Angelo blinked as he stepped out of the utility shed that hid the Centre ventilation pumps and into the sudden afternoon sunlight and looked around him. The trees were half-nude around him, their leaves making a golden carpet on the ground spread out before him – and the sky above was a crystal clear blue without a cloud in sight. The air wasn’t cold – but it wasn’t the processed warm of the ventilation ductworks that had been his home for decades either. What was most obvious was that there was no metal – no cement block – anywhere in sight.

It felt wrong to be out here in the open – where there were no comforting walls close in, surrounding him and protecting him. But Daughter needed him, and… He nodded as he finally identified yet another facet to the swirling morass of emotions and intuitions flooding his brain. Friend needed him too. He needed to get to Sydney. Wait… No. He couldn’t go to Sydney – going to Sydney would disrupt very delicate conditions in favor of THEM, something he would never do deliberately. He had to go to Daughter then.

At least she was alive now. He had almost despaired when he’d felt her fade away from the sensitive talent that had always, until then, known where she was and in what condition. She’d faded almost completely away – and been nearly imperceptible until just a few hours ago. Now she was nearly back to where she belonged – and, at least for the moment, with Friend. Friend was helping Daughter too. Angelo smiled. It would be good to see them both again.

He would have been out sooner – should have been out sooner – but for the new security systems in place in the ductwork that he’d always called home. So many of the ways that Jarod had left open to him after his escape had been closed off one by one in the years. As time had passed, Angelo had almost despaired of finding a chink through which he could slip if the need ever arose. Even access to Centre computer terminals had become a rarity – making it even harder to chase down and bypass security. But then the strangers had come – and suddenly the computer itself was being shut down section by section, system by system. All it took was one related security protocol to be toggled off, and Angelo had been once more free to follow his instincts.

Even so, he could barely remember the last time he had been out in the open like this. Back then, he’d been slowly recovering what it had meant to be Timmy… No! He wouldn’t think of that now. That was memory – and the time for memory was in the darkness when all around was quiet and secure. Right now, he needed to find Friend – because he didn’t dare be with Sydney and Evan, no matter how much closer they were.

A frown crinkled Angelo’s face as he used his empathic ability to pinpoint the direction he needed to travel in. He turned until he could feel the mental pull that was his connection to Daughter and then reached down for the pack he’d managed to accumulate while waiting for his moment to escape. The Centre would never need those packages of trail mix he’d appropriated from the cafeteria storeroom years ago – and there were several boxes of Cracker Jack to have for an evening treat. From the sweepers’ lounge, he’d appropriate a jacket that more or less fit – it would be essential as the temperature fell. And the workers on SL-22 would never miss the small water bottles he’d taken from the vending machine near the men’s restroom.

Even more appreciated would be the money that had been nestled in the breast pocket of the jacket – he’d counted nearly one hundred fifty dollars. That would provide perhaps transportation to… Angelo thought hard – it wasn’t always easy to see places that were still only intentions and not locations – but eventually the fog in his mind cleared enough to see a rustic fence and a white farmhouse in the background.

He stuck his hands in the jacket pocket and began walking, for the first time in his life not worrying much about Centre security scrambling behind him to bring him back to the dark hallways and darker ductworks.

Soon, those hallways would be even darker. Angelo didn’t belong there anymore.

He belonged with Friend and with Daughter. His steps quickened. He needed to get there soon.

~~~~~~~~~*

Miss Parker roused as she felt the vehicle slow down to make a sharp turn to the right, and she eased herself forward so she could straighten the seat. At least this time, her head wasn’t pounding out the Anvil Chorus, and she felt reasonably secure in opening her eyes to take in her surroundings. “Where are we?”

“We’re here,” Jarod answered briefly and cryptically as he guided the mini SUV around a corner in the rutted drive, carefully avoiding a rather daunting pothole that he must have known existed. “See?” he pointed.

She followed his pointing finger to find herself watching a comfortably large and sprawling farmhouse slowly emerge from behind towering elm trees in the rich golden light of a fine autumn sunset. A large red barn sat further along the drive with an SUV and a sedan parked in front – and wooden corral fencing penned in two horses. “So war hero Major Charles is now a gentleman farmer?” she quipped with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

“Be nice,” Jarod retorted. “It suits the necessary purposes. It’s isolated enough here that any strangers can be seen long before they can get close – which means the Centre would be at a disadvantage. Ethan and JD take the car into town on Friday nights to spend time with their friends or see a movie – and help Dad around the place otherwise.” He glanced at her. “All in all, they have a very normal life here, all hidden away carefully from the Centre.”

“That’s good,” Miss Parker replied without the sarcasm this time, biting back a snarking response that would only serve to put the Pretender even more on edge than he obviously already was. “Tell me, Genius, do they know you’re bringing me home to them?”

“Ethan knows,” he answered quietly, and she nodded her acceptance of that. She hadn’t seen or heard from her half brother in over eight years – and yet a secret part of her rejoiced that she would have at least one person who might be glad to see her. “Actually, it was he who suggested that I bring you here – rather than just take you back with me.”

“What about your folks?”

Jarod shrugged. “Ethan said that he’d break the news to the others.”

Miss Parker sighed. Her welcome in that warm-looking farmhouse was anything but assured, then, she knew now. “What about…”

“We’re here,” Jarod announced and shut off the engine. Already a tall man, tanned by long hours in the sun, was striding toward them.

“Ethan?” Miss Parker breathed in surprise. The Ethan who broke into a smile at the first sight of his half sister was very different from the nervous and damaged young man she’d last seen almost a decade earlier. His blue eyes danced with merriment and restrained excitement, and his movements were anything but jerky and neurotic. Whatever her reception today, she would never again regret his coming with Jarod’s family – for they’d taken him in and helped him find himself and heal into the fine young man he’d always had the potential to be. She owed these people more than she could ever repay.

“Miss Parker!” Ethan exclaimed as he pulled the passenger door open.

“Melissa,” she corrected him gently and then sighed in contentment as his arms slipped around her and pulled her from the car and into a warm and tight embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he told her softly, his cheek pressed against the side of her head.

Miss Parker tolerated the hug as long as she could, and then gently pushed herself away. “Let me look at you. I hardly recognized you as you came out of the house!”

“Miss Parker!” another familiar voice called. She turned in real surprise as a younger version of Jarod – same height, same build, same dark eyes, same smile, same voice but a much more relaxed demeanor – trotted down the steps and up to pull her into another warm and tight, although more brief, hug. “I remember you,” he told her as she was finally able to step back again. “You were kind to me. It’s good to see you again.”

“Life here agrees with you too, I see,” she smiled at him and finally really noted the differences between the original and the duplicate. Hair that was much longer than Jarod had ever thought of wearing his was pulled into a neat braid that trailed down his back – and a natty and intellectual-looking beard and moustache completed the look. Like Ethan, JD was tanned and weathered by hours in the sun, and from both hugs she had detected strength that under urban conditions only came from many hours in a gym.

“What happened here?” JD frowned and touched at the butterfly bandage very fleetingly.

“It’s a long story – and she really needs to be inside and resting,” Jarod finally spoke as he pulled a suitcase from the back of the SUV that Miss Parker immediately recognized as one of her own.

“Tell me you packed for me,” she demanded and then sighed in contentment as he nodded in response. Jarod packing for her would mean she could begin to feel far more human very shortly.

“I told you I would,” Jarod complained, and then relented. “You probably don’t remember THAT either.”

She frowned at him over her shoulder as she ended up sandwiched between Ethan and JD. “Miss Parker…” brought her eyes forward once more to look into the gentle yet wary dark eyes of a completely silver-haired Major Charles. “Ethan said Jarod was bringing you. To be honest, you’re one of the last people I ever expected him to bring home with him.”

Suddenly she was once more unsure of her reception. “This wasn’t my idea,” she started in self-defense, only to find herself silenced when the Major raised a hand.

“I know it wasn’t – or you’d have been here long ago with sweepers, no doubt,” the Major nodded. “But you can imagine our surprise when Ethan announced what was going to happen.” He rounded on his oldest child. “You could have called…”

“Dad…” Jarod stepped forward, drawing his father’s gaze to himself and away from Miss Parker. “There wasn’t time, and…”

“It’s all right, son,” Major Charles answered his oldest son easily, his gaze back to pinning Miss Parker where she stood. “Never let it be said that we weren’t willing to help another fugitive from the Centre. A little more notice would have been appreciated though.” The dark eyes narrowed as they returned their regard to Jarod. “Surely you realize this brings us far too close to Centre detection, though, Jarod – something I THOUGHT we’d all agreed that...”

Jarod shook his head. “The Centre will be a little too busy with an FBI investigation into some of its recent activities to be looking for a woman they believe already dead and cremated,” he smiled, relaxing a bit and enjoying the look of surprise on his father’s face.

“Who’s dead and buried?” Margaret chimed in from behind her husband and then moved to where she could join the group. Like the Major, she also had a great abundance of silver hairs outnumbering the chestnut red now – although her face was just as smooth as it had been during the storm on Carthis. Her eyes, blue and sparkling and very intelligent, landed on Jarod after a cursory examination of Miss Parker. “Emily called, and said that you’d just up and vanished. She had a feeling it had something to do with the Centre…”

Well, here it was – and Miss Parker couldn’t blame either of the elder Russells a bit for their lack of greeting. They were right – were it not for the fact that the Centre, and Raines, believed her to be dead, the search for her would lead the sweepers and cleaners right to this driveway in very short order. Either way, as much as she was thrilled at least to know that her half brother and the clone that had escaped the Centre’s manipulations were well and happy and contented, she had no desire to stay anywhere she wasn’t welcome. “Jarod, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”

Major Charles put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her to him – still a little dazed by Jarod’s announcement. “You called the FBI in to investigate the Centre?”

Ethan could feel his sister’s energy waning fast, and his sensitivity to her mood told him easily why she was beginning to wilt. “Look,” he broke in before Jarod could respond, “can we discuss this inside? We have someone here who could use a comfortable chair before she falls in. If nobody’s noticed, she’s had a head injury…”

As Margaret looked back at her visitor, the bandage and the pallor on the young woman’s face finally registered. “By all means. Let’s go in and have some coffee – something tells me that Jarod has a lot of explaining to do this time.” She patted her husband’s tummy familiarly. “We can at least offer some hospitality, Charles – they’ve been on the road for hours, no doubt.”

“C’mon!” Ethan and JD remained at Miss Parker’s elbow, escorting her up the steps into the house. The Major and his wife followed, with Jarod and the big suitcase bringing up the rear. As Jarod pulled the front door closed against the deepening twilight, he wondered how they would all react when they knew the WHOLE story.

It had been a necessary move, both in terms of making Miss Parker safe from the nameless threat that had hung over her in the Centre as well as unraveling the secret of what both the Centre and the Foundation was up to with Duplicity/Purloined. But in bringing Miss Parker to his family, had he finally gone too far? Could he get them to understand – and perhaps even help?

~~~~~~~~~*

“C’mon! C’mon! Hurry up already, will ya?” Broots fumed as his CD drive clicked on in an inexorably slow rhythm. He’d long since decided that the only way for him to continue his search through the financial records for evidence of who might have been behind the threat to Miss Parker was to make sure HE had a complete copy of all Accounting Department documents and files. But as the day had worn on, and more and more sections of the Centre were being shut down by the FBI invasion, he had despaired of finding some of the recently deleted files that might be even more informative than anything still left in the system.

And now, with five minutes left before the Computer Technologies Department was supposed to go dark, he was still only halfway through burning the information to the second of two disks. In the corner of the room, an FBI agent stood watch over the assorted cubbies – each with a technician diligently and desperately trying to complete their assigned tasks before the deadline. Broots had come here when his office had been a part of the Centre extinguished first – flashing his ID to the FBI agent and taking the desk that the Centre had still maintained for him in the Computer Technologies Labs, despite his permanent assignment to SIS and Miss Parker. Since then, under the watchful eye of a complete outsider, he’d been working feverishly to collect everything he could and get it copied to a disk that could be studied elsewhere – because the chances were that he’d never get the chance to study it at work again.

Broots could still only barely wrap his mind around the fact that Mr. Raines had been taken into custody that morning in regards to information supplied to the FBI about involuntary servitude at the Centre. Not only Mr. Raines, but Willy – Raines’ pet bulldog – and several other of the more influential and “hardcore” sweepers, cleaners and executives had been seen by a reliable source hauled away in handcuffs and removed from the premises. The rumor mill at the cafeteria had the charges each had had filed against them anything from extortion and fraud to assault and battery to outright murder – and the general mood of the employees was almost one of relief, despite the looming possibility of the unemployment lines.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Broots nearly jumped from his chair – and then settled down again with a glare at Sam. “Geez! Warn a guy, will ya?”

“G-man in the corner’s getting antsy, Broots. Finish up,” Sam urged quietly. “They want the mainframe shut down completely for forensic dissection in half an hour – and you guys are the last ones to sign off.”

“Since when you working for THEM?” Broots snapped and turned back to the screen that was still ticking away the number of blocks of information left to be written to the disk. The number was thankfully getting much smaller now.

“I’m not,” Sam snapped back with a vicious whisper. “I just want to get the hell out of here before the lights go out – know what I mean?”

Broots blinked. “What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if the Feds are crawling through every nook and cranny of this place, shutting down the mainframe and hauling Raines and several other sweepers off to the pokey, NOW is not a good time to be dawdling on Centre business. Know what I mean?”

The computer chimed at him, and Broots removed the silvery CD from the now-open drive door. “I’m done,” he announced triumphantly. He settled the disk in the case with its partner and then slipped the pair into the pocket of his jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. “Satisfied?” he asked sharply as he logged himself off the system and then shut off his terminal.

“About time!” Sam pulled the jacket off the back of the chair and pushed it into the technician’s hands as the man finally rose from his work chair. “Can we go now?”

“What’s your hurry?” Broots waited until he was in the corridor before he asked.

Sam grabbed the smaller man by the elbow to hurry him along toward the elevator door, causing the technician to squeak in surprise and pain. “I want to get while the getting’s good – don’t you? Bad enough that I have to come back on Monday to hand in my resignation, ya know?”

Broots swallowed and nodded, wishing he didn’t have to come back either. In his desk, as agreed upon before Jarod had left to put the entire plan into action, was a letter of resignation from his position – a letter that he would return to work on Monday to deliver, presuming that the Centre was even open for business on Monday. Sydney too would no doubt be delivering a similar letter – but at least he had an excuse: Evan needed a full-time guardian, which precluded the old man working full time anymore.

Debbie had been less than thrilled at her father’s plans to pack up all their personal belongings and begin a trek that would ultimately lead them to new lives in New York. In order to make sure their escape from the Centre was complete and permanent, there would be no calling friends to say goodbye. They would only have a few hours to pack Monday morning after he returned from delivering his notice, and then they’d be driving out to meet their plane in Dover. Years before, he could remember an oddly pensive Miss Parker telling him that if the chance came to get away from the Centre, he should take it for Debbie’s sake. That time, and chance, had come at last.

Even so – despite the fact that each member of the pursuit team at one time or another had expressed the desire to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Centre – it just felt wrong to be leaving like this. It felt almost like abandoning a swamping, although not quite yet sinking, ship.

“Wait a minute! Anyone seen Angelo?” Broots asked suddenly, pulling Sam to a halt just as the silver elevator doors swished open.

“No,” Sam answered, again taking hold of an elbow and compelling Broots to move forward again. He waited until the door was closed. “That guy’s smart enough – smarter than any of us have ever given him credit for, I bet. He’ll be fine.”

“Not if he’s stuck in the ventilation ducts when the Centre’s closed down,” Broots complained.

Sam shook his head. “We can’t worry about a half-coherent savant that neither of us has the least idea how to find, Broots. Right now, the first concern is to save our own skins.”

“Miss Parker would want to know…”

“Miss Parker would understand,” the sweeper countered firmly. “Look – Jarod explained it all. We can’t afford to mess with the schedule. We have a window of opportunity – just in case the Centre actually has the funding to pull off a legal maneuver to get Raines out of hot water and back in the Tower to start things back up on Monday morning.”

“I know that…”

“Then you know that we don’t dare deviate from the plan. Angelo can take care of himself – he’s done a good job of it for years now. You just make sure you pack up your home computer for shipping – and keep looking for clues once you get where you’re going!”

Broots looked up into the stern face of Miss Parker’s personal sweeper and bodyguard. “Where are you going to go?” he asked, curious. Sydney, he knew, would be staying behind in Blue Cove – at least, for the time being. Miss Parker was gone. Sam’s fate, up to now, had been a mystery.

Sam’s face softened into mild disappointment. “Jarod wouldn’t tell me where he was taking Miss P – but he promised me he’d be in touch later.” He nodded, as if working to convince himself. “I’m gonna be packing and heading to New York myself for a while – and then I’ll be with her again, watching her back, like always, when Jarod calls.”

“It’s not fair!” Broots mumbled to himself. “We’re a team! We should stick together”

“We’re still a team,” Sam reminded the shorter man. “We just aren’t going to be working elbow to elbow for a while.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it…”

Sam snorted softly. “You ain’t the only one, Broots. Trust me!”

~~~~~~~~~*

Lyle swam back to consciousness on the kind of sea of pain that he hadn’t experienced since his youth – and even then, he’d never felt anything like what he was going through now. Not only was every breath he took a stab of agony, and not only could he not even think of moving his legs without nearly passing out, but the cuts in his buttocks and down his thighs were streamers of trickling pain. The stump of his right thumb throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and there were also several cuts on his abdomen and chest – light and superficial slices that were meant to cause and then bring him nothing BUT pain. And he ached brutally inside – and his mind simply refused to remember the events that had led to THAT pain.

He could hear the sound of angry Japanese voices in the background – including the deep tones of his personal torturer, Kinjiro. How these yellow dogs could possibly label him a monster and yet tolerate one such as he in their midst was beyond his understanding. The big man had taken far too much pleasure in the giving of pain and humiliation – more, even, than Lyle suspected he’d ever been able to get from his own escapades. How long he’d been in the monster’s tender care, he had no way of knowing – possibly as little as a few hours, and yet it was equally possible he’d been there for days. Time had long since stopped having any meaning.

Finally there was an explosion of Japanese that silenced all the arguing voices – and a long nattering in a tone that brooked absolutely no argument whatsoever. Heavy footsteps approached him, and Lyle rolled slightly toward them. Whatever else, his eyes were still swollen shut – he wouldn’t see the person coming over to him, and that inability was beginning to form a real panic. He’d not been able to see or hear Kinjiro’s approach either…

The gutteral voice spoke at length – and then the smooth voice that had announced his fate the last time spoke again. “Your will to live is admirable, Lyle-san. Many men have not lasted half as long with Kinjiro.”

Lyle would have tried to speak, but the effort only reminded him that one of his last encounters with his “keeper” had resulted in a horrific blow to his face that probably had broken his jaw. He contented himself with an agonized grunt. He had past the point of caring what happened to him – his own death was now a mercy to be prayed for.

“It has been decided that your life will have some purpose after all – and still honor and justice will be served,” the smooth voice continued. “You will be returned to Nippon – and become the person on whom our newest recruits practice their skills in persuasion and intimidation. Tanaka-san has decided to spare your life – so that you may serve the Yakuza in this way.”

The gutteral voice spoke again briefly. “Kinjiro will be your mentor and your keeper, however – as well as the teacher of others. I’m sure that he’ll keep you suitably humble in the presence of the superior man.”

There would be no death for him? Lyle was beyond agony. By the time death DID come for him, Lyle suspected that what little was left of his sanity would have been long since sliced, pounded, beaten, whipped, raped and carved out of him. Regardless of the pain it gave to move his jaw, he let out a scream of pure horror and hopelessness at the sentence of a living death. And in the depths of his soul, he damned William Raines – and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that the old ghoul at least suffer a small portion of what he was going through.

And then, he simply lost consciousness again.

~~~~~~~~*

Zoë walked down the steps of the cabin feeling cheated and frustrated. Absently she wiped her wet hands on her pants leg, not caring that the dampness allowed some of the autumn evening chill to penetrate.

The Pedron bitch had the gall to insist that she hadn’t heard from Jarod in all this time! How could that be – Jarod still spoke very fondly of her, as if he had seen her not so very long again. Even the gun speaking and putting holes in hands and knees hadn’t been convincing enough to break through the woman’s lies. But in the end, it was HER decision who it was that would live or die - and so, the lying bitch had had to die.

Zoë walked slowly over to her pink convertible, her mind once more reviewing the things that Jarod had told her. Who else might know? He’d helped so many – but only a few had he mentioned by name. Those must be the ones who meant the most to him.

There was a woman – she ran a bar. What was her name? Zoë slouched into the driver’s seat and reached for the small notebook she’d filled with all of the details that she’d managed to remember about Jarod’s life. That’s right – Faye O’Donnell – and the bar was JAX. She shoved the notebook back into the glove box and slammed the little door shut.

Jarod said that he’d left Faye with a minor fortune and the freedom from the mob that she’d never known before. He spoke as if he’d kept in touch enough to know that she’d made a reasonable success of her business since helping to free that cop and put the mobsters behind bars.

Zoë fired up the engine and spun the wheels in the dirt pulling away from the rustic shack that would soon enough be on fire. It wouldn’t do to leave anything at the scene that could lead back to her, or to the… She frowned, and then shrugged. Just back to her, she guessed. Well… The flickering of the flames was already visible through the windows as the convertible sped past the cabin heading back down the mountain. NOT back to her.

On to Boston…

~~~~~~~~*

“All right, Jarod,” Major Charles spoke finally as Margaret settled down on the couch next to him – her hostess duties in serving coffee and slices of homemade apple pie now concluded. “I think the time has come for you to tell us exactly what the Hell is going on – why you’ve brought Miss Parker here, and what you intend for us to do with her now that she’s here.”

Miss Parker was finally feeling enough revived to growl her protest. “Now wait just a minute…”

“Shut up, Parker,” Jarod barked at her, his fatigue just now beginning to wear through his patience. “I didn’t tell you the whole story in Blue Cove – and you would have been too out of it to have much of what I did tell you penetrate.”

“Better just start from the beginning and tell us ALL what’s up, big brother,” Ethan remarked bluntly after putting a hand on his half-sister’s arm to keep her from getting up and physically assaulting his half-brother. “Looks like Mom and Dad aren’t the only ones who are ticked now.”

Jarod sighed and turned back to his father. “You all know that I’ve been with Emily in Philadelphia, right?”

“I didn’t,” Miss Parker snapped, “but don’t let that stop you from telling the story.”

The Pretender glared at her, and then shrugged. “The Pretend I’m working on there had to do with the death of a man associated with a place called The Foundation…”

This time Miss Parker snorted in derision. “I’ve heard of them – second-rate weapons dealers.”

“Wrong,” Jarod frowned. “Are you going to let me tell this or not?”

Miss Parker threw up her hands and settled back in her chair, swatting away the restraining hand that Ethan kept aiming in her direction. She knew her brother meant well, but she didn’t need a babysitter…

“You mean Miss Parker’s assessment is wrong?” Major Charles probed. From what little he’d seen of Catherine Parker’s daughter, he was convinced that it would be rare that her information about other firms be very far off beam.

“Her information is nothing but the public face put on something very different. In fact, the Foundation is a Centre clone,” Jarod pronounced darkly, “complete with sweepers crawling all over the place, surveillance cameras in every nook and cranny, secret projects with apocryphal names and a penchant for taking what doesn’t belong to them.” He took a deep breath and then turned to JD. “I saw a Sim Lab there – just like the one at the Centre, and probably the one you used in Donoterase.”

JD gaped. “You’re joking?”

Jarod shook his head. “The more I looked into this man’s death, the more I was led to look into a project he’d been working on called Purloined. The day I called Sydney, I’d finally uncovered the fact that they were building a Sim Lab right there on the premises – and the only reason they’d need one of THOSE would be because they were going to acquire a Pretender – most likely from the Centre. I called him to find out what he knew about a new generation of Pretenders at the Centre.”

“Duplicity…” Miss Parker breathed as she finally started to see connections. “Oh my God!”

“What is Duplicity?” Margaret demanded, looking back and forth between her son and his former huntress.

Instead of a direct answer, Jarod turned to JD. “Did you ever know that you were a prototype? The first of several similar attempts?”

“No!” JD’s face had lost all trace of color. “Jarod – h…how many?”

“A total of twelve,” Miss Parker answered for him, her voice equally stunned. “We’d just uncovered Duplicity ourselves when Jarod called. Da…” The name still stuck in her throat and wouldn’t be pronounced. “Mr. Parker authorized it – and authorized a facility be built on Federal Park land in Montana to house it.”

“You KNEW about this?” Major Charles bounded to his feet and loomed threateningly over the injured woman.

“No, Dad – she found out about it about the same time I did,” Jarod put a protective hand up to try to stop his father. “It was in comparing notes with Sydney over the phone that I discovered that the Centre – and Mss Parker specifically – had been threatened. I left Philadelphia Friday night,” he nodded at his mother, “to put a plan together to thwart the threat against Miss Parker – in exchange for all the information she and her team had put together about Duplicity.”

“Why would Miss Parker be threatened by Duplicity?” Ethan frowned.

“Not by Duplicity – nor by Raines or his cohort in charge of the Centre,” Jarod shook his head. “Someone else, determined to undermine the Centre into extinction, viewed her investigative skills as a threat worthy of a death sentence. I got there just in time to foil a plan to “help” her right into a fatal auto accident that would be blamed on alcohol. I gave them what they wanted – a dead Miss Parker – and then brought her here. In exchange, I got as much information on Duplicity as they had gathered to date.”

“But WHO?” Major Charles demanded, even as he stepped backwards and sat back down again. “WHO are we talking about that would be plotting Miss Parker’s death and the Centre’s downfall – and why aren’t we helping them…” He glanced guiltily at his injured guest. “…in the latter part of that plan, anyway?”

“I don’t have any solid proof of this,” Jarod admitted, “but I suspect that the Foundation is behind the events at the Centre – and of plotting to steal one or more of the Duplicity subjects for their own use. From memos I found in the Foundation computer, THAT was what had the man I whose death I was looking into nervous – so nervous that he was starting to talk to the FBI.” He faced his father. “And the reason we aren’t cheering and helping them take the Centre down is that I’m fairly certain that they found out about Duplicity and intend to turn yet another Pretender or two or three into lifelong prisoners and slaves – just as the Centre tried to do with me. We’re not helping them because they’re just the Centre all over again – same power-hungry, exploitive agenda with a different corporate logo.”

“And the Foundation killed this man you were talking about because of something to do with Duplicity?” Miss Parker was starting to get a firm grasp on how the information she and her team had unearthed dovetailed far too neatly into what Jarod had uncovered independently.

Jarod nodded. “I’m pretty sure of it - I just need proof of the Foundation’s complicity in his death, what happened to you at the Centre – and proof that they’ve stolen a piece of Duplicity – before I can know how to respond.”

“A PIECE of Duplicity?” JD had launched himself to his feet and was now pacing the room angrily. “You’re talking about people, Jarod – others exactly like ME!”

“I know.” Jarod’s sorrow and sympathy reverberated loudly through the room. “That’s why I need your help to stop this.”

JD stopped pacing and leaned his backside against the wall near the living room mantle. “You were gonna get THAT whether you wanted it or not,” he grumbled and then subsided. “So now what?”

Jarod turned to look at Miss Parker. “There were people at the Centre who I had to get out of harm’s way first before I turned the Feds loose there. Sydney, Miss Parker’s little brother, a computer tech named Broots and his daughter…”

“Sam,” Miss Parker nodded, then explained at Margaret’s look of confusion, “my personal sweeper.” She looked up at Jarod suddenly. “What about Angelo?”

“If I know him,” Jarod answered carefully, “he’ll figure out what’s going on and get somewhere safe – maybe with Sydney.”

She gave him a very surprised look. “You’re crediting him with more than he deserves, Jarod…”

“On the contrary, you and the Centre have been underestimating him all along,” Jarod shook his head. “You knew I had a source inside the Centre?”

“Yes… Oh my God!” It was Miss Parker’s turn to gape. “Angelo?”

“So what ARE we going to do about the Centre’s abuse of others like me – and Jarod?” JD added as an afterthought. “We can’t just let them create a whole army of slaves…”

“That’s part of why I turned the FBI loose in the Centre just before I left,” Jarod explained patiently. “I sent an old FBI colleague of mine from a Pretend or two all of the info that Parker and Sydney had given me – along with a few other things I’d been collecting during raids on the mainframe over the years.” He turned to Miss Parker with a smile. “Raines is going to have a LOT of explaining to do – as will Mr. Cox and Willy and several others you and I both know and love dearly.”

“Sweet!” Miss Parker’s smile in return was just as full of satisfaction as was Jarod’s.

“So the FBI will tear apart the Centre’s Duplicity Project,” JD shrugged cynically. “What will happen to the clones?”

“Foster care,” Jarod guessed. “Whatever, it will be ten times better than anything the Centre would have had planned for them.”

“And if this Foundation has already stolen some of them?” JD wanted to know.

Jarod looked at his younger self. “Until we know for sure that they have, which is part of the reason I have to be back at work on Monday morning, we won’t know how to respond.”

“Twelve boys…” Margaret mused, feeling her heart break. She looked over at Miss Parker pleadingly. “How old are they – do you know?”

Miss Parker sighed. “From what we were able to figure out, it’s probable that they are anywhere from fifteen, sixteen years old at the most to two or three at the least.”

“What… what happened to the women who were their mothers?” JD asked softly. Margaret reached out a comforting hand, knowing her youngest “son” had never really made peace with the idea that he’d had but one parent biologically – and a birth mother who had never, ever, been allowed to be a part of his life.

Miss Parker and Jarod exchanged a quick and penetrating look, and then they both shook their heads. “That’s something else I put in the papers I gave the FBI,” Jarod said softly. “The termination orders, and the return receipts of the jobs being completed as ordered, should land a lot of people in prison for the rest of their lives.”

“Damn the Centre for playing God,” Major Charles growled and rose to pace the floor. “And damn the Foundation too.” He looked at Miss Parker. “I apologize for my earlier rudeness. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you feel it necessary. Jarod,” he turned to his son, “you have your help. Just tell us where, when, and what you want…”

“You bet!” Ethan agreed energetically. “This can’t be allowed to continue unopposed.”

Miss Parker was nodding too. “You probably saved my life, Jarod – how many times, I’m not exactly sure, but I know this isn’t the first time. Now that I don’t exist for the Centre anymore, maybe I’m finally able to consider balancing the scales a little.” Her face grew grim. “And if you’re right, these people are the same ones who were going to kill me. I’m in. You couldn’t keep me out if you tried.”

At last Jarod felt the small knot in his stomach relax. “Then we wait for a bit,” he told them, looking first at Miss Parker, “until you recover and Broots uncovers more from the data I told him to bring home from the mainframe, and…” he looked at the rest of his family, “…until I find out more in Philadelphia.”

“How long could that all take, Jarod?” Margaret asked gently.

“I’m not sure, Mom,” he answered sadly. “Probably a whole lot longer than any of us want.”

~~~~~~~~*

“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, Horace?” Sandi Evanston asked for the third time since beginning to help her husband pack hastily-filled boxes of personal belongings into their SUV.

Horace eyed the little boy who was already strapped into the car seat and nodded as he reached out for the next box. “Positive,” he replied firmly. “He deserves better – and so do we.”

Sandi eyed the pall of smoke that hung in the sky overhead – and especially the plume in the south that seemed as if it had yet to diminish. “What about the Centre, Horace? Won’t they be looking for us?”

Her husband shook his head. “Not if they believe me dead,” he replied.

“But…”

“Look, we don’t have time to argue,” Horace’s patience was running low. “Let’s just finish and then get the hell out of here.”

Sandi handed her husband the last box. “I’ll lock up,” she said and started back up the the rear steps to the house.

“Leave it,” Horace called and stopped her. “It will look like you just drove away when you got word of my death. Get in the car, honey.”

Sandi looked over her shoulder at the house and play yard that were the result of years of saving and certification. The play equipment had been her latest and greatest triumph – for the school-strength plastic slides and swing frames had been an expensive investment. Then her head swiveled to peek in the back seat at the little boy who watched their every move with oddly intelligent and understanding eyes.

There was no question as to which one she valued more. She climbed into the car and turned halfway in her seat after fastening her seat belt, reaching back to the child and once more smoothing the soft, dark hair. “It’s OK, Peter,” she told the solemn-eyed boy. “We’re going on an adventure. You like adventures, don’t you?”

The huge dark eyes zeroed in on her face, but the boy remained mute. Sandi wondered just what this child had been through that he wouldn’t as yet have said a single word to either of them – but merely caressed his cheek gently once more and then turned to face forward. Horace slammed the fifth door of the vehicle and then climbed in behind the steering wheel.

“East or West?” he asked as he turned the key in the ignition.

“West,” Sandi answered after a little thought. “I have an old school friend in San Francisco – she might let us stay with her for a day while we get ourselves settled a bit…”

Horace nodded. “West it is then.”

~~~~~~~~~*

Imsi Londele used the reflection of an opening glass door in front of him to confirm that he was indeed being followed. The black suit and dark glasses confirmed his suspicion that the man tailing him was associated with the Triumvirate. Had it been any other time, the idea that the Triumvirate was following him around wouldn’t have bothered him – but coming so soon after the unfortunate events in the United States, and considering the contract he’d been given, the timing was suspicious.

Not that Lula Mutumbo would have betrayed him – no. She was far too ambitious a woman, and far too impatient a woman to earn the top spot in the consortium the legitimate way. But if not she, then who would have ordered the surveillance? Could it be Shinse Olabi himself? And if so, why? He hadn’t done anything to attract the attention of the consortium for years – after all, they had their own assassins on retainer – and so hadn’t run afoul of the Triumvirate by relieving anyone of their lives that the consortium would care about.

More to the point, what was he going to do about it? He couldn’t make any of the arrangements for Olabi’s unfortunate “accident” if his every move, his every contact, was monitored. Abruptly changing his mind and turning at the stop light, he paused before crossing to look in both directions – and found the sedan that was the shadow of his Triumvirate friend. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that any conversation he’d have this day would be monitored and recorded.

How long had this been going on?

Longele walked across the street in a direction perpendicular to the assignation he’d been heading to – he’d have to find a way to contact his supplier without using the telephone now. Would they have his Internet account watched as well?

He walked halfway down the street until he could walk into one of the small markets, and he headed toward the back and the refrigerator section. He took hold of a six-pack of his favorite beer and headed back to the cash register, almost smirking as he passed his “tail” supposedly perusing the magazine rack. He paid for his beer and headed out again, going back to the apartment he’d taken. It was early in the day to be buying alcohol, but it made for a decent ruse – and he’d at least have them when evening rolled around again.

Dealing with this latest development would take some planning and strategy – and he narrowed his eyes as he considered how much the extra effort and arrangements were going to cost Mrs. Mutumbo. She probably wouldn’t like that much…

He’d have to watch her too, now. Life had just gotten a LOT more interesting – just as he liked it! After living a life that was too soft by a long ways, he would at last get a chance to prove himself the best on the continent – and survive to present his client with a suitable bill for services rendered.

Maybe he’d get enough this time to move to the French Riviera.

~~~~~~~~*

“Ouch!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Parker, it was just a piece of adhesive…” Jarod shook his head and tossed the bandage into the trash before reaching for the bottle of peroxide. “Now hold still…”

“I can do this myself, you know,” Miss Parker told him with cynical patience.

“Look, I gave you this – I want to make sure it’s healing properly,” he countered and swatted her hands away. “Enjoy the doctoring, Parker – after tonight, you’ll be on your own again.”

She settled back in the chair. “I think you just like making me uncomfortable,” she growled at him in a low voice.

His face brightened slightly, and slowly his lips twitched into his trademarked smirk. “Oh, it goes far beyond that, Parker,” he chuckled as he carefully dribbled the clear liquid into the wound and watched as the bubbles formed. “Doing better tonight,” he announced. “If you keep it clean, there should be no infection – and very little by way of a scar when it’s healed. Here…” He reached for a hand to hold the swabbing ball of cotton to the wound to blot away the peroxide, “hold this here while I get another bandage ready.”

She sat quietly beneath his ministrations until he’d moved her hand away again and pressed gently to get the bandage to adhere. “Jarod?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, clearing away the debris from the bandage change.

“What about Evan?”

The Pretender nodded. “You care for him, don’t you?”

“No shit, Sherlock – he’s my little brother. Now answer my question,” she snapped. “I was supposed to go to Dover with him this weekend – and now he thinks I’m dead?”

“Yes, he thinks you’re dead – for the time being,” Jarod told her tiredly. “If you remember – and maybe you don’t – you’d made arrangements for Sydney to be appointed his legal guardian in case of…”

“I remember that part,” she growled at him. “I did that a long damned time ago.”

“Well,” Jarod refused to let her tone egg him into something approaching an argument. “…Sydney will be retiring to take care of Evan – and once he’s managed that, he’s going to move somewhere safer, where you can rejoin the two of them later on.”

“Where?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I left that part up to Sydney – but I gave him a phone number he can use to call me once he’s settled. When you rejoin him, the story told will be that you are Evan’s mother.” He brushed his hands off together. “There. All finished.”

Miss Parker put a tentative hand to her forehead. The cut wasn’t hurting as much as it had been anymore – whatever Jarod had done to it over the last two sessions of his “doctoring” had put the healing process into high gear. “How long do you want me to stay here?”

“Until that’s healed, at the very earliest,” he answered, gesturing at her forehead. “After that, JD and Ethan will keep track of the Centre – and you can call Sydney when you think the time has come to connect with him.”

“What about the Foundation?” she asked, confused. “When you take on one of your Pretends, it usually includes putting the “bad guy” in a position where he is treated to a measure of justice BEFORE the authorities arrive. What are you going to do?”

Jarod slipped into a kitchen chair opposite her at the table. “I’m not sure, Parker. I told you, I don’t have proof yet – and I won’t know HOW to move until I do.”

“You’ll need help,” she stated firmly. “I want in.”

“Parker…”

“Jarod – if you’re right, these are the people who tried to kill me. If they aren’t, then I’ll make myself scarce the moment you have proof of that. But if they’re involved, I want to be in on whatever payback you decide to deal them – from the very beginning.”

Jarod frowned at her. “We’re not talking a short-term assignment here, Parker. It could take months to find what we need to take to the authorities…”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, you should.” He rose from his seat and stomped over to the stove to put the fire under the tea kettle. “The Foundation is just like the Centre – and if you felt trapped at the Centre, you sure as hell are going to feel trapped there too.”

“Jarod! Miss Parker!” JD came into the kitchen gesturing widely. His face was pale, and he was very agitated. “You’ve got to come hear this!”

“What?” Jarod asked with a frown. “We were talking…”

“You will want to hear this before finishing your conversation – TRUST me!” JD turned quickly enough to make his braid fly in the air, heading back toward the living room and the television that could be heard in the background.

Jarod and Miss Parker shared a confused glance in which both shrugged at the other. “He’s so like you,” Miss Parker commented dryly as she rose to her feet. “C’mon, Genius – let’s see what the other genius has found.”

The two entered the living room to stare at a scene on the television of fire and disaster. “An explosion in the Glacier National Park has leveled a high security facility and sparked a forest fire that has caused the evacuation of hundreds of people from surrounding areas. The US Park Service is unwilling to speculate on the purpose of the facility, which has been completely destroyed in the explosion and fire. But according to eyewitness accounts, the fireball from the explosion here was seen four miles away in Whitefish – and thirty fire companies from Montana and Idaho have been dispatched to deal with the forest fire caused when embers were carried on the winds. Sources at the scene rule out any survivors of the original blast, and the fire now stands at two thousand square acres of timberland. It is hoped that containment will be reached by…”

“My God, Jarod,” Miss Parker turned to the man standing next to her, “that’s…”

“That was Duplicity, wasn’t it?” JD asked quietly – all the energy having drained from him. “You said it was in Montana, up on Federal Park lands…”

Jarod was stunned. “They’re all dead?” Then he frowned. “How very convenient…”

~~~~~~~~~*

Jim McKenna reached for his remote to turn up the volume when an all-too-familiar building and logo flashed on his television screen.

“The business world today was stunned at the news that the Centre – a high-tech research and development firm based in Delaware – has filed for Chapter Thirteen bankruptcy protection. This following reports that the Chairman and several corporate officers and staff had been taken into custody by federal agents on a variety of charges that include murder and extortion.”

McKenna leaned back in his comfortable leather recliner and sipped at his whiskey sour. The prizes from Montana would be arriving in Philadelphia the next evening, and whatever legal shenanigans that the Centre had done that had landed it in hot water had finished the job that the McKennas had started years ago. Fifteen long years of planning and waiting and watching were paying off.

Slowly his eyes lifted to the huge portrait that hung at the other end of the private library – and McKenna rose out of his seat and carried his drink with him. The old man had been driven – obsessed – with carrying out his progenitor’s crusade against the Centre. Now, perhaps, the old man could rest easy at last.

We did it, Papa, he thought triumphantly, raising his whiskey in salute and then chortling aloud: “We got ‘em!”

Chapter Index: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33

Previous <<>> Fan Fiction <<>> Next <<>> Feedback