Descent to Darkness
by Allie DavidsonMrs. Parker, as Brigitte preferred to be addressed, licked her lollipop and stared at a DSA screen showing a sim of young Jarod working with Sydney. This DSA she had discovered was one of the few left in the Centre of Jarod and Sydney; Jarod possessed the others.
Young Jarod sat at a table; a large aerial photo of a walled compound and surrounding streets covered the table's surface. "The embassy is vulnerable to attack here and here," Jarod pointed to a three story building outside the walled compound, then he pointed to a secondary gated employee entrance. "A sniper has easy access to the three story building across the street, and it would take only a small force of four to five men to gain access to the embassy compound through the poorly guarded side gate."
"What are your suggestions, Jarod," Sydney asked.
"Since this building is unoccupied, the best solution is to destroy it." Jarod again indicated the three-story building. "As for the gate, it should be guarded by guards here and here, and another guard positioned on the parapet wall up here. The gate should be replaced and security cameras placed in these areas. Considering the gate's current construction, a vehicle travelling approximately 30 miles an hour could destroy it with little damage to the vehicle itself."
Sydney patted Jarod on the shoulder. "I'm certain our clients will be pleased with your suggestions. Sydney nodded then smiled down at him. Jarod looked up and returned the smile Brigitte hit the still button. How Cute. She took the lollipop out of her mouth, frowned then reversed the DSA, stopping again on the scene where Jarod and Sydney smiled at one another. Brigitte giggled. She retrieved her cell phone out of an inside coat pocket, flipped it open then dialed a number with her thumb. Her called was picked up on the second ring.
"Hi love," she said. "Could you do something for me? Could you get rid of Sydney?" She nodded at the voice on the other side of the connection. "Yes, that's perfect. And see what you can do to get Broots and Miss Parker away from the Centre. Where?" She paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the connection, then threw back her head and laughed. "Miss Parker will love that."
Brigitte closed the cell phone with a decisive click, sucked on her lollipop and stared at Jarod and Sydney smiling at one another. Sweet, she thought to herself, just like father and son. She stuck the lollipop in her mouth, turned to her desktop computer, opened up a new word processor file and began composing an obituary.
* * * *
Anger tightly leashed, Miss Parker strode into Broot's office. Sam hovered behind her.
"We're leaving," she ground out. "The Centre's jet is ready. Sam will take you home so you can pack. I'll meet you at the airstrip."
Broots looked up from the computer screen. "Jarod?"
"No, the Easter Bunny. Hop hop, now," she snapped. "Of course it's Jarod."
"I can't leave Debbie behind," Broots said as he stood and shrugged on his coat.
"Bring her. We're going to Disneyworld."
"Disneyworld!" Broots burst out.
"You know, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse," she paused and looked Broots up and down, "Goofy?"
* * * *
Miss Parker glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes to closing time and the crowds had thinned; employees made up the majority of the park's crowd. Debbie pulled Broots into the Pirates of the Caribbean line for one final ride. At least those two were enjoying themselves. Sam stood at her side and scanned the crowd. A tip had come in that Jarod was working at Disneyworld as one of the strolling Disney characters. Pluto ambled into view talking to Minnie Mouse. Indistinctly she heard their voices. She motioned to Sam and they faded behind a balloon stand. Minnie and Pluto walked closer.
"Jared, meet me at the employees entrance in an hour and we'll go get dinner," Minnie said.
"Sounds good, see you then" answered a deep voice muffled behind the heavy mask. Pluto waved as Minnie walked away.
"That's him!" Miss Parker hissed to Sam. She signal Sam to stay put as she started forward. The big costume limited Jarod's line of sight and that would work to her advantage. Miss Parker walked behind him, pulled her gun, leaned close and pushed the barrel against his ribs.
"Don't think I won't plug you in Disneyworld, Wonderboy," she said, her voice smug. "If you want to get out of here without a bullet hole in your guts, you'll walk quietly along with me."
"Please... Don't shoot!" cried a muffled voice from inside the costume. "I'll go with you."
"That's right you will." Miss Parker jerked her head toward Sam and her joined her.
"I want you to follow Sam," she instructed Pluto, "and I'm right behind you, so don't cause any problems and no detours to any fire hydrants."
Pluto nodded vigorously. They escorted Pluto out of the park and to their car. Miss Parker opened the car door and Sam shoved Pluto inside. He sprawled against the leather seats.
"Now don't you look cute," Miss Parker said, smiling as she sat next to him. She reached over and yanked off the Pluto mask. "But Pluto just isn't right. I always expected you to be the Road Runner."
The kid with long stringy blonde hair who stared at her was not Jarod. "The... the roadrunner is uh Warner Brothers," he stuttered.
Miss Parker stared. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Jared," the kid said, his voice trembled and he cringed against the seats. "Please, don't hurt me."
Miss Parker opened the car door and tossed the Pluto head out onto the asphalt then turned and grabbed the frightened kid by the neck.
"Run away Pluto, and if you tell anyone you've seen me I'll have you neutered."
She shoved him toward the opened door, planted her foot on his ass and gave him a hard shove. He scrambled to his feet and ran without looking back.
* * * *
The falling rain mingled with the tears on Jarod's face. From the cover of trees on a knoll above the cemetery, he watched the funeral. At this distance, and through the sheets of pouring rain, he thought he could see Miss Parker and Broots, Michele and Nicolas all huddled together watching the casket lower into the ground. The tree bark scratched against Jarod's cheek as he wrapped one arm around a tree trunk, slid to the wet ground and wept, not caring that the rain soaked into his jeans or plastered his hair against his head. At this moment the world could disappear and he wouldn't have care.
Sydney was dead.
If he could call anyone father, it would be Sydney.
"Couldn't resist coming here, could you, luv," said a smug female voice. "Time to come home my wayward prince."
The wet leaves had muffled the footsteps of the sweeper team that crept out of the forest and surrounded him. Jarod didn't care and bowed his head toward the damp ground. He didn't even have the will to move when a 9mm gun barrel indented the flesh on his temple. Two men grasped either arm and jerked him to his feet. He sagged between them. Brigitte walked into his view. She brushed her gun barrel under his chin.
"Cheer up, Jarod. No one lives forever," she quipped with a mock pout. "Not even Sydney."
Jarod looked up and into Brigitte's smirking face and sorrow turned to rage. Who was she to mock Sydney's death?
"Damn you!" Jarod bellowed and lunged at her. His sudden movement took the two men off guard and he pulled from their grasp. Jarod lunged and tackled Brigitte taking her down with him into the muddy ground. He straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat. For the first time he saw that smug smirk wiped off her face as he squeezed. She grabbed his wrists and tried to wrest them from around her throat. Hate and rage smothered rational thought and lent him strength.
A gun butt slammed into the back of his head. He ignored the pain. Blood streamed down his temple and splattered onto Brigitte's face and across the tree trunk. Four men wrestled him away. A hard kick to his ribs brought a strident wave of pain; another kick to the side of his head blurred his vision. He curled into a fetal position trying to protect himself. The abuse continued.
Brigitte holding her bruised throat and gasping for breath was the last thing he saw before the woods wavered out of focus, then went black
* * * *
Sydney only partially listened to the speaker who lectured on ground-breaking research into the psychology of twins. So far the conference had been interesting. He visited with colleagues he hadn't seen in years and enjoyed the sites of Milan, Italy. Despite this, something bothered him, a creeping sense of unease and an unshakable feeling that the Centre sent him to Italy to get rid of him. Why? There was only one thing that really mattered to him and that was Jarod. If the Centre felt compelled to send him away that could only mean it had to do with Jarod.
At intermission, instead of mingling and discussing the lecture with colleagues, he made his way across the hotel lobby and up the elevator to his room. In his room he picked up the phone and dialed Miss Parker's direct number. When no one answered, he tried Broots; no answer there either. He use the operator option on the Centre's phone system and the main switchboard operator picked up.
"This is Sydney Green. I'm calling from Italy. Miss Parker isn't answering her phone," he said to the women. "Could you locate her please."
"I'm sorry, but Miss Parker is out of town."
"Out of town?" Sydney echoed. "Where is she?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that information over the phone."
"Yes, I understand. Could I speak to Broots?"
"I'm sorry again, Mr. Green, but Broots is not available."
Sydney didn't press the operator for more information. That Broots and Miss Parker were unavailable simply confirmed his suspicions that something was going on. He hung up the phone, stared out the window for a moment then picked up the phone again and dialed another number. "I would like to change my reservations." He gave his flight information to the reservation operator. "You have a flight this evening? That would be fine. Please book me a seat."
* * * *
"Jarod, you're being uncooperative," Lyle said with false kindness and wagged his finger.
Jarod struggled against the restraints; both wrists and ankles were manacled. He was locked in a small cell room similar to the one he had occupied during his earlier years at the Centre. Once, he thought he heard the distinctive squeak of the wheels on Raines's oxygen tank and heard the man's raspy breathing, but he never saw the man.
"I'd go to hell before I'd ever help you," Jarod ground out.
Lyle shrugged. "Now that can be arranged. Hell will be a cozy warm place compared to where you're going." Lyle motioned with one hand and a nurse appeared. She held a hypodermic needle. "In fact, you'll soon be begging to help me."
"What! What are you doing to me!" Jarod's frantic eyes went to the hypodermic needle in the nurse's hand. She approached him and he struggled. Two husky men, sweepers by the look of them, held him down while the nurse tied a length of surgical tubing around his arm. She whacked a finger against his arms, then slipped the needle into a fat vein, pushing the plunger, releasing the drug into his bloodstream. "No!" he screamed and arched backwards.
Euphoric warmth spread throughout his body, starting at his toes and working up to his head, tingling along his scalp. A seductive peaceful feeling washed over him. His struggles ceased. He fell back on the bed, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The numbness was bliss. Pain, hatred and anger wavered, then blew away like fallen leaves in a breeze. Lyle stood over him, his face oddly contorted and his voice sounding like it came from the end of a long tube. His lips didn't move in sync with his words.
"How long before he's addicted?" he asked.
"Four doses at the least, six on the outside," the nurse answered.
"How often?"
"Sometimes twice a day, sometimes once, depends on the individual and when they become sick. That is when you give them more."
"The make sure he gets it when he needs it." Lyle leaned over Jarod. "Enjoy your trip." Lyle disappeared and the clang of the cell door closing echoed over and over through Jarod's mind.
* * * *
"Daddy, that trip was a waste of time and if I had to speculate, I would say it was a decoy."
"Decoy?" Mr. Parker chuckled. "Now Angel, Brigitte gained that information from a very reliable source."
"And who would that be, Mickey Mouse?" Miss Parker asked with mock politeness.
Brigitte opened the door and sauntered into Mr. Parker's office. Miss Parker suppressed the overwhelming urge to punch that smirk off the other woman's face, or at least shove that lollipop in a more appropriate place.
"Didn't find anything, Miss Parker?" Brigitte taunted as she snuggled into her new husband's arms. Her voice sounded more husky than usual.
Miss Parker's expression hardened. "You tell me Brigitte. What was I suppose to find?"
Brigitte shrugged then smiled up at Mr. Parker, rubbing noses with him. Miss Parker wanted to puke. Then she noticed something; finger shaped bruises colored the skin around Brigitte's neck. The woman had tried to cover it with makeup, but the purple-yellow bruises were still visible. Miss Parker wondered if she'd have to stand in line for the privilege to wrap her fingers around Brigitte's neck.
"Well, why you two are locking lips, I have work to do." Miss Parker stalked out of her father's office as Brigitte's insufferable giggling followed her out. She slammed the door and came face to face with her brother.
"Bad hair day?" Lyle said pleasantly. He smiled at her and clasped his hands behind him.
Miss Parker stood close to her brother, ran a hand up his tie then grasped it and yanked him close. "If I find something has been going on behind my back, and that something has to do with Jarod, you're going to be singing soprano in the women's Sunday church choir."
* * * *
Jarod didn't know how long he'd been in his cell room. The nurse would show up once a day, sometimes twice with a dose of the drug. At first he fought the nurse and the men who came with her, then he looked forward to her visit, and to the drug that slithered through his veins making him forget everything, who he was, what he wanted, why he was here and most importantly Sidney's death. The pain faded further away with each dose until the hurt was an abstract annoyance and no longer important.
He didn't know how many days had passed when the nurse came in and gave him something to drink. She didn't have the hypodermic needle with her and it took all his strength not to beg. He was thirsty and drank the mildly medicinal tasting liquid.
Whatever it was, it cleared his mind and made him painfully alert, brought everything that had happened to him into sharp focus and made him think of things that he didn't want to think of. Lyle walked in, tipped his head like a friendly puppy.
"Looking for this?" Lyle held a hypodermic needle just out of Jarod's reach. "I can see it in your eyes. You help me and I'll help you."
"Yes," he finally whispered and hated himself for it and hated Lyle's triumphant expression. "I'll help you."
"I thought so." Lyle motioned behind him and two Centre guards walked into the room. "Get him a shower and clean clothes."
They didn't have to bother with the manacles; those had disappeared days ago, they were no longer needed. Jarod didn't have the strength or the will to leave. He stood and followed them down a long unmarked hallway dimly aware this was a Centre sublevel, although the usual Centre personnel were absent. He felt a little better with a shower and clean clothing, but the craving lurked and his stomach churned. One of the guards motioned him out of the lavatory.
The guards escorted him to the end of the hall and through a heavy steel door. Too tired to be surprised, Jarod entered a newly constructed simulation room. The difference between this simulation room and the others he had worked in was size; this room rivaled the size of school gym.
At one end of the room, a miniature detailed model of a city was constructed across several long workbenches. A life-size stage set complete with buildings, streets and live-size cardboard mockups of pedestrians spread across the remainder of the room. The style and architecture of the buildings were Spanish and vaguely familiar. A man and a woman, whom Jarod did not recognize, sat at a fold-out desk.
Lyle nodded toward the man who stood and approached them.
"It's your show now, Monsieur Boutroux," Lyle said, gesturing to Jarod.
"Does he understand French?" the Frenchman asked.
"Oui," Jarod said, replying in French.
For the next two hours Monsieur Boutroux took Jarod around the life-size stage, and then to the model of a city. Somewhere in Spain or perhaps Portugal, Jarod guessed judging by street layout and the architecture. He committed a few unusual landmarks to memory. He wondered if he would remember, or if he would ever need to. Lyle followed them, sometimes asking Jarod to translate.
"How many in the motorcade?" Jarod asked the Frenchman as the man pointed out a route through the city.
"Six cars, four men in each and all armed. The individual we seek will be riding in the forth car."
Jarod hesitated then glanced up at Lyle who patted his suit jacket, a reminder that relief would be withheld if he didn't cooperate.
"You need to split the motorcade, the goal being to separate the first three guarding vehicles from the target vehicle." He pointed a stoplight. "Position one of your men here at this corner. He needs to blend in with pedestrian traffic, perhaps read a paper or sit at this café. He will handle a device that can change the light from green to red to strategically split the motorcade. Here in the intersection, stall a large vehicle to prevent the last two cars from veering around or escaping in an unplanned direction. With gunfire from men in these position here and here," he pointed to buildings on either side of the street, "you need to startle the target vehicle into moving down this street here. The desired destination is this area." He pointed to a small village-like square several miles to the west of the stoplight.
"And how can we make certain they'll go there," Boutroux asked.
"A series of impassible obstacles. More stalled cars, working construction crews." Jarod swallowed, braced both hands on the table then looked up, he avoided looking at Lyle. "Is your goal assassination or kidnapping."
"Kidnapping," the Frenchman said.
After several hours of detailed information, the drug that the nurse had given him began to wear off. Barely able to control the tremors in his hands, and sick at his stomach he yearned for the drug to ease his pain. He took a deep thankful breath when the Frenchman turned to Lyle.
"Your man was most helpful," Boutroux said. He and Lyle shook hands, then he motioned to his female partner and she pulled a laptop from a computer case. "My assistant is transferring the remainder of the fee into your account."
"Pleasure to do business," Lyle said.
* * * *
Miss Parker breezed into Broot's office, stood in front of his desk with her arms cross and stared down her nose at him. "I don't like being summoned like a pet dog. You better have something for me," she said.
Broots squirmed in his seat then motioned her over. "It's not what I've found," he said in a low voice, "but what I haven't found."
"Get to the point."
"Yes, well, you see I always find a trace of Jarod somewhere, but for the last week I've found nothing. It's like he's just disappeared."
Miss Parker braced her hands on Broots's desk and leaned over. "What? Is this going to turn into a game of twenty questions? Just tell me what the hell you're talking about."
"Jarod is gone. I found out where he was a week and a half ago. Look." Broots extracted a lined note pad from a drawer, several pages held copious notes. "He was working for the Sierra Club as an environmental lawyer. Then, according to the employee I spoke to, he told them he needed time off to attend a funeral and never came back. The firm had his apartment checked and all his belongings are still there. They have reported him to local police as a missing person."
"A funeral?" Miss Parker said, more to herself. "Have you found anything on that?"
"Nothing. Jarod doesn't have any family," Broots paused and cleared his throat, "well at least none that he can find."
"Good job Broots," Miss Parker said, laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Keep looking."
* * * *
Jarod sat on his cot, sweat poured down his face, his clothing was soaked, his breath was short and fast. His entire body shook and needle sharp pains spiked up him arms and legs.
"You were very good today," Lyle praised him like a trained dog. He held up a hypodermic needle. "Looking for this? You earned it."
The nurse was no longer needed, neither were the guards to hold him down. Jarod snatched the needle from Lyle's hand. Holding one end of surgical tubing between his teeth and grasping the other end in his right hand, he pulled it tight around his upper arm. Lyle watched as he injected the drug
"This was too easy," Lyle said, disgust in his voice.
Jarod was beyond caring. He sought the drug's solace; he had to have the peace it gave him. He didn't hear Lyle leave, only the door closing and locking behind him.
Jarod's eyelids fluttered as the drug oozed through his bloodstream. If hell did existed, he had found it.
End of Part I. Continued in "The Devil you Know"...