Chapter 6
"Please calm down Bobby, I need to concentrate," Claire pleaded as a very agitated Hobbes prowled back and forth across the lab. She could tell he was barely holding it together and in real danger of freaking out over the revelation that Darien's tattoo was slowly turning red. To be perfectly honest she couldn't blame him. It was both upsetting and disconcerting to watch the green snake once again slowly and inexorably changing colour. The implications for her Kept if it signalled the return of QSM didn't bear thinking about.
"Calm down? My best friend's been screwed over by a freakin' psycho and you want me to calm down? Even if you can save him, d'ya think he's gonna want to live like this?" Hobbes ranted as he continued pacing. "You know what this'll do to him Keep, how're we gonna tell him? He BEGGED me to kill him last time he thought the madness was returning - damn near broke my heart!"
"I know it's terrible, but we will deal with it Bobby, I promise," Claire said trying her best to reassure him. Admittedly her own thoughts kept straying along the same depressing lines, but she refused to give in to despair. "Darien is going to need us to be strong for him and we can't waste time on what-ifs. Right now I think this new development may well help me save his life."
"What do you mean?" Bobby asked, surprise temporarily quelling his anger and frustration.
"Well, until now I had no idea what Stark did to him, but it must have something to do with a toxin linked to the quicksilver or it wouldn't have triggered the indicator in the tattoo. I have somewhere to start looking now and I think I've found where they infected him," she explained, pointing to an inflamed puncture wound on Darien's right calf.
"The woman with the umbrella!" Hobbes exclaimed, finally realising the truth. "She stuck Fawkes with it when he bumped into her outside the Agency yesterday. I thought she was just a crazy old dame, but she must have been waiting for us."
"Oh Bobby I wish you'd told me. When I was a child I remember a man in London being killed by a poisoned pellet administered in exactly the same way. The details are a bit hazy, but I think he was a foreign diplomat or something and it was such an unusual case that I've never forgotten it." Claire silently cursed herself for taking Darien's dream too literally and being so distracted by the bee sting that she'd discounted any other cause. His pre-cognitive flashes were hardly ever clear-cut and a deliberate stab from a sharp object by one of Stark's people could easily be interpreted as a 'sting'.
"I have to get to work," she announced decisively, eager to explore her new theory. "Alex hasn't been able to find any further information about the two gunmen from yesterday's attack, so maybe you could both concentrate on tracing the old woman."
Hobbes considered her suggestion for a moment, then, headed for the door. "Yeah Keep, I think you're right," he said with renewed purpose. "Look after the kid and let me know if there's any change won't you?"
"I will, take care," Claire replied congratulating herself on successfully distracting Bobby's attention from simply obsessing about his partner. He always coped better with these situations when he had something to focus on, and if anyone could pick up the old lady's trail Bobby could. With a smile she turned back to the sample she was analysing, at last hopeful of finding a treatment for Darien's condition.
"So the bee sting saved Fawkes' life?" the Official asked late that afternoon as he, Claire, Hobbes and Eberts all congregated in his office for an update on Darien's condition.
"You could say that, yes," the Keeper confirmed. "The toxin was specifically designed to perfectly bond with the quicksilver on a molecular level and would have been virtually undetectable had it succeeded. However, it seems the bee venom somehow prevented the toxin from fully integrating into the quicksilver's structure and caused an adverse reaction, giving us enough warning to get Darien onto life-support. I'm sure the attack on his vital systems would have been much more rapid and virulent if the process hadn't been disrupted. As it is, I've managed to isolate a sample of the toxin and I believe the adaptation I'm making to our original counteragent will flush the contaminated quicksilver from his bloodstream."
"Well done Doctor, I had every faith you would solve this latest crisis," the Official said, praising her efforts.
"Actually Sir, Agent Hobbes' acute observational skills gave me the clue I needed to come up with a solution," Claire said, making sure Bobby got the recognition he deserved.
"Yes, well, good work Hobbes," the Fat Man muttered grudgingly, casting a quick glance at the smiling agent. "How long before you can administer the treatment?"
"I'm adapting a batch of counteragent I was already synthesising for use in tests with my rats, so thankfully the timeframe has been reduced considerably. I'd estimate it should be ready within the next hour or so," Claire replied, a look of deep concern appearing on her face. "However, I don't think Darien has much time left and we really can't afford to test the new formula. Even if it does work, there's no saying what damage the toxin has already caused and Stark himself told us destroying the gland was one of his objectives. I don't think we're out of the woods yet."
"We've already contacted Fawkes' aunt and grandmother to apprise them of the situation…just in case," the Official informed them with a grim expression.
"Getting in touch with his father is proving to be more of a challenge," Eberts continued smoothly, "but we have discreetly disseminated the information to sources Mason Fawkes is known to have access to. That's all we can do for now."
An air of sombre contemplation had settled on the assembled group when there was a sharp rap on the Official's glass door and Alex Monroe swept into the room.
"Sir, look at these!" she said breathlessly, handing him some stills of local street scenes. "Hobbes and I canvassed the area for any businesses that might have surveillance footage outside their buildings from yesterday afternoon and I've just finished enhancing the most promising images." The one at the top of the pile showed a street two blocks away. Pointing to it she said, "If I'm not mistaken the 'old lady' here is actually Eleanor Stark and 'that'," she announced, emphasising the word strongly, "is her car, with a nice clear shot of the license plate!"
Pain was the first sensation that registered as Darien slowly struggled back to consciousness. Not the excruciating agony he'd experienced to send him into oblivion at his apartment, but a nagging, persistent pain, more like a bad toothache that spread throughout his whole body and infinitely more bearable. He experimentally opened one eye, then the other and slowly focused on his surroundings. Lab three, right? Yeah, there were still a couple of posters Hobbes had brought in to brighten the place up during his recovery a few months ago. He moved his head to the right, immediately realising it wasn't a good idea when his vision blurred and the pain in his head flared in protest.
"Urgh," he moaned weakly, quickly closing his eyes again.
"Darien? Hey buddy, you back with us?" Hobbes' worried voice enquired tentatively.
'Uh, oh,' Darien thought. Things must be really bad if Hobbes was calling him by his first name!
"Ye…yeah," he managed to croak. His throat felt like someone had been trying to shred it with a knife and his mouth was as dry as dust. Looking up he saw Hobbes and his Keeper standing over him, their expressions a strange mixture of concern and relief. What the hell had happened this time?
"Don't try and talk just yet, take a sip of this," Claire said, sensing his confusion. She placed a straw in his mouth and helped him take a drink of water. "We had to help you breathe for while, so you're going to feel some discomfort when you swallow. It's nothing to worry about and you'll soon be feeling better alright?" Deciding not to try and move his head again, Darien smiled weakly in reply.
"Stark's been up to his usual tricks pal," Hobbes explained, deliberately understating the situation. "Seems he decided to make good on his threat to kill you, but the Keeper's got things under control, haven't you Keep?" he said looking over at Claire. Hobbes' light tone sounded false even to his own ears and he could see the doubt in Darien's expressive eyes.
"Bobby's right Darien," Claire confirmed in a more confident tone, also noticing his uncertainty. "We've started flushing the toxin you were exposed to out of your body and you're vital signs are already improving." They needed Darien to stay positive if he was going to fight this thing and letting him know they were worried about the success of the treatment, never mind the full extent of his injuries, would only complicate matters.
Darien felt a welcome release of tension he didn't even realise he was feeling and visibly relaxed at her words. He trusted Claire with his life and her assertion everything would be fine was all the assurance he needed. Suddenly feeling an overwhelming exhaustion, his eyelids began to droop and he could do nothing but allow them to close. Sleep claimed him within seconds.
Hobbes and the Keeper exchanged worried glances and jumped as the intercom buzzed, followed by Ebert's apologetic voice. "I'm sorry to bother you doctor, but the Official would like you and Robert to report to his office as soon as possible."
"We'll be right there Albert," Claire answered promptly. Checking that Darien was resting peacefully, she linked Bobby's arm and they left the lab together.
Alex was already in the Official's office when Claire and Hobbes entered five minutes later. She was restlessly crossing and uncrossing her legs, constantly smoothing her skirt with her hands and squirming in her seat like a young girl waiting for the arrival of a Prom date. She could barely contain her excitement and was eager to share the news that had just come through.
For the past three days, whilst the Keeper was involved in trying to cure Darien, she and Hobbes had been engaged in a convoluted and challenging search inspired by the licence plate on Eleanor Stark's car. Armed with information provided by Hobbesnet from the scene of the incident, they had questioned every useful contact in Alex's bulging rolodex and called in outstanding favours. Hour after hour they'd collated data, assessed the validity of rumours and acted on gut instincts to further their investigation and in the end it had all been worth it; they finally had a location for Jared and Eleanor Stark and initial reports indicated that James was with them.
"We've found him, we've found James!" Alex practically crowed jumping from her chair and hugging Claire. They'd become good friends over the last year or so, but she seldom showed so much emotion and it surprised the assembled group. "Sorry," she apologised, looking disconcerted at her lack of control and dropping her arms to her sides.
"Don't apologise Alex, that's wonderful news," Claire enthused, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder to renew the contact. "What happens now?"
"Well if you two ladies will stop gushing all over the office I'd like to get this meeting called to order," the Official said, trying to sound angry, but failing to put the usual edge into his voice.
Eberts moved forward and distributed the information Alex and Hobbes had managed to collect together. "It seems Mr Stark and his family have recently taken up residence on a sizable estate in a very prestigious area of Los Angeles. We have very little intelligence on the area at the moment, but although the initial recon was only cursory, it suggest the grounds are heavily fortified." Eberts scowled down at the report in his hands, wishing the situation were more hopeful.
"So, when do we go in?" Hobbes asked, the news about formidable defences not deterring him for a second. He was more than happy about finding James, but the most important thing in his book was that Stark had been found too and payback was long overdue.
"Whether we are able to take advantage of this opportunity or not depends on when Fawkes will be fit for duty," the Official pointed out. "Even though the preliminary report is sketchy, I don't think a frontal attack has any chance of success, not to mention the threat of drawing unnecessary attention from their rich and influential neighbours. We need to infiltrate the estate covertly and Fawkes' talents in that field will be invaluable." Borden's tactical expertise had won him many accolades whilst in the Marines and he was using that knowledge to good effect now. "Stark believes Fawkes is dead and we can use that to our full advantage. Without the threat of an invisible man they won't be equipped with thermal goggles and we'll have the element of surprise on our side."
"Sir, you can't be serious about using Darien on this mission surely?" Claire asked incredulously. "He's still very weak and as you know the contaminated quicksilver is proving much more difficult to flush from his system than I originally estimated. The indicator tattoo reached eight red segments before the treatment started to work and there are still five segments to go before the return to full green. It's going to take a series of injections over the next week to fully eradicate the toxin, but even then there are a multitude of tests to run to evaluate the extent of the damage caused. We may not know if there will be any lasting repercussions for some time yet."
"I have every confidence in you doctor," the Official answered blithely. "Fawkes has shown himself to be extremely resilient over the years and I have no doubt he will do so again."
Claire sighed in exasperation, then tried again. "I don't think you understand Sir," she began. "Even if I wasn't extremely concerned about Darien's condition, there's also the implications for the gland itself. The PET scan I took showed definite signs of damage to the gland, especially where it is grafted to the cerebral cortex, and I'm not sure of its ability to regenerate. The biosynthetic structure was never designed to cope with such an attack and, as with so many things about this project, we're in uncharted territory."
A deathly silence fell upon the room as the group tried to process this latest information. Claire had told Bobby about her concerns, but it was the first time she had shared her fears with the others.
"So, when will you know anything?" the Official asked, finally finding his voice.
"I really can't give you an accurate answer. It could be a week, it could be six months, we'll just have to be patient and see what develops," Claire informed him. "Now that Darien has regained consciousness I have a number of tests I can perform, but his body has been through a tremendous ordeal and we really have no choice but to give him time to heal."
"Well, I see no further point continuing with this briefing until we know where we stand, so make yourselves useful and see what you can come up with," the Official growled dispiritedly, closing his file to signal their dismissal.
As they headed for the door, Claire put her arm around an obviously distressed Alex. "Come down and see Darien," she suggested, hoping to distract her friend from dwelling on yet another delay in reclaiming her son. "I think he'd enjoy having a visitor."
Alex nodded dumbly and allowed herself to be steered towards lab three.
"Don't worry Monroe," Hobbes said squeezing her arm, "Stark's not going anywhere. He'll be enjoying his 'victory' over us for a while yet and he has no idea we've found him. We'll think of something and James'll be back with you before you know it."
She gave him a wan smile and not for the first time, whispered a silent prayer of thanks for having found such supportive friends at the Agency.
Walking through the door into lab three they all came to a sudden, surprised halt. Darien's bed was empty, a chair and trolley had been tipped over and instruments were strewn all over the floor.
"Oh my God," Alex breathed, quickly moving forward to pick up a piece of paper that lay on the bedcovers. "It's from Darien," she announced in a confused tone.
"What does it say?" Hobbes asked, a sense of foreboding chilling his blood.
Alex looked down at the shakily written note, "It just says, 'Why didn't you tell me?' and then he's scrawled, 'I'm sorry' at the bottom."
"Oh no!" Claire exclaimed fearfully. "Bobby, I think he's going to kill himself!"
TBC