Friday morning

Frank Hissop was a former military man – this was obvious from his posture and bearing – and a very observant man too. Jarod felt himself relax slightly as Hissop’s finger immediately and without any hesitation at all landed on the photo of Lyle that stared out from amid four other similar faces culled from the mug shot book.

“You’re sure?” Jarod asked, waiting for a moment for confirmation before folding the plastic sheet holding the five photos and slipping it back into the inside jacket breast pocket. “You’re sure this is the man?”

“Absolutely,” Hissop answered with a frown. “He and his friend were driving a black van – and I saw them park and just watch as my residents left for the morning. This fellow climbed out the moment he saw Skip come down the stairs, and before I could do or say anything, had him convinced to go to the back of the van.” The thick brows worked expressively. “Skip was a simple soul – he’d do just about anything he was told just to please a person…”

“You didn’t by any chance get the license number of the van, did you?” Jarod asked hopefully.

Hissop’s face cracked into a satisfied smile. “You damned right I did,” he exclaimed and bent down behind the counter for a moment, returning with a small notepad upon which a series of letters and numbers were inscribed. “Something inside me told me that there was something fishy going on – and that I needed to be prepared.” He tore the top page off and handed it to Jarod without hesitation. “Just what the hell was going on, anyway?”

“We’re not exactly sure, sir,” Jarod prevaricated as he folded the paper and slipped it into his breast pocket, “but your shelter wasn’t the only one that these men visited – and we’re suspecting that this Skip you speak of wasn’t the only shelter resident lured to the back of the van.”

“God! Whatever would they want with the likes of…”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Jarod put out his hand and shook the shelter manager’s hand, not surprised by either the strength or the steadiness of the grip. “I’ll be back in touch with you – we’ll need a statement from you to assist us in knowing how to steer the investigation.”

Hissop nodded. “You just tell me when and where – and if necessary, I’ll lock this place down to make the appointment.” His face folded into a frown of frustration. “I just hate it when folks take the homeless for granted – or worse, think they’re nothing but garbage to be ignored or thrown away.”

“I’m sure there are many who appreciate your attitude,” Jarod told him sincerely and then raised his hand in farewell. “Thanks again, Mr. Hissop.”

“I hope you catch that scumbag,” he heard the manager call out to him as he walked toward the door of the shelter.

Jarod’s face folded into a grim smile of satisfaction. “With your help getting the FBI involved, my friend, we may just stand a decent chance of doing just that.”

He unlocked his car door, sat down, pulled out his notepad and put a check next to the “Hissop” on the front page, then glanced at the next name on the list to remind himself. “I wonder if you will remember anything, Mr. Romero,” Jarod muttered to himself as he inserted the key into the ignition and started up the engine.

~~~~~~~~*

Miss Parker looked up as a pile of file folders landed on her desk, frowning when she saw that it was Broots and that he’d not knocked or let her know that he was there. “What?” she demanded sharply.

“You’re going to love these,” Broots sighed tiredly and settled himself into the chair in front of her desk. “It took me the better part of the night and part of this morning to get everything copied off to hardcopy before Mr. Lyle takes it in his head to do some data housekeeping.”

“Project Midnight?” she read from the handwritten label on the first folder.

“Is an aerosol drug that is to be used in conjunction with intensive interrogation as a psychological tool. Sprayed into the face, it induces blindness.” Broots’ face showed his disapproval clearly.

Miss Parker was shocked. “Temporary?” she gaped.

“It depends on how much is absorbed into the eye itself,” Broots answered, not really wanting to remember the details of that particular project. “The more that is absorbed, the more likely it will be that the blindness will be permanent – or at least, very long lasting.”

“God!” Miss Parker shook her head. “Which monster did we develop THAT one for?”

“There’s a General Hammond at Langley who was the contact liaison for the US Army Special Forces. And, at the end, there’s a shipment invoice for ten cases of the stuff – some of it going to Iraq, and some more to Guantanamo.”

She stared at her tech. No wonder he was both tired and disgusted. Just the little bit he’d told her had turned her stomach. “And the others?”

Broots shook his head. “More of the same. Some of it bearing Triumvirate seals of approval – but some of it definitely going against their wishes. The bottom folder is nothing but memos between Mr. Raines and Mr. Lyle about ways to circumvent the directives of the Triumvirate – and which projects needed that kind of strategy.”

“How many of those projects are in this stack?” she asked, putting her hand on top of the pile of file folders.

“Those are just the active projects, Miss Parker. Some of the memos talk about projects that were completed – talking about ways to KEEP them secret from either the Triumvirate or some of our other clients.” Broots yawned and then rose. “I’m heading down to the cafeteria. I need some coffee – and I need something other than the mud in the lounge. Can I get you anything?”

Miss Parker shook her head. “You go on. I need to check in on our security arrangements – make sure there haven’t been any unauthorized entries into either Daddy’s old office or the SIS office.” She waved him on after a quick, assessing gaze. “You look beat.”

“I bet you’ll feel as beat as I do when you read what I’ve been reading for the past couple of days,” Broots warned her. “See you later, Miss Parker.”

She merely nodded, already pulling open her top desk drawer to remove the tiny key that locked her bottom drawer. Quickly she got the drawer open and slid the file folders into the wooden container, then closed and locked the drawer again. She got to her feet and, after slipping the little key into her suit pocket, walked briskly across the office.

“I’m out – and nobody’s to go in there if I’m not there,” she directed to her secretary. “If anybody gives you trouble, call Sam.”

“Yes, Miss Parker,” the soft-spoken woman replied, her eyes resting nervously on her boss. She didn’t dare ask Miss Parker why anybody would want entrance to her office if she wasn’t there – she had a sneaking suspicion the answer to that question might make her reconsider her current employment status.

Miss Parker’s first stop was her father’s old office. The sentinels she’d set before the glass doors were there just as she’d left them. “Any trouble?” she asked after checking to make sure the etched glass doors were still tightly locked.

“No, ma’am,” the taller and older sweeper, a man by the name of Ben answered immediately, “and nothing for the night shift either.”

“Good,” she nodded contentedly. “Be sure to call the moment anyone tries, is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Parker.”

Just then, the cell phone in her pocket with the key to her desk decided to begin to chirp insistently at her. With a scowl, she fished the device out and pressed it to her ear. “What?”

“Mr. Lyle is trying to access the SIS office, Miss Parker,” Sam’s voice reported to her in brusque tones.

“On my way.” Miss Parker was already moving, and thrust the deactivated phone back in her pocket to punch at the elevator button.

~~~~~~~~*

Angelo sat inside the vent and rocked back and forth disconsolately, buffeted by the thoughts and feelings spewing at him from the two men in the room just a few feet away. It wasn’t that the sound of gunfire bothered him so much as it was the very idea of who the intended target was.

It wasn’t even that the man with the gun had murderous thoughts – actually, there was very little thinking happening in that man. His mind was blank – although there were very tiny whispers as if the person were being smothered behind a thick, heavy pillow. No, the worst of the thoughts came from the Dark Man who used to spend all his time with the Wheezing Man.

Angelo had glanced out once, just to see for himself, and then recoiled at the sight of the Empty Mind Man calmly raising a rifle and taking aim at Daughter – only it wasn’t Daughter really. The intent of the target practice was clear – Daughter was in danger. Dark Man was following the order of No-Thumb, and was teaching Empty Mind to kill Daughter. And only Angelo, of all her friends and allies, knew of the danger that was about to close in around her.

He had to tell her!

~~~~~~~~*

Captain DiAngelo’s head slowly nodded up and down as he listened to Jarod Holmes rattle off the names of those witnesses who were willing to come in and give statements that corroborated various pieces of the story the homeless man had told. The only difference - and the most disturbing fact – was that the locales from which those parts and pieces of collaboration were coming were so widespread. When Jarod finished, he gazed up at his guest detective with open respect. “It looks as if you were right – and we’ve got something much bigger than anybody would have thought.”

“I ran the license number that Mr. Hissop from the Sisters of Mercy Mission gave me – Delaware plates, incidentally – and I give you two guesses what corporation has a van with that license number registered to it?”

“The Centre in Blue Cove, right?” DiAngelo answered.

“You got it,” Jarod exclaimed triumphantly. “So what now?”

“Now you go out and make arrangements for all of these witnesses of yours to come down here and sign statements regarding what they saw – while I get on the horn with the District Attorney’s office and have them call in the FBI,” DiAngelo directed. “And good work, Holmes.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jarod felt almost vindicated. “I’ll have my report for you in an hour or so – and I’ll see if I can get the witnesses’ statements before our friends from the Fed get here.”

DiAngelo waved him out and immediately reached for the telephone.

Jarod headed back to his desk with determination. He had contact telephone numbers for all but Gimpy and another shelter resident by the name of Clyde – and Gimpy had already given and signed a statement. The actual report wouldn’t take long to draft – as it was just a more narrative form of the notes he’d taken while interviewing his witnesses. There would be only one hole in the entire story – and that was how he had managed to make the leap between a police artist sketch and a Delaware driver’s license photograph. With any luck, considering the evidence beginning to pile up against Lyle, there wouldn’t be many needing or wanting to know just how he’d known where to look.

He sat down and breathed out a sigh of relief. Without a doubt, he’d found the person responsible and brought in the kind of authorities that would have the standing to bring Lyle to justice. When the witnesses’ statements were all signed and the report was sitting on Captain DiAngelo’s desk, it would be just about time for Jarod Holmes to fade back into the woodwork.

Then Jarod Russell would be able to place calls to Mrs. Kellogg and to Maricela Sanchez, letting them know that there was a viable suspect being openly sought at last. He could go back to being a psychiatric resident, on the cusp of doing his final thesis paper and then standing for his certification as a psychiatrist.

There was light at the end of the tunnel at last. With any luck, they’d find Hank before the light in his tunnel was completely extinguished by the Centre.

~~~~~~~~*

“Let me go!” Lyle hissed at the sweeper who had all too easily gained the upper hand and now had his arm twisted painfully against his back and was pulling the helpless hand toward the shoulder blade. “Don’t you know who…”

“Lyle!” Miss Parker’s bark was sharp and strident and cut through his complaint like a knife. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I have legitimate business in that office,” Lyle exclaimed angrily and once more tried to wrench free from the intractable hold of the sweeper. “Tell your goon to back off, Parker, or so help me…”

“You know the policy,” Miss Parker answered with a smug voice. “Until the stockholder’s meeting, neither of us are to have access to either the Chairman’s office in the tower OR to the materials in the safe here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or did you forget to read that section of the Employee Handbook?”

Lyle simply stood and stared daggers at his sister until, with a quick jerk of the nose, Miss Parker signaled to the sweeper to loosen his hold on her twin. With exaggerated aplomb, he straightened his jacket and adjusted his collar. “You’re pushing it, Parker…”

“It isn’t me who’s pushing things, Lyle,” she hissed back. “For the time being, this office and everything in it is off-limits – to you, to me, to Sam, to Mr. Adin, even to the janitor. This office, and the office upstairs, does NOT get unlocked again until the day of the stockholder’s meeting – and even then, no one person goes in here alone.”

“You’ll regret this,” Lyle threatened with narrowed eyes. “When I’m Chairman…”

“IF you ever become Chairman, you mean,” Miss Parker corrected him rudely.

“…I won’t forget this insolence…” Lyle finished his statement.

Miss Parker made a rather good show of checking her wristwatch. “By the way,” she commented in an off-handed manner, “I’m noting down the day and time that you tried to circumvent process – and I’ll be presenting it to the stockholders at the meeting.”

Lyle’s eyes widened, and then narrowed again. “And I’ll be presenting evidence that you have been poking around in corners of the mainframe…”

“As you know, Mr. Raines had ordered another Security Systems Update just before he collapsed,” Miss Parker grinned at him. “Would you like to see the signed order that hit my desk – the one with YOUR signature on it as well?”

Thwarted about as completely as he’d ever been, Lyle’s face grew red just before he pushed violently past the sweeper that had been holding him in custody. Miss Parker watched with a neutral expression as he punched the button to summon the elevator and then turned to glare daggers at her. She turned back to the sweeper again only after the silver doors had slid closed and hidden the furious face from view.

“I want a sign posted there,” she ordered, pointing, “that declares the back end of this corridor complete off limits to everyone being officially opened as a prelude to the stockholder's meeting. I want anybody who even THINKS of trying to get past that sign – much less your team – shot on sight, regardless of who they are or what position they hold. I want ME shot on sight if I try to get past you before Tuesday. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The sweeper nodded solemnly – and Miss Parker knew that he would have no qualms in carrying out the order.

“The only people to be allowed down here are to be myself, Mr. Lyle, Mr. Adin and a representative of the stockholders – together, not separately – and that only on Tuesday morning before the meeting.”

“Understood, Miss Parker. Nobody will get past us,” the sweeper swore, his dark eyes clear and determined.

“Good.” Miss Parker nodded. It took work to restrain the smirk until she was out of view of the sweeper. Lyle was floundering, and she was keeping him on a very short leash. Four days down, four days to go, she comforted herself as she pushed the elevator button. Now all she had to do was keep things at status quo – and then be ready to take full charge and deal with Lyle once and for all once she was named to the Chairmanship.

She was looking forward to that.

~~~~~~~~*

“Is this all of it?” Sydney gazed with trepidation at the slim size of the file folder that Broots had deposited on the desk.

“Believe me, there’s plenty there, Sydney,” the balding technician assured his friend. “The whole idea is to create an army of disposable assassins, using people who are society’s discards and brainwashing them. Ideally, nobody would miss any of them – and they could be trained to just blend into the scenery wherever they were employed…”

“Assassins!” Sydney felt his heart sink.

“From the memos back and forth from Mr. Raines to Mr. Cox, it’s pretty obvious that Raines was going to be pinning the future financial security of the Centre on producing these faceless, disposable assassins for sale and use all over.” Broots shuddered and then peered at his old friend curiously. “Does this help out this friend of yours at all?”

Sydney nodded slowly. “It helps, although it won’t be much of a comfort,” he said slowly. “Is there any indication of where the human test subjects were going to be housed or processed?”

“Well,” Broots hedged a little, “Mr. Cox has been maintaining a laboratory down on SL-27…”

“SL-27!!” Sydney gaped with a sick knot in his stomach. So many horrible things had been done down there…

“…and it stands to reason that any testing is most likely taking place there.” He sighed. “As for where to house kidnap victims, where did they use to keep Jarod when he was here?”

Sydney glanced at his old friend sharply. The question was made with no obvious agenda to wound, but being reminded of the many years Jarod had been imprisoned in the underground facility was to face an internal indictment. “I suppose I could start looking there,” he nodded and pulled the file folder toward him. “Thank you, Broots. I owe you.”

“Just be glad Miss Parker was more concerned with security matters this morning than wondering why there was one file folder that I didn’t put on HER desk when I was there.”

“Oh?” Sydney’s brows raised. “Folders containing what?”

“More projects like that one,” Broots gestured at the folder. “Ideas and plans that would make a sane man’s hair stand on end. I tell you, Sydney,” he leaned in a little confidentially, “I’m praying that Miss Parker succeeds with what she’s trying. It would feel VERY good to know that she’s going to be putting an end to that kind of stuff.”

The old psychiatrist slowly shook his head. “I agree it would be nice to think that all of the evil could just disappear overnight. But you know as well as I do that the Centre wouldn’t have lasted all these years doing the kind of experimentation it has without others in the background, financing and enabling that kind of work.”

“I’m sure Miss Parker knows what she’s doing,” Broots insisted loyally.

“I sincerely hope so,” Sydney breathed earnestly. “I really don’t want to have to face the consequences if she doesn’t – and if she doesn’t come out on the top of this dog-fight with Lyle.”

~~~~~~~~*

Friday Afternoon

Jarod extended his hand to Hector Romero. “Thank you so much for coming down and giving us your statement, Mr. Romero.”

“El gusto es mio,” the swarthy Puerto Rican who ran the Luz Shelter appreciated the firm and warm grasp from the police officer. “Will you be calling – to let us know that you’ve caught the cabron that did this?”

“I’ll see to it that you’re notified of developments in the case,” Jarod promised, just as he’d promised the other shelter managers who had come forward. He saw Captain DiAngelo’s curt beckoning gesture and signaled to one of the detectives nearby. “Detective Wong will see that you get back to the shelter,” he directed and then headed off toward DiAngelo.

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Federales are here,” the Captain informed him. “They want to talk to you.”

Jarod nodded, yet sighed inwardly. This was the point at which either the hole in the entire investigation – the one that connected a simple pencil sketch with a drivers’ license photo from Delaware – would either be exposed or glossed over. He plastered on a very business-like expression and followed his diminutive captain into the glassed-in office.

“Detective Jarod Holmes, meet Special Agent Watson from the FBI.”

“Holmes?” The FBI agent’s smile twinkled with restrained mischief as he extended his hand.

Jarod’s lips quirked in a very brief smirking smile. “You aren’t a doctor, by any chance?” he quipped irreverently.

“Detective Holmes here is the one who put the pieces together,” Captain DiAngelo continued, missing out on the joke entirely. “And now…” he dropped his hand to a file folder on the desk, “we have corroborating witnesses…”

Watson’s brows soared until they were nearly hidden behind the longish blonde hair. “Do you have any idea how long the FBI has been wanting a wedge to pry open the Centre, Detective?”

That surprised the former Pretender. “Really?”

The FBI agent nodded sagely. “There have been rumors and only barely believable rumors about some of the stuff they’ve supposedly been involved in. In fact, there are a couple of my colleagues who have folders about yea-thick with information about the number of people who have come in contact with that group and then simply vanished.”

Jarod allowed himself to look genuinely astonished. “You mean you’ve been investigating the Centre already?”

“Not necessarily officially, mind you,” Watson spoke softly. “Seems the Centre has friends in the upper echelons of the FBI that would like nothing better than for the Centre to fall off our radars entirely. But something of this magnitude – and with this kind of evidence – is something that even THEY won’t be able to ignore for long, or sweep conveniently under the rug.” He held his hand out. “Now, just what all do you have?”

DiAngelo didn’t hesitate, but deposited the file folder with everything they’d managed to collect so far – the sketch, the drivers’ license photo, the statements, and the vehicle registration record – into Watson’s hand. The FBI agent settled down in the Captain’s chair and opened the folder to begin reading, and DiAngelo exchanged an amused and mildly irritated glance with Jarod. “You gonna need me anymore?” Jarod asked.

“Stick around,” Watson answered before the police captain could get his mouth open. “I may have questions for you when I’m done here.”

Jarod nodded and headed back to his desk. All he could do now was wait to see if what he’d put together would hold together well enough that the question he dreaded didn’t have to be asked.

~~~~~~~~*

“You know what you’re supposed to do?” Willy asked Hank for the third time.

“Yes,” came the response in a completely uninflected voice. “I wait until dark, until she comes home – and then I take aim through that window.” He pointed upwards at a window which, at the moment, was dark. “When it’s done, I call in.”

“That’s right.” Willy felt just a touch of disquiet as he handed over the light case that contained the high-powered rifle and the telescopic sight. This kind of job wasn’t one he liked seeing handed over to nonprofessionals – even those with the kind of dead aim that this man had evidenced over the last day or so on the firing range.

Still, this man had followed his orders to the letter during the two days of training. The ability of the man to recognize and put a bullet between the eyes of the target from among a crowd of others in simulated scenarios had satisfied even him that the chemical enhancement to the brainwashing had cemented everything in the man’s mind. Willy was now convinced that his latest project believed Miss Parker was a target to be eliminated at all costs – and would most likely pursue her until he’d carried out his order without hesitation or qualm. There was only a little bit more to check one more time…

“What don’t you do?”

“I don’t let anybody see me,” Hank answered as if reciting by rote. “I don’t talk to anybody until the job is done. I stay out of sight.”

“And what will happen if you fail at any one of these tasks?” the sweeper pressed brutally.

“I’ll be dead.” Hank reported the consequence with no inflection whatsoever.

“And if she doesn’t come home right away?”

“I wait until she does.” The answer came without hesitation. “She WILL come eventually.”

Willy nodded. There was nothing left to do now but to leave and see whether or not Mr. Cox’s infamous project was actually going to bear sustainable fruit. Disposable cleaners! The very thought was both exciting and appalling. He’d been a cleaner himself often enough to know the risks involved in carrying out Centre directives that resulted in a life shortened permanently – and the idea that this man could be caught, tried and convicted without any shadow of involvement even approaching the Centre was intriguing. The idea that the disposable assassin would break his programming and fail at his task at an essential moment, however, was almost a negative counterbalance.

“I’ll be in touch,” he uttered finally and turned his back to walk through the underbrush on the hill next to Miss Parker’s summerhouse to the lane on which he’d left the black Centre sedan entrusted to his care. The next few hours would be long ones.

~~~~~~~~*

“Yeah?”

“Jarod.” The accented voice was unmistakable.

“Sydney – do you have something?”

The psychiatrist sighed. “Yes – and it isn’t all that good. The project that Lyle was working on is known as Hydra’s Teeth. It’s a combination drug and brainwashing technique designed to destroy ethical boundaries within a person so that they can be trained for certain jobs…”

“What kind of jobs, Sydney?” Jarod’s voice was tight.

“Most specifically, from what we’ve been able to uncover, that of assassin.”

“What?!” came the explosion from the other end of the line.

Sydney sighed. “The assumption is that homeless people can be lost in crowds, Jarod. Trained to kill and turned loose like human homing pigeons to kill a specific target without casting the least shadow of suspicion or involvement on the agency or government involved. They become disposable assassins – good for one job and then either killed themselves or allowed to hang out to dry.”

“My God!” Jarod sat back at his desk, the dull rumble of voices in the precinct bullpen all but dropping away. “And that’s what Lyle was doing – bringing in homeless men to be turned into walking guided missiles?”

“Cox has the process to the human testing phase,” Sydney reported with real regret. “I’d say that it’s likely that your friend got picked up for another nameless homeless person.”

“Actually, he came to the rescue of the man Lyle was trying to strong-arm,” Jarod countered quietly, looking around as if realizing his surroundings and making sure nobody was paying much attention to his conversation. “He probably wasn’t a target at all in the first place – just a victim of his own do-good-ing.” He thought for a moment. “So where do you suppose he is?”

Sydney sighed again audibly. “Broots thinks that Cox might be using the old cell block where you were held when you were younger.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Jarod replied in a tortured voice. The vision he’d been trying to avoid for days no longer content to remain in the back of his mind. Hank was a lover of the outdoors – a hiker and backpacker. To think of him trapped in a tiny eight by ten cell with nothing but a bare lightbulb… “Thank you, Sydney.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I should warn you, there’s evidence connecting Lyle to the kidnappings – and I just made sure that the FBI got brought in on the case because the crime crosses state lines,” Jarod reported quietly. “You might want to warn Parker and Mr. Broots that there’s a storm brewing that may not be long breaking over your heads. From the sounds of it, there are more than a few FBI agents who’d like nothing better than to dissect the Centre for all the suspicions it’s aroused over the years and managed to have its “friends in high places” put the kaibosh on.”

The grey eyebrows had risen dramatically. “I’ll be sure to warn Miss Parker about what might be coming her way in the near future,” Sydney promised and then hesitated. “You still haven’t told me what YOU intend to do, Jarod.”

“I’m not sure,” Jarod answered honestly. “Maybe I won’t have to do anything – the FBI can do the work for me.” There was a quick pause on the Pretender’s end of the call. “If the FBI gets hold, Sydney, they’re going to dig into just about everything…”

“Don’t worry, Jarod,” the old psychiatrist soothed his former protégé. “I can take care of myself.”

“Do me a favor, Sydney?”

“Name it.” He owed the young man who had been locked away in the bowels of the Centre for the greater portion of his life so much, a favor was the least he could do.

“Tell Miss Parker to watch her back.” Jarod’s voice had gotten tight. “I don’t need to be in full SIM mode to tell you that having a program that develops disposable assassins very near implementation doesn’t bode well for our Miss Parker’s plans to take control of the Centre.”

Sydney sighed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he admitted ruefully. “I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good.” There was another pause. “You watch your back too. Lyle’s not above just taking you all out because he can, you know…”

“Like I said, Jarod, I can take care of myself.” But Sydney already knew that the line had gone dead. He sighed deeply and replaced the receiver. Jarod didn’t need to know that Sydney had long since had a computer worm program inserted into his terminal that would activate at a very specialized set of keystrokes and remove all mention of his name from the entire Centre intranet and mainframe within just an hour or two. Broots had done the same thing for himself and Miss Parker too – just in case. It was their collective ace in the hole – and nobody suspected.

And evidently the point in time was approaching when that was the card that would have to be played.

~~~~~~~~*

The dwindling rays of daylight made for an interesting light play on the side of the summerhouse – something that Hank had found fascinating until he’d heard the sound of a car approaching rapidly. From his post he watched as Miss Parker climbed from her car and walked over to the mailbox and pulled a thick wad of envelopes from within.

Hank looked around. There was still the occasional car driving down the lane as people who lived in the outlying areas headed home from work – dropping Miss Parker in her drive would be too obvious, calling too much attention to the deed. His orders had been most explicit. He was to wait until after dark and for Miss Parker to have gone upstairs to her bedroom. Her shadow against the blinds upstairs would be all the target he’d need.

He hoisted the heavy, high-powered rifle and sighted the bedroom window that had been pointed out to him. Then he sighed, let the gun back down and resumed watching the play of light through the leaves of the trees make patterns of the shadows on the side of the house. It was early. He didn’t need to be that observant.

Not yet.

~~~~~~~~*

Sydney closed the file folder with a shudder. Broots had been right – there might not be many pages in the packet he’d received, but what was there made the scope of the project abundantly clear. It was diabolical, logical – and looked to be just the kind of financial plum that could help pull the Centre out of whatever economic hole Jarod’s escape and continuing to elude recapture had dug it into. The crass and callous disregard for human life and dignity required for the most vulnerable of society to be gathered like so many lambs herded to the slaughter was unbelievable – and the thought that others, less vulnerable but caught up by mistake, could be equally mistreated and then discarded when their usefulness was over turned his stomach.

“Syd!” Broots’ voice preceded him as he burst through the sliding doors of the Sim Lab and headed toward the office at the far end at a dead run.

“What’s the matter?” the psychiatrist asked in a calm voice, hoping his demeanor would take the edge from the computer tech’s near panic.

“I was just about ready to log out of the mainframe, you know – Debbie wants me home early tonight because she has this new recipe she wants to try…”

“Broots!” There were those times when Sydney sympathized with Miss Parker’s lack of patience with her loyal tech’s ability to dance around a piece of news without saying anything for far longer than was necessary or wise most of the time.

“Right.” The exclamation did it’s job, and Broots seemed to snap out of his rambling reverie. “Anyway, I was still in search mode for anything on the Hydra’s Teeth project – and this document hit the folder. I mean, I’d set up an alarm for when anything new got added to that particular category…”

“What did this document say?” Sydney had to bite his tongue not to sound more frustrated still at his friend’s talent for finding ways to digress.

“It was a formal complaint to the future Chairman of the Centre from Mr. Cox!” Broots related with excitement and alarm. “Seems Mr. Lyle has taken it upon himself to move one of Mr. Cox’s new test subjects into final test phase – and given the subject a target.”

It was the look in Broots’ eyes that told Sydney the rest of the story – and he reached for his telephone and began dialing madly.

~~~~~~~~*

Friday night

Miss Parker pulled the cell phone from her pocket and looked at the identification of the incoming caller – and then turned the little device off. Whatever it was that Sydney had to tell her could wait – at the very least until after she’d had a shower and relaxed. She put her supper dishes in the dishwasher, attached her phone to its recharging cord and turned the light off in the kitchen.

It had been a long, frustrating and nerve-wracking day. Angelo had burst into her office just before she’d left for the day, grabbing at her arm almost painfully and trying to tell her something – but the empath had been simply too incoherent to be intelligible. With real reluctance, she’d finally called in the evening sweepers to take the little man away back to his official “space” – knowing full well that Angelo would stay in that dingy and featureless cell for very little time before he’d be slipping through the ventilation system again.

Sydney’s relating Jarod’s warning to her had taken her by surprise. The psychiatrist hadn’t been very forthcoming in explaining how HE had managed to retain contact with the elusive Pretender all this time – not to mention managed to keep that contact a secret. She had to admire the man, even while being frustrated at him for continuing to be more interested in protecting his former protégé than in assisting in hauling Jarod’s ass back to the Centre where it belonged.

She scowled as the land-line phone began to jangle. Sydney must be pretty desperate to be insisting on calling her that way, she thought as she mounted the stairs slowly. The answering machine was just as good as the voicemail on her cell phone however – and maybe the Belgian would get the hint that she didn’t want to be disturbed right now.

Just inside her bedroom, she pulled open a drawer and drew out a fresh pair of satiny pajamas. It had been the kind of day that required satin to soothe the outside, which would soothe the inside later – with maybe a nice shot of whiskey as enticement.

~~~~~~~~*

“Merde!” Sydney swore and slammed the phone back down in the cradle.

“Can’t you reach her?” Broots asked with a touch of something disturbingly like fear in his voice.

“Go on home to Debbie,” Sydney directed his friend bluntly as he slid the folder into his briefcase and rose quickly. “I’ll go over to Miss Parker’s and make sure she knows…”

Broots was nodding and moving already.

Sydney pulled his beret onto his head with foreboding and headed for the elevator as fast as his long legs would carry him.

~~~~~~~~*

Hank pulled in a deep sigh as the light flared in the bedroom, and he lifted the heavy rifle to his shoulder and sighted the crosshairs on the window blind. It had taken longer than he’d anticipated for the lights upstairs to flick on – and he was beginning to get tired.

There she was! The silhouette was unmistakable – although with apparently shorter hair than the target he’d spent the last couple of days staring at. Her actions were unmistakable as well – she was running her fingers through her hair and reaching down to something near the window probably setting her alarm clock before climbing into bed.

The finger on the trigger only had to move a fraction of an inch – and the recoil of the weapon stung his shoulder. The only sound made was like the soft pop of plastic bubble wrap between a thumb and forefinger.

The window shade shuddered, distorting the silhouette slightly – which didn’t matter much as the figure behind it crumpled immediately away out of sight.

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