Hidden Agenda

by lowri

A past member of James Horton's group of renegade Watchers obtains all the pieces of the Methuselah Stone. This story continues on Of Biblical Proportion.

Disclaimer: The Highlander universe, including the characters of: Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson, Adam Pierson/Methos, Nick Wolfe, Amanda, Dan Geiger, Nathan Stern, James Horton, Ricco Belson, are owned by Panzer/Davis They have been used without permission and not for monetary gain. I have quoted a few lines from the episode, Methuselah's Gift. I'm sure you'll recognize them. The other main character, John Murray is mine.

I would like to thank my betas. Cathryn Bauer and Kay Kelly helped to give me fresh insights into the characters and their motivations. Janeen Grohsmeyer has become my lens. She focuses me onto particular scenes and makes me rewrite them over and over 'til I can describe exactly what my mind has visualized all along. She's been teaching me the craft of fine-tuning a story, using words and punctuation as my tools. Many thanks, Janeen.

This story is the result of a challenge by Rhiannon Shaw. She wanted a story written from a Watcher's POV. This is it. Permission granted to her, to post the story up on her web page. Also, Ann has permission to include this on Seventh Dimension. Anybody else, please contact me first.

Let me know what you think at: lwright3@rochester.rr.com

Enjoy.

Hidden Agenda

By Lori Wright

Present-June 1999, Paris

John Murray sat in his car, looking at the sidewalk that meandered along the edge of the Seine. Every day for the past week Nick Wolfe had come down and run this section between the Eiffel Tower and The Sanctuary. Before that, it was a different route, and so on. Murray believed that Wolfe, who always used to be regimented, changed to become unpredictable, in an effort to avoid his friends and enemies alike. The location of his morning run was only one such example.

This particular route totaled five miles in all, but Nick was in shape. It was that fact, more than anything else, that made Murray a tad nervous. How could he, in his fifties, subdue a thirty-something man who also happened to be an Immortal? In Wolfe's current frame of mind, an overture of friendship was likely to result in a punch to the jaw rather than acquiescence.

For the last month Murray had reviewed different options in his mind. He tailed the immortal, analyzing Wolfe's every move. He needed Wolfe in his possession, incapacitated, without either of them getting hurt. As Wolfe's official Watcher, Murray had unlimited access, but until last night, no clear-cut plan for the abduction. Then he saw a commercial for renting a wheelchair, and everything fell into place.

In his younger days, he had kidnapped many immortals as a member of James Horton's band of executioners. However, this was the first time he had to plan the whole thing on his own.

Ten years earlier-June 1989, Kauai, Hawaii

Murray squinted into the late afternoon sunlight as he disembarked from the plane. Even the oppressive tropical heat did not squelch his excitement. James Horton had called and specifically asked for him on this particular mission. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down the side of his face as he walked onto the tarmac. The asphalt and plane's engines produced an enormous amount of heat, which the breezes were unable to dissipate. He grabbed his luggage as it was removed from the plane. Putting his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the sun, he scanned the area looking for the Watcher who was to greet him. Mr. Horton had requested that he wear clothes befitting a tourist, but he didn't own Bermuda shorts anything patterned in Hawaiian flowers.

"Mr. Murray?" A petite blonde was looking up at him.

"Yes?"

She gave him a large smile. "I'm Saskia Femtas. Mr. Horton asked that I bring you to the hotel."

He nodded and followed her. As soon as they were alone in her car, he began to question her. "Do you know what this assignment is about?"

"Kuchta. He owns a little marina, where tourists are able to rent boats, with or without him as guide. He has maps of reefs and pretty lagoons where you can stop, snorkel, or just sunbathe."

"That doesn't sound bad."

"There's more. I think it's random, but he selects husband and wife pairs and targets them. Sometimes it's weeks after they've made contact, but he finds them, and then kills them."

"Why?" The question sounded bland compared the tumultuous feelings churning inside him.

"Sport. He ties up the men. Then he slowly rapes and brutalizes the wives, enjoying every second of the husbands' anguish. He kills them both and steals whatever he fancies. Sometimes it's an simple as a hairbrush, or it can be as expensive as jewelry."

"Mementos?" A tiny bit of loathing leaked into his voice. His soul fed on the abhorrence he felt, and gave him the strength for what had to be done.

"Exactly," Saskia agreed with a shudder. "I'd Watched him for six months before I told a friend of mine. He suggested that Mr. Horton might have a way to end his reign of terror." She glowed in satisfaction.

"Why does he need me?" He was truly puzzled why Mr. Horton had singled him out.

"Because you're an expert in scuba diving. We all are."

Murray settled back in the car. The thrum of the air conditioner made him drowsy. The small plane had been stuffy, but the clean air coming into the car felt wonderful. The signs announcing the different restaurants, hotels, and stores became a jumble of lights as he slipped into sleep.

"Mr. Murray?" A hand shook him, waking him from a sound sleep. He blinked a few times, then sat up. The city lights had vanished and been replaced by brilliant, sparkling stars. Lush foliage reflected wisps of moonlight onto the car.

"Where are we?" Murray asked Saskia.

"Mr. Horton rented a small bungalow for all of us to use. We're a five-minute walk to Kuchta's marina."

The front door opened. Mr. Horton stood silhouetted in the opening, waiting for them. "Hello, Mr. Murray. I hope your trip wasn't too taxing."

"It *was* long."

"I'll show you to your room. You can leave your belongings there. Do you wish to sleep before we talk?"

"I took a nap in the car, sir."

"Excellent." He led the way down the hall and opened a door leading into a bedroom. "Join us in the kitchen when you're ready."

Several minutes later Murray walked into the kitchen. The delicious smell of omelets cooking had led him to the right place. Three other people appeared to be waiting for him.

"Have a seat." Mr. Horton pulled out a chair for him.

A large black man dropped a freshly cooked omelet onto a plate in front of him as Saskia poured him a cup of coffee. She gestured that he should help himself from a basket of native fruit, and Murray did as he was told. Saskia took a seat across the table while the cook pulled off his apron and sat down next to him. While Murray ate, Mr. Horton began outlining the plans.

"You were brought into this because you have a certain skill."

"Scuba diving," Murray said between mouthfuls.

"Correct. Everyone on this mission is a certified diver, with experience."

Saskia pulled a kiwi from the basket and began to peel it. "I can't believe you dove in those frigid waters between Wales and Ireland."

"I was looking for something in particular. A boat had sunk there--"

"You found the sword, did you not?" Mr. Horton interrupted.

"Yes," he answered his supervisor, and at Saskia's look of confusion, Murray explained. "The sword in question had reportedly belonged to Ceirdwyn. She had lost it during one of her escapes from England in medieval times. Edward the First had supposedly had a large bounty on her head." Murray turned back to Mr. Horton. "It was even in halfway good condition when I brought it up."

Mr. Horton smiled in acknowledgement, but got onto the business at hand. "You and Ricco will be waiting for us in the cove. Saskia and I will pose as customers and request that he take us out. You will have diving suits waiting for us. We'll kidnap him, take him to a different location than what is charted as his destination, then behead him."

"Burial at sea?" Murray asked as he set down his coffee cup.

"Yes. We'll sink the boat and him with it, then swim back here."

The four nodded in agreement.

Present-June 1999, Paris

Murray sat up straighter in his seat when he saw Wolfe jogging toward him. The memories vanished as he got ready to implement his plans. Murray looked around. At five-thirty in the morning, there weren't many others around. The place did seem deserted, he thought with relief. It was just the immortal and him.

He opened his car door and staggered out. After sitting in the car for an hour, his unsteadiness was not all feigned. His loaded gun was in his left jacket pocket, but he gripped a knife. He grunted loud and clutched his chest with his empty hand. Wolfe was a cop, maybe not officially, but in his soul. Would compassion drive him towards a man having a heart attack, or would his instincts smell a trap? Murray didn't dare look.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked with concern.

Murray blinked and looked up into Nick Wolfe's eyes. "I think so," he replied breathlessly. "I just--"

"Would you like me to take you to the hospital? Are you having a heart attack?"

Could it be this easy? "No, I'm fine really. I just feel a little off."

"You're shaking." Wolfe grabbed his free hand.

Fortunately his long sleeved shirt hid his tattoo. Buying shirts a bit too big was important in this line of work, especially when dealing with immortals who were aware of Watchers. Murray looked at his hand. Wolfe was right; he was shaking, but not for the reason the immortal believed. "I'll be fine in a minute."

"Is this your car?"

"Yes." Murray backed away from it, stumbling, misdirecting Wolfe's eyes so he could put the knife away. "Maybe I could impose on you to drive me home. I live just out of Paris, if it isn't any trouble."

"Is there someone at home to take care of you?"

"Yes," Murray lied. "The keys are in the ignition."

"Let me help you into the car." Wolfe made a grab for Murray's left arm.

"No, I can do it." Murray backed away, not wanting Wolfe to get too close. He didn't want to take the chance that Wolfe would feel his gun. That would be a little hard to explain.

Murray made it into the passenger seat, with some exaggerated fumbling, and Wolfe slid behind the wheel. Murray gave him directions to his rented chateau and rested his head against the car door.

Slowly, Wolfe navigated his way along the increasingly crowded streets. Then St. Julien Le Pauvre loomed in front of Murray. Darius' church. Tears filled Murray's eyes as he thought about the priest's murder and his resultant break with Horton.

March 1993, Seacouver

Murray took the drink handed him by Melanique de Cambriol. He was seated on a divan in an apartment owned by James Horton. A large group of Watchers had descended upon their leader's residence to plan the next year's activities. Maximillian Wendall had brought a packet of papers describing their past year's kills. It was an impressive number. Murray felt a glow of satisfaction as he sipped his whiskey and contemplated his own role in ridding the world of evil.

Dan Geiger sat down next to him. "Heard you helped take out Kuentz just before Christmas."

"Yes. It didn't go exactly as planned."

Dan laughed. "That's an understatement. Having a neighbor call the police on you was bad enough, but to have it happen before you took his head--"

"It *was* tense, listening to the sirens coming closer, knowing we had little time."

"Whose idea was it to start the fire?"

"Mine. We had to do something. The wife was unconscious from the beating the bastard had given her. Not only did we have to get her out, but we had to cover our own tracks."

"I'm surprised they let you save the wife."

Murray stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"She was already deranged. Nothing was likely to restore her sanity. Kuentz had tortured her for close to a year before you killed him. I'm just surprised that you weren't ordered to leave her to burn, that's all."

Murray couldn't believe what he was hearing. Dan and he had worked together a few times before. Why hadn't he recognized the streak of callousness in him? Thank God, the others didn't share it. It would make them no better than the evil they were trying to destroy.

Dan must have felt Murray's sudden coldness since Dan gave him a quick look then got up. A platter of stuffed mushrooms was passed around, but Murray had lost his appetite. Ricco Belson took the vacated seat. The two men acknowledged each other. Murray had worked with him on the Hawaiian execution and they each shared a mutual respect for the other's skills. However, Mr. Belson was too high up in the hierarchy for them to be considered friends.

"Can I have your attention?" James Horton stood, gesturing to include them all. "Miss de Cambriol is going to be passing out a list of immortals that we will be focusing on for the rest of the year. Look it over."

Talk resumed as everyone received their paper. Murray looked at the names and nodded at the ones he recognized.

"Murray," Mr. Horton began talking again. "I want you to start watching Korda. He's in Paris right now. Rollins, I'm changing your assignment to Steven Keane who's in Devonshire."

Murray tuned Mr. Horton out after he had received his assignment. Korda? He needed to do some research on this guy.

"…I'll need volunteers. This won't be an easy job." Mr. Horton kept talking. "Darius is a tricky bastard. He's been a warlord, and now hides behind the church--waiting for the time when he can come out again, take the last head and then rule humanity. We won't let that happen."

Many of the people around him were cheering, but Murray was stunned. Darius, the priest? Horton was proposing they murder the priest? This didn't sound right. Every single immortal they had executed had been evil. They'd been guilty of murder, torture, or done some other heinous crime within the last decade. But, Darius? He hadn't killed anyone in over fifteen hundred years.

Murray looked around the room. Everyone was in agreement with Mr. Horton. He fidgeted in his seat. This was wrong. Very wrong, but he didn't know what to do.

He wasn't sure how he made it through the rest of the meeting. His mind was in a state of shock. Every single thing Mr. Horton had ever told him, he had believed implicitly. Immortals fought each other to rule the earth. That in itself was a scary thought. The idea that an evil immortal could win was enough to petrify him. That was why he had joined with Mr. Horton, to prevent that from happening. But, how could they help mankind by murdering Darius?

Present-June 1999

"Are you in pain?" Wolfe asked.

Murray jerked back into the present. "A little, I guess." The church was long gone. Murray felt a twinge of conscience. What he was doing now was also wrong, but necessary. Besides, Wolfe wouldn't be permanently hurt, just maybe a little scared, Murray rationalized to himself.

"Are we getting close?" Wolfe asked. "I didn't realize you lived this far out of Paris.

"We're just about there." Murray directed him to the chateau and up the long drive.

Wolfe whistled as he drove. "This is quite a place. You must have tons of people working there."

Just me, Murray thought, but answered evasively, "It does take a lot of people to run a place like this."

A semicircular driveway brought them up to the main entrance. Murray slipped his hand into his pocket and clutched his gun. Nervousness made sweat bead on his forehead. Wolfe cast him a quick look of concern as he parked the car. Silently asking God to forgive him, Murray raised the gun and fired. The immortal's face registered disbelief, betrayal--then the blankness of death.

Murray jumped out of the car and wrestled a wheel chair out of the trunk. It took all of his strength to get Wolfe's dead weight into the chair and then push it into the house. He pumped a few more rounds into him as they entered the elevator that had been installed for the previous owner. After they ascended to the second floor, he pushed the chair into the room he had readied for his reluctant guest.

While he was handcuffing Wolfe's wrists to the bedposts, he saw that the immortal was coming around. Stopping for a moment, he emptied some more lead into Wolfe. Then Murray cuffed his ankles to the reinforced footboard. When he was sure Wolfe was secure, he stepped back to admire his work. It was a good thing that he'd read Richie Ryan's chronicle last year. This was a great idea. It kept the immortal from escaping, yet didn't do him any harm.

The first part of his plan had worked like a charm. Wolfe was safe in his possession. Taking a deep breath, he went to the room he was using, took a quick shower and changed his clothes. He had felt grimy from the morning's exertions. Then he went to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. Carrying the mug into the library, he sat at his desk and began to reflect on what he had done. He hadn't anticipated how guilty he'd feel after betraying Wolfe's trust. Murray consoled himself with logic. There had been no other way.

Murray took out an old Adidas shoebox out of a desk drawer, opened it reverently, and removed a red velvet bundle. After contemplating the bundle in silence for several moments, he tilted it, spilling a multitude of crystalline stones onto the desk's surface. He knew that when the full complement was present, they would grant the owner eternal life. He possessed all but one. Amanda had the last, and Wolfe would help him get it.

Seemingly of its own volition, Murray's hand reached down and selected one of the fragments. Its faceted surface shattered the lone beam from the desk lamp into all the colors of the spectrum. He lightly caressed the crystal with one finger, disrupting some hues and creating others, mesmerized by the display.

Suddenly a beam of pure white light raced from the crystal and bounced off a book resting on a shelf. The irony of the selection made him smile. It was one of his personal journals--the years surrounding his meeting with James Horton and his initiation into the renegade band. Murray glanced down at the transparent stones. What would James Horton think of them? Better yet, what would James Horton think if he knew what Murray meant to do with them? Horton was probably turning in his grave.

Murray shook his head. Why was he letting Horton wreak havoc with his psyche now? He needed to concentrate on his plan. Yet, as he gazed at the scattered stones, his mind wandered. He could picture the crystal as it had been, three and a half years ago, sitting on the red velvet cloth, buried deep within Watcher Headquarters.

March 1996, Paris

"I wouldn't touch that, if I were you," said a voice from behind him.

Murray pulled his hand back and looked over his shoulder. A man was leaning against the wall, gazing at him curiously. He had a notepad in his hand and appeared to be sketching the object, which was nestled in red velvet. His sandy-brown hair was sticking up at odd angles, as though his hand had slid through it numerous times.

"They look so--" Murray paused, trying to think of an adequate adjective.

"Beautiful? Fascinating? Enticing?" the man finished for him.

"Yeah. All of them, I guess." Murray took another long look at the crystal, then turned to the other man. "John Murray," he introduced himself.

"Adam Pierson," the man replied with a slight smile.

"Why can't I touch it?"

"I think it's wired. When anything comes in contact, it sounds an alarm, calls security, or something like that. You new here?"

"Yes. Just got into Paris last night. My immortal owns a couple of clubs, and divides his time between them."

"Who is it?"

"Korda."

"Oh." Nothing else was forthcoming.

Murray shifted his weight to his left foot. His eyes involuntarily strayed back to pieces of the Methuselah Stone. The current Paris division leader, Nathan Stern, had found it several years ago. Stern had been assigned to Luther, a former student of Rebecca Horne's. Luther had decided that he wanted all the pieces, so he had begun taking the heads of all of her students. He met his downfall when he tried for Amanda. The female immortal had some powerful friends who had helped her defeat Luther, and walk away with one crystal still in her possession. Stern had retrieved the other pieces and brought them back to Headquarters, where they had remained under tight security ever since. Murray felt privileged that he could actually view such a relic.

"Did you come just to see the crystals?" Pierson said, interrupting his train of thought.

"Uh, no. I'm supposed to check in with Mr. Stern. Do you know where he is?"

"His office is up on the third floor."

"Uh, yeah, right. Thank you, Mr. Pierson." Murray started to leave. When he reached the door, he turned back. "Who's *your* assignment?"

"I'm in research," Pierson said casually, then added, "The Methos project."

"You think there's a connection between Methos and the Methuselah stone?"

"I'm looking," he replied ambiguously.

Murray nodded and then continued on his way.

Nathan Stern was the CEO of the International Asset Corporation, which was a front for the Watchers. His true job was heading their Paris division. The sprawling stone fortress, which was thought by outsiders to house a financial institution, was in fact a hub for a network of field agents and researchers. It was also home to a treasure trove of artifacts and archives.

The interview with Mr. Stern went well. Murray learned the society had opened a local bank account for him and a woman named Celeste Minue had agreed to help Watch Korda while he got settled. Murray was sure that his sojourn in Paris would last at least a month if not longer. He already had a flat, shared with another male Watcher that they occupied--separately or together--whenever their immortals came to Paris.

As he was descending the stairs, another Watcher was coming up. As they came closer, Murray recognized Dan Geiger. What a coincidence. Was he still active in the killing-of-immortals business? Murray was sure that the main band had been eradicated, but if there were some continued activity, then Dan would know about it. For a mousy fellow, Dan knew everything that was going on. Was there a cell still operating in Paris? Murray would have to be very careful not to get involved.

"Good to see you, John," Dan said cordially.

"Dan. You look well. What brings you to Paris?"

"Amanda. I've been Watching her for a while now. Or at least I *was*."

"What happened?"

Dan looked pissed. "Stern's pulled me off."

That explained the sullen scowl. "A new assignment?" Murray asked tentatively.

"Not even close. You see, Amanda and Duncan MacLeod caught me hanging around," Dan explained.

"Were you scared?" Being caught was one of Murray's greatest fears.

"Hell, yes! There's no telling how immortals are going to react when threatened."

"Threatened? They felt threatened when they saw you loitering?"

"Not exactly. You see, Amanda's had someone stalking her. I guess I made her a little jumpy."

"You must have convinced them of your innocence, since you're still alive."

A gloating smile spread over Dan Geiger's face. "Guess I did."

"Did you happen to see who's stalking her? Maybe another immortal is hunting, and using mortal helpers."

"No, I didn't see anyone. But, believe me, I'll be keeping my eyes peeled."

For some reason, Murray detected a double meaning in his fellow Watcher's words. Perhaps Geiger did know the identity of the stalker and wasn't ready to reveal it. Murray was sure that it wasn't Korda, so it was none of his business.

"Gotta run." Geiger stuck out his hand, which Murray grasped in a goodbye shake. "Stern wants to see me. Keep in touch. We'll have dinner together some night."

"Sounds good. Bye, Dan."

At the foot of the stairs, Murray started to walk past the room where he'd seen the crystal, but he felt an irresistible urge to look at it one more time. Was Pierson still there? Hovering next to the closed door, he heard two muffled voices. Then they rose in anger.

"You can't just come in here and ransack the archives for your own personal amusement."

"Alexa is dying, Joe. I can't sit around and do nothing."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I can't tell you. Why don't you go Watch MacLeod and Amanda? That's why you're in Paris, isn't it?"

"I told you, Mac needs my help in something."

"I can't believe you came flying halfway around the world because MacLeod has a little problem. He's a big boy, let him solve it himself."

"Maybe it involves more than just him? Amanda--" the voice became quieter. "You damn hypocrite. It's easy to tell me to ignore him when he asks for my help. I noticed that you didn't hesitate to help after he took that Dark Quickening. You even left Alexa and took him to that holy spring or whatever."

"You've made your point. Go help them. But leave me alone so I can get back to my studies."

Murray heard Dawson grunt and then heard his cane slam against the floor as he headed for the door. Murray quickly backpedaled so that it appeared that he was just coming down the stairs.

Wasn't that interesting? Dark Quickening? What the hell was that? Could it be the opposite of the "good" quickening that Darius had taken all those years ago? He needed to read up on that. And why the hell couldn't Pierson use the archives anyway he wished? He *was* in research. Murray risked a glance through the cracked door and saw Pierson slumped over a couple of books. Aside from him, the room was empty. Not wanting to talk to Pierson again Murray decided to get settled in his flat first, and then catch up with Korda.

Murray met with Celeste Minue, who agreed to split time watching Korda. Her assignment had recently lost his head, and she didn't want to leave Paris just yet. This was convenient for Murray. They agreed that he'd Watch Korda, giving Minue a chance to sleep, and then she'd take over in the morning.

Murray entered Korda's club and sat in the back, sipping his beer. The immortal spent most of his time sequestered in his office, while his latest bimbo ran back and forth with drinks and food. At last he came out and went to the bar, where he conversed with the patrons and actually seemed cordial. This was probably the first night in a long time that he hadn't slugged someone.

After the bar closed, Murray returned to his flat. He knew Korda was either sleeping or screwing his bimbo. Same as always.

Murray made himself a salad, and then went to bed. As he was about to drift off, he remembered the conversation between Pierson and Dawson. Maybe he ought to run by the Quai de la Tournelle tomorrow and see the younger Highlander in person. He wondered about the problem Dawson had mentioned.

The phone woke him the next morning. Minue had connected with Korda who was practicing with his sword and a fan. She had been surprised to see the fan, so Murray had to give her a little lesson on how that piece of battle equipment came to be. Properly impressed, she said goodbye and left Murray to go back to sleep. But, he couldn't.

Getting out of bed, he showered and then made his way to the barge. Stopping by a little café on the way, he bought some coffee and a croissant. There was a stone wall on the bank of the Seine on the opposite side of MacLeod's barge. Propping himself against the wall, he sat and enjoyed his breakfast, while still keeping his eye on the area using his Watcher-issued binoculars. Much to his surprise he saw Dan Geiger up on one of the bridges, with his own glasses trained on the barge. So, Amanda must be inside. With a little smile, Murray took another bite of his breakfast.

Murray sat there sipping his coffee and enjoying the morning, when he saw a commotion out of the corner of his eye. Bringing his glasses up, he saw Stern yelling at Geiger up on that bridge. That was interesting. How did Stern find out about Geiger still watching Amanda? Murray hadn't recognized any other Watchers in the area, so no one could have told on him. What if Stern had come on his own? Murray couldn't remember the last time a regional Head had taken the time to Watch a particular immortal on his own. It just wasn't done. They had others working for them who did the leg work. Something big must be going down with Amanda. Maybe it even had something to do with the famed crystal. Now Murray's curiosity was piqued. He needed to find out the answer to all this.

He slowly made his way over to the bridge and then proceeded to follow Geiger. Would he go back to Headquarters? Or somewhere else? Keeping a large distance between him and his quarry, Murray walked towards the garment district. Inside a boutique, Geiger met with another man and they went to a restaurant. They sat, drinking wine and nibbling on something, as Geiger diagrammed instructions on a piece of paper. Every so often, the other man would nod. Geiger straightened up in his chair and drained his wine. Pulling out his wallet, he threw some bills on the table and left the diagram with other man.

Murray continued following Geiger back to Headquarters. Waiting outside an additional thirty minutes, he then entered. There was no sign of his fellow Watcher. With a mental shrug, he went back into the Directors' Gallery where the crystal was kept. Much to his surprise he saw Joe Dawson, who turned to look as Murray walked in.

"John Murray." He held out his hand.

Dawson smiled, as he took it in a firm grip. "Joe Dawson."

"Yeah, I know." Murray felt almost humble in front of this man. He had trampled the oath, yet he held his head high and believed totally in what he was doing. MacLeod must be something. Often Watchers felt a kinship with their immortals, as long as the immortals weren't evil, like Korda. But not often did one feel confident enough to become friends with them.

"What brings you to Paris?" Dawson asked him, breaking into his thoughts.

"My assignment, Korda. But, I don't want to talk about him. Tell me about Duncan MacLeod."

Dawson stiffened. "What about MacLeod?"

"I don't know. He's a legend. I guess I'm just curious to know what he's like as a man, as friend."

A wide smile crossed the other Watcher's face. "He's the best. Why don't we grab some coffee and relax in the lounge?"

"Okay," Murray agreed with enthusiasm.

For the next two hours, Murray listened as Dawson filled him in on many of the wonderful aspects of the man who was Duncan MacLeod. He was a champion of the underdog. He was a concerned and thoughtful friend. He was a grueling teacher, and according to Amanda a wonderful lover. Once the floodgate of Dawson's mouth was opened, all kinds of things spilled forth. After the deluge, Murray had to sit back and let it all sink in. It seemed that for once the press was understating the facts. Dawson referenced some chronicles for Murray to look up for more stories. The best ones -- he was informed -- were the ones that contained Duncan's kinsman, Connor MacLeod, or Hugh Fitzcairn. Yet, not once did Dawson mention the Dark Quickening.

Murray decided to do as Dawson had suggested and research Duncan MacLeod's past. Murray found several volumes and settled in for an evening's read. He was to meet Minue at midnight at Korda's club, so he had lots of time. One of the libraries on the second floor had the particular volume Murray had been looking for. It dealt with Fitzcairn and MacLeod and some Parisian nobleman's daughter. Fitzcairn's Watcher was the author, so Murray hoped it would give an unbiased account.

Suddenly an alarm went off, jerking him to wakefulness. The volume tumbled to the floor as he stood up. Stern ran by the room.

"What's up, Mr. Stern?" Murray asked, following him.

"Someone's trying to steal the Methuselah Stone."

All sleepiness left him. Stern removed a pistol from his jacket and kept the gun at his side. When they got to the Directors' Gallery, Stern instructed him to stay put, while he checked inside. Keeping guard outside, Murray looked around, hoping to see someone else.

Pierson walked down the hall. He seemed casual, but he was taking exaggerated slow breaths. Murray's internal alarms went off. Every move the man made seemed deliberately casual.

"What's going on?" Pierson asked sleepily. Still those deep slow breaths, as if he had been running and didn't want anyone to know it.

"Someone tried to steal an artifact."

"Do you need any help?"

Just then Stern came out. "It's still there. We'll have to keep it in the vault from now on. Security will have to be heightened." Then he turned to Pierson. "What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

"I was working when I heard the alarm go off, so I came down to investigate."

Very normal and even explained the breathlessness. But, Murray didn't buy it. The man was definitely up to something.

Another Watcher, Arthur Vizcarrondo, burst into the room. "Excuse me, sir. Amanda Darrieux was seen through one of the cameras, hopping over the west wall. What do you want us to do?"

"Nothing now. I need to think," Stern replied. He waved his arm around, dismissing everyone.

Murray made his way back upstairs and put the chronicle back on the shelf. It was past midnight, and he still had to meet up with Minue.

The next day, Murray spent the whole time tailing Korda. Minue needed some sleep, as did he, but he couldn't complain because he chose not to sleep on his down time. The day went by slowly, giving him a lot of time to think.

Despite Dawson's bias, Murray believed MacLeod to be everything the other Watcher said he was, and Murray was impressed. But, the question of Amanda still troubled him. Cameras didn't lie, and they had photographed Amanda leaving Headquarters last night. Somehow, though, Murray believed that Pierson had something to do with what happened. Did he surprise her in the attempt and then trigger the alarm? If that was the case, then why didn't he want to take the credit? Amanda was a thief by trade; she shouldn't have been caught by an alarm. She should have known how to dismantle them. Around and around it all went.

At dinner time, Minue came to relieve him. He made his way to Headquarters, hoping that Pierson would be around. He seemed to be key to all this, and Murray wanted to question him. The most likely place would be that front room where Pierson had his desk set up -- researching Methos' connection to the Methuselah Stone. If there really was a connection. Maybe Adam Pierson wasn't *researching* the crystal at all. What if he was just wanted the Stone?

Murray came to the room and heard a low murmur inside. The door wasn't closed, so it wasn't like he was intentionally eavesdropping. He peeked around. Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson were arguing once again. Was this a daily habit?

Joe's voice became shriller. "You and Amanda will never get away with it."

"Maybe not, Joe. But, at least I will have tried."

A book slammed shut, and Murray heard footsteps getting closer. He backed up and hid in an antechamber, peeking out from around the doorframe. Pierson stalked by him, and then a lumbering Joe Dawson followed him out. Murray quickly pulled his head back, so Dawson wouldn't see him. The noise of a cane striking the floor came closer and then receded.

Present-June 1999-The Chateau outside Paris

Wait, the banging was coming from upstairs. Murray scooped up the crystals, wrapped them in the red velvet, and placed the bundle back in the shoebox. With an affectionate pat, he closed the drawer and proceeded upstairs to his reluctant guest.

The long winding staircase led to the second floor, which contained six bedrooms. Two were sitting empty, with only dust and cobwebs covering the walls and floors. One room was his. It held a bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe. His clothes were the only personal items in the room. Anything important was found in the library downstairs. Of the three remaining rooms, one was being used to house his guest, the others were furnished, but stood empty.

A muffled shout spurred his feet. Wolfe was getting angry. Murray opened the door to collide with the enraged glare of one furious immortal. With deliberate slowness, he closed the door and walked over towards the bed, dragging a chair behind him. Murray kept staring as he sat down.

"Hello, Mr. Wolfe."

The immortal's eyes became slits, resembling the animal his name was derived from.

"I know you won't believe me, but I have no intention of harming you." Murray tried to reassure him. "When I have what I want, you'll be released. If you remain calm, I'll take off your gag so you can talk."

There was no response from the prisoner.

With a shrug, Murray ripped the tape off Wolfe's face. "If you try and move, the cuffs will just hurt your wrists and ankles. Then I'll kill you with my gun and rebind you." Murray stood up with the tape in his hand.

The immortal stared at him and then said, "You're not as frail as you made yourself out to be."

The observation was obviously rhetorical, so Murray ignored it. "Do you have questions for me?"

"You a Watcher?" he growled.

"Yes, yours in fact."

"Why'd you do it? What do you want with me?"

"I don't want anything from you. I just needed you in my possession, so to speak."

"You're after Amanda?"

"Very good, Mr. Wolfe. Yes, I am using you as bait to get Amanda here. But, I assure you that it's not Amanda I really want, but something she owns. Maybe you've seen it, a clear crystal that she wears around her neck?"

Wolfe didn't respond.

"No matter. She has it and I want it."

"She'll never do it. That crystal means more to her than anything."

"More than your life?" Murray paused, quirking his eyebrow. "Then again, you haven't been a very grateful friend. She gives you the gift of immortality and you respond with scorn. Fury--"

"What makes you think you know what I'm feeling?" Wolfe broke in, fighting against his restraints.

"I really don't care what you're feeling." Murray tried to inflect as much coldness in his voice as he could

Wolfe settled back onto the bed. Murray knew Wolfe hadn't given up. He was a fighter. Becoming immortal couldn't have changed his whole personality.

"She won't exchange her crystal for me." Wolfe sounded sure.

"Yes, she will. She's done it for someone else."

"When?" Wolfe looked interested.

"Several years ago, the Watchers had all but one of the pieces, as I do now. It sat on a pedestal for all of us to look at. Several researchers devoted a lot of time to looking up ancient references to the Methuselah Stone. I think Adam Pierson devoted the most time and came the closest." Murray smiled, thinking of the ancient scroll downstairs.

"The closest to what?"

"The answer. Anyway, he joined with Amanda and tried to steal the crystals, and the Watchers caught him. Amanda, of course, got away. Nathan Stern and the rest suggested a trade: Pierson for the crystals."

"Were you a part of this Stern's group?"

"Nope. I just watched."

"So, you got it instead. Did you kill them all to get it?"

Murray smiled. "I didn't even have to get involved. I just watched how MacLeod outsmarted everyone, saving both Amanda and Pierson. Unfortunately for them, the crystals were dumped into the Seine."

"Which you recovered."

Murray nodded.

"I'm confused," Wolfe continued. "Is Pierson a Watcher or an immortal?"

"Good question. I think he's both. First he was a Watcher; then somehow died and MacLeod took him as a student. That was how Pierson became friends with Amanda. Or maybe Amanda seduced him to get inside Watcher headquarters to get the Stone. I don't know."

"How did you get the crystals?"

"Dove into the River and fished them out," Murray purposely minimized the difficulty of the endeavor. "There was a fight, the crystals fell out of Geiger's hand, and the pieces fell into the Seine. The only ones who saw this were the immortals and myself. They walked away, taking only one piece, the one Amanda still wears."

"What makes you think you'll do any better than Geiger did in getting Amanda's piece?"

"My plan is better."

Wolfe laughed. "Amanda has so many tricks up her sleeve that even I can't second guess her."

"I don't have that many requirements for the exchange. The only things I ask for are that she brings both her crystal and MacLeod."

Wolfe was silent, yet an accusing look glittered in his eyes. "You're going to kill MacLeod."

Murray started to deny the charge, then thought better of it. Would he jinx his plan by telling too much of it? "If it comes to that," he lied.

Wolfe snorted. "Amanda's told me a little about Rebecca's magic crystal and how it brings immortality to mortals."

"Yes. It's also supposed to bring invincibility to the immortal that has it." Murray wasn't sure if Amanda had informed Wolfe of that piece of lore or not.

"The crystal is that important to you?"

"To my plans."

Wolfe snorted. "You remind me of Gollum."

Murray paused. "Gollum?"

"From the Lord of the Rings. He wanted the ring of gold and would stop at nothing to possess it. Once it was in his possession, he couldn't let it go. It became an obsession to the point that everything else in his life didn't matter, only the ring."

Murray stopped to consider the immortal's words, or rather the warning. At first he thought Wolfe meant that Amanda would never let it go, but that wasn't true. Nick Wolfe was talking about him. Did Wolfe have a point? Once Murray had all the crystals, would he become like Gollum? "I'll make sure that it doesn't happen to me."

Wolfe snorted again. "Yeah, I bet Gollum thought the same thing. He hid in a cave, away from everybody and just admired his jewelry," Wolfe said snidely, then continued. "Kind of like this place. Is there anyone else here?"

"No." Murray had to stop and think. Wolfe was confusing him. He was alone here because others would try and stop him. Then Murray straightened. What Wolfe thought was immaterial, only the plan mattered.

"Can I get you something? Water? A sandwich?" Murray asked, remembering his manners.

"Water."

Murray poured a glass from the pitcher sitting on the dresser and brought the glass up to his captive's lips. When the water was gone he sat the glass back on the nightstand. "I'm going to start supper. Why don't you take a little nap." He didn't give his captive time to respond.

He closed the door and headed downstairs. Once in the kitchen, he took out his electric frying pan and began making a stew. Mindlessly he cut vegetables, then the beef, and put them on to cook.

After his preparations were completed, he went back into the library and opened the drawer. His hands were half-way to the box when Wolfe's comment flashed in his mind. His hand made a fist, and he quickly withdrew it. "I am not Gollum, and the crystal is not like the gold ring," he said aloud to himself. But, the seed had been planted and he was wary. Slowly he closed the desk drawer. Maybe it was time to get the show on the road. He picked up the phone and dialed MacLeod's residence and left a message on his answering machine.

"This is a message for Amanda. Tell her that I have, in my possession, a student of hers. Nick Wolfe. She has in her possession a piece of Rebecca's crystal. I suggest a trade." He disconnected. A smile lit his face. MacLeod would have to become involved now. Interfering was in his blood.

Murray got up from his chair and went over to one of the bookshelves. He removed a rolled-up paper from behind several pictures, a convenient but not too obvious hiding place. Taking it over to the desk, he unrolled it and placed paperweights on each of the corners.

The large piece of paper had diagrams and glyphs from an ancient culture. It was the same scroll that he had stolen from Pierson's residence three years ago. The artistic beauty was enough to capture any eye, but the message, the instruction, was mind-blowing. Murray had studied the scroll tirelessly back when he was fishing the stones out of the river. Each day he'd come back to his flat, clean the crystals until they shone, and then compare them to the picture on the scroll. As the number of pieces increased, he'd spend hours learning how to assemble them correctly. The scroll definitely stated that only if the ball was put together in the correct way would it fuse irrevocably with its possessor. If the configuration differed, the stone would still grant the same powers, but it would remain a solid object.

Murray prayed that the scroll depicted the truth. He ran his hand over the parchment in appreciation. The last drawing on the paper showed the ball of energy entering the figure of a person and giving that person an aura of energy. This was what Murray believed he was meant to do: find the final home for the Methuselah Stone.

March 1996-Paris

What Murray needed to do was to take a look at Pierson's notes, and that meant breaking into his home. Logging onto the computer, he found Pierson's address. Leaving Headquarters, he took a taxi to the address. He wished now that he hadn't actually had a conversation with Pierson. It would make it more difficult to remain anonymous on the street. Murray bought some dinner and ate it while watching the house where Pierson was renting a studio on the second floor. Through the window, Murray could see Pierson sitting at a desk and writing. At just about midnight, Pierson got up and went to change. He walked by the window and messed with his computer. Pierson was dressed in black. A car pulled up. The windows went dark and soon Murray could see Pierson coming down. A feminine laugh came out of the car as Pierson jumped in. Amanda!

Murray waited for an additional fifteen minutes, before he deemed it safe enough. With no outside light to advertise his presence, he took assured steps to the building. His leather gloves prevented fingerprints as he opened the door and waltzed inside. The staircase was off to the right, which he ascended two at a time. His heart was pumping double time, from both the exertion and nervousness. Pierson's door was marked with his name. Murray found picking the lock a breeze. He opened the door, found the light switch, and flicked it on. The eclectic room held him in awe. Directly in front of him, leaning against a support beam, was a gigantic chair. The back must have been six feet tall. It was made of wood and was carved with figures and glyphs. Murray stepped in, closed the door and went to examine the chair. A huge vase made of pottery sat on a small table to the right of the chair. A bed was also on that side of the room. Towards the left, a couch, bookshelves and a desk were placed as a sort of living room. The desk was right beside the window. Murray prayed that Pierson wouldn't come back and see his shadow through the blinds.

Taking a deep breath, he began to rummage through the extensive pile of papers and books littered upon the semi-circular desk. There was one chronicle labeled Rebecca. He flipped through the pages and noticed diagrams and descriptions of both the crystal and some of the students she had bequeathed them to. It even contained a page devoted to the legend, which Pierson had bookmarked. Most of the papers were notes, obviously written by Pierson, with references to immortals who had dealings with the crystal. Some were just chronicles where the crystal had been mentioned.

Then Murray picked up a scroll and carefully unrolled it. He stared in wonder at the rich colors decorating it. A fine-tipped pen had drawn elaborate glyphs and diagrams upon the faded parchment. From top to bottom the pictures described the Methuselah Stone and how it was to be assembled. Each individual crystal had a glyph denoting something in particular about it. Exactly what it meant, Murray hadn't a clue. The last diagram on the page was of the assembled crystal transmuting into a ball of energy and being absorbed by a human. Murray's body tightened in excitement. Pierson had documentation that the crystal wasn't just a legend, but that it might be real. Rolling up the ancient scroll, he slipped it inside his coat. This scroll was the key to it all. Carefully he let himself out, making sure not to leave any traces from his presence except the absence of the scroll. That he couldn't help.

After a quick stop at his flat to drop off the scroll, he returned to Headquarters. He was sure that Pierson and Amanda were going to break in that night. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he had to prevent the crystal's theft. Amanda had the last piece, and he couldn't guess the repercussions of the assembled Methuselah Stone in their possession.

Letting himself in from a side door, to which he had the key as did all Watchers, he crept through the silent halls. The crystal was kept in the vault on the other side of the building, so he had a long way to traverse. Taking a roundabout route, he finally came to the room, where he heard what sounded like Pierson calling a cat. Murray shook his head, trying to clear it of such a preposterous idea. He flattened himself against the wall when he heard more voices and footsteps, coming towards him.

"Come in behind me. Don't let them escape," Stern whispered to Geiger.

Both Watchers ran past him. Stern had his gun ready. Murray stiffened his body in case anyone came out his way. He wouldn't let either Pierson or Amanda escape with the Methuselah Stone. Then they'd have the whole, completed Stone, and that was too much power for only one person.

Then a shot rang out and Pierson cried out for Amanda to get away. Murray was ready for her. He saw a flash as she came out the door, and he stepped towards her. Their eyes met for a second, and then she smashed the crystal against his head, sending him falling into oblivion.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, he wasn't sure, he woke up to the sound of voices. Stern and Geiger were arguing about Pierson.

"…Immortal among us. Who knows us. It's our worst fear." Murray recognized Stern's voice. "There's only one way I can be sure of you. Give me the sword. Now!" Stern's voice sounded agitated.

Who was Stern talking about? Murray knew that Geiger was in there. It couldn't be him. That left Pierson. Murray's brain was still a bit scrambled, but he could have sworn that they were saying that Pierson was an immortal.

There were some murmurs, then Stern said, "…if you don't have the stomach for it. Get out!"

That didn't sound right. Dan Geiger had killed immortals before. Why would he be hesitant to chop off Pierson's head? Geiger must want something from Pierson. The voices grew louder once more.

"If Luther was right, then it's a far greater danger than he is." Geiger told Stern, sounding almost frantic in his effort to save Pierson.

"…have changed the Game forever by our interference," Stern responded. "We've got to get it back."

"She'll never give it to us."

Murray leaned in closer to better hear what they were saying. It sounded like Geiger was leading Stern to a particular conclusion.

"Maybe there's something she wants?" Stern asked.

They were talking of a trade--Pierson for the crystal. It actually made a lot of sense. Murray started to get dizzy so he clutched the doorframe.

"What's that?" Stern asked.

Geiger burst out of the room and then called back, "John Murray." Then Geiger turned his attention on him. "What happened?"

"I just got back and was walking down the hall when someone came barreling out of the room and hit me on the head." Murray pulled his hand away from his head and saw a great deal of blood on it.

Stern came out. "Was he in on it?" Stern directed at Geiger.

"Not a chance," Geiger replied. "My friend here would never work with immortals against the Watchers."

Murray relaxed, a little. Geiger was relying on the fact that he had been part of Horton's band a few years ago. Guess that experience had been good for something.

Stern seemed satisfied and dismissed him with a quick, "Clean yourself up."

Geiger patted him on the back. "I think you should go home and get some rest."

"I agree," Murray responded. He desperately needed to get out of there and think things through.

He walked out the side door and took the meandering path towards the street to hail a taxi. What he really needed to do was rent a car. He hated depending upon public transportation. Especially when he needed to get home at night. With tired steps, he made it to the road and took the sidewalk down to the corner.

Once back in his flat, he fell onto his bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Nothing else mattered at that time but rest.

The next morning, he rose early because of a racket in the kitchen. His roommate was home. After exchanging some small talk, Hackett agreed to let him borrow his car. Murray was relieved. It would make his life much easier. After grabbing a quick breakfast, he made his way over to MacLeod's barge. There was not a doubt in his mind that Amanda would go there with her prize. Murray had overheard the bit about the trade, and he was curious to see what would happen. Would MacLeod and Amanda actually give up the entire Methuselah Stone in exchange for Pierson, a Watcher who was also immortal?

During the long chilly morning, he cast his eyes upon the barge, hoping to see some kind of activity, while his mind analyzed everything he had learned. There was so much; he didn't know what amazed him more. Pierson was an immortal. Joe Dawson must have known it. He had expressed censure when Pierson was using the archives to discover information about the crystal. Where had the scroll come from? If it belonged to Pierson, why did he need to do more research? If it belonged to the Watchers, how in the hell had he gotten it out? Artifacts that old were never let out of an archive. They had to stay in the library. If the Watchers did own that particular scroll, then there should have been a huge stink about its theft. Yet, Murray had heard nothing.

Movement! MacLeod and Amanda were coming out of the barge, carrying bags of stuff to their car. Murray scanned the area quickly, but couldn't detect any other Watchers covering the area. What were the immortals planning? MacLeod made several trips from the barge to the car. Amanda sat in the front seat with a red velvet mound on her lap. She seemed to be caressing it.

Casually, Murray left his riverside seat and went back to his car. He'd have to follow them and see where the trade was going to take place. After about ten minutes of driving, they ended up at the Nezy-Sur-Seine bridge. A long white picket fence stood at the edge of the road, and Murray found a place behind it in which to keep track of their movements. Even with binoculars, he found it difficult to see exactly what MacLeod was up to. Amanda stayed inside the car, no doubt wanting to spend as much time as possible with the stone that brought invincibility.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye: two additional men, hidden from the immortals' sight, were crouched behind the bridge's struts. Another car pulled up on the bridge. Murray focused his glasses on the car and could make out four people. As they got out, he identified Stern, Geiger, Vizcarrondo, and Pierson. Murray was too far out of range to hear what they were saying. He watched hand gestures and threatening moves, but he still couldn't tell if Stern was winning. Then a shot rang out. Geiger had shot Stern. The other Watchers burst from their hiding places and swamped the bridge. Even from where Murray was hiding, he could tell that Geiger was the new leader. Amanda, who must have gotten out of the car without him seeing, held out the red velvet bundle. Then MacLeod appeared. Murray was getting frustrated at not being able to hear. Should he inch closer?

Suddenly the bridge exploded, and shots rang out. Watchers and immortals were fighting. Murray didn't know what to do. More shots and then Geiger fell off the bridge, preceded by all the pieces of the crystal. Murray felt his body wilt. Was it with relief? No one had the completed Methuselah Stone. Not Geiger and not Amanda. Murray aimed the glasses back on the immortals, and saw that they indeed still had one fragment left; exactly what they had started out with.

Murray sat upon the grass and watched the immortals limp off the bridge. None of them seemed interested in diving into the river for the remaining pieces. For another ten minutes, he just sat there, wondering what to do. He was the only Watcher who knew where the fragments were. But for how long would they remain? Would it be safe to dredge them out again? Would the immortals eventually come back and try? Sirens were sounding in the distance. For the rest of the afternoon, he remained hidden. Police and medical examiners came, took the bodies, retrieved evidence, and were probably clueless as to what had really happened. Murray went home that night, still trying to decide what to do.

Present-June, 1999-The Chateau, Paris

With a sigh, Murray rolled up the paper and returned it to the bookcase. He had better see how Wolfe was faring. Maybe Murray just needed to talk to someone; even if they were a captive audience. He laughed half-heartedly at his pun. Murray took the steps two at a time and entered the bedroom. Wolfe was awake and looking none too pleased.

"Where the hell have you been?" he barked.

"I was putting together some dinner for us. Then I left a message for Amanda."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know. I left it on an answering machine; she wasn't there."

"You called the Sanctuary and no one answered?"

"No-o-o. I left it at MacLeod's place."

Wolfe gritted his teeth. "You seem to be taking a lot of risks bringing MacLeod into all of this. I don't understand how you expect to win."

"Winning is a relative concept," Murray responded thoughtfully.

"Bullshit! You've been a Watcher for what, fifteen or so years? And you're jealous."

"Twenty-eight. I've been a Watcher for twenty-eight years."

Wolfe whistled in false appreciation. "I never would have guessed. That's a long time to watch men and women never age, while you become gray and old."

"You're right, it is a long time to see good men die because of the stupid game. And also see evil men triumph over good men, mortal and immortal alike. I'm sick of it. Good does not always beat evil in a fight. Do you have any idea what will happen to mankind if someone as corrupt as Korda won? I watched that immortal for over four years. I couldn't take it anymore. I have never been so happy in my life as when Amanda took his head."

"And you repay her by stealing her crystal?" Wolfe exploded. "Her link with Rebecca?"

Murray was stunned into silence. "That's not exactly true."

"You think you can do better as an immortal? If *you* become the last, you'll treat mankind *nicely*?"

"I have no intention of being the last. I probably won't make it--"

"If you're not gonna be the last, who. . .ahhh. I'm beginning to see." Wolfe's eyes widened as comprehension set in. "It's MacLeod. You're going to complete the crystal and give it to him."

"Giving it, is a misnomer. He'll have no choice in the matter."

"No choice?" Wolfe looked incredulous.

"If Duncan MacLeod wanted to possess the power of the Methuselah Stone then he wouldn't be worthy. It is precisely because he doesn't want it that he is the right immortal to have it. He is honor personified. He has experienced evil, and managed to overcome it. He treats mortals with respect. If and when he becomes the last, humanity will not suffer, they will continue to live in ignorance of the game and immortals. MacLeod would never play God."

"You're very sure of yourself."

"I've thought of nothing else since I became aware of this power."

"Aren't you a little arrogant to believe that no other immortal deserves to be the last?"

"Maybe," Murray conceded. "I don't care. I've gone through the data files. You're right, there are other immortals who are good, but many of them don't have the sword skills along with honor. MacLeod has both."

"Single-handedly, you're going to make the game null and void. What's the purpose of fighting, if you can't win?"

"You're right. Maybe I'll destroy the 'having to fight' aspect of immortality. I don't know and I don't care. I only want to safeguard humanity against evil."

"It's wrong," Wolfe told him quietly.

Murray jumped to his feet in rage. "Why in the hell do you care? You have no chance in the game. You're lately come into your immortality, and what did you do? You ran scared. And why? Because you say you're mad at Amanda for making the decision for you. For weeks you were the laughingstock of the Watchers. We had bets as to how soon you would lose your head. I bet now that you're missing, everyone just assumes *your* arrogance led you away from safety. So, don't *you* go preaching to me about arrogance." Winded, Murray sat back down, but his eyes were still blazing.

Wolfe remained silent in the bed. Both men stared at the other.

Finally, Murray couldn't stand it any more and he stalked out of the room and down into the kitchen. He stirred the stew, inhaling the rich aroma. Slowly, his heart rate decreased, and a calm settled over him. He knew that he was doing right. No matter how many doubts Wolfe tried to instill in him, he was impervious to them. They would bounce off his resolve, and he would continue his endeavor. The only important thing Wolfe said was about the gold ring. Murray would have to be on his guard. Already he could feel the pull of the crystals to go in and look at them. They were so beautiful. No! MacLeod was the answer, he told himself firmly.

July, 1998-Paris-Three weeks after Ahriman's defeat.

Murray glanced around the sunlit road, and then down the side streets that bordered Le Blues Bar. Nobody was paying him any attention. Despite the fact that it was early in the day, he could hear the sounds from a guitar coming from inside. It had to be Joe Dawson. Murray didn't know anybody else who could get such plaintive chords coming from so beautiful an instrument.

He walked in, let his eyes become adjusted to the low lighting, then looked for the source of the music. Against the wall, behind a table, sat Dawson. There was a bottle of single-malt Scotch sitting in front of him and a guitar on his lap. The other Watcher seemed be unaware of his entrance.

As Murray walked closer, he could smell the alcohol emanating from the table. A shot glass lay tipped to one side and a puddle of the Scotch was soaking into the tablecloth. The music stopped. "Well, well. If it isn't John Murray. It's been awhile." Dawson picked up the bottle and took a swig, but neglected to stand up.

"Hello, Mr. Dawson." It looked like he wasn't as oblivious as Murray had assumed.

"Come join me. Have a drink."

Dawson's words didn't exactly slur, but Murray could see that Dawson was feeling his liquor. Murray eyed the bottle with distaste as the other man tried to hand it to him. "No thanks," he responded through gritted teeth.

Dawson started playing his guitar again. Murray glanced around the club, but no one else seemed to be around. Minor chords followed each other consecutively, without leaving room for anything lighter. The dim lights and the closed curtains accentuated the somber tone.

The guitar ceased wailing. Dawson stood up and with an unsteady gait made his way to the bar. Murray also stood, poised to rush to the other Watcher's aid in case Dawson lost his balance. With a self-assuredness that belied his drunkenness, he found a new bottle and made his way back to the table. Dawson took his seat once more, staring into space. Several minutes passed, then Dawson took a large swig from the new bottle. After wiping his face with hand he turned to Murray and looked unwaveringly at him.

"Have you ever been giving the choice between something you secretly craved with every part of your being and betraying a friend?"

"No," Murray responded tentatively.

"Well, I have." Dawson picked up his guitar once more and pulled some exquisitely melancholy notes from the strings. "Just last month I was offered the gift of my legs. But, there was a catch," he laughed bitterly. "Isn't there always a catch?" Dawson's voice cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and continued. "All I had to do was stop helping MacLeod; to obey my Watcher oath. It was quite simple really. My heart's desire for doing nothing." Dawson bowed his head and pulled some more notes from the guitar. When he looked up again, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I don't understand. What was so hard about not helping MacLeod?" Murray asked. He needed this answer. His whole reason for talking to Dawson had to do with the latest rumors about MacLeod being unhinged, crazy, a man striking at shadows.

"It was a deal with the devil." Dawson took another swallow from the bottle, still lost in his private hell. "I could have my legs back. All I had to do was--," his hand came slamming down on the table; the shot glass rolled off the table and crashed onto the floor, "--nothing!" Dawson squeezed his eyes shut, again. Tears leaked out the sides. Then they snapped open. "But, I had to do something. I pulled the other Watchers from searching for that ancient immortal. I couldn't let them die because they were helping me."

"Was the ancient immortal ever found?" Murray was confused. He didn't think the Highlander was dead. That would have rocked the Watcher community.

"There was no ancient immortal. It was Ahriman. MacLeod wasn't supposed to have help. But, I gave it. I wouldn't put anyone else in danger. But, James had to be stopped and MacLeod was the only one who could do it. He was the champion." Dawson took a deep breath, then grabbed the Scotch.

Murray's mind was trying to process everything Dawson said. The alcohol was making most of what Dawson said convoluted, but there should be grains of truth in there. Who was Ahriman? If he wasn't an ancient immortal, then who -- or maybe what -- was he? Chills rippled down Murray's spine. "Did MacLeod win?" he asked with trepidation.

"You know I had to help. MacLeod needed me. But James didn't like that. He said that he'd give me back my legs, let me fly again. All I had to do was -- nothing." Then Dawson screamed, "Nothing!!!" and flung the bottle against the wall, sending shards of glass and splatters of whisky everywhere.

Murray didn't know what to do. Dawson's agitation didn't seem to have anything to do with MacLeod's death, only with his own legs. MacLeod had to still be alive.

Stepping gingerly around the spilled booze and glass, Murray went around the table and took the guitar from Dawson's arms. "Let me help you home."

"I could have flown!" Dawson's ramblings continued. "James said that he could make me fly again, just like when I was in high school." Tears spilled from his eyes.

Murray helped Dawson to stand. The door to the bar opened, and MacLeod walked in. Murray almost felt overwhelmed in his relief. MacLeod was alive and apparently well. The immortal zeroed in on Dawson and strode over quickly. Murray was nervous that he would lose his anonymity, but MacLeod had eyes only for Dawson.

"Joe," he said softly, full of emotion. "I'll drive you home."

Murray stepped away from Dawson and went behind the bar. He pulled out a broom and made a show of cleaning up the glass and spilled booze.

"Where's your sword?" Dawson asked, regaining some semblance of awareness. "Didn't I give it back to you?" he asked with accusation.

"And I thought you were going to visit Lynn," MacLeod replied.

Murray stopped cleaning. He couldn't help staring. Dawson acted like he hadn't heard what MacLeod had said.

"You need to defend yourself. Just because a sword doesn't work against the devil doesn't mean that other immortals will be afraid of your face," Dawson pleaded.

"I can defend myself, Joe," MacLeod replied, casting a worried glance Murray's way.

Murray was touched by the gentleness in MacLeod's manner towards Dawson. Far from MacLeod being the unhinged maniac that he had heard, it looked as if Dawson was the one unhinged. Murray watched the two men leave the bar. His choice was good. MacLeod was the best immortal. Humanity needed someone like him to be the last; someone caring and responsible. Despite the fact that Murray had never gotten the chance to ask Dawson any of the questions he had wanted, the answers were there in his speech and MacLeod's actions. What ever had happened earlier that year was over, and MacLeod was sound mentally.

The only problem was the lack of sword. Why did Dawson believe that MacLeod wasn't carrying his? To be the best immortal he had to be willing to kill the evil ones. Then Murray thought back to everything he had ever learned about the Highlander. He was the quintessential clan leader, always taking care of the innocents. He'd use the sword again. It was too ingrained for him not to.

Present-June, 1999-The Chateau, Paris

Yes, Murray still believed that he'd made the correct decision. God was smiling on him when the idea of using Nick Wolfe came to him. The time for his plan's completion was coming rapidly. He had to stay focused on his goal and not let Wolfe or the crystal's lure hinder him. Murray picked up the phone in the kitchen and called MacLeod again. This time, someone answered.

"Mr. MacLeod. I left a message earlier for you, did you hear it?"

"Is Nick all right?" MacLeod asked.

"He's fine for the time being. I have him tied to a bed, which is where he'll stay until I have Amanda's crystal. Is she there?"

"Yes, she's here. Who are you?"

"Who I am is of little importance. I want the two of you to come alone. Once I have the last crystal and I join it with the others, I will tell you where Wolfe is. You'll be free to go and rescue him. Do we have a deal?"

"I don't see that we have a choice."

Murray smiled in spite of himself. He could almost hear the wheels turning in MacLeod's head. "I guarantee you, Mr. MacLeod, that I won't harm you or Amanda."

"You just want to be immortal like us."

"I want the crystals." There was a difference. He wondered if MacLeod would pick up on that. "And come alone, just you and Amanda. I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone else getting hurt."

Murray gave them the address of the chateau and hung up. Then he prayed from deep within his soul that everything would turn out as planned. He calculated that it would be at least two hours before the immortals arrived. Plenty of time to eat. He pulled a tray out from under the cabinet. From a drawer, he withdrew a large hunting knife and set that down on the tray as well. Next, he dished out two bowls of stew and grabbed two bottles of beer. Next stop was Wolfe's room. Carefully balancing the tray, he ascended the stairs. Setting the tray on the floor, he opened the door and then carried the dinner inside. The immortal's eyes followed his every move.

"I've brought some dinner. Are you hungry yet?"

"Is she coming?"

Murray smiled. "Yes, they are coming. We have time for a relaxing dinner and even a drink."

Wolfe looked dubious. "You're going to feed me?"

"Unfortunately. I can't trust that you won't try to hurt me. Immortals are very dangerous when trapped."

"What's that, Lesson 101 from your Watcher's school?"

"No. Experience," Murray responded flatly.

With gentle hands, Murray fed his captive and gave him sips from his beer. He also snuck in mouthfuls from his own bowl. The sun began to set, casting shadows in the room. Murray turned on the light.

"What time is it?" Wolfe asked.

"We've got about thirty minutes left."

"Maybe they'll get here earlier."

"Don't worry. I've got everything planned. In a short time you'll be reunited with your Amanda, and everything will be right with the world." His face relaxed in a dreamy softness.

Bending over, Murray picked up the tray and carried it to the door. With his back to Wolfe, he grabbed the knife and walked back to the bed. He looked down on the immortal.

"What?" Wolfe asked suspiciously.

Murray drew the knife up and plunged it into Wolfe's heart. A look of hatred flashed in his eyes before death claimed him and all expression was erased.

"Sorry, Mr. Wolfe. I couldn't have them feeling you and knowing just how close you are."

Murray went back to the tray and carried it downstairs, back to the kitchen. With the knife still in the immortal's heart, Wolfe would stay dead until someone removed it. Using the remaining time, Murray cleaned up the dirty dishes. The clock dinged eight times. After wiping his hands on the towel, he made his way to the front room. His small nine-millimeter gun was sitting on one of the tables. He picked it up and then stood by the window, peeking through the drapes, waiting.

He had told MacLeod to come at eight and it was now half past that hour. Where were they? He leaned against the wall, he crossed his arms, he stood on one foot and then the other. Soon, his fidgeting turned to pacing. The crystal pieces were still wrapped within the velvet in the shoebox, but rested on the top of his desk. His gun was warm in his hand. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his heart thudded in his chest. Minutes ticked by ever so slowly.

A car pulled onto the long driveway. Murray's damp palm tightened around the pistol. This was it. He tried to slow his breathing, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. A car door slammed. Murray left the front room and made his way to the large front door. A bell rang. He opened the massive door.

The two immortals stood on the porch waiting. Amanda looked as uptight as he, whereas MacLeod stood patiently. Murray felt himself relax slightly. The Highlander was wearing a button-down shirt with his neck open. Bare skin was a necessity for the crystal's energy to enter the human body. Murray made a point of letting them see the gun he carried, but didn't raise it in a threatening manner.

"Come in, Mr. MacLeod. Ms. Der -- . Uh, I'm sorry, Ms. Montrose."

"Is Nick okay?" Amanda asked immediately.

Murray's mind flashed on Nick still upstairs in the bed with a knife buried in his heart. "He's fine, for now. As soon as I have your crystal piece, I'll tell you where to find him."

She gave him a doubtful look, but they both entered his chateau. It was so important that things remained calm and controlled. He motioned them into the library and toward the two chairs facing his desk. "Please sit down. Would you like some coffee? A drink?"

"Enough with the pleasantries. We want to see Nick Wolfe," MacLeod said forcefully.

"Do you have the crystal?" Murray countered.

The two immortals exchanged glances. Murray held his breath, but remained outwardly calm.

"Yes." Amanda pulled the crystal out from beneath her blouse.

Murray stepped away from his desk towards a table. "Put it here," he requested. He wasn't dumb enough to get too close. His gun was snug in his grip and visible to his guests.

Again the immortals exchanged looks. Then Amanda stood and walked over to the table. Carefully, she undid a clasp and placed the crystal and chain down on the table.

Now was the time he had to stay alert. It was two against one. Murray was afraid to shoot Amanda because then MacLeod would become doubly dangerous. More handcuffs would have to suffice. Granted, with one tug they could probably break the chair, but it would give him valuable seconds to defend himself. Deliberately, he walked on the opposite side of the room, away from the crystal, and came up on MacLeod's left side.

"Put your hand on the arm of the chair," Murray ordered.

The Highlander acquiesced. Quickly, Murray cuffed the immortal's left wrist to the chair.

"Are you going to take my head?" MacLeod asked sarcastically.

"No, Mr. MacLeod. I much prefer your head attached."

Next he went over to Amanda. Without him asking, she put her two hands on the arms of the chair. He cuffed her left wrist. Neither immortal tugged on their restraints, but continued to watch him closely. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out the scroll. He wanted them to see it.

"I have here an ancient accounting of the Methuselah Stone. It tells how the crystals need to be assembled in order for it to work."

"Is it real?" Amanda asked.

"I stole it from Adam Pierson while Stern and Geiger were holding him."

The immortals exchanged another of *those* looks. Whatever their secret communication consisted of, it didn't really matter to him as long as they stayed quiet and didn't try and overpower him. He didn't give himself much hope for success if they decided he was a real threat. The main goal was to lull them into a false sense of security until he was ready to strike. But, they had to know that.

MacLeod went to grab the scroll with his right hand. Murray let him take it. Meandering over to Amanda's crystal he picked it up. Even though the immortals' eyes were on the parchment, he knew that they were aware of his every move. At his desk, he took the top off the shoebox. He sat the gun down next to it. He reached in and took out the red velvet bundle. Immortal eyes were now riveted on him.

"Do you really envy us that much? Long life--," MacLeod began.

"No! I don't envy you at all. Immortality comes with a heavy price. But at the time of first death, it's too late to go back." He opened the velvet and emptied the fragments onto the desk and then began assembling them as he talked. "You lead a lonely life. It's hard to trust someone, when the next moment they might cut off your head. But, you MacLeod, you carry a heavier burden than most." He picked up the imperfect ball, still resting in the velvet with one hand and the last crystal in the other. He was very careful not to let any of the pieces touch his bare skin. "There's a need in you to see and deliver justice. Your vein of morality runs deep, yet you have compassion for those who do not walk your perfect path." He smiled wryly at Amanda. He inserted the last single crystal piece. The jagged edges smoothed. Inert opacity turned to a bright energy. Still, he made sure it did not touch his skin. "Mr. Wolfe suggested that the Methuselah Stone is like Tolkien's gold ring. It compels the person holding it to keep it and make it a part of them. I think he's right. I can feel its power pleading with me."

In one fluid motion, MacLeod ripped the arm off the chair, freeing himself. Murray watched through lidded eyes as the immortal rushed to him. The handcuff was still attached to one wrist while in the other end, the chair arm dangled. Time slowed. Each step the Highlander made seemed to take forever. Murray knew what he had to do; he just had to time it perfectly. As MacLeod's hand reached up to knock the crystal out of his hand, Murray moved and smacked the ball of energy against the immortal's exposed neck, the velvet cloth dropping to the ground.

Their eyes met. Murray's gaze locked with MacLeod's.

For a second they communicated silently, then Duncan MacLeod realized that this had been the plan all along.

Understanding evaporated as Duncan felt the excruciating pain slice into his neck and ripple up and down his spine. The ball seemed to separate inside him, sending slivers of glass through every vein and artery. He screamed as his mind wrestled with the emotions coursing through him. Faces flickered before his eyes, visions of Quickenings he had taken. The energy seemed to grow in magnitude as the immortals passed. Grayson then St. Cloud, Kalas and then Kronos. The hermit and Sean Burnes then Jacob Galati and Ingrid. There was no order in his visions, only in the fact that their intensity grew. Evil. Good. It didn't matter; power was power.

A shot rang out. Duncan's body flinched as if the bullet had penetrated him, but it was only the sound that had startled him. For a second, he focused on the falling Watcher as they became almost face to face. "When had *he* dropped to his knees?" Duncan asked himself. It was an abstract thought, quickly lost in the emotional upheaval. He turned slightly and happened to see Joe Dawson lower his gun. "Dawson would have the answers," Duncan thought and he started to rise.

Then he saw Rebecca, and all else fled from his mind. Her shining smile broke through the anguish and diminished it. All the other visions disappeared and only she remained. Her presence brought peace back from the chaos. Then she too slowly faded away.

"Come back!" Duncan MacLeod's mind screamed. There was so much he wanted to ask her. So much he needed the answers to, but she was gone. The man on the floor had answers, Duncan remembered. Murray wore a peaceful smile, although his body bled from the gunshot.

"You're the best of them all," Murray told him, hoarsely. The Watcher's eyes drifted up into his skull then refocused on Duncan with what looked like tremendous effort. "Wolfe's upstairs with a knife in his chest." Murray's breath came in quick gasps as he grabbed Duncan's arm. "Please, take care of humanity," Murray added, pleading. Then he gave up the fight, his body relaxing, in death, onto the floor.

Duncan was still; dazed at how quickly things were moving around him. Fear began to course through his veins along with the tingling left over from the crystal merging with his body. A palsy-like twitching affected his arms and legs when he tried to stand.

Someone gripped his arm and steadied him. "You all right, Mac?"

Joe Dawson was talking to him, but Duncan found it difficult to focus. His mind was fixated on the energy flowing through his body and the havoc in his mind. While he didn't believe that the crystal had brought him invincibility, it was hard to ignore that something had happened.

"Mac, look at me." There was worry in Joe's tone.

Duncan responded to the first question. "I'm fine. Really," he added when he saw the disbelief on Joe's face.

Amanda was also at Duncan's side, freeing his wrist from the cuff and chair arm that still dangled on it. "Joe, why'd you kill him?" she asked.

Duncan started at the word, "why," and repeated it to himself with a different question. Why had this Watcher done this to him? "Rebecca, come back," his mind cried in bewilderment.

"…thought he was killing Mac," Joe was explaining. "I saw a flash of light, and the two were practically on top of one another. Then Mac screamed. I shot. I'm sorry. I thought I was saving his life."

"But we still don't know where Nick is."

"He's upstairs," Duncan interrupted and pointed to the dead Watcher. "He told me."

Amanda left the room like a shot. Duncan's eyes followed her progress, yet his feet refused to move.

"…did Murray do to you?" Joe was talking to him again. "Mac, what the hell happened? It looked like you got the mother of all quickenings, but you didn't battle anyone."

"Remember the Methuselah Stone?" Remember Rebecca?

Joe's blank look changed as comprehension dawned. "Murray wanted to be immortal and you stopped him. Jeez, did the crystal break or something?"

"No. He planned all this for me." Duncan's mind and body settled back to normalcy. The blood pounding in his veins quieted, and his mind began reviewing what had happened.

"I don't understand? Murray wanted *you* to be--," Joe began.

"He had this elaborate plan to lure me here with Amanda on the pretence of exchanging Nick for her piece of the crystal."

"Pretence?"

"I don't think he ever intended to harm Nick. However, Murray did need for me to be here, which is why he left the messages for Amanda with me and not at her place." Duncan's strength was returning, and with that a need to understand this Watcher and what had been going through his mind. Duncan walked over to where the scroll lay upon the floor. He picked it up and continued thinking aloud. "We came here to prevent a mortal from using the crystal on himself. He *deliberately implied* that he wanted it for himself. But that wasn't the plan at all." Anger at having been duped made Duncan almost rip the scroll in half. "Look at this. Details on how to assemble the damn thing. He said he stole this from Methos."

"Methos?!" Joe asked incredulously.

"Well, Adam Pierson. Remember that fiasco three years ago with Geiger and Stern? This scroll details how the stone should be assembled if it's to be used as a permanent--"

"My God, how old is this?" Joe interrupted as he took the scroll and brought it over to the desk. He studied the drawings. "You think it works?" he asked.

"I don't know. I feel…different. I can't explain it. But, I don't feel all-powerful." Duncan thought of all the faces he'd seen. Their energy had seemed like it had been multiplying. "But, there is no way I feel invincible!" he told himself harshly.

Joe walked away from the desk and began pulling volumes off the shelves.

Duncan found it difficult to come to terms with what had happened. Could he be invincible? Was it even possible? If so, why did this Murray want it to be him? A terrible suspicion came over him. Did Murray have help?

"You're not gonna believe this, Mac. Look--"

"Did you know him, Joe?" He voiced his doubt. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No," Joe answered, seemingly oblivious of Duncan's dark thoughts. "I met him a few times. In fact I remember a time when he asked me questions about you."

"Questions?"

"Yeah, like what kind of man you were. I might have laid it on a bit thick, but then I referred him to some of your old chronicles. Maybe that's when he decided that you should have the crystal. That you should be the last--" Joe stopped in mid-sentence. "Look at this journal. He was part of James Horton's group."

"He killed immortals?" A chill went up Duncan's back. All thoughts of Joe's possible complicity evaporated.

"Now it all makes sense," Joe said slowly. "Murray was afraid for mortals, but didn't quite believe that James was right. So he came up with his own plan."

It did make a strange kind of sense, Duncan thought to himself. Murray had wanted to be sure that the last immortal wasn't evil. That way Murray could accomplish what the Hunters had been unable to do. He had wanted him, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, to be the last immortal. Revulsion filled him at the arrogance of this Watcher. Duncan didn't want to be the last immortal. To be alive with Amanda and Methos and Connor and all his other friends dead. Then he remembered Murray's last words. "Take care of humanity." Fresh chills went up his back.

"Joe, we can't tell anyone what happened here. This secret stays with us."

"But--"

"No buts. No exceptions." Duncan stiffened as he felt the presence of two immortals and heard them as they came down the stairs. "I mean it, Joe," he added in a whisper. "I don't want the Watchers to know what happened."

Joe nodded as Amanda and Nick entered the room.

"So, are you Superman?" Nick Wolfe asked.

"Of course not," Duncan responded. "It was just a legend that Murray believed."

Nick stared at him, making him uncomfortable. "Some legends are true," Nick finally said.

Duncan gave an involuntary shudder as he remembered Cassandra saying the same thing to him when he had been thirteen.

Amanda gave Duncan a final look then led Nick out of the room. "You don't mind if we borrow your car, do you?" she asked, but never gave Duncan a chance to reply. They were already gone.

Joe rolled up the scroll and took a few of the journals. "I'll come back later to get the rest of his things. I agree," he said, juggling an additional book on top of his pile, "that the Watchers don't need to know about this. But there is one Old Man I'd like to discuss this with."

Duncan nodded grimly. "I have a few questions of my own for Methos."

The End