Morocco, Africa

"Well, Mr. Parker," Batna said, lying the ores in the bottom of the canoe as he dragged it up to shore. "This is where the river ends. If we go straight on the footpath through the forest, we should be there in five days."

"Thank you, Batna," Mr. Parker said, nodding to him as he struggled, still sore from his jump almost two weeks ago, to get out of the boat onto dry land. With Batna leading the way, they began walking, Mr. Parker limping slightly on one leg.

"Tell me again," Batna asked, "where are you going? I am not being intrusive, but we have a long walk and I will try to get you as close as possible."

"The organization I work for," Mr. Parker answered stiffly, though he supposed that at this point, it didn't matter how much he told the man anyway. "It's a research facility. We have a number of projects that have been running for decades. Some of the job is to research events and…predict certain outcomes and sell the answers to world powers."

"Ahhh, yes," Batna nodded. "Tell me, if you will, because it really isn't my business, but this organization you speak of – is it the one described in the scrolls?"

Mr. Parker stopped dead in his tracks, his face hardening. He clapped a hand down roughly on Batna's shoulder to stop him. "You read the scrolls?"

"Yes," Batna said, putting his hands up defensively, though his warm smile never left his face. "They describe how the one boy, the intelligent Jarod, will lead The Centre to power. How…"

"That's enough," Mr. Parker barked gruffly, glancing around nervously and tightening his hold on the leather sack containing the scrolls.

"Not to say I believe them to be true," Batna added, gently lowering Mr. Parker's hand and motioning for them to keep walking. "They also predicted your death shortly after the jump from the aircraft, and you are very much alive, my friend. I do not think ill of you for these predictions. They are pieces of paper – I could write up anything like that."

"You're damn right they're just pieces of paper," Mr. Parker said harshly, returning to their steady pace along the path.

They were silent for a minute. Finally, Batna said, "You can have faith in me, Mr. Parker. I won't tell a soul. I will bring you to your Centre, then forget this ever happened."

"I'm sorry Batna, but that won't work," Mr. Parker said, shaking his head despite the fact that he had no remorse for what he was about to do. "Thank you for your help, but you know too much." He reached into his jacket, pulled out his gun, and made sure Batna would never have a chance to tell anyone anything again. As he looked down at the still and bleeding body of the kind man who had gone against his family to help a stranger, he shook off any guilt. Mr. Parker didn't carry guilt.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

East Coast of Scotland

"Used to visit here every summer with her family," McFarnon explained as he looked up at the small cottage before them. "It was Margaret's grandparents's home. She and her sister would climb up to the roof just to watch the clouds go by. Sweetest little angels to come through the town, I'd reckon."

"Her sister?" Jarod said. "She has a sister?"

"Had," McFarnon said, sadly shaking his head. "On the family's plane ride back to America one summer, her little sister got separated from the family after they landed at the airport. After over a year of searching, they received word that she was dead. The family was never certain what happened; they never saw a body, they never got proof either way. Poor little girl; remember her clear as day. After that, the family never came back here. Last time I saw Margaret, she was all grown up, talking about finding lost loved ones. I think now that she's an adult, her sister's death is hitting her even harder."

Though the house hadn't been lived in for years, it was still in relatively good condition. The white paint on the outside was peeling and dirty, and the green on the windowsills had faded and flaked off, but it had a charming air to it. It was a very small house; the face had only two large windows, which Jarod peered inside through. "When did you last see Margaret?" he asked McFarnon, pressing his forehead to the glass and looking around inside the two-room cottage. He could see the whole interior – even some pictures on the mantel.

"About three years ago. If you don't mind me asking, why're you so interested?"

Jarod swallowed. "She's my mother."

"Your mother!" McFarnon gasped.

"I was...separated from her almost 40 years ago – I've been searching for her for the last six years," Jarod said. "Since I gained my freedom."

"Your freedom?"

Jarod shook his head. "It's a long story."

McFarnon exhaled, still taking the news in. "Well, I'll be darned. You're the one she's looking for then!"

"Yes," Jarod said. "We've been searching for each other for a long time. We've almost been reunited, but unfortunately fate isn't on our side." He sighed and again looked into the cottage. "Is there any way you can get me into the house?"

"It's probably open," McFarnon shrugged. "Go ahead, try the door."

Jarod took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. The old door creaked open. He smiled at McFarnon, who held out an arm to point him inside. Jarod stepped through the doorway, McFarnon close behind, and took in the house. Even though it was old, it comforted him somehow as he inhaled the stale air - maybe, just maybe, his mother had breathed the same air.

"Haven't been in the Elaine house since 1960!" McFarnon said, running a hand fondly along a dusty cupboard.

"Elaine?"

"That's your mother's last name. Or was, until she got married. What is it now?"

"I – I don't know," Jarod said, and he could see McFarnon raise an eyebrow curiously. Jarod walked around the ancient, yet still fully intact, wooden table to the fireplace. On the mantel, there was a black-and-white picture of two little girls sitting on the roof – the older one with her arms around the younger one. Both girls were smiling brightly, leaning against each other with the love only sisters can share.

"This picture," Jarod said, taking it off the mantel and bringing it to McFarnon. "My mother's the older one?"

"Yes," McFarnon said. Then he sighed as his gaze fell to the younger one. "This was the year she disappeared. She was eleven," He pointed to the smaller, darker-haired girl. McFarnon looked up at Jarod and saw him frowning.

"What's the matter, Jarod?"

"The little girl – she looks just like a girl I knew when I was growing up. Just like her."

"Really?" McFarnon said. "Isn't that sad. Poor little Catherine."

"Catherine?" Jarod said, feeling a chill run through his body as he repeated the name.

"That was her name. Catherine Elaine."

"You said they never found a body?" Jarod said, his jaw trembling. "So they were never sure if she was really dead or not?"

"No," McFarnon shook his head. "But after so long, they could only assume. Much as it tore them up, I suppose it's better to have some closure than spend all your life wondering."

Jarod sighed; he wouldn't know. He looked again at the photograph, his hands shaking at his discovery. The young Catherine Parker looked just as much like her daughter when she was young as Miss Parker looked like her mother now.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Great Yarmouth, England

Miss Parker jumped when she heard the phone ring. Walking over to the desk, her heart still thumping, she tried frantically to remember where she'd left it. After a few seconds, it came to her, and she dug it out of her jacket pocket. She gave a quick glance at the front screen to make sure it wasn't anyone she didn't want to talk to - that was, anyone except Sydney and Broots - and answered, "What?"

"Miss Parker, it's me," Sydney said.

"Hold on, Syd, I can barely hear you," she told him, closing her room's window and going to sit on her chair. "How was my house?"

"It was fine," he said. "I don't think anyone's been there since you left."

"Thank God," she said, giving a sigh of relief.

"Where are you, Miss Parker?" Broots's voice said anxiously from somewhere near Sydney.

"Look, Broots," she groan, closing her eyes, "I can't tell you now."

"Miss Parker, we're very concerned about you," Sydney piped in.

"I can take care of myself, Syd," she snapped "If I need you guys, I'll call."

"But Miss Parker –!"

Miss Parker put her phone down on the table and looked at the ocean view outside her window. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, the water blue, and Miss Parker felt lousy. She pressed her palms into her eyes and tried to take a couple deep breaths, each one sending a Her phone rang again. "Broots!" she said angrily. "I said –."

"It's been an entire week and I haven't seen one sweeper. Don't tell me you're going to let your brother win this one."

"Jarod" she sighed, rolling her eyes and crashing down on her back and putting a hand on her forehead, distressed and wondering why all the universe seemed to conspire against her and her flaring ulcer. "What do you want?

"Do they have internet access at The Ocean View?"

"What?" she asked, not surprised that yet again, his babbling left her feeling like she could not possibly be more lost.

"The Ocean View – do they have internet access?" Miss Parker frowned and gave him a slight growl. "Oh, come on, Miss Parker, look out the window."

As much as she hated listening to Jarod, she looked out the window. A large sign near her room read clearly, "THE OCEAN VIEW MOTEL – LESS THAN A MILE FROM THE NORTH SEA! (Free internet access!) "Jarod –."

"Well, does it?" he asked, and she could tell he was amusing himself at her expense...again. "I only drove by quickly a couple days ago – I forget."

"Yes," she groaned, "it does."

"Check your e-mail," he said, his voice no longer full of amusement.

She opened her computer. "This had better not be one of your little games, Jarod, because I'm NOT in the mood."

"It's not," he said simply.

She typed in her password and found Jarod's e-mail.

"Read it," he instructed. "Aloud."

"Fine," she grumbled, double-clicking it and scanning it quickly before reading, "'Thought this photo might interest you as much as it did me. J.'."

"Open the attachment."

"I figured that one out by myself," she snapped, clicking 'Open file'. Slowly, a photo came up on her screen. "It's a picture of my mother, as a child. With another little girl. What's that supposed to mean, Jarod? That my mother had friends and I never have, and never will because I'm too – ."

"That's not just a little girl, Miss Parker," Jarod said softly. "And I'm not trying to hurt you; I'm trying to help you. That girl is my mother."

"You're…my God, Jarod," Miss Parker said, putting a hand to her mouth. "They knew each other when they were that young?"

"Oh, yes, they knew each other. Well. Your mother's middle name, Elaine – did you ever ask her where she got it?"

"It was her last name before she married my..." Miss Parker's voice trailed off, "before she got married, I think."

"Right," Jarod said. He gave an irritatingly dramatic sigh and said, "Oh, look at the time, I've got places to go, stuff to do. Hope I've reeled you into this mystery."

"But, Jarod, what...?" The phone clicked. "Son of a bitch," she snarled, slamming her phone shut.

What was the relationship between Jarod's mother and hers? Why the hell was he toying with her again? After their encounter on Carthis, she had thought, and though she wouldn't admit it, hoped, that their relationship would be different. But he was still the same old Jarod, always under her skin, feeding her another dead end.

She groaned and turned onto her miserably onto her side, tucking into a ball. She was starving – maybe some food (or, better yet something hard to drink), would clear up her head.

She walked down to the lobby and sat at the small, makeshift bar. "Scotch, fast," she barked at the bartender. She put her elbows up on the table and stared out the window. What was Jarod up to now?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Scotland

"Thank you for all your help, McFarnon," Jarod said, putting a final bottle of water in his backpack and flicking his flashlight on a notch brighter.

McFarnon rubbed his elbow and grimaced. "My pleasure, Jarod. I'd do anything to see Margaret and her son reunited. Now, be sure to come back here for a visit once you've found her."

"I will," Jarod said, smiling and giving the stout man an appreciative hug. "Thank you." With a glance over the intimidating dark mountains, he started off to mouth of the narrow valley that led between them. He would never give up looking at his mother, and as slim of a chance it seemed that he would find her traveling from this town, he had no other option. It was going to be quite a walk, and he had to catch up with her before someone caught up with him. It was a footpath, so if he kept a steady pace, he figured he would be safe. Even if Miss Parker did catch up with him, the answers to both their mysteries lay ahead; what would she do? He waved one last time at McFarnon, who was just a small figure in the distance now, and started down the path. It was narrow, rocky, and uneven, and Jarod couldn't help but look up at the menacing cliffs and ridges. If one rock in the make-up of the mountain dislodged, he would be done with.

Jarod walked through the night. It was only when the sun had risen that he sat down, though he had become exhausted several hours prior. He would rest his eyes for a moment. Just one moment…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware

Sydney looked down at the man in front of him at the table. "And so, even if the plane crashed…?" Sydney asked questioningly.

"The pilot would be safe," the young man finished for him, nodding.

"Very good, Christopher," Sydney said, writing on a pad of paper. "Very well done. "

The door behind him opened and a breathless Broots ran into the room, brandishing a piece of paper.

"Sydney!" Broots said. "Syd, I found out – oh, e-excuse me." He glanced at Christopher, who scratched his corkscrew-curled blonde hair. "Uh, can I see you a minute?" Broots coughed.

"Just one second, Broots, we were just finishing up," Sydney said. He handed Christopher some papers, then ushered him out his office. "What did you find?"

"Well," Broots began, sitting down on the corner of the desk and springing to his feet when it began to tip. "Miss Parker called up on a cell phone – her cell phone. It's a Centre phone, so, naturally, there are ways to track it from within The Centre. It was complicated, but I found out that she was calling from the UK. Now, there was a way to trace her to her exact location at the time of the call, but you have to enter a pass code, and it can only be done once."

"Do you have the pass code?" Sydney asked.

"Well, good news and bad news. Yes, I do have the pass code, and I was able to get more information then I had before, but the thing is, Syd, somebody already got that information. And once the location's been seen once, you can't get the exact coordinates ever again."

"So someone else knows where Miss Parker is?" Sydney said. "Who?"

There was a knock, and the door to Sydney's office opened.

"Oh, sorry, didn't realize it was time for a coffee break." Mr. Lyle smiled and massaged his gloved, four-fingered hand.

"Morning, Lyle," Sydney said, trying to keep himself from exchanging glances with Broots. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, actually, you can," Lyle said, grin still on his face. "I'm curious of the whereabouts of my sister. Any idea?"

Sydney and Broots were silent for a moment, then both tried to put a credible look on their face. "No, none at all," Sydney said. "We've been very concerned."

"Well," Lyle stretched and leaned against the wall, "I'm sure she's all right. I also have another purpose for being here."

"What's that?" Broots asked.

"You three," he said, "have come so close to bringing in Jarod over the last five – or is it six now? – years. However, Miss Parker has had many one-on-one opportunities with him, and on none of these occasions has she managed to capture him. My only explanation is that she doesn't fully have her heart set on bringing him back."

"I-I don't think that's it," Broots stuttered. 'I'm sure there are other explanations."

"That she's stupid?" Lyle said, pursing his lips in a mock-hidden smile.

"Well, n-no…" Broots muttered, immediately wilting under Lyle's smirk.

"My point is, you two have been doing your jobs – well. I think that the three of us could have Jarod back within a month."

"I don't think so, Lyle," Sydney disagreed, shaking his head.

"Be the one to bring Jarod in and you have a life at The Centre. Don't bring him in, and you may not have a life… at all." Lyle chuckled as if the thought of Sydney and Broots's death was a happening he had been gleefully awaiting.

"I'm sorry, Lyle," Sydney said, the calmness still in his voice. "We can't do that. We've always worked with Miss Parker."

"Of course," he said, nodding. "But think about the offer. And if you find out where Miss Parker is," he winked, "let me know."