Thursday Morning

“Good morning, Broots.”

The computer tech looked up from his monitor screen, his mouth still full of the extra-large bite of jellied donut he’d just stuffed into it. He chewed quickly and then swallowed hard to retrieve his speaking skills. “Sydney! You don’t make it up here very often anymore – especially at this hour of the morning…”

“I know.” The psychiatrist sauntered into the cubicle a little further. “It’s a lapse that I’ve decided to remedy – starting this morning.” He put out a hand with a Styrofoam cup. “I brought you some coffee – better than that swill they serve in the IT lounge, I’d imagine.”

“Thanks.” Broots gave the Belgian a sideways glance as he accepted the coffee and put it down on the desk. Reaching for the napkin sitting crumpled next to his keyboard, he commented. “But I’m betting this isn’t exactly a social visit, is it?”

Sydney’s brows rose, but he shook his head. “No, I suppose it isn’t exactly a social call. I was wondering if you were still working with Miss Parker on that strange project you two were talking about the other day – something about Hydra’s Teeth?”

Broots sighed and nodded. “I was just getting ready to do some dumpster diving into the bottom of the mainframe, courtesy of some new passwords Miss P. managed to unearth for me, for information on that and a few other crown jewels. If you’re inquiring into it, I take it that you’d like a copy of the same info I give to her?”

“That would be very acceptable. Thank you.” It took a moment for everything that Broots had told him to sink in – and then Sydney blinked. “Why on Earth is Miss Parker using potentially dangerous passwords to get into security levels above…”

Broots looked away back at his monitor and reached for the Styrofoam cup to take a long and apparently leisurely sip of coffee – it really WAS better than the swill served down in the IT lounge, he decided quickly – before answering. “You know that Mr. Raines… You know what happened, don’t you?”

“That he collapsed? Yes, Broots – the Centre grapevine is not totally lacking tendrils that reach to the Sim Lab. I heard the news yesterday – not long after he collapsed, as a matter of fact.” Sydney stifled his impatience. “That doesn’t answer the question of just what Miss Parker is getting herself into this time, however.”

Broots looked up into his old friend’s face with an amazing lack of pretense. “You really don’t want to know, Sydney.”

The computer tech could almost see the wheels in his psychiatrist friend’s eyes begin to spin at an amazing pace, quickly piecing together the sparse clues he’d been given. “You don’t… She’s going to…” Sydney gaped suddenly, and then snapped his mouth closed. “I thought she wanted OUT…”

Broots shrugged. Sydney was far more intuitive than any of them had ever given him credit for being – something that he suspected had been used in service to keeping Jarod free and away from the Centre until the Pretender was ready to disappear for good. Now he had nobody to practice his intuitive leaps of reasoning on but Miss Parker and HIM – and he really didn’t want Sydney probing into his mind anymore than necessary. “She doesn’t want Lyle in charge,” he responded simply. “Do you?”

Sydney’s glare needed no interpretation. “What do you think?” he snapped, his accent just a little more noticeable.

“Then certain steps need to be taken to make sure that when the Chairman IS appointed, it isn’t Lyle, don’t they?” Broots continued, not letting his friend’s attitude become contagious.

“Lyle’s DANGEROUS, Broots! If he found out what she’s up to…”

Broots felt compelled to protect his boss. “She knows what she’s doing, Sydney – and she even has the cover of the security update for any poking around the mainframe that gets done in the process.” He sipped the coffee again and then put the cup back down next to the keyboard and reached for the remains of the donut. “Don’t ask anymore questions, Sydney – you really don’t want to know the answers.”

“That’s what she wanted Angelo for, wasn’t it?” Sydney burst out suddenly, this new information shining new light on rather out-of-character behavior the day before.

Broots nodded. “That’s part of it.”

Sydney shook his head. Miss Parker had been walking a very fine line with both Mr. Raines and her diabolical twin since the suspension of the hunt for the Pretender – had Raines’ collapse convinced her that it was time to make more overt and dangerous moves? “Just get me that information on Hydra’s Teeth, Broots,” Sydney sighed finally. “As soon as possible, please.”

“Why do YOU want the information, Syd?” Broots asked, leaning back in his chair with his Styrofoam coffee cup cradled against his chest – glad to put the interrogator’s hat on himself for a change. “Say - you don’t have anything to do with what Mr. Cox is up to with that, do you?”

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with anything that man is involved in,” Sydney responded heatedly. “I’ve seen a few of his unclassified research reports – and I wonder just how much hyperbole he interjects into his data. Some of what he claims is virtually impossible to reproduce under controlled conditions…”

“That still doesn’t answer my first question about why…”

Sydney glanced into Broots’ face with a shuffle of what could either seem like guilt or hesitation. “Let’s just say that I have an interested friend who needs information about some of the procedures that may have been implemented on that project…”

“When she finds out, Miss P. is going to wonder…” Broots began in a warning tone.

“But you don’t even need to let her know that I asked you at all, do you?” Sydney countered in a conspiratorial voice. “And you can believe me that the information will not be going to anyone who will give away the fact that Miss Parker is looking into the project.”

“If I don’t tell her and she finds out anyway…”

“Then I’ll deal with her – and I’ll tell her I coerced you into giving me what I wanted.” Sydney’s voice had become almost hypnotic. “I really need to know what the hell that project is about, Broots. A man’s life is on the line here.”

Broots’ jaw dropped for a moment. Then it snapped shut and he leaned forward again for the rest of his donut. “Anybody I know?”

“Broots!” Sydney was starting to sound frustrated.

“Sure, fine. Whatever. I’ll give you whatever you want,” Broots conceded with a defeated wave of the hand. “And if Miss P finds out, it will be on your head.”

“I’ll take full responsibility and keep your name completely out of it, I promise. It sounds like I need to talk to her anyway – to see if I can talk some sense into her.” Sydney’s hand landed warm and comfortingly on Broots’ shoulder. “I appreciate this, Broots – I really do.” The silvered head peered about to see if anybody was paying attention to his visit. “And now I’d best leave you to your work, before anybody begins to comment about my visit.”

Broots watched Sydney’s departure from the IT lab’s main area with a look of consternation. Miss Parker WAS playing a dangerous game in trying to wrest control of the Centre from Lyle’s grasp before it ever really settled there – and he shared Sydney’s concern on that account. But what the hell was going on that EVERYBODY wanted to know that Hydra’s Teeth was about? And why Sydney, of all people – and why now?

He sighed deeply and turned back to his computer. Somewhere in the mainframe he was about to plunder, he hoped there were some answers.

~~~~~~~~~*

Jarod looked up at the clock on the wall and blinked. It was already seven-thirty in the morning, and his shift at the police station began at nine – he had better finish what he’d started and get moving. He looked back down at his computer screen with a guarded expression, and then hit the button to send the image there to his printer.

One of the few things that the Centre was not able to control – especially in the immediate vicinity of Blue Cove – was the law that said that all drivers had to have valid licenses issued by the State of Delaware. Lyle – or whatever the hell his name really was – could no more escape that bit of legal inconvenience than anyone else at the Centre. And here was proof. Staring out at him from the computer, Lyle’s latest license portrait had a hard and determined look to it – as if the necessity was begrudged, and the adherence to the law very unwilling.

Lyle apparently hadn’t changed much in the years since last Jarod had seen him – frantically running to follow his instructions to get a disabled air liner’s electrical systems back up and running before the plane fell helplessly from the sky. Not a wrinkle, worry or laugh line marred that smooth, cunning face; and his hair was still quite dark and luxurious.

How many more people have you tortured and killed, you bastard, Jarod thought at the face before him. Why in the hell were you after homeless men – and why in the hell did you have to pick on MY friend?

Jarod checked to see that the image had printed properly before pushing a button and logging out of the Delaware database of driver’s license information before his stomach could twist any further into knots. He didn’t need to get himself all riled up when he was going to be introducing his own gut-instinct evidence into the case and hoping to get away with it. And he had better get moving – the cross-town commute was a crunch at this hour. In one smooth move, he had the various documents he’d printed out of the printer, folded and slipped into his shirt pocket.

His hand was just reaching for the doorknob when his cell phone began to chirp in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out, his brows furling together when he caught sight of the identity of the caller, and then put the device to his ear. “And good morning to you, Maricela…”

“Jarod.” Sanchez’s voice was tight and obviously worried. “Have you had any news?”

“Not yet – and I need to get going so that I can keep an appointment in regards to finding Hank, so…”

“You will call if you hear anything, won’t you?” Her voice took on a pleading tone that made Jarod halt in his tracks.

“Of course I will, but…” Jarod searched for the right way to ask the question. “Is there something you’re not telling me about you and Hank?”

Sanchez sighed. “Not me – my sister. He’s been seeing Gloria – and they were beginning to get serious. Now she’s grilling me every night – because evidently he was supposed to be calling HER too…”

Jarod sighed in sympathy. “Look – as soon as I know anything, I’ll be passing it on to both you and Hank’s mom. But I REALLY gotta go now…” He twisted his other wrist so he could check his watch. “I’m gonna be late!”

From the somewhat mumbled goodbye, Jarod could tell that Sanchez was truly upset by Hank’s disappearance – and knowing that Hank was getting cozy with cute little Gloria certainly helped explain that. But he couldn’t waste time speculating on who else Hank may have said he’d call – he had a photograph to show to his captain alongside the sketch of the suspected kidnapper. It was time to put matters into motion and begin the move on the Centre stronghold where Hank was probably a resident – maybe even in his old cell...

He shuddered. He couldn’t think of Hank’s condition right now. He pulled the apartment door open and then slipped his key into both the knob lock and a deadbolt before hurrying down the corridor toward the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~*

Mr. Cox watched as his second test subject began to respond as desired to the intensive brainwashing technique. The previous levels of intoxicants in the man’s bloodstream seemed not to be either inhibiting or enhancing the effects of the Hydra regimen, although the sense of self-identity that the first had had so strongly in place seemed much easier to break through this time. He noted down his observation on the legal pad in front of him, determined to make sure that the idea was entered into the current set of research notes due on Mr. Raines’ desk by the end of the day, and then gestured to one of the watching sweepers. “Tell Dr. Hardt to go ahead and begin prepping another of our clients for the procedure.”

“How’s it going?” came Lyle’s insolent voice from the doorway to the observation room – a door that Mr. Cox had been certain was closed to the outside.

“Well enough,” Cox replied, turning back to watch his current subject and hoping the younger man would take the rather obvious hint that his presence wasn’t welcome.

“Well enough that we can take the testing to the next phase?” Lyle pressed, stepping further into the enigmatic South African’s lair.

Mr. Cox raised his eyes to Lyle with his brows slightly raised. “The next phase?” he repeated in confusion.

“We’re training these folks to be disposable assassins, are we not?” Lyle smiled knowingly. “Assassins that blend into the common people well enough that they can get close – and then be disposable once their task is carried out?”

“Ye…yes…” Mr. Cox frowned now. Something in Lyle’s voice told him that he wasn’t going to like the request that was on the horizon.

“I have need of someone matching that job description, so I was thinking…”

“Now just you wait here!” Mr. Cox snapped. “I have yet to tender my preliminary findings for this latest test to Mr. Raines for evaluation. Until I hear from him…”

Lyle actually snickered. “That will be interesting – and impossible, at the moment…”

“What?” Now Mr. Cox was confused as well as riled. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Raines is currently inhabiting a bed in the Renewal Wing – his brain turned to Silly Putty from a stroke. Your report should be coming to ME from now on…” Lyle continued with blue-grey that snapped in response. “And I will be the one to decide…”

“Have you been appointed Chairman yet?” Mr. Cox gaped. “If I call my contacts at the Triumvirate…”

“You know as well as I that Mr. Raines MUST have named me as his desired successor. There IS nobody else…”

“Miss Parker…” Mr. Cox offered lamely, only to cringe as Lyle gave him a sarcastic glare.

“Do you REALLY see Mr. Raines handing over control of the Centre and everything it stands for to HER?” Mr. Cox had no answer to that, and Lyle pressed his advantage. “I need to make SURE that Mr. Raines’ obvious wishes are respected. Give me the first graduate of your current test phase.”

Mr. Cox’s eyebrows climbed most of the way to his hairline. “For what purpose?”

“You said it yourself,” Lyle shrugged with deceptive calmness. “There is only one other possible candidate for the Chairmanship. I mean to see to it that candidate is removed from consideration.” He smiled coldly. “Permanently.”

~~~~~~~~~*

Thursday Afternoon

“You’re sure?” Jarod pushed the quartet of photographs just a little closer under the nose of Gimpy when the tattered-looking man looked to be ready to take another swig from whatever the brown paper bag was hiding. He ignored the quick glance of irritation and merely shook the page again so that Gimpy would glance down at it again.

“I’m sure,” Gimpy grumbled in a slurred voice and stabbed at the reduced photo of Lyle with a careless finger. “Thass th’ guy.”

Jarod straightened triumphantly. “If and when we catch this guy, you realize you’ll be required to come down to the station and identify him again, right?”

Gimpy merely gestured vaguely with his brown paper bag. “Wattever. Now, c’n a guy drink in peace aroun’ ‘ere?” He gazed up in bleary belligerence.

Jarod patted the homeless man on the shoulder and walked briskly over to his car. It was time to tip his hand to the police captain and see just whether or not he’d be able to get the kind of backing he’d need. As he nosed the police sedan back out into traffic and turned the corner that would begin the trek back to the precinct, he glanced down at the photo line-up he’d assembled and snorted as he shook his head.

All four of the men looked similar – dark hair, clean-shaven. And yet, even among virtual look-alikes, Lyle’s photo just had a quality about it that made it stand out. Was that because he knew the evil that lurked behind that otherwise nondescript face, he wondered? No, it couldn’t be – Gimpy hadn’t taken much time at all looking at the others before his finger had poked clumsily at the picture of Lyle.

His sense of accomplishment and satisfaction carried him all the way from the parking garage to the glassed doorway of the captain. One quick and sharp rap on the glass had the captain looking up and then waving his newest detective in. “What is it, Holmes?”

“We have a positive ID on one of the kidnappers, sir,” Jarod announced as he placed the photo of Lyle on the desk in front of the police superior – the one he’d downloaded along with the most recently registered pertinent information from the Delaware Motor Vehicles website. “If this is right, then those men who are missing have been transported across state lines.”

“Lyle Parker,” DiAngelo read from the paper and then compared the photograph to the sketch artist’s rendering of the eye witness description. “What do we know about this character that makes you think we’re dealing with something bigger than just our jurisdiction?”

Jarod was prepared. The Centre had very proudly put Lyle’s photograph on its website, declaring him the “Assistant to the Chairman” directly below a similar photo of Mr. William Raines – and the site had the address of the Centre facility in Blue Cove at the bottom of the page, along with the translucent image of the huge facility as the background. This was the page he handed to the captain next. “This character seems to be a rather major mover in this organization – not one to be found doing strong-arm jobs,” he hedged, knowing that his captain would be thinking the very same thing within a very short time and reasoning it would be better to address it himself rather than be tripped by it. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

DiAngelo nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “From the looks of the place, we may be going up against some big money – your witness is SURE this is the guy?”

“Picked him out of a photo line-up without working at it very hard,” Jarod assured him. “Why?”

“If this involves interstate action, it means calling in the FBI – and I’m going to have to kick this to the A.D.A. before I make that phone call.” DiAngelo shoved the photo and the information sheets into a folder, which he then dropped on his desk. “What about the other guy?”

“My witness wasn’t quite so clear on that description,” Jarod grimaced – knowing full well from the “African-American” and “big” and “mean-looking” that Gimpy could only be referring to Raines’ pet sweeper Willy. “I’m still working on that one.”

“Fine, you keep working on it,” the captain said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll let you know what Sheridan in the D.A.’s office has to say about the FBI and tackling Delaware.”

Jarod nodded and walked from the office thoughtfully. He had the beginnings of his proof – but he’d need more. Something more concrete than a witness ID of a suspect. Maybe a license number of the van – or a better description of Willy and a corroborative description of Lyle?

He reached down and grabbed his jacket on his way toward the door. Perhaps someone at one of the other shelters might have seen something along that line. And proof that this was a more generalized crime spree might help kick loose some cooperation from the District Attorney’s office – although there was a chance that he might have to go to the news media to get the kind of ear he’d need to spur legal action against Blue Cove.

He had his work cut out for him, that was for sure – and unlike his Pretends in the past, he was having to run this one by the seat of his pants!

~~~~~~~~~*

“So just exactly what is it you want me to do with him?” Willy asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the one-way glass window that separated himself and Lyle from the hospital-gowned man sitting motionless on the chair in the next room.

“I want him instructed on the use of a rifle as quickly as possible,” Lyle answered with a deadly calm voice. “I want him proficient as a marksman and ready for deployment. If it helps any…” He pulled a small syringe case and a key from his suit jacket pocket and held it out. “This injection should help make sure the information gets assimilated faster. As for the key, it’s to a locker in the maintenance station at the far north end of this sublevel. In it, you’ll find supplies that will assist in the training of our friend here to recognize friend from target – courtesy of left-over supplies from Mr. Raines.”

“I don’t like it,” Willy announced flatly. “You don’t teach someone to be a marksman in just a day or so.”

“Mr. Cox’s process is supposed to open our test subjects up to exactly that kind of learning curve,” Lyle told him with a scowl. “And since Mr. Raines – and soon I – will be depending on this project for our future financial security, I want to push the envelope as far as I can to see the capabilities and weaknesses. That man…” He pointed at the one-way glass. “…will remove the only obstacle to our ability to reclaim our prestige and power among the R&D elite in the world.”

“And just what obstacle is that?” Willy demanded without moving, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or should I ask WHO is it that is the obstacle?”

“My sister,” Lyle answered simply. “When Dad… and Mr. Parker… were alive, it was convenient to keep her underfoot and controlled. But now…”

“But now she’s an inconvenience,” Willy finished for him, understanding at last. “And you intend to put her out of your misery.”

Lyle’s face crinkled in a cold smile. “I like the way you put that.” A hand landed on Willy’s forearm. “Just do as I ask, and make a success of this project, and your place at my side is assured.”

Willy slowly accepted the syringe case and the key, and Lyle turned on his heel the moment the two items were received. “I expect to be hearing good news about our friend’s accomplishments in very short order, is that understood?” he frowned at the big sweeper.

Willy turned and stared at the motionless man in the hospital gown. “He’ll need clothes,” he stated almost as an afterthought. “I’m not teaching a man in a back-drafty hospital gown how to shoot a rifle.”

Lyle barely hesitated at the door. “Talk to supply – get him issued a set of drabs – but get to work and give me a trained assassin as quickly as humanly possible.”

The tall African American waited for a moment to give Lyle a chance to clear out of the corridor before leaving the room and heading for the telephone set mounted into the wall of the hallway. He punched an extension, waited for a moment for a voice to answer the other end of the line, and then placed an order for a complete set of Centre fatigues to be delivered to the observation room as soon as possible. That done, he headed down the corridor and around the corner and down the corridor heading north.

The maintenance station on each sublevel was located at the far end, and the key was needed to unlock the doorknob. Flicking on the light, Willy looked about the small room with intent – and his ebony eyes quickly located the locker in a far corner, almost hidden behind shelves of various supplies and cleaning materials. Once more, the key was inserted into the lock, and it turned easily. He lifted the latch and pulled the narrow locker door open and stared inside at what was stored there. His eyes grew hard as he drew out the single item the locker contained and stood it up before him and stepped back.

It had obviously been used as a target once before – and only the sharpest of eyes could tell that the person it represented was not Miss Parker, but her look-alike mother. Not that the man who would be wielding the rifle would be able to tell the difference, though… Willy closed the locker and picked up the life-sized cardboard representation and tucked it under an arm for ease of carrying.

He stopped another sweeper – a young man with no permanent assignment yet – and directed him to take the target and set it up in the shooting range two levels up and then wait there for further instructions. Then he went back into the observation room and picked up the small stack of clothing that had been left there for him – and finally pushed open the door into the next room.

“Put these on,” he said tersely to the formerly obstructive homeless man and tossed the clothing on the man’s lap. “I have a new task for you to do.”

~~~~~~~~*

Identical hazel eyes watched dispassionately as Sydney noted down the latest results of the experiment with a pair of otherwise unrelated children. Sydney could never tell with Elise and Elsie – they had been wards of the Centre for most of their lives, although they ostensibly were fostered by a couple who both worked for the Centre and lived their lives outside the dim, grey cement walls of the underground facility proper. They and he had met several times over their short lives, each time to probe into their slowly increasing ability to know exactly what the other was doing and feeling and thinking and saying. To what use their uncanny and malleable talent might be put ultimately was a consideration that Sydney didn’t like to think about often – although he never failed to try to give a caring and human face to that part of the Centre that he represented.

Elise and Elsie reminded him of the other children who, in their turn, had come under his supervision over the years – Angelo, Miss Parker, Jarod, even Gemini for a very short time – and now, as then, he felt the weight of that responsibility keenly. If he had any kind of conscience, he would be making covert motions to free these new children from their Centre overlord and find them a real life. Sydney sighed. At eight years old now, he wondered if, once more, he’d waited too long to take action.

One of his former charges needed at least to be spoken to – before she did something either incredibly dangerous or incredibly self-destructive. And he was even more certain that the time had long since past when he could speak to her and have her actually give him a reasonable hearing.

But he still had to try.

“Verrrry good, girls!” he smiled at the twins. “We’ll leave things there for the day and pick up in the same place when I see you tomorrow.”

“OK,” Elise answered, putting her pencil down in the prescribed place on the table in front of her.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Sydney,” Elsie finished for her sister, mirroring the action of carefully putting the pencil down.

Sydney gestured to his lab sweeper. “Charlie will take you to the cafeteria for a nice hot chocolate while you wait for your parents,” he announce, once more pulling out his wallet and handing the sweeper money.

“Can we…” Elsie began.

“Have ice cream instead?” Elise finished.

Sydney nodded with a gentle smile. “You can get whatever you want,” he replied, his eyes telling the sweeper to make sure that they did. “And thank you again. You did a verrrry good job today.”

The twins each lifted a right hand in a quick wave, and then linked hands and let themselves be steered through the Sim Lab door by a sweeper with a hand on each shoulder. Sydney unclipped his page of notes and shuffled tiredly to his office to drop the notes next to his computer terminal. He’d have a very interesting report to type in a day or so, if the testing results continued at the same level. It was something he looked forward to completing once and for all. But that would be for later – right now, he had a far more complicated task to perform.

The elevator trip from the Sim Lab to the second story of the Tower, where Miss Parker had her office, took much less time than he’d hoped. Then again, he knew that there was no way for him to truly prepare himself for her possible reactions to what he had to say. As the years had passed, Miss Parker had developed a very volatile temper – and a distinct aversion to anything that remotely resembled parental advise or counsel. That he had something important to say couldn’t be ignored – as the only person who seemed to have any concerns on her behalf except Broots, who continued completely cowed by her, it fell to HIM to put the truth where it needed to be.

And suffer the consequences.

“Is she in?” he asked the nondescript and obviously overworked secretary in the outer office.

“She’s busy with the…” the secretary began, only to look up from her typing to see that the familiar visitor to her boss’ office had already stepped past her and up to the door. “I don’t think…”

Sydney ignored the secretary and opened the door, knocking on it as he did. “Parker, do you have a moment?”

Miss Parker didn’t even look up from her computer screen – she merely gestured for him to come further into the room as her eyes continued to take in the implications of the project prospectus she’d been reading. “This one would probably be of interest to you, Syd,” she commented off-handedly. “Seems that Raines managed to discover a very interesting set of twins who have a very strong psychic link. He’s filed a prospectus with the Triumvirate to use their connection in regards to the stock market – to train one of the girls to be a stock analyst – and the other to be an accountant with buying and selling of stocks and options…”

Sydney hesitated as he went to sit down in a chair in front of her desk. “I suspected something of the sort,” he admitted wryly, “but I couldn’t figure out the actual scam that was being considered.”

That brought Miss Parker’s head up, grey eyes diving into his chestnut gaze relentlessly. “You know the twins?”

He nodded. “I’m the shrink with the research on the “human bookends”, as you call them, remember?”

Miss Parker cast her mind back to the last time she had been in the Sim Lab – and the little girls with whom he’d been working. “What are you going to do?” she asked carefully.

Sydney lifted his head and gazed back evenly. “As a matter of fact, that’s a very similar question to the one I was wanting to ask you.”

“What do you mean?” she countered, leaning back in her chair almost defiantly.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. “Now that Mr. Raines is virtually out of the picture…”

“Sydney…” This wasn’t anything she wanted to hear. “Stay out of it.”

“I can’t, Parker,” he retorted and frowned. “I promised your mother years ago that I’d watch over you – and…”

“Your concern is noted, then,” Miss Parker told him in clipped tones. “You’ve done your job, Freud. You can go back to your Sim Lab and your little bookends…”

“Parker!” Sydney rarely raised his voice – and the volume coupled with the frustration cut her off effectively. “You told me once that you wanted out – that all you wanted was to be free to walk away from the Centre.” He threw his hands up. “What you’re doing now is an invitation for Lyle to bury you here – down deep somewhere so that nobody will ever find you.”

“Only if he becomes Chairman, Syd,” she shook her head at him. “Can’t you see? I’m finally in a position to do what my mother was never able to do – turn the Centre around and make it be the kind of place that does GOOD in the world.”

“Lyle will go to just about any length to keep you from accomplishing that,” Sydney reminded her pointedly.

“Yeah?” She lifted her chin in defiance. “Well, there are few lengths to which I won’t go to make sure he doesn’t get anywhere – up to and including making sure that he isn’t the only one that knows where all the skeletons are buried here. Right now, that includes uncovering exactly what projects are up and running, whether they have the official sanction of the Triumvirate…”

“Including that strange project about which you were asking me the other day?” Sydney asked, making sure his interest didn’t seem too acute to call too much notice to his question.

“Yes,” she nodded quickly, “including that one. Seems Lyle and Willy went on a collection spree the day that Raines collapsed – and brought Cox a few men whose presence wouldn’t be missed by anybody.” She shrugged. “We’ve uncovered the list of drugs that the process he’s experimenting with is using – but still nothing about the ultimate goal.”

“What about the other projects, Parker?” Sydney decided press on with another tack – leave the queries about the Hydra project for Broots to answer eventually. “You’d be needing the kind of security access that you’d never be able to get…”

She waved a hand in the air, dismissing his point. “I have that covered, Syd. I had to go through Raines’ office when his brain turned to corn meal mush – remember? Interesting reading, some of that…”

Sydney’s mouth dropped open. “The Triumvirate…”

“Will never know,” she finished for him with a firm note of determination. “I’d love to continue with this little chat – but I have work to do.” She turned back to her monitor screen. “I appreciate your warning – and I’ll take it under advisement.”

Sydney rose – he knew when she was ready to close the walls in and simply stop responding to him, or worse. “I can’t see where getting yourself killed – or worse – would get finishing what your mother started any closer to being accomplished…”

Grey eyes snapped at him over the top of her flat panel. “I said I appreciate the warning, Syd. Please don’t force me to ask Sam to escort you out…”

The Belgian sighed and turned away, feeling as if he’d just done battle with a windmill and come out bruised and tattered.

“Syd?”

He was almost at the door and turned to look at her. “Yes?”

“Tell Broots he’s SO dead if he doesn’t get his act together and get me what I asked him for.” And with that, her attention dropped away from him entirely.

Sydney ran his hand over his face as soon as he heard the office door close behind him. He’d pass on the message to Broots – and he’d see just exactly what kind of inspiration would come to him as to how to pry his current set of twins away from the Centre intrigue that would engulf and overwhelm them soon.

As for Miss Parker, all he could do is be prepared to help her cope with whatever consequences her actions set in motion – and pray those consequences didn’t kill her.

~~~~~~~~*

Willy handed the rifle to Hank. “To chamber a round…”

Hank reached up and worked the lever with the smoothness and ease of someone who had handled firearms before. “I know how to do that,” he responded in a lifeless tone.

Yes, you do, Willy thought with some relief. “But can you shoot – and hit what you’re aiming at?” he countered challengingly.

“Depends.” The man’s gaze moved to his African-American trainer’s face and stayed there without a flicker of emotion or expression. “Just what is it you want me shoot AT?”

“That.” Willy’s finger was extended to the target sitting halfway down the line of the shooting range.

Hank raised the rifle, took aim and squeezed the trigger gently. He rocked back with the motion of someone who knew what he was doing. Willy nodded in approval and then took up the binoculars to check on the accuracy of the shot – and then slowly put the binoculars down to stare at the nameless homeless man.

The cardboard representation of Catherine/Miss Parker now had a round hole right between the finely manicured eyebrows.

“Does it bother you to have a person to shoot at?” Willy asked in surprise.

Hank’s dead eyes looked up at him again. “Should it?” was the casual response.

Willy felt a slight chill run down his spine. There was little doubt that the moment Lyle got his hands on this “disposable assassin”, his sister’s hours were numbered.

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