“You asked to see me, sir?”

Jake McKenna eyed his new Security Analyst as she walked toward the desk with the unhurried pace of someone who knew their business and was ready to kick into high gear. “Yes,” he answered and, turning the newspaper on his desk in front of him around, he pushed them across the wide surface at her. “It appears that we have a leak in our organization,” he began in a low and dangerous tone. “I want to find out who it was that dug into the mainframe to access high security memoranda, and I want to make it impossible for such things to happen again.”

Miss Parker made a show of scanning the article quickly. “Yes, sir.” She contained the rise of elation in her over the obvious upset in her new boss. She’d read the article in the newspaper that morning before coming to work, and she and Sam had chortled over the similarities between the Foundation and the Centre that stood revealed in all of their ugliness. Still, she had to appear diligent in her task here – and she’d have to manage to uncover SOMEone who had genuinely accessed the archive in order to find an innocent scapegoat for what was most likely a combination of Jarod’s and Broots’ hacking. She folded the newspaper again and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll need the services of a computer technician familiar with the architecture of the operating system here.”

McKenna’s brows rose. “You can’t do the job yourself?”

Miss Parker was unruffled. “Of course I could – but it would take longer because I’d have to familiarize myself with the system along the way. A computer tech with experience on THIS mainframe would eliminate wasted time.” She eyed him evenly. “I assumed you would like this damage control completed as soon as possible. Was I wrong?”

Finally McKenna felt encouraged by facing a security expert whom he couldn’t intimidate – and so was convinced he’d finally put some preventative efforts in motion. “I’ll call down to the technical department and have them send someone to your office right away. And you’re right – I want this to take priority over everything else you’re doing, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.” Miss Parker nodded confidently. “Anything else?”

“No, that will be quite enough for you for the time being.” McKenna waved his hand. “You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Miss Parker turned and walked back toward the office door with the same, unrushed pace with which she’d entered the room. As the door closed, she could already hear the Chairman on the telephone, ordering the technician she’d asked for. This could get VERY interesting, she thought as she walked back down the corridor to her own office space.

~~~~~~~~~*

“Yeah,” the blonde prostitute with long, stringy hair and amazingly intact fishnet stockings handed the photograph back to Sam. “I was wit’ him – what of it?”

“Do you remember what time it was when you and he…” Jarek asked with cautious diplomacy.

“Lemme see…” The blonde cracked the gum she was chewing several times. “Oh yeah. I didn’t get out here until about nine that night – and it was a slow night. So I suppose we got together about ten…”

“Where did you go?” Sam wrote down the time that demolished the alibi Sarah Mitchell’s boyfriend had offered the previous afternoon. “A motel?”

“Yeah.” The gum cracked a few more times behind a crookedly attractive smile. “Some of us use the Brighten Arms Hotel – over there.” A slender arm was extended with a finger pointing across the street to one of the featureless brick front hotels with the sad markee announcing its presence in a low key manner. “Buck, the clerk there, is a friend of a friend – gives us good hourly rates.”

Sam nodded as he closed his notebook. “Great.” He cast his eyes up and down the street, not even wanting to count the number of other women out trying to make a living at the oldest profession. He turned back to Savannah and eyed her critically. Probably in her late teens or early twenties, she looked as hardened as some of the more experienced hookers he’d know in his youth. Still, there was a light behind those heavily made-up eyes that spoke of intelligence. “Listen,” he said impulsively, handing her his business card – a card from a box he’d received just that morning, “in case our friend comes looking for you again. If he threatens you, call me.”

Savannah smiled widely and cracked her gum at him as she slipped his card down into her tiny handbag. “You got it, sugar,” she replied with a come-on tone. “And anytime you think you need a good time…”

“Come on,” Jarek jerked his head at the hotel door. “We have interviews to finish here. Thanks for your help, ma’am,” he offered over his shoulder as Sam followed. He waited until they were halfway across the street. “You’d think she’d know better than to proposition a cop.”

Sam shrugged. “It didn’t bother me – she knew we weren’t here to give her a hard time about her business – and she’s already done us a huge favor by blowing lover-boy’s alibi out of the water.” He gave his partner a sharp look. “If the hotel clerk confirms her story, you realize we have the boyfriend for the crime?”

Jarek shook his head. “Not quite – what we have is only circumstantial. We’ll need a solid piece of evidence tying him to the beating – but what we have will go a long way toward getting a judge to give us a search warrant for his flop.” He reached out and grabbed the handle of the hotel door. “Let’s just hope this is the confirmation we need.”

Sam nodded and followed his partner into the dingy hotel lobby and up to the enclosed window. “You the clerk here?” Jarek demanded of the scrawny man with short dreadlocks behind the counter.

“Yeah…” The man’s light brown eyes widened at the sight of the badges flashing in front of him. “Look, officer…”

“Cool it – we’re not here to bust your socks,” Jarek assured him with a crooked smile. “We just want to know if you’ve seen this man.” Starting to know his partner’s rhythm in conducting interviews, Sam already had the photograph of the boyfriend out of his pocket and was shoving it across the counter.

Nicotine-stained fingers picked up the photograph and dragged it closer to watery blue eyes – and then handed it back again. “Yeah – two nights ago this joker came in with Savannah and spent about an hour. Why?”

Sam ignored the question. “Do your records include the time they came in?”

“We charge by the hour – what do you think?” Buck retorted as he reached for the thick book below the counter and dragged it up. He flipped back a page and ran his finger down the page. “Here it is – Savannah and friend – got here at ten-fifteen.”

“What can you tell me about the guy?” Jarek gave Sam a triumphant smirk and then turned back to the clerk.

“He was bad news,” Buck shook his head as he stowed his register book again. “I’ve seen his kind before – and sometimes I have to haul the girls to the hospital after. I was just glad Savannah came back down again in one piece – and none the worse for the wear, if you know what I mean…”

“What was it that made you nervous about him?” Sam wanted to know.

“It was just…” The clerk was obviously searching for a way to describe his gut feeling. “You know how ever once in a while, you see guys who just seem to ooze danger? Like they’re a walking time-bomb or something?” Sam nodded – he’d know far too many like that in his time. “It weren’t nuthin he did or said – it was just like this aura. This guy’s a shark – dead eyes and a hungry look.”

This time it was Jarek who handed over the business card. “If you think of anything else, be sure to call.”

“Got it.” From the Buck’s tone, both Jarek and Sam knew that the card would be hitting the circular file the moment their backs were turned.

“And now?” Sam prompted as they pushed through the door back out into the afternoon sun.

“And now we give the captain what we have and get us a warrant,” Jarek confirmed. “And I’ll bet you dollars to donuts we find SOMEthing in that guy’s place to tie him into Sarah’s attack.”

“No takers.” Sam had no doubt that Jarek was right – and in a way was glad that this case was winding up so quickly. Knowing that he’d been a part of the process of getting justice for Sarah Mitchell would hopefully go a long way toward making his sleep tonight more restful.

Provided Cat didn’t make sleep impossible again for other reasons…

Sam brushed away the memory of his “wife’s” soft body pressed against his spine. This is ridiculous, he chided himself harshly, this is a role! That’s Miss Parker the Ice Queen you’re daydreaming about, you bum! She’s only playing a part! Get your mind out of the bedroom! He waited for Jarek to unlock the car from the driver’s side, forcing the memory of the photographs of Sarah Mitchell’s broken body to the forefront of his mind to combat his rebellious libido.

He had a job to do – two jobs to do, in fact: play cop and guard Miss Parker. He needed to remember that.

~~~~~~~~~*

Suz Wilmot found herself faced with two sets of very wary, very frightened dark brown eyes. “You ready to head back to pick up all your stuff?” she asked with a tone of bravado.

“We don’t have much – just a few clothes,” the younger boy said softly.

“Are you taking us away now?” the older boy asked, and Suz’s heart melted at the uncertainty and fright she could hear.

“That’s what this meeting was all about,” she told them, moving to put an arm about each one and began to steer them toward the wide glassed front doors of the courthouse. “What the judge’s ruling means is that Abner and I have been appointed more permanent guardians for you. You’ll both live with us – we’ll get you enrolled in school, see to it you have decent food and clothes…” The ease with which she and her lawyer had arranged for guardianship of these two to be transferred to her and Abner had been astounding. Like them, she was still a little in shock that the judge had been so cooperative.

“Why?”

Virgil’s question caught Suz completely by surprise. “Why what?” She stopped and turned to face the young man.

“Why are you doing this? Are you going to want us to run SIMs for you?”

“SIMs?” Suz was now thoroughly confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you’d both be happier in something closer to a family setting…”

“Family?!” Leo’s eyes were very wide, and he glanced over at his brother to see if Virgil were as astonished at the idea as he was. “Us?”

“Yes…” Suz replied cautiously. She hadn’t expected the surprise. “Don’t you want to have a home of your own – people who care for you – and be with each other too?”

The boys exchanged yet another look and then both turned intensely curious expressions on the woman who had, apparently, claimed them. “Are you SURE this isn’t a SIM?” Leo finally found the courage to voice the suspicions both he and his brother had shared for a while now.

Suz sighed. The distrust she was seeing was well-established and very deeply ingrained – it would probably take a very long time to overcome. “I don’t know what a SIM is,” she answered slowly, “but I can assure you that this is NOT whatever that is. Abner and I want to give you boys a chance to stay in a stable environment – one where you have adults who don’t want to use you who’ll be responsible for…”

“You said family,” Leo repeated her words slowly. “What did you mean?”

This is much harder than she’d expected. “Abner and I have raised one son already – we know how to be good parents. I thought… I was hoping… that maybe if you had a foster mother and father who knew what they were doing…” It almost hurt to think that these boys, who had been such quiet, unassuming and unobtrusive guests in her home, could be rejecting what she was offering.

“For how long?” Virgil wanted to know. “And will you send us back when you’re done with us?”

Suz shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that – and no, I don’t think I’d ever consider sending you back to whatever place you came. I don’t think they took very good care of you – wherever that was. As for how long…” She sighed again. “What do you say that the three of us revisit the question after – say – six months? See if things are working out for all of us?”

“You DON’T want us to work problems for you?” Leo asked, his voice softer and almost wistful.

“I wouldn’t mind some help around the house from time to time, but work problems? No…”

“But you don’t know us…” Virgil was confused. “Why is it that everyone wants to help us, even though they don’t know us?”

Suz smiled gently. “Because not everybody in this world wants to use other people. Some of us actually want to help.”

Virgil turned to his little brother. “Not a SIM? You think?”

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know – but I think I want to go with her and see what comes next.” His face reflected his caution and unease at actually verbalizing a desire of his own. “I mean…” He looked up at Suz with very wary and wounded eyes. “…wouldn’t it be nice if we were given at least a little information about what a family is like – even if it isn’t true for us?”

Virgil turned dark eyes that were no more trusting than before on his new foster mother. “OK,” he said slowly, and then nodded. He couldn’t deny that he shared some of Leo’s cautious curiosity – and certainly their situation couldn’t get any worse than they’d already been somewhere along the way since they’d been removed from their former home so abruptly. If this WERE a SIM, despite all the assurances to the contrary, the debriefing would be as much a catharsis for him as it would be an information dump for those he worked for. “OK,” he repeated. He’d go along – for now.

Suz had the feeling she’d just been awarded a probationary period as a foster parent. “OK,” she responded and once more put an arm around each boy. “We’ll stop at Mrs. Goldstein’s to pick up your things, and then head to the hotel I’m staying at for the night. We can talk more on the way and maybe over a nice supper.”

“OK.” Leo allowed himself to feel just the tiniest bit satisfied. He genuinely liked this lady – the lady who’d let him feed the fish in her tank. Even if this turned out to be a SIM after all, there was nothing in the rules that said he couldn’t enjoy the experience.

He’d miss Mrs. Goldstein though – and her stack of National Geographics as well. Maybe Mrs. Wilmot had some too – that could be something else he asked her later.

~~~~~~~~~*

Imsi Londele adjusted his cap on his head to shade his eyes from the western sun and gazed once more through the telescopic sight. The mid-afternoon wind in Philadelphia at this time of year wasn’t warm – and he shivered slightly. He bent to the duffel bag and pulled out a lightweight windbreaker jacket and hastily pulled it on before straightening and returning his eye to the long black tube that rested so precisely on top of the high-powered plastic rifle that was some of the latest armament technology to come out of Asia. He’d have to thank the Triumvirate and its newest Chinese partners for the relatively risk-free passage through Customs.

The rifle had been broken down into component parts and hidden in plain view of any x-ray machine the luggage had seen. The bullet – when the time came, he’d only need one – had been disguised as an automatic pencil insert among many others and had walked through the metal detectors nestled safely in his breast pocket and given only a glancing notice. There was no record of the purchase of this weapon – most American gun dealers had only heard rumors of its existence. The rumors would be confirmed ONLY if he couldn’t dispose of the weapon the way he intended – in the boiler room of the building he was in - and even at that, he’d be long gone from the area before anybody would arrive to make a search.

His latex gloves – with which he’d scrupulously handled the gun every time it had been necessary – would make certain that nothing could possibly lead authorities back to him. His escape route was already tested and ready to use. All he needed…

There.

The crosshairs of the sight passed slowly over the windows of the Foundation administration wing until they halted over the chest of the man who stood framed in the wide window frame of the office at the very end. The blueprints the Triumvirate had provided for the facility specified that the end office was the largest in the entire place – no doubt the Chairman’s – and therefore anyone who felt themselves at luxury to stand with hands behind their head staring out the window must, logically, be the Chairman.

Imsi adjusted the magnification and then nodded. Yes – that was Jake McKenna – he recognized the features as those of the man in the photograph that had been inserted in the envelope of money that had accompanied him on the trans-Atlantic flight.

He braced himself against the recoil of the high-powered weapon and squeezed the trigger gently – and smiled to himself as he saw his target slump suddenly to the floor.

Bingo.

He gave himself his moment of triumph, and then he immediately went into action. The barrel itself would be hot to the touch – and so he removed the stock to make the rifle fit into the length of the now-empty duffel bag. In less than thirty seconds, he was reaching for the knob on the door to the roof access and starting down the six flights of stairs at a fast pace courtesy of hours of training at a gym to keep in shape.

The door to the boiler room wasn’t locked – that was one of the preparations he’d made just before climbing to the roof – and the duffel bag and all of its contents were quickly chucked inside. Imsi waited just long enough to see the treated canvas flare up as the accelerant in the dye caught fire. The gun itself wouldn’t last more than five minutes in that heat.

Then, calmly, he walked from the room, remembering to lock the door again so as to appear undisturbed, and then pulled the latex gloves from his hands as he sauntered up the one flight of stairs to the lobby. Outside the building he could hear the sound of approaching sirens – the Foundation building was, after all, just across the street. He pasted an interested expression on his face and then pushed into and mingled in the crowd that was already gathering to watch the police and fire and ambulance arrivals.

Sometimes his job was just TOO easy…

~~~~~~~~~*

Ray Carlisle looked around appreciatively. Mercury, PA was a small town, with only one main street that held the bulk of the business district to the whole place. It was old – many of the houses looked as if they’d been built between seventy to over a hundred years earlier – and the magnificent trees that lined the sleepy lanes gave further evidence to the staid and venerable nature of the neighborhoods.

He glanced over at the notepad that was affixed to the dashboard of his car by a suction cup – 249 Elm Street was written in his bold and clear hand. That was the address he’d gleaned from the school’s computers just that morning – the address that he hoped would finally put him in touch with SOMEone who could help direct him to Sydney, or Jarod.

The house at 249 Elm was a small two-story residence nearly at the end of what might have been the narrowest street in the entire hamlet. Carlisle sat in his car in front of the place for a long moment, hoping to catch sight of life from within. The front windows were protected by old fashioned sheer curtains that allowed the light into the building without allowing those outside to see in as well – so discerning movement within would be nearly impossible. Carlisle sighed and turned off the car engine before climbing from behind the steering wheel. If this didn’t pan out, he would be out of ideas as to where to turn next.

He pulled open the wooden screen door and knocked on the heavy front door, then waited. Inside he could hear the sounds of someone moving about – and then the click of a deadbolt lock being thrown and the rattle of a chain. The door moved – but only a little – held back by the security chain. Cautious blue eyes peered out at him. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for Dr. Lazlo Broots – and I was told that he lived here.”

The expression on the face of the man answering the door grew suddenly more wary and guarded. “Who are you?”

Carlisle smiled in a way he hoped might calm nerves. “My name is Ray Carlisle. I’m a private detective from Miami, and I’m trying to get a hold of a man by the name of Jarod. My research tells me that you might be someone who knows…”

“I don’t know anybody by that name,” Broots blurted quickly, his mind racing. He’d been traced! But how?!

Carlisle took the overly-quick statement in stride. “The lady I’m working for runs a detective agency in Miami – and she’s trying to get a hold of this Jarod to tell him about something very important.”

The motion of the door beginning to close hesitated. “Tell him what?”

Carlisle didn’t move a muscle. “Do you know this guy after all?”

“Maybe,” Broots offered cautiously.

“Look,” Carlisle relented some, “if I gave you the name and telephone number of my boss, could you get it to Jarod – along with a message that it’s urgent that he call the number as soon as possible?”

“And you’ve no idea what’s so all-fired important?” Broots demanded in return volley.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” Carlisle admitted. “And she was acting strange, as if something had given her a good scare – and if there’s one thing I know about Susan Granger, it’s that she doesn’t scare easily.”

Broots frowned slightly. Susan Granger – why did that name sound so familiar? “OK,” he conceded, “give me the name and phone number. I can’t promise that I can get a hold of Jarod right away, but the next time I talk to him…”

“That’s all I ask,” Carlisle nodded excitedly and pulled a business card and pen from his jacket pocket. Turning the card over, he wrote down Susan’s name and her office phone number on the back, thought a moment, and then wrote down a much less known private phone number as well. “The top number is her office – the bottom one is her home number. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t care I handed that last one out, if it meant that she’d be able to talk to Jarod.”

“Like I said…”

“I know what you said, Dr. Broots…” Carlisle assured the man behind the security chain. “But you really have nothing to fear from me. I’m only a messenger – and you’re only a go-between.”

“Thanks,” Broots said, somewhat disgruntled to have himself dismissed with such ease.

“No offense,” Carlisle offered. “Thanks for your time – and thanks for passing the message.”

Broots gave a nod and closed the door. He stared at the bold handwriting on the back of the small rectangle of card stock in his hand. First Sydney vanished, and now THIS! He tipped his hand to check his watch. With any luck, he could call in an hour or so without endangering Jarod at work.

Susan Granger, he repeated the name as he walked back toward his new home office. I’m almost positive I’ve heard that name before. I wonder where?

~~~~~~~~~*

Emily picked up the telephone receiver absentmindedly, continuing to type one-handed in order to finish her thought before the line of thought was interrupted. “Yeah – Russell,” she said into the receiver once the period sat at the end of the sentence.

“Em – its Don… Listen – about that appointment I was going to have you sit in on…”

Emily sighed. “Don’t tell me the guy is here early…”

“No – actually, he called to cancel at the last minute.” Don Krohn’s voice was tight with excitement. “Something about he had to go back to the Foundation to handle an emergency.”

“Good, because I was just working on…”

“I want you to shelve what you’re doing at the moment and head over to the Foundation yourself,” Don told her firmly.

Emily was stunned. “What the Hell for?”

“I heard it on the police scanner,” he answered. “Seems as how there was a shooting over there – and rumor has it that the Chairman has been shot. I want you covering the story openly – nobody knows it was you that wrote this morning’s story, after all…”

Emily was already reaching for her purse. “I’m on it,” she replied and hung up. At last, a chance to get up close and personal with the place where her brother was now running a risky Pretend – a place that, if her research and the suspicions of many around her was true, was just as evil and unethical and criminal as the Centre ever had been.

It was just that THIS was not how she’d expected to be able to make this move. Hopefully Jarod and Miss Parker could hang onto their personas if they caught sight of her – it would be a helluva note if she were the catalyst to ruining the Pretend in search of a news story for her paper…

~~~~~~~~~*

Les Jarek had to admit that his admiration for Sam Jamison was beginning to grow – and his doubts about Sam’s abilities to be an effective partner shrink in direct geometric proportions.

The big man had evidently been far more aware and prepared for the circumstances that might arise when serving a search warrant on the residence of their prime suspect in the beating death of Sarah Mitchell – because when the suspect had, out of the blue, come at him with a knife as he bent over the trash container, Sam had been ready. A kick that would have made Jarek’s martial arts instructor in the Marines proud sent the deadly little switchblade flying – but not knocked all resistance from the suspect. It had taken both of them to bring the man to the floor and get handcuffs on him, and both were breathing hard from the exertion.

But Sam was pale and his breath shallow – and Jarek knew that the elbow into the ribs the big detective had taken in the struggle probably had caused more damage than most of the others. “Hey!” he jerked his head at the open door of the apartment through which uniformed officers were hauling the struggling suspect. “You look like Hell – need to get checked out at the ER?”

Sam looked at his partner, saw understanding and sympathy and concern in the shorter man’s face, and finally allowed himself to put his right hand over the spot on his side that was a blazing agony with every intake of breath. “I’ll be OK,” he shook his head. He’d handle the pain the way he always did – he’d ignore it. After all, sweepers were only allowed two physical conditions in their employment: fully functional and dead.

“Uh-unh.” Jarek wasn’t buying it. “You aren’t breathing right – did he get your ribs with that elbow?”

Sam relented. “I don’t know,” he admitted – only to widen his eyes in surprise when Jarek grabbed his elbow. “Hey!”

“Don’t fight me on this.” Jarek’s voice was tight and firm. “You’re gonna go to the ER and get yourself checked out. You took care of my back, now I’m takin’ care of yours.”

“I gotta pick my kid up from school first,” Sam complained reluctantly. “I’m supposed to pick him up every other day from the after-school program…”

“Fine. We pick up your kid, and THEN we head over to the hospital,” Jarek allowed with a huff of impatience. “But the second part of that equation is non-negotiable, got it?”

The more time went by, the more breathing was hurting – so Sam’s stamina to resist the will of his partner waned as they walked down the corridor toward the stairs. “Damn!” he hissed more to himself than to anyone else. “Helluva way to start a job, getting hurt practically the first day!”

“It happens,” Jarek shrugged. “Besides, think about it: if you really ARE hurt, then that skunk will be in jail for assault on a police officer even IF CSU doesn’t find evidence that proves he beat Sarah…”

“Yeah, but I want that asshole for murder…” Sam muttered unhappily, then caught his breath in a near yelp as he bent to try to fit his large frame into the mid-sized sedan that was their police-issued ride.

Jarek slid behind the steering wheel. “We’ll get him – and at least now we have the time to work the case without worrying about him having the opportunity to hurt some other girl in the meantime.”

Sam leaned his head against the headrest and kept his hand holding his side. “It’s something, I suppose.” He then turned to look at his partner. “I just don’t look forward to having to explain why I’m not moving so good to the wife when I get home…” That was a masterpiece of understatement. He was supposed to protect her – and how was he gonna do that if he was hurt on the job?

“You’re gonna have to introduce me one of these days,” Jarek said, moving the car ahead smoothly so as not to jar his partner’s injury any further, “and you’ll have to meet my boys. Maybe this next weekend, we can do a picnic or something – a get-to-know-you type thing…” He glanced over at Sam’s pale face. “If you’re feeling up to it, that is…”

“I’ll talk to Cat about it,” Sam promised, wondering if Miss Parker would be willing to dip into her Pretend persona that deeply as to play the part of a policeman’s wife to the discerning eye of his partner – and if Evan would choose that opportunity to act out again, if he didn’t spill the beans when he saw that his “Dad” was hurt on the job.

Damn, but he wished Sydney was around! That old shrink always could smooth the waters with those two Parkers… He watched as Jarek turned the squad car onto one of the main boulevards that would take them to Evan’s school. How well the boy would manage the fact that his “Dad” had managed to get himself hurt was anybody’s guess. Then again, facing Miss Parker after a trip to the hospital wasn’t going to be fun either. “Damn…” he swore again quietly to himself.

~~~~~~~~~*

Jim McKenna could feel the tension in the room from the police officers that milled around the body of his brother, but what these strangers were saying seemed to be utterances in the face of a hurricane. He sat with his face in his hands in one of the comfortable leather chairs that had always faced the Chairman’s desk, struggling to come to grips with the reality that his twin brother – the other half of him – was gone, blown away by a sniper’s bullet from some distant location.

It was incredible – the Foundation was on the verge of a new day in profitability, thanks to the stolen Pretender and the forced cooperation of the former Centre psychiatrist. He was back in the fold – back with his own people at last. Jake had confirmed him as the Director of Operations – the one position in the hierarchy that was closest to the Chairman’s seat – less than two days earlier.

And now…

“Sir?”

Jim was ready to continue to ignore the voices that swirled around him, but this time the call came accompanied by a hand on the shoulder, rousing him from his grief. “Huh?” he looked up dumbly, his eyes wide and almost unseeing.

“There is a Mr. Olabi from the Triumvirate on the phone for you, sir…”

It was Jake’s secretary, Kathleen, Jim realized after staring at the serene silver-haired woman for far longer than he might normally. Why was she talking to him?

“Me?”

“He wants to speak to the man in charge of the Foundation, Mr. McKenna – and that’s you now…” Kathleen struggled to keep her voice steady. She had been with Jake ever since he'd taken over the position – he’d been a friend as much as an employer – and the idea he was gone forever hadn’t entirely sunk in yet. “Please…”

McKenna gazed around slowly and then nodded. Feeling as if he’d aged twenty years in the hour since he’d heard the news, he pushed himself out of the chair and followed Kathleen to the outer office. The secretary seated herself at her desk, picked up the receiver, pushed one of the blinking buttons and then handed the device up to him.

“This is Jim McKenna,” McKenna stated after swallowing hard. “You will understand that this is a bad time…”

“I’m well aware of the events you’re going through, Mr. McKenna,” Olabi’s musically accented voice sounded as if the man were standing next to him. “As well I should – I orchestrated them.”

McKenna stared and almost dropped the phone. “You… what?” he managed finally.

“Understand, Mr. McKenna, that this is simple retribution. Your brother ordered the attack on a Centre facility in Montana that resulted in the death of one of our governing Council. I have merely balanced the scales. Both of our organizations have now suffered a grievous loss. Hopefully that will be all that will be needed to end the violence.”

“You… killed…”

“Just as one of your Foundation assassins snuffed out the life of one of our Council of three, one of my Triumvirate assassins has snuffed out the life of your Chairman. We have no desire for warfare – but we do not suffer attacks lightly. This phone call is just to inform you of the nature of things – and to let you know that the Triumvirate is prepared both to proceed in peaceful coexistence with you or return any violence you send against us.” Olabi’s voice was firm and implacable. “Your organization stood on the brink of receiving a considerable investment package from us prior to this unfortunate incident. What you wish to make of our business relationship in the future is your choice – you now know what our response will be if you act towards us with violence.”

“You son of a…”

“Very possibly.” Olabi actually sounded amused, and McKenna’s temper began to rise. “But I am far out of your reach, Mr. McKenna. Even your lackey, a Mr. Stan Bateman, has discovered that African justice is quite capable of handling interference.”

McKenna almost choked. “Bateman?” Madly he tried to remember what Jake had said about the assignment he’d given the man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play me for a fool,” Olabi snapped. “He was found on the grounds of Mrs. Lula Mutumbo – a former Triumvirate Councilwoman – bending over her corpse with a gun in his hand. He’d evidently killed her.”

“He wouldn’t – that wasn’t…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Olabi interrupted condescendingly. “He was discovered, armed, bending over a woman who had been shot in the head. It will be a fairly quick trial, I can assure you. The point, however, is that your people have toyed with the wrong organization – and this will be your only warning. Good day.”

Jim pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it in surprise when the click on the other end of the line told him that this Olabi person had hung up on him. He looked over at Hannah. “Tell me the calls to this office are taped – please!”

“Of course,” Hannah nodded, confused.

“Good.” McKenna glanced over his shoulder at his brother’s office – now HIS office – and the milling police. “I’m going to want a copy of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

McKenna closed his eyes and let his right hand work his temples to ease a burgeoning headache for a moment before straightening himself and heading back into the office. He was a McKenna – and the head of the Foundation. It was time for him to act like it.

~~~~~~~~~*

Jarod slipped into the maintenance closet with a sigh of relief. The day – a thoroughly upsetting day, considering the unforeseen complication of someone apparently assassinating the Chairman and the accompanying swarm of Philadelphia’s finest patrolling the corridors for hours – had seen very little of real progress made toward the goal of the Pretend. In fact, it seemed that this Pretend was getting ready to spin completely out of control due to factors that hadn’t even been present when originally formulated.

He quickly slipped into the gray overalls that were the garb of janitors the world over. The one-piece protective clothing, worn over his expensive business suit, was warm but disguised his body size rather effectively. Jarod toed off his expensive loafers and pulled the pair of athletic shoes from where he’d hidden them a few days earlier, and then leaned his backside against the porcelain sink as he lifted one foot after another to tie them on securely.

The window of opportunity for him to get into the secured wing and do more extensive probing was rather narrow – there were about fifteen minutes during which the bodyguards that roamed the corridors were changing shifts. It would be during that mild bit of chaos – enhanced, he was certain, by the chaos that had pervaded the entire place since word of the assassination of the Chairman had floated through the rumor mill – that he would be most likely to slip in unobserved and thus be able to remain unchallenged for the longest period of time.

He wouldn’t think about Susan Granger, or the fact that a man had appeared at Broots’ door out of the blue asking for a message to be passed along for HIM to call her back. That puzzle – and the call he’d eventually make – would come after he’d made it out of the secured wing unscathed and was back at home again. Right now, his entire focus had to be on Duplicity – seeing whether he could locate one or more of the stole Pretender clones – as well as seeing whether his hunch was correct that Sydney had been taken by the Foundation.

After all, that was the only possible answer to the question of WHY Sydney had vanished that made any sense. Jarod knew better than most – with the exception of the former CEOs of the Centre and the man they’d assigned to him early on in his childhood, as well as the staff at the doomed Montana facility – that managing a talented Pretender wasn’t as simple as asking a question and waiting for the answer to appear out of nowhere. There were mind-sharpening meditations and exercises that needed to be scrupulously followed on a daily basis without fail. Years of training and discipline would make those exercises and meditations a key to convincing a Pretender to cooperate with the program – especially if the faces around him changed dramatically. Even now, he himself took the time to do those same meditations and exercises on his own to keep his powers of concentration and observation honed to a very high degree.

And if Sydney had been taken by the Foundation, then locating where he was being held would be of equal importance with locating where the Duplicity clone or clones were being held. A rescue attempt, when the time came, would have to be aimed at Sydney as well as Duplicity – IF Sydney were there. Jarod didn’t want to consider the possibility that he wasn’t – too many hours during the last sleepless nights had been dedicated to trying to SIM out other options, only to have this one possibility be rendered the only viable one.

With a grey baseball cap pulled over his hair, the long brim hiding the features of his face, and his glasses safely tucked into the breast pocket of the business suit, Jarod pulled the custodian’s cart from the little room and closed the door after himself. He adjusted the way the fabricated identification tag hung from his overalls collar, and then began whistling tunelessly as he pushed the cart slowly and steadily toward the entrance to the secure wing.

He knew the code by heart now. He slid the card’s magnetic strip through the reader and punched in the numbers – and heard the heavy electronic lock click off. He pushed through the doors, continuing with his tuneless whistling.

~~~~~~~~~*

Sydney looked up as the same burly bodyguard who had escorted him to the Medical facility pushed into the room. “My time is up, I take it?” he inquired in a deceptively conversational tone meant as much to soothe his new protégé as anything else.

“But Sydney,” Cancer complained, opening his eyes and shifting up onto an elbow, “we’re not finished…”

“Time’s up,” the bodyguard announced emotionlessly. He was getting damned tired playing babysitter in hauling this old man to and from his cell to the Medical Facility. “Let’s go.”

Sydney rose from his chair and stretched. It had been a long afternoon, despite the rare treat of working a truly talented Pretender through the mind-expanding exercises and calming meditations that had taken him half a lifetime to perfect. “It’s OK, Adam,” he said, moving to the young man’s side and doing a cursory examination of the bandages. There was no sign of seepage this time – which meant that the raging infection that would have killed the young man quickly if he hadn’t already decided to die before then was now completely under control and fading. “Tomorrow, if you continue to improve, we’ll do more to get you back on your feet.”

Adam sighed and lay his head on his hand on the pillow and watched the bodyguard take firm hold of Sydney’s arm and not quite drag the older man toward the heavy metal door. For the first time in a long time, he felt clear-headed – if not more clear-headed than he ever had. Sydney had been a talented coach – making the exercises not only seem easier to get through but giving them a slight twist that he’d never experienced before. No wonder he’d never been able to get close to the results of the original Pretender! Nobody had know quite how to implement some of the instructions he’d left behind.

Sydney waited patiently while the guard let the medical technician back into the room they’d just left, glad that his new protégé wouldn’t need to call upon the man as often during the night. Adam had managed several trips to the bathroom while leaning heavily on Sydney for support – but each trip had been just that much easier. If nothing else, he was grateful that he had once more been able to pull a protégé back from the brink of disaster.

A tuneless whistling caught his attention – and snagged at his memory painfully. Holding his breath and forcing himself to move slowly and appear disinterested, he raised his head and turned to look at the custodian expertly wielding the mop across the width of the corridor in the direction he’d be walking soon. He couldn’t believe it, but it WAS. It was Jarod, his dark eyes shining a warning for caution and shaking his head slightly. He answered with a nearly imperceptible nod and looked away – as much to keep himself from jumping for joy and relief right then and there.

He’d been found!

“C’mon,” his keeper growled at him and took another, slightly painful hold of his left upper arm before pulling him toward his friend. The guard frowned. “Hey there!”

“Yeah?” Jarod answered with carefully schooled disinterest.

“Lemme see your ID,” the guard demanded. “I haven’t seen you in here before…”

“Yeah, well, the regular guy is on break – and they wanted me to take up the slack,” Jarod offered the guard his ID badge, which was studied carefully before it was handed back to him.

“Hmpf!” the guard snorted and regained his grasp on the arm of his charge. “Move it, old man. And you just get to work and finish this fast – got it?”

Sydney didn’t dare look at Jarod again. He merely shuffled his feet, moving along the corridor like any prisoner would – but inside, his heart was singing. He’d have something to tell Adam in the morning – during one of those long, structured mental exercises. He could fold the news into the nearly hypnotic instructions that he was fairly certain were so boring as to render overhearing during surveillance almost improbable.

Jarod resumed with his whistling and expert swiping of the damp mop from one side of the corridor to the other in a rhythmic motion that he’d seen far too many janitors do over the course of his life. Without making a show of it, however, he watched which door the guard thrust Sydney through and then closed behind him with a solid slam. So the living spaces were in the same wing, he noted mentally and whistled while waiting for the guard to retreat down the corridor away from him. A glance up told him that there were more cameras here, at this end of the hallway, than anywhere else – and that there were a total of three doors in close proximity to Sydney’s.

He finished his work quickly and efficiently, and then made his way back to the custodial cart. It was time to take this new information and head home. Once there, he had a phone call to make – actually, two of them. Miss Parker needed to know that he’d found Sydney – something that should make her feel somewhat better and would hopefully keep her stable in her own part of the Pretend.

And then he had to call Susan Granger – AFTER he filled in JD on the particulars of the Foundation and gave him some pointers on assuming the role of an IRS investigator.

It was going to be a busy night.

~~~~~~~~~*

“Dad?” Evan’s face reflected his concern as he rose to his feet to greet his Pretend father.

“I’m OK, Buddy,” Sam reassured the boy, just as he had when they’d collected him from his school. “The doctor said I just hurt my ribs and have to take it easy for a day or two…”

“Bruised or fractured?” Jarek wanted to know in a tone that quietly demanded an answer.

Sam sighed, then groaned as the larger breath made him ache again. “One fractured, two others just bruised.” He patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m gonna be on painkillers for a few days – probably not gonna be getting out on the street until I can do without them.” He reached out a hand toward Evan. “Can you do me a really big favor?”

“Sure. Name it.”

“Just drop me and Evan off at home – I’ll catch the bus in to the precinct in the morning.”

Jarek shook his head. “I talked to the Cap while you were getting taken care of – we swing by the barn and pick up a relief driver to get you, your boy and your car home, then I bring the chauffer back before calling it a day.”

Sam began to shake his head. “That’s a long way out of your way…”

“Forget it, Jamison. Cap’s orders are for you to take it easy tonight and kick back tomorrow. We wrapped the Michell case when we picked up the punk – CSU found bloodstained clothes in his trash that they suspect has Sarah’s blood all over them. He’s locked up for what he did to you – all we’re waiting for is a DNA test that proves Sarah’s blood.”

“The paperwork…”

Jarek at least had the good graces to look disgusted. “I suppose I COULD run past your place tomorrow and get you to help me with that end of it…”

Sam chuckled, and then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh…”

Evan watched as the big man playing his father climbed very carefully into the front passenger seat of the sedan, and then climbed into the back seat without a word. It was one thing to talk about the roles they all were playing – Sam as a cop, Sissy as a Security Specialist – it was another thing altogether to see that at least Sam’s job was and could be dangerous in its own right.

It was too bad that Sydney had gone back to Delaware. Evan found himself missing the old Belgian more than he’d ever thought possible. Sydney had always had time to talk to him – time to help him sort things out in his mind. He eyed the man Sam – Dad – had introduced to him as his partner. Mr. Jarek seemed nice enough – and his Dad seemed more or less at ease with him. But he was a stranger.

He’d have to ask Sissy tonight if he could call Sydney and talk to him. There was so much going on in his head – he needed to talk to someone…

~~~~~~~~~*

“Did he say where he was going?” Zoë asked the motel clerk. It had taken the better part of a day to find out where the private detective had stayed – time that had put miles and hours between her and her prey.

“You say you’re a friend of his?” the wizened old man asked querulously.

“No,” Zoë admitted, deciding to turn on the charm. “He’s a boyfriend of mine – and I think he’s two-timing me. I followed him here, and then lost him…”

“Hmmm. He did seem to be in an awful big hurry.” The old man gazed at the redhead thoughtfully – and then decided that no harm would come from his telling what he knew. “All I know is that he asked for directions to a little place called Mercury – in upstate Pennsylvania.”

“Mercury?” Zoë frowned. Maybe THAT was where Jarod was? “OK,” she shook herself and turned her most charming smile on the old man, “so how do I get there myself?”

She listened with only half her attention to the directions she was given. This man had been looking for Sydney. Was SYDNEY up in this little Pennsylvania town, then? She didn’t wait to say goodbye when the clerk seemed to be done with his instructions, but turned on her heel and dashed back out to her car.

Mercury was a good five hours’ drive. She’d be tired by the time she got there. With any luck, however, maybe she’d be able to find the guy – or at least figure out who it was in Mercury that he’d gone to see.

“I decide who lives and dies,” she murmured as she turned her car back onto the lane that would take her back to the interstate. “I decide.”

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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