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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
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..."
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..."
