Friday night

Miss Parker lay on the floor of her bedroom gasping in agony from the bullet that had torn through her left shoulder. She brought her right hand over and gingerly touched the fabric of the satiny pajama top and cringed mentally from the amount of blood that she’d already lost in the first few moments. She knew she needed help desperately – and immediately – before the blood loss could become more than her body could cope with.

Struggling madly against a real danger of simply passing out from either pain or shock, she looked up at her nightstand. On it was her alarm clock and an extension of her home telephone. But to get to it, she’d either have to get up at least partway or pull it down to her – and either option meant forcing herself into motion that would cause excruciating pain. But it was either that or lie back and die from blood loss – and there was no way she would just roll over and quit. Whoever did this needed to be made to pay Big Time – and she wanted to be around when payback time came, by God!

With a grinding roar of agony, she forced herself to roll over toward her uninjured shoulder and push herself into a sitting position. As much as she wanted to clamp a hand to her wounded shoulder, she reached out instead for the cord that led to the cradle of her telephone and gave a mighty tug. Compliantly, the device flew from the nightstand and thudded on the floor – the receiver off the hook and howling the dial tone softly.

It took another determined effort and clenched-teethed shriek to pull the telephone to her and lay claim to the receiver by dragging on the coiled cord until she could reach it. She hesitated a moment, trying to clear her mind of the pain long enough to remember the phone number of someone who could respond the most immediately to her need, and then slowly and carefully punched the buttons for the number into the phone without losing her grip on the receiver. That done and what little energy she had spent, she lay back down on the floor with the receiver to her ear.

“Pick up, Syd,” she breathed prayerfully as the call took longer than she wanted to connect.

“This is Sydney,” came the wonderful sound of his accented voice through the tiny speaker. She moved her lips, but was dismayed when now no sound came out. “Parker?” Sydney’s voice demanded in a worried tone. “I tried to call you earlier…”

“H….help….” Miss Parker finally managed to groan. “Sh…shot…”

“I’m on my way,” Sydney told her in a very brusque tone and a thicker accent – both easy signs of his agitated state of mind. “I’ll call Sam and have him meet me there. Where are you?”

“Up…up…” It was an effort too far – between pain and shock and blood loss, she’d simply reached the end of her strength. The receiver slipped from her fingers as she slipped into the beckoning darkness against which she no longer had the means to fight.

~~~~~~~~*

“What do you mean, this is going to take a while?” Jarod gaped.

Special Agent Watson scratched his head and had the temerity to look chagrined. “I told you that there were people that would just as soon the Centre dropped completely from the agency radar, remember?” Jarod nodded impatiently. “Well, some of those folks hold high-level positions – and are doing their level best to sidetrack this investigation before it gets a chance to start.”

Jarod moved his hand holding the cell phone from his ear to wipe at his eyes in frustration, never letting his attention wander too far from the road in front of him. This news wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t make it any less unwelcome. He put the phone back to his ear and caught the tail end of “….still there, Detective?”

“I’m still here,” he replied tiredly. “So what now?”

“We wait until we have search warrants signed and in hand before making a move,” Agent Watson sighed. “Trust me when I say that you presented more than ample circumstantial evidence to link the Centre with this series of kidnappings – but my hands are tied until I get permission…”

“I understand,” Jarod answered in disgust. “You’ll let me know when things really start to move?”

“Absolutely,” Watson promised. “You’ll be the first one I call. You’re at home, I take it?”

Jarod looked about him a bit. The Maryland scenery was flying past at a very fast pace – his trip undertaken on the hope that he’d arrive in Blue Cove just in time to watch the FBI storm the Centre gates. In his pocket was a new set of identification with the Jarod Ness right under the words “Special Agent” and next to yet another cropped and pasted photo of himself. Now it seemed he wouldn’t be using it.

“Not exactly – but you can reach me at this number,” Jarod promised.

“You aren’t thinking about making a move on your own, without authorization, are you?” Watson demanded suddenly, making Jarod wonder if the man was empathic or psychic.

“Of course not,” Jarod lied easily. “I just had an errand to run. I’ll be home later on.”

Watson didn’t sound entirely convinced, but accepted Jarod’s assurance nonetheless. “I’ll be in touch then,” he promised and disconnected the call.

Jarod tucked the cell phone back into his shirt breast pocket and put his other hand back on the wheel. There was no way he was going to turn around and go back to the city when he’d already come all this way. No – now he would take matters into his own hand and slip quietly into the Centre via the route he’d used when he escaped so long ago. Somewhere in that dark mess was his best friend – and there was no way he was going to sit around on his thumbs waiting for an infiltrated and partially compromised federal agency to work its way around the obstacles the moles would be feverishly erecting.

On second thought he pulled the phone from his pocket again and pressed a speed dial number. If Sydney were by any chance working late in his office, he might be able to assist in finding the exact cell where the homeless men were being held. Amazingly, it took three rings for his old mentor to answer the telephone.

“This is Sydney.”

“I’m on my way to Blue Cove and the Centre, Sydney,” he told the holder man with no preamble. “I’m going to get my friend out of there… and I was wondering if you…”

“I wish you luck, Jarod – but right now I’m a little busy,” Sydney interrupted brusquely. “Miss Parker has been shot – and Sam and I are going to meet at her place…”

“Miss Parker’s shot!” Jarod repeated in shock. “When?”

“I really don’t have time to chat, Jarod,” Sydney bit off. “I’ll call you when I know something.” And with that, the psychiatrist terminated the call as abruptly as Jarod ever had.

Jarod swore softly and tucked the phone away – and then pressed down on the accelerator just a little bit harder. There was even more reason for him to make tracks across Maryland and Delaware now than there had been a few minutes earlier, and somewhere between where he was and the state line, he’d have to make a decision he never considered even possible to make. He’d have to decide if he’d be heading to rescue Hank first – or inserting himself into Miss Parker’s world again to make sure as little harm came to her as possible.

~~~~~~~~*

Hank moved slowly and carefully around the back of the house – into long and dark shadows that would hide him from the rest of the world – and hope that his target hadn’t quite locked up the house yet. The words of his mentor – the tall, dark man – still echoed in his ears. He had to check – he couldn’t just rely on presumption – he had to make sure his target had been terminated before he could go back and rest.

As he walked up the front steps, he pulled on latex gloves. The alarm system was easily disarmed – the code his mentor had given him, entered just as he’d been told, switched the red light off and the little green light next to it on. Now he was free to make his way into the house by whatever means was the simplest and quickest. Time was a key, he’d been told. He had to get in, make sure the job was completed, and then get out again. He could otherwise leave no sign of his entry – he wasn’t to touch or move anything, and definitely was forbidden from taking anything.

As if he were a thief otherwise, he thought with some scorn.

Each window he tried and found securely shut – and the back door was not only probably locked but even the screen door was locked shut so that he couldn’t check. Hank slunk over to what he figured would be the kitchen window. He lifted the heavy butt of the rifle and smashed it through the glass and then, reached and extending the rifle as a tool, cleared away the ragged points of broken glass that remained in the window until he had a clear and unobstructed access to the house.

As he hoisted himself over the sill and tucked his feet in so he could clamber over the sink to the floor he could hear the sound of a motorcycle roaring past on the road beyond the front yard – and he quickly dismissed the sound from his mind. He’d been told the stairs were at the front of the house – he’d have to find them. His target was above him – and he had to make sure she was dead.

It was dark inside, and it took time for his eyes to adjust to the even lowered level of light in the darkened house. Outside he could hear the sounds of vehicles getting closer – but he disregarded them entirely. His eyes had finally become accustomed to the dim light inside – and finally he began to move.

~~~~~~~~*

Sydney was just climbing from his comfortable town car and reaching for his doctor’s bag as Sam roared up on his motorcycle – wild-eyed and dangerous-looking in his black leather jacket and pants. Sam had his gun out and was already combing the shadows around the front door for hidden killers as Sydney mounted the steps to the house. “Merde! The alarm’s off!” Sydney hissed at the sweeper as Sam cautiously backed up the steps.

“Damn! That means he could be inside!” Sam hissed back. “Stand back!”

Sydney stood aside as Sam aimed a powerful kick at Miss Parker’s front door that splintered the doorjamb behind it as it flew back. Sam stepped in and flipped on the light. “Where is she?” he demanded, looking around the living room and seeing nothing amiss.

“Upstairs!” Sydney called and pointed. “That’s what she was trying to tell me!”

Again Sam took the lead, his big Smith and Wesson leading the way for him as he moved from the light below into the darkness of the hallway. Soft sound of a window being pushed open and then scrabbling against the side of the house caught at Sydney’s ear. Sam burst through the doorway to the right and turning on the light just in time to see two sets of fingers let go of the windowsill as an intruder dropped to the ground outside.

“The bastard’s getting away!” Sam yelled and pushed roughly past the old psychiatrist in a headlong rush to get back down the stairs and out the front door again. “Get Miss Parker!” he yelled over his shoulder as he caught sight of a man running through the underbrush close to the road.

Sydney hadn’t been in the Parker summerhouse for a good many years, but he still remembered which bedroom was the master bedroom – and moved swiftly for the door. At first glance after turning on the light, he could see nothing amiss. The master bathroom door was open and the bathroom itself was dark. Then his eyes spotted where the runner that covered a portion of one of the nightstands was askew – and he moved around the end of the bed.

“Miss Parker!” he breathed and knelt by the fallen woman. A quick touch to the side of her neck told him that she was still alive, despite the size of the pool of blood that had spread from beneath her. The telephone receiver was buzzing from the disconnected call not far from her fingers, with the cradle a short distance away. The hole in the window shade told the tale.

With gentle fingers, he unbuttoned the top of Miss Parker’s pajama top to survey the damage – and then immediately reached for his doctor’s bag and the bandaging it held to try to staunch the still steady bleeding. He carefully pulled the pajama top away from the entire shoulder and rolled her slightly to see if the bullet had gone completely through; and then reached for even more bandages to press against the ragged exit wound that was bleeding even more steadily than the first.

The moment he heard the thump of heavy footsteps, he shouted out, “Sam! Up here!”

The heavy footsteps grew nearer until: “Oh shit!” Sam’s eyes were wide with horror – his experience with gunshot wounds telling him more about the seriousness of her injuries than Sydney ever could, or would.

“Come here,” Sydney demanded in a tone that would broach no argument. “Hold these tightly while I tape them in place.”

Sam slipped to his knees beside his fallen boss and tried not to panic at the sight of her extreme pallor. “Are we too late, Doc?”

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Sydney shook his head and carefully eased one of Sam’s hands away as he plied the medical tape to the bandage. “She’s lost a lot of blood…”

And his cell phone chose that moment to begin chirping again.

“Ignore it,” Sam growled as Sydney reached for the device.

Sydney took one glance at the identity of the caller before punching the button and putting the phone to his ear. “Talk fast, Jarod,” he bit off sharply.

“How is she?”

“She took a bullet to the left shoulder and has lost a lot of blood,” Sydney tucked the tiny device between shoulder and ear with a practiced move and began to tear new strips of medical tape to work on the second wound. “We’ll need to get her to a hospital…”

“Absolutely not!” Jarod exclaimed tersely. “If this is Lyle’s handiwork, he’ll know to be watching the local hospitals and emergency rooms. We want her to recover – not end up the victim of yet another attempt.”

“Jarod, I don’t know enough about surgery…” Sydney began.

“But I DO,” Jarod interrupted quickly. “Listen to me, though – you’ll need to get her out of there NOW!”

“You’re nowhere near…”

“I’m on the northern outskirts of Dover, Sydney,” Jarod interrupted again. “LISTEN to me. There’s a lair I used to stay at just a mile or two north of town. You and Miss Parker will be safe there until I get there – the Centre knows nothing of this place…”

“Sydney! We’ve got to go!” Sam yelled at Sydney angrily. “Tell the Lab Rat to shove it up a dark place…”

“I’m not going hunting for some place I’ve never been before while Miss Parker is bleeding to death on my watch,” Sydney snapped at Jarod, feeling pushed on both sides.

“Fine. Then take her to your place. I’ll meet you there, assess her condition – and we can move her as soon as she’s stable.”

“Are you sure…”

“Just do it, Sydney. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Jarod disconnected the call before his mentor could offer any more argument. He’d have to watch his speed until he got past Dover and could head for some of the smaller back-roads – roads that he knew as well as he knew like the back of his hand. On them, he could fly low.

~~~~~~~~*

Hank slipped back through the underbrush and scowled. His mentor hadn’t mentioned anything about being interrupted – or that the target would end up on the receiving end of a rescue party. From his vantage point only a little closer to the house than where he’d been set up originally, he watched the two men who had burst into the house carry the apparently lifeless form of a woman – his target! – between them and place her very gently in the back seat of the big, black car. The older man trotted around the back of the car, threw his black bag – was the guy a doctor? – into the back seat and climbed into the car next to his patient. The big, dangerous man who had give chase to him and come far closer to catching him than Hank wanted to think about climbed behind the wheel of the car and sent it down the drive. Tires spun in the loose gravel and then squealed their protest as they hit the pavement of the lane.

Despite being a fairly good runner capable of outrunning most of the other cross-country runners when he’d been in school, Hank knew there was little chance of his catching up with a car driven as if Hell itself were behind it. There was no alternative.

He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and hit the first programmed number. “We have a problem,” he reported in a clear and unemotional tone – and then listened carefully.

~~~~~~~~*

Sydney hovered worriedly as Sam reached into the back seat and gently pulled Miss Parker up into his arms. “This way,” he said, leading the way from the garage to the kitchen of his home and holding the door wide open so Sam could maneuver his precious load through the narrow opening. From there he led the way through the house, turning on lights as he went, through to the front, up the stairs and taking the first doorway to the left. “Put her there,” he directed, pulling a thin plastic sheet from the top of the guest bed and then moving aside for Sam.

If anything, Miss Parker was even more pale than before – and Sydney could feel his stomach twist in knots at the thought that Jarod wouldn’t be able to get to them in time to save her. She looked so helpless, her skin almost transparent with her dark hair like a cloud around her face.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked, his own eyes never leaving his boss’ face. “Do we boil water or something?”

Sydney blinked and snapped out of his shocked reverie. “Go down to my living room. There’s a liquor cabinet there – bring back a bottle of whatever you find first.”

“Doc! This isn’t the time to…” Sam began to object.

“Not for me,” Sydney shook his head. “For sterilization – we aren’t going to have time for niceties.”

Sam spun on his heels and headed out of the guest room like a shot. He’d been in this house before – although not willingly – when Lyle had found great satisfaction in ordering him to plant listening devices in the old man’s home. Very quickly he checked the places he remembered leaving the little bugs, and was not entirely comforted to find the bugs gone. He sighed silently and headed for the liquor cabinet, praying very hard that neither Raines nor Lyle had seen fit to have the bugs he’d planted replaced in other, unknown, locales.

Sydney followed Sam only as far as the upstairs corridor – heading instead for the linen closet doors that lined the hallway on one side and dragging out several large, terry towels and a new bed sheet. He stopped in the upstairs bathroom just long enough to grab up a pair of scissors for cutting a sheet into more bandaging, and then headed back to his guest room.

“Here.” Sam’s voice came at Sydney from the side as he was focused on the bedroom door – and suddenly there was a bottle of Chivas Regal plunked down on top of the linens.

“We’ll need my doctor’s bag – in case Jarod doesn’t have supplies of his own,” Sydney suddenly remembered. “It’s still in the back seat of my car…”

“I’ll get it,” the sweeper said tersely and headed once more for the stairs.

Sydney moved back into the bedroom and put the linens on the chest of drawers for easy use, then settled down in the chair next to the bed to begin cutting and then tearing the fine linen sheet into strips. Jarod, he sent out mentally into the darkness beyond the window behind him, hurry! Please!

~~~~~~~~*

“What?” Lyle barked into the cell phone, his tone remarkably like his twin sister’s at the idea of being interrupted at this hour of night for business. “This had better be a report that the major obstruction to my assuming the Chairmanship is no longer a problem…”

Willy flinched. How did he get from working exclusively for Mr. Raines to being Mr. Lyle’s pet go-fer? He truly despised the man and knew beyond a doubt that the nature of the jobs he’d be getting as Mr. Lyle’s personal sweeper would be testing even HIS limits of endurance. Still, it was either work for Mr. Lyle or throw in his lot with Miss Parker – who probably wouldn’t want a thing to do with him. “Mr. Lyle, sir, there’s been a slight problem…”

From the long silence on the other end of the line, Willy knew that Lyle’s infamous temper had most likely just hit over-drive. “What KIND of problem?” Lyle asked in a lethally gentle and soft voice.

“Seems your test subject was in the process of making sure that the hit had gone down and been properly terminated when he was interrupted by…”

“Don’t tell me she got away!” Lyle shouted.

“The subject reports that two men entered the house by force – kicking down the front door, as a matter of fact – and they carried someone out and drove off. The subject barely escaped without being caught…”

“He was supposed to stay, finish the job and then simply deal with the consequences,” Lyle complained to no one in particular. “I thought you’d made that clear..”

“I told him exactly what you told me to say,” Willy protested his innocence. “But once he got in the field…”

“DAMN!” Lyle exploded – and there was a long moment of silence.

“Sir?” Willy finally attempted. “What do you want us to do now?”

“Find her and get rid of her,” Lyle explained as if to a small child, “and now we’ll have to take out her support staff as well.”

Willy’s face dropped in surprise. “ALL of them, sir?” he breathed.

“They’re probably the ones that came charging to her rescue, you idiot!” Lyle hissed, almost beside himself with frustration. “Sydney and Broots and Sam. They’ve been running interference for her for far too long – it’s time it ended.”

“Sir?”

“She’s got to be in one of their houses,” Lyle was beginning to get disgusted with Willy’s lack of creative thinking. “Start with the Broots’ place – search it, kill anybody you find there. Is that understood? Then go on to Sydney’s and do the same thing. I want this problem far behind me by morning.”

“The little Broots girl too?” Willy was gonna be damned sure that the kind of sanctions being ordered here were perfectly clear between himself and Lyle. The girl was an innocent – if she was to be eliminated too, he wanted confirmation.

“The girl too,” Lyle sighed in frustration. “She’s part of the problem – and would MAKE trouble for me, no doubt, if left to grow up without her Daddy, don’t you think?”

“But… Wouldn’t it be more logical…”

“You aren’t being paid to think – you’re being paid to follow orders,” Lyle growled, what little patience he had growing thinner by the second. “They know that WE know that the most logical person she’d have called for help – if she had a chance – would be Sydney. And because they know that we know, they’d think to outsmart us by taking her someplace else – and the only other place they’d dare take her would be Broots.” Lyle smiled coldly, proud of his deductive reasoning. “So we’re gonna outfox them and go to the least likely place first.” His voice grew hard. “Understand?”

“What about the test subject, sir?” Willy asked, his eye resting cautiously on the face of the nameless assassin. The man had stood motionless and expressionless next to the driver’s door of the Centre sedan ever since Willy had driven up to their pre-arranged rendezvous point – and the seeming lack of emotion or any response at all was beginning to become creepy.

“Take him with you, you idiot!” Lyle snapped. “We need HIS fingerprints on the murder weapon and no other’s. The two of you work together – you back him up while he finishes his job right.”

“And then?”

“And then you go home and get a good night’s sleep,” Lyle mocked him, “knowing that this was a job well-done.”

“What about the test subject afterwards…”

“Take him back to the middle of Dover and dump him. He doesn’t know where he was taken – and the chemical conditioning is such that he should be ready to forget faces. He’s the perfect patsy.” Lyle smiled coldly. “And if this works right, we’ll have proven the efficacy of Hydra’s Teeth beyond and shadow of a doubt – and the Centre will be set for the next generation of research projects.”

Willy nodded and disconnected his call and sighed, leaning his head tiredly against the steering wheel for a bit before waving a hand at the nameless assassin. “Get in,” he ordered, and then repeated the conditioned phrase that was supposed to assure compliance. “There are a few more things you need to do to make up for your earlier failure. You will NOT fail this time, do you understand?”

“I won’t fail again,” Hank repeated and then placidly walked around the hood of the car.

~~~~~~~~*

Jarod eyed the gaping garage door and then walked quietly through past Sydney’s Lincoln town car and up to the kitchen door. There was a light barely visible beneath the door, and he opened the door quietly and stepped into the lit but otherwise abandoned kitchen. A quick glance told the story, and he began following the trail of light from the kitchen to the front of the house – only to stop dead in his tracks as the cold steel of a gun suddenly was pressed into the side of his neck.

“Don’t even breathe,” Sam’s whisper sounded menacingly from behind his left ear.

“While we stand here, Miss Parker is bleeding to death,” Jarod responded in a soft but determined voice that belied the way his heart had nearly stopped a moment earlier. “I’m on your side this time.”

There was a firm hand that landed on Jarod’s shoulder even as the muzzle of the gun was withdrawn. “That remains to be seen, Lab Rat,” Sam hissed and gave the Pretender a push. “Up the stairs and into the guest room.”

“We’re going to have to stabilize her and then move her quickly,” Jarod stated anxiously as he let the sweeper’s pressure on his shoulder steer him through a house he’d never had the courage to enter before. “If Lyle knows that he missed with his assassin, he’s going to be looking for her with a vengeance.” Sam’s heavy sigh behind him told Jarod that the sweeper had already come to the same conclusion. “Were you seen?” Jarod demanded and would have stopped but for the hand at his shoulder keeping him moving forward.

“There was someone in the house when we got there,” Sam admitted reluctantly. “He got away.”

“Damn!”

Jarod turned the corner, and his eyes immediately caught sight of his mentor sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed, his arms high as he continued tearing yet another long strip from the partially destroyed sheet. Just a quick shift of the eyes found Miss Parker wan and motionless on the bed, the bandage on her shoulder already beginning to show signs of the continued blood seepage below.

Sam pushed Jarod just a bit further into the room and then moved to the other side of Miss Parker’s bed, where he dropped the doctor’s bag on the floor at his feet and took up a wary stance with his arms folded across his broad chest. “Just do what you need to,” the sweeper ordered in a tight voice. “Like you said, we need to get out of here…”

Jarod moved to the side of the bed and sat down to carefully remove the bandage to see what he would be dealing with. “The bullet went through,” Sydney told him before he had a chance to roll her. “I’m just worried that it might have hit a major artery.”

The Pretender barely heard his old mentor. “Do you have your doctor’s bag with you, Sydney?” he asked, raising his eyes to gaze questioningly at him.

“Here.” Sam bent to retrieve the bag and thrust it forward. “The Doc had sent me for it when I heard you start to skulk through the house.”

Jarod rose and hauled the bag over to the light on the nightstand so that he could see into its depths. He glanced up in surprise and pulled a small package of surgical needles and a sealed package of sutures from one of the side compartments. “You’re pretty well prepared, Sydney,” he commented and then set the items aside. “What do we have for…”

Sydney’s hand was already pointing at the bottle of Chivas that sat on the chest of drawers next to a pile of toweling.

“Make two and then wash your hands in the Chivas,” Jarod said as he poured some of the whiskey onto his own hands. “I’ll need your hands to do the retraction so I can repair anything internal.” He then turned to Sam. “Here,” Jarod directed in a no-nonsense voice, beckoning. “Take the shade off that lamp and hold it right there.” Sam moved to follow instructions, and then sullenly tolerated Jarod adjusting his positioning of the lamp slightly. “Sydney, have you got bandages made?”

“They just need rolling,” Sydney replied as he took the scissors to the final bit of hem. This little strip didn’t end up crumpled into a wad next to him, but began to be carefully wound around a hand into a neat square.

Sam sighed. Holding the lamp motionless was going to be difficult even though the lamp wasn’t THAT heavy – but there was no way he was going to let his boss down. Despite the real temptation to call the Centre and have a retrieval team dispatched, Sam knew Jarod was Miss Parker’s only hope of survival. To save her, he’d need good light.

Jarod’s eyes impacted the vivid blue of the sweeper’s. “Are you going to be able to hold that nice and steady for a fairly long period of time?”

“Just get to work,” Sam growled, “and let me worry about whether my arms will hold up.”

~~~~~~~~~*

The cell phone in Sydney’s shirt pocket began to chirp insistently.

“Ignore it,” Sam snapped when both of the men toiling over Miss Parker looked up sharply. “We don’t have time for chitty-chat.”

“If it’s Broots with information,” Sydney reasoned with him, “we might need it.”

“You get it,” Jarod suggested and bent back over Miss Parker’s shoulder. “Sydney, a little more right there – thanks.”

Sam grumbled in anxious frustration and carefully plucked the chirping device from Sydney’s pocket without moving that lamp very much – and then touched the connect button after checking the caller’s ID. “What do you want?” he demanded harshly.

“Wh…who is this? Sydney?” came Broots’ surprised and cautious voice.

“This is Sam,” Sam growled. “Sydney has his hands full at the moment and can’t answer his phone.” Sydney, both hands involved in keeping the edges of the wound in Miss Parker’s shoulder pulled open far enough so that Jarod could wield the little surgical needle and suture, was far too busy to talk to anyone.

“I don’t know…” Broots knew his information was explosive, but was unsure just how trustworthy Sam could be.

“Look – I don’t have time to play games,” Sam snapped, “and neither does Sydney right now…”

“Lyle just posted a memo destined for the Triumvirate offices from his home terminal,” Broots blurted, deciding that the only way to get the message through was to trust Miss Parker’s personal sweeper. “He says that the final testing phase of Hydra’s Teeth is in the works – and should conclude successfully tonight. Whatever THAT means…”

“Broots says that Lyle posted a note to the Africans – something about some sort of teeth being in a final testing phase and expected to end successfully tonite,” Sam reported to Sydney.

“Miss Parker is the final test,” Sydney responded with eyes closed in sickened realization, “and Lyle expects to hear any moment that she’s been terminated.”

“You can let go now, Sydney,” Jarod interrupted his mentor’s musing and the nodded with his nose. “I need another needle and sutures to sew this side closed.” He glanced up at Sam. “Nine chances out of ten, if Lyle thinks Miss Parker is out of the way permanently, none of YOU three is safe anymore.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean…”

“Tell Broots to pack up Debbie, climb into his car and start driving,” Jarod tugged at the ragged edges of the wound to pull them closed over the sutured artery. “We can call him when we know its safe for him to resurface. He needs to hit an ATM and clean out his cash, make a private deal for a different vehicle, and make tracks.”

Sam’s eyes bugged when Sydney glanced up at his protégé, looked at the ragged expression in Jarod’s face, and then turned to the sweeper. “Jarod’s right,” the older man confirmed. “If the balance of power has shifted, none of us are safe.”

The sweeper’s eyes narrowed, and he began to relate what the others in the room had said to him. By the time he’d finished, he could tell that Broots was about two steps shy of panicking and almost dropping the telephone in his haste to collect his daughter, pack just the bare essentials and then get the hell out of Blue Cove.

“You’re sure about that?” Sam said, dropping the phone on the nightstand without worrying if it would bounce to the floor.

“Put the lamp down and help me roll her over,” Jarod demanded without giving him an answer. “The moment we’re through here, we need to move!”

Sam hastened to do as instructed, wondering if his one gun would be all that stood between his boss, himself and another day of breathing.

~~~~~~~~~*

“Damn!” Willy stared around him at the obviously empty Broots house.

Next to him, Hank stood with the rifle cocked, waiting for new instructions. “Did we finish?” he asked in bland curiosity.

“No, we’re not finished,” Willy answered him in a frustrated and mocking tone. “Evidently Lyle overestimated their intelligence – they MUST have gone to Sydney’s.”

“And we go there too?”

Willy looked into the nearly expressionless eyes and nodded. “And we better hope and pray that we find them there this time.”

“Who is the target this time?” Hank wanted to know.

“The same woman you were supposed to take care of earlier – and anybody else who is with her now. Do you understand?”

Hank nodded, his mind easily accepting the new directive. Take out the target and all around her. That shouldn’t be TOO hard.

All they had to do now was find her…

~~~~~~~~~*

Jarod wasn’t happy pulling Miss Parker’s bloody pajama top back into place and fastening it again, but he was fairly certain that he didn’t have the time to be discriminating. “Go downstairs,” he ordered Sam, “and turn off all the lights in the house. We want this place to look deserted, in case someone we don’t want to meet up with decides to pay us a visit before we’re gone.”

The sweeper gave a grunt of assent and vanished through the bedroom door. Jarod turned to Sydney, who was wiping his hands on a towel after washing them in the bathroom. “You know we’re going to need help,” he announced quietly. “This took too long.”

“All right.” Sydney’s face was tight. “But who can you call?”

Jarod stalked from the bedroom and into the master bedroom of the house in search, and quickly found what he’d been looking for. He picked up the receiver of the telephone extension and dialed three numbers, and then he waited for the brusque and no-nonsense voice on the other end to answer, “Blue Cove Police Department – please state your name and the nature of your emergency.”

“My name is Jarod Russell, and I’d like to report an assault on a friend of mine,” he stated the moment he got the chance. “What’s more, I think the man who shot her may be coming back to finish the job…”

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