Cancer felt the drugs leaving his system, and he had to remind himself to sit very still and not struggle against the bonds that held his hands together in his lap. Tiny attempts to move his feet told him that his ankles had also been bound together – and whatever it was that held his limbs together was tight and painful on the joints if he moved against them at all.

At least he was awake again, though. He hated being drugged, and he was determined to stay as alert as possible for as long as possible now. He hadn’t appreciated the smelly rag over his face that had made him go to sleep very fast – and he had no idea how much time had passed under the influence of chemicals. All he knew now was that his face was covered with some sort of dark cloth bag that prevented him from seeing anything around him at all, as well as kept him breathing nothing but stale air.

There were weights against him on both sides, and it took him a long moment to realize that they were other people. Were they bound and blinded in the same way he was? There was no way to know at present – and the only way to find anything out at all had to be to STAY alert and aware for as long as possible and use his mind to analyze any information that came his way despite the barriers.

It took a while for him to understand that the strange sensation his body felt was movement – almost rhythmic, with an underlying mechanical thrum. It didn’t seem possible, but it had to be! He was in a vehicle – he was no longer in his space, in his customary place in the SimLab. He probably wasn’t anywhere near his familiar surroundings at all – but without the bag taken from his eyes, he’d never know for sure.

He might have thought that this was the punishment due him for having the temerity to speak out of turn to the dark-skinned stranger, but the man who had taken him from in front of the white board had been equally a stranger. What was more, the new stranger had shot both the dark stranger and Joshua where they had sat. In the few moments Cancer had remained in the room, he’d seen the splatter of blood on the wall behind where the men had sat – and heard a rough rasp of a breath that sounded decidedly unhealthy. Then he’d been forced to march through smoke and fire.

There was a word for this – kidnapping – something that Cancer had never thought possible in relation to himself. All he could know for certain was that Joshua was back “there” – wherever “there” was – and that he wasn’t likely to ever see his mentor again. The idea gave him little distress. After all, Joshua had only been a facilitator – the face presented to him that represented the people in authority in that place, the face that represented the desires and agendas he was to serve. He had never allowed any kind of emotional expression from either of them to cloud any of the SIMs he had been leading and mentoring – had only been a voice of encouragement and chastisement, depending on the situation or how matters had progressed in the SIM.

While the uncertainty of just where he was being taken and what he would be asked to do now was immensely unsettling, Cancer could feel his excitement rise nonetheless. He was going someplace new – this was what it meant to be on an adventure! He had no sense that he was in any physical danger, so other than the fear of the unknown – where he was going, who had taken him, what was going to happen to him – he was thrilled that his normal routine had been broken.

The vehicle seemed to shift beneath him and press him more tightly against the body to his left – and the body on his right pressed a little harder into his side. This was momentum, his physics training told him – this was how it felt to be in a vehicle going around a corner! Were his situation less alarming in general, he could have gotten very excited at experiencing something he’d only known in theory before. After all, it had taken three days to quell the excitement of finally understanding inertia – after figuring out the slightly more heavy feeling he got when riding the elevator with his bodyguards were examples of the principle.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

Cancer worked hard not to give any physical sign that he was now listening closely to the voices in this vehicle with him. That voice had been a new one – the man who had taken him hadn’t been alone after all!

“Look. I don’t trust our contact to come through as was promised,” the man who had come into the SimLab and shot Joshua said in a tone that sounded like Joshua did when disappointed by a SIM result that didn’t live up to expectations. “So I’m going to go in alone with the oldest one and a laptop. When I can see that the funds have been transferred into our bank account, I’ll call you two and have you join me at the drop point.”

“You two.” There must be three men total then, Cancer reasoned.

“And what if we don’t hear from you?” a third voice – a worried voice – spoke up next. “What do you want us to do?”

“Take the kids to a public place – a parking garage, a mall – and drop them off. When they wake up, they can take care of themselves.”

“They know what we look like,” the first voice countered. “Shouldn’t we just kill them and protect…”

“Do you really feel that threatened?” the second voice sounded sarcastic. “They may have seen us, but they have nothing to compare us to. We’ve not spent any time here – none of us have any records here – and our military records are sealed. It will be nigh onto impossible to identify us – and the fact that we’ve not harmed them will mean that we’ve not done anything wrong…”

“Except blow up everything these kids ever knew…” the third voice snorted.

“They don’t know that,” the second voice retorted sharply. “Look – I know what I’m doing. We want our money, don’t we?”

“Yeah…”

There was the sound of movement. “Good thing they’re out like lights,” the first voice commented darkly. “We wouldn’t want any of this overheard.”

“How close now?” the third voice asked in a tone that spoke of impatience.

“You remember that warehouse where Sarge used to keep the extra munitions back in the day?” the second voice answered quickly. “I still have a key.”

“Sweet!” the first voice crowed. “That’s just a few miles from here!”

Cancer smirked to himself, suddenly finding the shield of the bag over his head a blessing rather than just a nuisance. So they didn’t want any of this conversation overheard, did they? Well, little did they know…

The body on his left moaned very softly – whoever it was had been asleep. “Damn!” he heard the third voice bark sharply. “We’re going to have to dose them all again soon, or they’ll all be awake.”

“All but the oldest,” the second voice directed firmly. “We want him up and walking on his own when the time comes. He won’t be in any position to fight back – trust me.”

Cancer folded his brows. The oldest? How did that matter to the situation, he wondered.

~~~~~~~~*

Sydney waited for the huge and heavy gate to lift and clear the way for him to drive onto the Centre property – hopefully for the last time. He only had a little bit to pack – his resignation letter explained the urgency of his self-termination. He had Evan to think of now – and he felt that his most productive and useful years were long behind him. He was in his mid-sixties after all now – it was time for the younger men to take up his job and run with it. If Raines argued with him, that would be what he’d say – and he’d sign any non-disclosure agreement put in front of him.

He wanted out, and that was all there was to it.

Retirement funding had never been a question. His salary during his tenure as the head of the Psychogenics Department had been more than generous – and he’d then invested the greater share of it with very profitable stocks. Thanks to the occasional insider information he’d picked up over the years from listening to cafeteria conversation, he had a tidy nest egg of several hundreds of thousands of dollars squirreled away in a numbered Swiss account. Added to the healthy savings and checking accounts on top of that in the local bank and stocks still owned that would continue to earn him a tidy profit as time went by, he was set to stay quite comfortable well into his dotage. His home was completely paid for, as was his late-model Lincoln town car and the property up at White Cloud.

He pulled his car into its customary spot and locked it, and only then glanced around to see several spots normally occupied already at this hour of the morning standing empty. Monday mornings generally had the Centre at full operational population, so the poor showing in the parking garage stood out as unusual. But it was the almost grateful attitude of the guard just inside the facility entrance that clued him in that something extraordinary had happened. A look around told an interesting story – the halls, normally filled with sweepers, were looking almost unpopulated.

“Where is everyone?” he asked the security guard with the name patch of Bill.

“The Feds were here Saturday, Dr. Green,” the guard announced with an air of telling a horror story, “and they took away a lot of people – even Mr. Raines! They shut down the mainframe too,” he explained apologetically, spending time looking down a printed list of employees rather than merely using a bar code scanner on the identification badge he’d been handed.

“Really?” Sydney didn’t dare demonstrate his glee. Jarod’s plan – or that part of it, at any rate – must have gone off without a single hitch. There wouldn’t be any argument from the Chairman about his resignation letter after all. He could hand it to Raines’ secretary, head down to his Sim Lab office to pack up the few items that he genuinely didn’t want to leave behind, and then be back in the house in time to have lunch and then head over to Evan’s former foster parents’ home. By the time Evan got home from school, the boy would be moved into Sydney’s home completely.

“Yup. You can go on in, Dr. Green,” Bill announced, handing the ID badge back. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Sydney replied automatically, affixing the badge to the lapel of his sports jacket as he walked deeper into the building.

The personnel wandering the halls between the entrance and the elevators looked shell-shocked – many of them stopping to chat with people they wouldn’t normally give the time of day. The topic on nearly every set of lips was the fact that the Centre’s powerful and all-controlling mainframe computer was gone – as was the corporate heirarchy to tell them what to do in the meanwhile. All of the flow of information most of the employees not actively involved with security would have been handling had been shut off – leaving them with very little to do with their time and so completely lost.

Sydney avoided two such conversations and sighed with relief as the silver elevator doors closed and the tiny car began to move downward. Not once had he considered how much he appreciated the near impersonal ambiance of the “old” Centre – he’d never really understood until now how little he had in common with most of these people, or even wanted to have in common with them.

“Hey Sydney!” Broots greeted his colleague almost the moment the Belgian had stepped from the elevator car. “How’s Evan?”

Sydney gave a distinctly European shrug that could mean almost anything. “As well as you can expect. He’s at school now…”

“Poor kid,” Broots muttered sympathetically and then raised his eyes to look at Sydney directly. “You got your letter ready?”

Sydney nodded. “You?”

“Already delivered mine, actually,” Broots replied with a happy grin. “I’m just on my way back to my office to pack up.”

“What does Debbie think of your plans?”

Broots’ shrug was almost as enigmatic as the one he was mimicking. “She’s asking if we’re going to be moving.”

“And…” Sydney was genuinely curious – this part of the plan Jarod had put to them had been left up to the individuals involved. “Are you?”

Broots nodded slowly. “I’m thinking that I could do M… our mutual friend… more good by moving closer to where they are and using the Internet than sticking around here. Debbie will just have to manage.” The tech gazed at his old friend. “What about you?”

Sydney shook his head. “I’ll most likely visit as soon as its safe – but not make any long-term plans until then. I’ve lived in that house long enough that moving isn’t the most appealing idea…”

Broots grimaced and chuckled uncomfortably. “Know what you mean. I’ll probably have to put a lot of stuff in storage – at least for a while.”

The Belgian nodded. “Well,” he began, patting his coat pocket where his letter currently resided, “I’d better deliver this and then head back to my office to pack.” He held out his hand to the computer tech. “See you at the funeral?”

Broots took the hand firmly in his, and then pulled Sydney close enough that he could give the larger man a quick hug. “We’ll be there.”

“Until then, mon ami,” Sydney returned the hug, complete with a companionable pat on the back, and then backed away. “Tell Debbie I send my condolences.”

Broots put up a hand. “Will do, Sydney.”

The two men then turned and headed off in opposite directions for each other. If there still were men with minds behind the surveillance cameras in the hallway, they would have seen nothing more than two friends discussing their shared plans of attending a friend’s memorial and making plans for a life after quitting. Nothing would indicate that this had been a well-planned scene, enacted for the cameras. There was no doubt in either Broots’ or Sydney’s minds that they’d remain in contact and see each other again soon.

~~~~~~~~*

Zoë stood in the motel bathtub, letting the scalding hot water from the showerhead rinse away all trace of the evening before. In the next room, Sean Gilroy was still snoring away noisily and sloppily – and if the amount of drinking he’d done the night before was any indication, he’d be completely unaware of her departure for several hours.

She hadn’t intended for it to work out this way – for her to end up in the bed of a total stranger. She hadn’t behaved that rashly since her days of running away from her cancer had landed her in a bed with Jarod. She reached for the little bar of motel soap and began running it all over her body. Sean was no Jarod – he was all talk and self-importance, but selfish and uninterested in anybody else’s pleasure but his own when the time came. Then, like a true pig, he’d snorted, rolled over and passed out – leaving her to take care of satisfying the need for completion herself.

“Damn it, Jarod, I NEED you!” Zoë thought angrily, scrubbing herself particularly roughly with the washcloth between her legs and over her breasts. She rinsed once more and turned off the water before reaching for one of the white terry bath towels.

She’d learned her lesson. She’d talk to this Faye woman – but she wouldn’t sit in the bar itself waiting for quitting time. She’d wait in her car in the alley, where Faye couldn’t get past her without answering the question. She would not end up another man’s toy for the night because he was too dense to take a hint, and she didn’t want to call attention to herself.

Zoë drew on her clothing from the day before and opened the bathroom door. She moved to the side of the bed and stared down at the man passed out amid tumbled bedclothes. “I decide who lives and dies,” she murmured to herself, her blue eyes darkening dangerously. And this one – did he deserve to live, or to die?

She rubbed her finger beneath her nose. In coming to this place, she’d slid the gun she’d carried into the bar into the crack of her driver’s seat – if she wanted to kill him, she’d have to go outside and get her gun.

Did he deserve to live?

With a sniff, she turned and walked out of the motel room, pulling the door locked behind her and jingling her car keys in her hand. Sean Gilroy wasn’t worth the effort. She needed to park her car close to JAX and then get some sleep – waiting for Faye until the wee hours of the morning and then suffering the unsatisfying sex with Sean had worn her out, and waiting for the next late night encounter would be useless if she wasn’t alert.

The powerful engine of her restored Cadillac convertible rumbled to life, and she pulled out of the parking lot of the dingy little motel without a backward look. Faye had better know where Jarod was – time was running out, and her need to find him was becoming painful. If nothing else, she wanted that implacable voice out of her head before it drove her insane.

~~~~~~~~*

Delgado watched as, one by one, his colleagues pulled the two younger boys from the back seat of the van and carted them over to the warehouse office, where a mattress on the floor would be their cage for the time being. Now that it was his turn, and knowing full well that the dosage of the sedative given to the oldest of the captives should at the very least have worn off a bit, he pulled on the young man’s arm. “Out!” he ordered harshly.

He’d been right – slowly, the captive raised his head and made motions of trying to scoot across the seat. Without cutting either the bindings at the hands or the feet, Delgado dragged the young man from the back seat, catching him when he would have plummeted head-first to the cement after stumbling trying to get around the middle seats and then pushed him into the now-empty front passenger seat. “Wait!” he snarled and slammed the passenger door and the sliding middle door.

“So now what?” Fishbain demanded, returning to the side of the SUV to face off with his leader, Langer not far behind him.

“You have your laptop set to do online banking for our unit account?” Delgado asked in response.

“Of course!” Fishbain gave a sharp laugh. That account was one of the first things the three of them had set up jointly when setting up their mercenary business, and it had always been HIS job to keep an eye on the purse strings. Since their jobs tended to take them all over the globe, online banking had been the easiest and most effective way to do that.

“Then set it up so that all I have to do is punch in the account number, and our payoff can be deposited electronically.”

“I thought we were gonna get…” Langer sputtered.

Delgado shook his head. “Uh-uh. Number one – it would be too easy to mark the bills or end up with a bag full of counterfeit. Number two – all they’d have to do is wait until I gave the “all clear” for you two to bring our guarantees to the drop site for them to attack me and get the money back. Number three – we set up that account so none of us can withdraw without all three signatures, which means we can’t cheat each other either. They can’t cheat us out of our money after we deliver the goods this way – set it up and give me the account number on a piece of paper so I can check it after the drop.”

“You really don’t trust that guy, do you?” Fishbain commented as he dragged his laptop case from the back end of the van, opened it up and set up the wireless Internet connection.

Again Delgado shook his head. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Fishbain finished his typing and then shut the laptop down again. “All you have to do is insert the wireless card and open the browser – it will take you straight to the bank page. Here’s the account number.” He handed his leader a small slip of paper with a string of numerals on it and then shoved the laptop back in its protective case. “Take care of this,” he cautioned Delgado. “I don’t want to have to replace half of what’s on it.”

“OK,” Delgado replied, shouldering the strap and looking earnestly at his colleagues’ faces. “Here’s how we’re gonna play it. I’ll call you when the deposit is in the bank – and then wait until you show up in that thing.” He pointed to the mini-SUV parked a short distance away. “Then, while you’re hauling your share of the booty out, I’ll beat a retreat. We’ll contact each other two hours after the second drop – and set up a meet.”

“I don’t like it,” Langer grumbled. “If there is going to be funny stuff, we need to be together…”

“Dave, togetherness this time could be a fatal mistake,” Delgado stated frankly, a friendly hand now on his colleague’s shoulder. “We play this smart, and we can pick and choose our jobs for the rest of our lives – or retire now. I’m not gonna let anything or anyone jeopardize that – got it?”

“I still don’t like it…”

“Where’s the drop?” Fishbain wanted to know.

“I gotta call in. I’m gonna be dictating some terms for the payoff when I do,” Delgado’s grin was cold.

“And if you don’t call after all?” Langer demanded.

Delgado looked around the building. “Like I said before. Take the kids to a mall – a parking garage – someplace public enough that they’ll get help soon enough, and cut ‘em loose.”

“Even doped up again?”

“So stack ‘em in a quiet corner until they come around.” Delgado shrugged. “We don’t kill unless absolutely necessary – remember?” He looked hard from one face to the other. “Take off the hoods, cut the bindings, and drive away. There’s enough left from the two and a half mil deposit to keep you guys going until you figure out what your next move will be.” He started walking around the front end of the van, heading to the driver’s door. “I should be calling in the next two hours – if you don’t hear by then, something’s gone wrong.”

“Got it,” Fishbain nodded and elbowed Langer in the ribs to keep him quiet. “Good luck!”

Delgado climbed into the driver’s seat and reached across the young man’s body to snap the seat belt over him. “Hang tight, kid – we’re almost there,” he stated almost lightly and then turned the key in the ignition.

Expertly he turned the van around in the huge and mostly empty warehouse, gave a jaunty wave to his colleagues, still standing where he’d left them, and then aimed the vehicle for the gap in the metal doors that led him back out onto city streets. He knew very well that the doors would be shut tight only moments later, returning the building to its previous, un-used appearance. Finally, he dragged his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and pushed a pre-programmed button.

“It’s about damned time!” the voice on the other end answered, clearly less than pleased.

“Yes, well there were a few things to get set up first,” Delgado replied nonchalantly, taking the corner to put the van on a busier thoroughfare. “So where’s the drop?”

Directions were quickly delivered, Delgado nodding and already making alterations in his vehicle’s path to accommodate them. Then… “How soon will you be there?”

“Well, I have a little news bulletin for you,” the ex-military man drawled. “I’m coming in with only the oldest of the three…”

“WHAT?” The voice was outraged.

“It’s called insurance,” Delgado continued as if the interruption hadn’t taken place. “Until I see the money in my bank account, you won’t see hide nor hair of the other two either.”

“That’s not how we had agreed…” the voice sputtered.

“We hadn’t agreed much of anything about the closing of the deal,” Delgado spat. “And from our last conversation, I decided that playing it safe was going to be necessary. To make a long story short, I don’t trust you to hold up your end.”

“You don’t trust ME? And I’m supposed to trust you…”

“Only for as long as it takes for me to call my colleagues and have them bring you the other two,” Delgado reasoned. “I’ll stay in my vehicle and not move until they get there. Then, while you’re taking custody of the rest of your delivery, I will drive away and your people won’t try to stop me.”

“We have the cash…”

“We don’t want cash,” Delgado interrupted brusquely. “We want an electronic transfer to our existing savings account, executed on the spot during the first half of the delivery, or the other two get turned loose.”

There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line, indicating vehement conversation muffled by a hand over the mouthpiece. Finally the voice returned to the line. “We’re sorry you feel that way, but we agree to your terms. So – how soon?”

“How soon can you have your end of the electronic transfer ready?” Delgado demanded back.

A soft voice could be heard in the background. “An hour,” the voice answered soon thereafter. “Give us an hour to set things up the way you want.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour.” Delgado punched the button to disconnect the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He glanced over at his passenger, who had tipped over into the seatbelt as it stretched to a spot behind his shoulder. A rough hand dragged the figure upright again. “You’re worth a helluva lot of money to me, kid.” he told the hooded young man conversationally. “So are your brothers.”

Cancer blinked beneath his dark hood. Brothers? He had brothers? Why had he never heard of THAT before now? Suddenly being the “oldest” not only made sense, but gifted him with a sense of responsibility. The two people that had been next to him must have been his brothers – and he had to get back to them, somehow. He jerked against his bindings futilely, his mind racing.

“Settle down, kid. Your trip’s almost over.”

Cancer killed a growl that seemed to come up from the bottom of his very being. He had brothers – younger brothers. He’d never “settle down” again until he knew they were safe.

And then he tipped again as the vehicle went around another corner, throwing his balance off yet again.

~~~~~~~~~*

Jarod carried his tray over to an unoccupied table in the far corner of the room and then settled himself into the seat that allowed him the greatest view of the Foundation employees who were taking their lunch break at the same time. The morning had been quiet, with enough busy-work in his inbox to preclude any unauthorized snooping or mainframe hacking. And just before lunch, Em had called to tell him that she had a late meeting with her editor that afternoon – and for him to pick up pizza for them both on his way home.

It was eerie – and even more disconcerting than ever – to be sitting in the cafeteria of a place that so thoroughly resembled the Centre in all important aspects and calmly munching away on an egg salad sandwich and chips. All of his instincts were on high alert, and his stomach was beginning to twist into an uncomfortable knot. Only his determination to make sure that a similar obscenity to the one perpetrated on him was not perpetrated on another young man – especially another Gemini.

He’d spent much of the rest of the evening, after his long and not always comfortable confrontation with Em, studying the documents that Sydney and Miss Parker had provided him. The Duplicity boys, as he thought of them now, had been named after the signs of the Zodiac, just as Gemini had been. The records showed that there had been ten boys in the Montana facility at the time of the explosion – there would have been eleven had not the second youngest died in infancy four years earlier. The oldest, codenamed Cancer, would be seventeen or eighteen now. The youngest would still be a toddler.

If they were still alive, that is.

Jarod pushed the remains of his sandwich container to the far edge of the tray and reached for his bottle of spring water, his appetite gone. The news reports filtering out of Montana spoke of more bodies being pulled from the debris pile that had once been a Centre installation, with the number of known dead now over thirty. There was quiet speculation beginning to spread that the place had been some kind of special school due to the number of children’s bodies being found – six so far.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket pc and brought up the map program. For the next few minutes, he studied the highways that would link that remote corner of Montana with Philadelphia –and then did the math that would give him a rough estimate of the time when any stolen Duplicity subjects MIGHT be arriving at the Foundation. Assuming the plan had worked flawlessly and there had been more than one accomplice in the kidnapping/bombing – and assuming that the vehicle had been driven at or just above speed limits ever since – the boys should be arriving in Philadelphia sometime that very evening or maybe the next morning.

That meant that sometime tomorrow afternoon, he’d have to go exploring down the locked wing again.

“Did you hear the latest – that we’re getting a new CEO?”

Jarod’s head whipped around quickly to glance at and then look away from two secretaries just settling down at a table not far away.

“Yeah,” the tall blonde replied as she cranked open the top of her bottle of water. “Nepotism strikes the Foundation – I hear its one of old man McKenna’s brothers.”

“No way!” the black girl with her corn-row’ed hair pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck shook her head vigorously. “Old man McKenna only had the one brother – and everybody knows he’s been dead for YEARS.”

The blonde leaned forward conspiratorially. “That’s what everyone THOUGHT, Patrice. But I heard from Lydia in Accounting that McKenna’s brother has been doing undercover work all this time – in some other R&D firm that tanked recently. So now he’s coming home to work for Dear Brother.”

“Been part of the competition, huh?” Patrice sat back with exaggerated shock and then waved a manicured and polished forefinger at her friend. “I wonder that the Old Man can even trust him now.” She peeled the wrapper from her sandwich container with a quick and practiced jerk.

“Doing undercover work,” the blonde repeated. “Makes you wonder if maybe this brother was part of the reason the other place went belly-up, don’t it?” She put the little package of salad dressing between her teeth and tore it open so she could distribute it over her plate of greens. “And have I got some news for you about Dave…” She paused, obviously for effect. “…and TAMMY!”

“No way!!”

Jarod closed down his pocket pc, stuffed it and the remaining bag of chips into his jacket pocket and reached for his water bottle to drain it in one long gulp. He wanted to get back to his office, where he could place a call to Broots, who was still, if he remembered correctly, looking through files copied from the Centre mainframe looking for the one responsible for Miss Parker’s dilemma. There had been a name bandied about briefly between the men of Miss Parker’s team – he was going to need it and a photo to go with it.

He rose and carried his lunch tray to the disposal area, tipping the remains of his sandwich into the trash and headed back down the corridor. Something told him that he’d just had a clue collaborating his theory that the Foundation was not only responsible for the tragedy in Montana, but could also be responsible for Miss Parker’s brush with death.

He didn’t have time to dawdle in a cafeteria anymore today – he had work to do.

~~~~~~~~~*

“Miss Parker? May I have a word with you?”

She turned from her hand-feeding a carrot to the sleek dark horse in front of her to watch Major Charles stride across the graveled drive toward her. “Of course,” she replied warily. “What can I do for you?”

Major Charles walked up next to her, put a foot on the bottom rail of the corral fencing and stroked his horse’s face absently. He was silent for a long moment, marshalling his thoughts. “JD wants to go to Montana.”

“I’m not surprised,” she replied, pulling yet another carrot from her pocket and holding it out for velvet lips to worry away from her. “Actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t left already. If he were Jarod, he would have.”

Major Charles pursed his lips in a tight and frustrated move. “I want him to stay as far away from the Centre as humanly possible.”

“I don’t blame you.” Miss Parker stroked the horse’s nose as it continued to crunch away at her offering and then turned to face her host more fully. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

“I want you to talk him out of leaving.”

Miss Parker shook her head and chuckled, and then turned to put her backside against the corral railing. “If he’s anything like Jarod…”

“He’s not Jarod.” The statement was bitten off sharply. “He’s his own person.”

“That may be,” Miss Parker replied calmly, feeling the hostility and frustration emanating from the man in waves at her. “But he shares his brother’s make-up – and a good deal of his background. Not to mention he probably shares Jarod’s drive toward family and blood ties.”

“Which, if true, means you think you understand him as being just like Jarod. I’d like to make use of that understanding – to keep him safe…” Major Charles turned and leaned one arm against the railing next to his guest. “Please.”

“What does Ethan say about this?” Miss Parker asked pointedly.

“He just spent the whole morning arguing with him about it,” the Major related sourly. “Didn’t get anywhere either.”

“And you think I would?” Miss Parker’s voice rose in surprise. “Hell, I only saw him once – while he was still in Raines’ custody.”

“He told me about that,” the Major replied softly, his dark eyes – so like Jarod’s – delving deep into hers. “He’s never forgotten that kindness. Maybe he’ll listen to you where he can’t hear me or his brother.”

She closed her eyes, and pictured in her mind once more the image of the young Gemini in the holding room, trying desperately not to show emotions. “I’ll do what I can,” she agreed finally with a sigh. “I just can’t guarantee that it will do much good.”

Major Charles landed a hand on the woman’s arm gently, startling her. “That’s all I ask,” he told her gently. “Just help me keep my family safe.”

Miss Parker opened her eyes and gazed at the older man. His face was a study in character – and in suffering. There were deep worry lines between his brows, not quite offset by the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair was silver now – although unlike Sydney, his hair remained full and thick. She imagined she could see each and every year he’d spent looking for his son, his wife, in those wrinkles and in his eyes – and she was humbled by what she saw.

“You do realize,” she began with a quirk on her lips, “that if Jarod’s plan succeeds, there will be no danger in JD’s going – that Jarod called in the FBI? The Centre will be too busy to be looking…”

“I really don’t care,” he replied, his hand still warm on her arm. “It isn’t just his physical safety I’m worried about.”

“You worry about his getting too emotionally battered by what he’d find?”

The Major nodded carefully.

She shook her head. “Have you considered how emotionally battered he might get by being obliged to sit on the sidelines?” The older man’s eyes widened as the idea made him consider the situation from a different perspective. Miss Parker put her hand over the Major’s on her arm. “I know you want to keep him safe – but keeping him here against his will, no matter how you accomplish it, will hurt him too. He’s a grown man – he deserves to have the freedom to be his own man.”

“If he were your son…”

She shook her head. “I’ve been where he is, Major. I’ve seen people around me try to talk me out of looking into things they thought would get me into trouble. Until just recently, I did just fine,” she added wryly. “If I’d held back, if I’d let those others keep me from finding out things, I wouldn’t be here right now – I’d be dead, for a variety of other reasons.”

The Major sighed loudly. “But you said you’ll talk to him?”

“I’ll talk to him,” she repeated her agreement, “but like I said, I’m not making any guarantees. I know how I’d feel in his position – and I know how Jarod would probably react until similar circumstances. The only reason Jarod went back to wherever it is that he’s been working is because he wants to get to the people he thinks responsible for wanting to steal what the Centre had done and compound the crime. I’ll talk – but I don’t know that JD will be listening.”

“That will have to be good enough then,” the Major conceded. “Thank you.”

“Where is he?”

“In the barn, working on the tractor.”

~~~~~~~~~*

Delgado turned off the engine. The lanes of road inside the old cemetery were deserted, just as the man on the phone had predicted. About fifty yards ahead of him sat two vehicles that most likely belonged to the men he was dealing with. Right on time, he realized as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Not bad for a plain daylight exchange…

“Stay put,” he ordered the hooded and bound young man in the passenger seat, stifling a chuckle at the idea that the captive had any other alternative. He climbed from the van, hit the button to lock the vehicle, and began to walk. As he did, he looked around and got the uneasy feeling that the tombstones around him could be harboring enemies. His hackles rose, and he stopped far short of the two men who had climbed out onto the tar ribbon and were waiting for him, one with a laptop computer in hand. His left hand slipped into his pocket and pressed the tiny micro-switch together, arming the device that had been wired to the gas tank months ago. It was a failsafe device that had served them well several times in the past, in similar situations. If all went well, it would only take a quick duck under the vehicle to disarm again.

“Call back your men,” he called and raised his hand with the key ring slightly, as if that were the item holding a remote mechanism. “Anybody make a move toward the van – or try to open the door without my knowledge – and I’ll destroy it where it sits. And then you’ll be down one of your ‘prizes.’”

There was a moment of silence and lack of motion – and then one of the men lifted a black walkie-talkie to his face. Six men in dark suits rose from behind various tombstones and moved as a unit back toward the two vehicles carrying rifles.

“All of them!” Delgado called out again. “You forget who you hired to do this job!”

Once more the man lifted the walkie-talkie, and two other men rose from behind tombstones even closer to the van to carry their weapons back to where they’d come from.

“All right – now YOU!” Delgado pointed to the man with the computer. “Walk forward. We’ll do the swap over here.”

The computer-bearing man conferred with his companion briefly and then followed instructions, walking forward briskly until he was directly in front of Delgado. “You are a very cautious man,” Jake McKenna commented coldly.

“I have reason to be,” Delgado snarled. “Any more surprises?”

“No,” McKenna shook his head. There WAS one man, behind the van, prepared to shoot in case this mercenary tried to escape with Foundation property – but he’d been ordered to merely watch for the moment and only take action if necessary. He glanced at the van, noting that there was someone in the front seat. “What about him?”

“He’s what you’re paying for,” Delgado allowed his voice to become more normal. “Are you ready to make the payoff?”

McKenna shifted the computer onto his left arm and tapped a key. “What bank?”

“Bank of Zurich,” Delgado replied. “I’ll type in the account number myself, when you get to that point.” He nodded. “Set up the transfer.”

It was awkward, typing with one hand, but McKenna set up the transfer. “OK,” he said when all that was needed was an account number into which to move the money and a click on a square marked “Continue”, “your turn.”

“Mmmm…” Delgado shook his head. “Put the computer on the ground and back off a bit,” he directed, looking around him nervously.

McKenna bent. “You sure are jumpy.”

“In my line of work, it’s a survival skill,” Delgado agreed. “Now back off.”

McKenna did as he was asked, and Delgado squatted, typed in the number he’d memorized from the slip of paper, and clicked the button to execute the transfer. He waited until the computer screen indicated that the transfer was concluded before straightening. He pivoted on his heel, walked over to the passenger door, pressed the button to unlock the vehicle and then dragged Cancer from his seat one-handedly. Once the captive was on his feet, a switchblade from his right trousers pocket snapped open and took care of the bindings holding the young man’s feet together.

“Here you go – one of the three,” he announced, dragging the young man stumbling and tripping forward until he could thrust the captive into the hands of the man who had moved forward to collect the computer from the road. “I’ll go sit in my van now,” he announced, “and make SURE my bank received that money – and then call my friends to bring in the others. Once they get here, I’ll drive away without challenge – or the second car will explode. Is that understood?”

“Go.” McKenna narrowed his eyes. He’d underestimated this man’s instincts for survival and ability to sense betrayal.

Delgado pulled his left hand from his pocket and carefully slipped the micro-switch to a comfortable spot between his fingers where it would be easy to maintain pressure without compromising dexterity, climbed into his van, and then reached for the laptop case between the front seats, and fired it up. Yes, the screen that presented itself to him indicated that the money they’d been promised had indeed been transferred. He reached for the cell phone in the cup holder and pressed the first programmed number.

“Are we in business?” Fishbain demanded instead of saying “hello”.

“Move out,” Delgado directed, “but I still don’t trust these turkeys. When you get to the gates, if I don’t flash my lights at you, drive on and keep going. They’ve already tried one ambush – I don’t trust them not to try something else.”

“Got it, boss. We’ll be there in fifteen.” The line went dead, and Delgado disconnected the call and put the phone down. All he had to do was wait now.

McKenna saw the phone drop from the man’s ear. “He’s made the call,” he stated firmly into the tiny microphone on his lapel. “Take him out.”

Behind him, Stan Bateman lifted his walkie-talkie again. “Subject free for disposal,” he stated curtly. “Execute.”

The sniper behind the van skirted the vehicle carefully to the passenger side, moving smoothly and swiftly from one grave marker to the next until he had his kill shot lined up easily. He raised the rifle, took aim and squeezed off his round.

Delgado’s head jerked as it issued a red puff of gore onto the window of the driver’s door, and then began slumping to the side. A hand with no more muscle control relaxed in his lap, and the micro-switch slipped from between the fingers that had held it tightly closed.

The explosion knocked all of the men off of their feet.

“Shit!” McKenna spat, picking himself off the pavement and shaking his head as if the action could stop his ears from ringing. “Move out – NOW!” He bent to retrieve the laptop from the pavement, scowling to discover that it had nearly shattered in his fall, and made his way back to the van holding the one Duplicity subject. Bateman staggered along the narrow road to take his place in the driver’s seat even as the other van backed away rapidly, heading for the other cemetery exit. “Fuck!” he spat again as Bateman slammed the vehicle into reverse and followed. “We only got one of them! Damn it, I thought he was bluffing with that threat…”

“We’ll get the others,” Bateman told his boss. “We’ll get them. We paid for them…”

“We don’t even know where they are!”

“They’re gonna drive by here in a few minutes, right? We can nail them then…”

McKenna pressed his hands against his ringing ears. “Are you nuts?? We can’t wait around – police and fire will be here in a minute or two. What if we’re seen? Besides, do you REALLY think they’ll stop when they see THAT?” He reached for the walkie-talkie in Bateman’s trench coat pocket. “Head back to the Foundation – and take a scenic route.”

“Yes, sir!” crackled the device in his hand, and the van ahead of them veered sharply to the right.

“Shit!” McKenna leaned back against his headrest, his eyes closed against the ringing in his ears that just didn’t want to stop. “Only one!”

Bateman twisted the steering wheel the moment he hit the street to make the van spin almost in place so that he could floor it forward and put distance between them and the inferno they’d left behind. “OK. We paid for three and got one – and it will have to do for now. It still means we have a Pretender – and we know for a fact that the Centre’s finished. The field’s clear – and we have the advantage. So we’re down a few mil – if what you say about this kid is true, we’ll make it back and then some soon enough.”

McKenna twisted in his seat and glared at the young man who had been thrust into the van on the floorboard in front of the middle seats. One young man, not three. It was a score – but not the grand-slam he’d been counting on. “Fuck!” he barked again and turned forward to slam his fist into the dash.

~~~~~~~~~*

“What the Hell?” Langer pointed to the column of smoke coming from beyond the cemetery gates – as well as the rapidly growing cloud of emergency lights around it.

“Shit! That’s Chuck’s van!” Fishbain grabbed at Langer’s arm. “Get us the Hell out of here!”

“He said he had a feeling it was a set-up,” Langer muttered as much to himself as to his companion. “I bet he used the micro-switch…”

“OK, shut up and let me think!” Fishbain leaned back in his seat, his elbow propped on the top of the door as he rubbed his eyes and around his mouth anxiously. “We gotta get rid of them – and soon!” He jerked a thumb toward the back seat and the sleeping pair.

“And just what do you suggest we do with them?” Langer demanded in an almost panicked tone. “Take them to the park?”

Fishbain thought for a long moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, Dave. And I know just the place!”

“We really just gonna let them go, Jerry?” Langer asked in a much smaller voice.

“You really want to kill a couple of kids who ain’t done nothing?” Fishbain asked back in a tight tone. “Turn left here and head for the center of town. Wait!” He changed his mind. “Pull over.”

“What?”

“We need to get the hoods and duct tape off of them – so all we have to do is roll them outta the car and take off.”

Langer’s expression as he pulled the SUV to the curb spoke eloquently of his skepticism. “I sure as Hell hope you know what you’re doing,” he told his cohort as he too climbed out of the front to take a blade to the silver-grey tape holding wrists and ankles together.

~~~~~~~~*

Cancer felt almost as home again with two people obviously taller than he was on either side of him, making sure he neither fell nor tried to escape their heavy grip on his upper arms as he walked – somewhere. He was anxious and wary on his own behalf – but his pleasure on the part of his little brothers knew no bounds. From the sounds of these new men, whatever deal had been struck to bring his brothers had fallen through. That meant that if the other men did as the one had told them, his brothers were in the process of being released – maybe even already had been.

That wasn’t a bad thing. It wasn’t a bad thing at all.

“Here you go,” yet another voice declared as whatever had held his hands was cut away. The hood was ripped from his head, and he was then pushed into a room that looked uncannily like his normal “space” from before. The room was small, with a thin mattress along one wall and a commode, toilet, table, chair and small bookshelf above. Only the fact that there was indeed a window that let in light through frosted glass that impaired actually seeing anything told him he hadn’t just been returned to the same place he’d started.

He turned around in time to see the metal door to his new “space” slam closed with the same kind of heavy clang as all the other doors he’d known did. He swung his arms in order to bring circulation back to muscles grown stiff from being held in the same position for hours, and did a couple of toe-touches for the same reason. He then sat down on the edge of the mattress, finding it only marginally thicker and possibly a slight bit more comfortable than his bed from before.

Some adventure. He’d ended up right back where he’d started – sort of.

He smiled quietly. At least his brothers were free.

He hoped. And, he decided, hope was a really nice feeling to have.

~~~~~~~~*

Angelo picked one by one at the berries in his hand as he walked, his steps taking him steadily pace by pace closer to Friend. The berry bushes by the side of the road had been a real treat – his stomach had been getting tired of old trail mix and water. The beginnings of a small town began to pass by him – houses separated by wide and empty lots with the road suddenly lined with curbs and gutters.

The little man finished up his treat and brushed his hands down his jacket and pants to get rid of the juice that had leaked from some of the broken berry buds. He frowned as he paused, as if searching for something. THERE it was! He could feel the throb of large engines and the tumult of many minds all looking forward to going… there.

He followed the emotions, the thrumming in the back of his mind, down one street and then another until finally he stood in front of a large building with a distinctive logo on the glass doors. He pushed through and followed his senses right up to a counter, where a slightly bored-looking older man glanced up from his computer screen. “Can I help you, sir?”

Angelo reached into his pocket and drew forth the wad of bills. “Philadelphia,” he pronounced carefully.

The man gazed at him with raised eyebrows, and then manipulated his computer quickly and efficiently. “That will be sixty-four fifty, please.”

Angelo frowned and pawed through the money, taking the time to count carefully to make sure to give the man enough.

The ticket agent took the bills and returned the change. “Next bus leaves in about ten minutes,” he told his odd-looking customer. “Any baggage?”

Angelo merely smiled and showed him the backpack. “No,” he answered carefully.

“Have a good trip, sir,” the ticket agent stated automatically and turned back to his computer screen.

The little man shouldered his pack again and followed his senses back to where a line of passengers was already gathering. “Philadelphia?” he asked the last one in line.

“Yup,” the jeans-clad teenager replied after pulling one of his iPod earbuds out to hear better when Angelo repeated his question.

Angelo was happy – he still had money in his pocket, he still had enough food to get him from here to Friend, and his travel was going to go a lot faster now. What was even better, the majority of the minds around him were filled with anticipation of getting where THEY wanted to go soon too – which was much more bearable than the fearful and angry minds back THERE.

Complacently he followed the line to the glass doors at the back of the building, handed his ticket to the driver, and then followed the rest of the passengers in climbing into the huge bus and taking a seat toward the back, where he could be alone. The seat was padded and comfortable – comfortable enough that Angelo knew he could sleep, at least for a little bit.

Now he was SURE to get where he needed to be in time.

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

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