.
He frowned, as the cars passed each other at the exact moment that the guard post was between them. He might have felt better if he could have at least seen her face. Even an angry scowl might have clued him in on what she was up to. Another opportunity for sibling torture missed. He pulled into the parking lot, and stepped out of the car. Across the lot he could see two sweepers talking, clearly discussing some business outside of the range of the Centre’s cameras, and listening aids. He approached them.
“What can we do for you Mr. Lyle?” Willie asked.
Lyle liked Willie. No matter how many times this sweeper switched teams he still liked him. After all, they were both in a way “brought into their own” by Raines, and that made them what—kindred spirits? Probably not, but at least it made them dangerous.
“I want you to follow my sister,” he informed them. “She just left, and I want to know why.” He paused. “Use the tracking beacon placed in her car if you need to.” The seasoned sweeper nodded professionally—always the good soldier.
“We won’t let you down Mr. Lyle.”
The thumbless man watched as they climbed into a nearby towncar and drove off in pursuit. His cell phone beeped.
“What!” he answered, sounding exactly like the woman he was currently hunting. Lyle only listened to part of what the person on the other line had to say before he threw the phone into the nearby wall in frustration. “Damn it!” he yelled. This was going to be a very lousy day.
