Chapter 9 – Closing In
Saturday morning
Maricela Sanchez couldn't help but notice the protective hovering that Jarod and his two male companions indulged in as they escorted the gurney with the wounded woman into the Emergency Room. Once there, each seemed to have his appointed task. The older man drew close and listened carefully to the attending ER physician as he examined the wounds, ordered antibiotics and a full unit of B-negative blood – and then it was he who began answering the personal questions when the nurse came with the admittance forms. From the way he was behaving, she was assuming that he was the woman's father or uncle – he had that parental look about him and never truly stopped hovering.
The second man – a big, husky, body-builder or bodyguard type – found a spot near the door and stood at near attention, feet apart, arms folded over a barrel chest, and ice-blue eyes sweeping the room and anyone who ventured into it with a wary and calculating gaze. A brother, perhaps? Certainly he was the kind of person that one wouldn't want to make angry – or approach the woman with anything but the most benevolent intentions.
As for Jarod, he hovered over his wounded lady friend for a moment with his face folded into the kind of expression that Sanchez had at one time hoped and prayed he'd turn in her direction. Then, once he saw that his friend was in good hands and getting the care she obviously needed, he gestured with a nose for Sanchez to follow him for a more private consult.
"Are you going to have any trouble side-tracking the gunshot report?" he asked, his voice tired.
"No," she replied in a near whisper. "But I can only give you a twenty-four hour window before I'd have to start answering questions about it."
"Twenty-four hours will be just what we need," Jarod replied a little absentmindedly. "At least, I hope so…"
Sanchez grabbed at his arm. "So tell me what's going on! What have you found out about Hank?"
"It's complicated," he answered gently, "and not the kind of thing that can be discussed right now and in here. But trust me…"
"And you're telling me that this woman has something to do with it?"
"She didn't have anything to do with kidnapping him, if that's what you're wondering," he told her quickly. "However, I'm convinced that Hank's disappearance and this shooting are related incidents."
"Related how?" she demanded.
Jarod merely shook his head. "I really can't go into that yet, Maricela. You're going to have to trust me for a little while longer." He sighed. "I'm going to need to speak to hospital security too."
Sanchez's dark eyes widened. "What's going on, Jarod?"
"It's entirely possible that the man who shot my friend here might be coming back. I need to clear it for Sam here to stay with her and keep her safe."
Sanchez blinked, and then she turned away to the white telephone on the wall. "Have hospital security report to ER 4," she spoke brusquely into the phone and then hung up. "Anything else I need to know?"
Jarod shook his head. "Not that I can think of at the moment…"
"What do I tell Mrs. Kellogg – or are you going to call her?" She pinned him with a piercing stare. "She's been calling me…"
Jarod was quiet for a moment. "I'll call her as soon as I know something more solid, I promise." He reached out and patted her shoulder. "The FBI are involved, and they're going to be moving in and hopefully finding Hank anytime now. Just be patient – and let me do what I need to do."
"The FBI!" That had Maricela's eyes wide with shock again. "Jarod… "
"Don't ask," he cautioned her gently.
Her face softened. "What have you done, Jarod?"
"I need to get back to my friends, Maricela," he responded instead. "And when this is all over, I'll tell you everything – I promise." Jarod knew he owed his friend the truth – and prayed that she'd understand when she'd heard the entire story.
Maricela Sanchez pinned him with a fierce glare from her ebony-black eyes. "I'm going to hold you to that, Jarod Russell," she said loudly enough that the others in the room glanced over in her direction. She spun on her heels and walked from the room, heading for the nurse's station from which she knew she had the best chance to waylay the gunshot report.
Jarod wandered back over to Sydney's side and watched silently as the nurses finished putting in the IV access into the back of Miss Parker's hand and began reaching for the plastic containers of blood and clear fluids to combat her hypovolemic condition. "How is she?"
"Well enough, considering," the older man replied. "You've had compliments on your surgical technique, by the way." He watched as the doctor motioned to the orderlies who had been summoned. "I'll go up with her to her room."
"Take Sam with you," Jarod beckoned to the sweeper with his eyes. "I don't want Miss Parker without one or the other of you in the room at all times until this is over."
"I hope you intend to let hospital security know that I'm not gonna let them kick me out when visiting hours…" Sam began in a threatening tone.
"Down, big fella!" Jarod shook his head. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do next. I don't want you to leave her side for any reason."
"Do you think she's out of danger here?" Sydney asked cautiously.
"No," Jarod replied honestly. "I let it be known where we were going to be taking her within Willy's earshot. If Lyle wants her that badly, he's going to have to come a long way out of his way to get her…"
"You set her up as bait?" Sam's voice hadn't risen, but the threat quotient it contained had just hit maximum – and his hand grabbed Jarod's lapel roughly. "If this place weren't public, I'd…"
"I just made sure that you'd be able to tell when Centre personnel came strolling in your direction down a hospital corridor where they don't belong," Jarod snarled back. "It should make them stand out like a sore thumb on a hitchhiker." He ripped Sam's grip from his clothing. "Back off – I'm on YOUR side, remember?"
"Sam!" Sydney's worried whisper did more to rein in Miss Parker's devoted sweeper than Jarod's words could ever do. "We need to stay with her now, and keep her safe."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "This isn't over, Lab Rat."
"When it is, I'll make sure you know where to find me," Jarod answered boldly, facing the huge sweeper without fear.
"Someone called hospital security?" a voice sounded from behind him, and Jarod whirled around to find himself face to face with a security officer in a nattily pressed uniform. The man's face was familiar – he'd seen him patrolling the corridors of the hospital often enough since he'd come to work here.
"Sam!" Sydney called as the orderlies began wheeling Miss Parker's gurney out the door and in the direction of the elevator. With a final glare, Sam turned away from the escaped Pretender to accompany his boss.
"Yes, officer," Jarod replied, his eyes following the gurney and its trailers until it went out of sight around a corner. "I want to inform you that the woman who was just admitted has a bodyguard who will be staying in her room full-time – visiting hours and otherwise…"
"Who are you…" the officer began, and then stopped as Jarod pulled his hospital identification from his wallet. "Oh – OK. You'll have a form to fill out, Dr. Russell…"
"Let's get the paperwork done, then," Jarod sighed and followed the security man from the now-empty ER room.
oOoOo
Hank grumbled and slammed on the brakes to bring the car to a halt for the fourth time in the last two minutes. The absolute last thing he needed now was a traffic jam – he could see from the skyline that he was very close to where he needed to be. Just a little bit more…
The cars in all four lanes of traffic for as far ahead as he could see were all sitting still on the pavement. He'd seen this sort of thing happen before – more than likely, some jerk had had a flat tire and needed to pull off to the side of the road. The subsequent slow-down of the cars behind him as he maneuvered his way to the safety of the shoulder of the road meant that a knot of traffic had soon formed. He even remembered reading an article discussing the theory – known as the Chaos Theory – while he was still an undergraduate.
Knowing the cause of the obstruction in his way didn't help HIS cause any, however. And while something pushed hard at him to just climb out of the car, walk forward with his rifle and eliminate the person most responsible for this mess; he sat motionless and seething behind the wheel. It was one thing to take out a gas station attendant who was alone and unarmed. It was another entirely to go hunting in such a public and populated a place.
A tiny corner of his mind rebelled at the mere idea of walking forward and shooting someone – he was a physician, for heaven's sake! He'd taken an oath to "do no harm…"
That corner was once more shut down quickly. "I decide who lives and dies," Hank recited almost unconsciously. "I decide who lives and dies."
He could wait. The target wasn't going anywhere. All he had to do was get to Mercy Hospital and start looking through each of the rooms. He could be patient.
oOoOo
The sight of the Centre Tower rising above the green sea of grass that surrounded it was just as picturesque and imposing as any photograph of the facility Gabe Watson had seen. There was money here, he realize, LOTS of money. And, if Jarod Russell's informant was to be believed, there was even more to this place than met the eye – twenty-seven floors of underground offices and God-only-knew-what to be searched. Watson found himself fighting a shudder. A man could go into this place and never be able to find his way out again.
Suddenly he wasn't quite sure that the four sedans that followed him – each with four FBI agents inside under his command – would be enough to handle the job with which he'd been charged. Watson wondered for a very brief moment if any of the higher authorities that had finally pried loose the warrants in his pocket had any idea of what they had sent him up against.
He glanced over at Special Agent Okui, who had been assigned as the driver of the lead car. "Might as well get this ball rolling," Watson gestured vaguely. "Let's go."
The small motorcade pulled up the drive into the Centre property, with Watson's car being the one to pull up alongside the guard's kiosk in front of a very substantial and probably electrified gate. Okui compliantly rolled down his window so that the uniformed guard could peer into the car. "Yes, sir?" the man asked in a polite and almost uninterested tone.
Watson had his FBI identification badge out and in the officer's face. "This is the FBI. I have two warrants to serve…"
"You'll have to wait while I call…" the uniform began and started to move back toward the kiosk.
"Jackson," Watson ordered tersely, and one of the Special Agents erupted from the back seat of the car with a gun drawn to usher the now pale-faced uniformed guard away from telephones and other means of warning those in the facility ahead of the coming invasion. Jackson had the guard handcuffed and sitting helplessly in the kiosk in very short order – and then pushed the button to open the gate and allow his federal comrades entrance to the Centre.
Jackson would be preventing any traffic in or out of the Centre now for the duration of the search – but Watson wanted to make sure he wasn't leading a suicide squad. "Call for reinforcements," he directed before Okui could gun the engine and move away down the drive. "Something tells me that we need at least twice the manpower we've got now."
"Yes, sir."
Even as Watson's car pulled ahead through the now opened gates, he could see Jackson on his cell phone – hopefully pulling out of the office in Dover several more carloads of agents who could assist with this operation. The closer he drew to the massive structure, the more he was convinced that he needed a veritable army – not just a healthy squad of agents.
The cars all pulled to the curb in front of the modern fountain that graced the entrance to the cement and stonework structure. Nineteen FBI agents, their identifications all tagged to their clothing in obvious places, waited for a sign from their leader to proceed inside. All it took was a nod from Watson, and the body of agents moved as if one toward the glass doors and the uniformed security men just inside.
"What the…" Watson heard the one guard grumble just before he had his warrants out and under the man's nose.
"I am Special Agent in Charge Gabe Watson," Watson announced before anybody else had a chance to say a word – his voice firm and determined, "and my men and I are here to execute these federal warrants. Your cooperation will be expected, or you will be charged with interfering with a federal officer in the commission of his duty and arrested. Now, the first warrant is to detain a Mr. Lyle Parker for questioning. I will need you to tell me precisely where Mr. Parker's office is located."
"I can call him for you…" the guard offered, only to have Watson shake his head firmly.
"You will call no one. The other warrant I'm carrying with me is a search warrant. I am investigating allegations what there may be several men held against their will in this facility. I will need the blueprints for the entire facility made available to me."
"This is highly irregular," the guard braved.
Watson's eyebrows lifted. "Are you refusing to cooperate with a federal officer, sir?"
The guard's mouth flopped open a few times, and then he capitulated. "I'll call the Engineering Department – they should have the blueprints or know where they're kept."
Watson nodded contentedly. "That will do for starters…"
Back further, against a wall, a sweeper reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
oOoOo
"What is it now?" Lyle demanded into the telephone.
"It's Virgil, from the lobby," JeiLing answered him in her musical accent. "Apparently there are some federal agents here wanting to see you, sir – and search the premises. Something about some men held against their will…"
Lyle frowned. This was the absolute last thing he needed to hear right now – not with Cox's latest progress report sitting on his desk about the continued success in programming the subjects to be as receptive as empty vessels waiting to be filled with one driving, lethal purpose. "Call our legal department – I want a Centre lawyer preparing a brief appealing this invasion of privacy by the FBI. And let the agents in the moment they get up here."
JeiLing nodded, her long, straight ebony hair moving like silk over her shoulders and down her back as she did. "Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"No," Lyle considered for a moment. The one action that needed to take place would have to originate from his office as soon as he got off the phone with his secretary. "That will be all."
The second he heard the click of the other end of the line disconnecting, he was pushing the buttons to connect him with Mr. Cox's extension down in his laboratory complex on SL-25. The telephone there rang twice before being picked up. "Biogenics Department," an innocuous lab assistant answered with a bored tone.
"Give me Cox," Lyle demanded brusquely.
"He's resting…" the assistant hedged protectively, obviously coached to prevent anything but emergency matters to reach the researcher during his rest periods.
"This is important," Lyle blurted angrily, "and I happen to be your boss. Get Cox on the line right now, or you can start looking for another job within the hour."
"Y…yes, sir!"
Lyle didn't dare let himself feel the satisfaction of once more proving to himself that a man could get more from a threat from a position of authority than he could with a honeyed tongue. If the FBI were looking for men taken against their will, the last thing he needed was for the Hydra's Teeth data to be discovered lurking on the Centre mainframe's hard drive.
"Yes? What is… this is Cox…" Mr. Cox's voice was obviously only very briefly removed from slumber.
"The Feds are here – looking for me and looking for people being held against their will," Lyle announced without preamble. "No doubt that search warrant they have will be fairly broad – which will give them access to the mainframe."
"Damn!" Cox was waking up quickly.
"Purge your terminal of all relevant data – and do what you can to purge the mainframe as well. They don't know precisely what they're looking for – and we don't have to make it any easier for them to find anything before our legal eagles can quash this investigation like a bug."
"What about the subjects?" Cox asked anxiously. "Some of them are just freshly programmed – they aren't ready to be thrust back into the general population… And the others…"
"We can't let them be found." Lyle wiped at his face with a hand. "Take them down into SL-27 – there are some living spaces not too far from that little laboratory of yours that nobody is supposed to know about..."
"It's a disaster area down there!" Mr. Cox complained. "There are no secure areas…"
"Then take ten sweepers with you and make the place secure," Lyle snarled. "Just get them out of the way – out of sight. There's no official record of SL-27 anywhere – even the formal blueprints only have 26 subfloors detailed. You and your project and all your research data should be safe down there until this has all blown over."
Lyle heard Mr. Cox move the telephone handset from his mouth and shout orders to the assistants in a anxious and excited tone. "What about you?" the South African asked as if suddenly remembering his nominal employer.
"Don't you worry about me. Just get Hydra's Teeth under wraps, so that when I get clear of all this, we can go head full steam."
The door to Lyle's office suddenly burst open, and three men in inexpensive business suits bulled their way through. The one obviously in charge pulled a thin sheaf of papers wrapped in blue from his pocket. "Lyle Parker, I am Special Agent in Charge Gabe Watson, and I'm going to need you to come along with these agents in the matter of a serial kidnapping that took place in New York City a few days ago…"
"Gentlemen," Lyle smiled his widest and most winning smile at the men. "Please, sit down. How can I help you?"
"I don't think so." Watson gestured to one of his agents to take Mr. Parker into custody – including slipping handcuffs onto the man's wrists. "You are to be taken to New York City to be questioned and detained there, pending the outcome of our investigation here. You have the right to be silent – anything that you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning – if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Although…" Watson looked about the office with a critical eye, "I seriously doubt you'd have that problem." He held out his hand in an obvious gesture for the man to come along quietly. "This way, Mr. Parker…"
"Of course," Lyle was the epitome of cooperation, all the while his mind was spinning. The call to the president of the stockholders' association had been made to pass along the regretable news of his twin sister's untimely demise at the hands of a random killer. Cox would be moving his pet project and be out of sight long before these yokals would get anywhere near the lab. He could relax – not much, but a little. He smiled at JeiLing as he was pushed out of his office in front of the federal agents. "Call Legal," he directed her. "Get a lawyer assigned to this immediately."
JeiLing's almond-shaped eyes opened wide at the sight of her daunting employer so thoroughly controlled by others, and she nodded compliance.
oOoOo
Saturday afternoon
The light coming through the window of the private room into which Miss Parker had been settled had taken on the brilliance of just after high noon. Sam had settled into one of the two comfortable chairs in the room, sitting just beyond the rest room door as a barrier between Miss Parker and anyone who might want to make their way into the room to her. Sydney had taken the second comfortable chair and placed it within arms reach near the hospital bed, ready to respond the second she roused. Jarod had paced back and forth for a while until glares and grumbles from both of the other men had sent him over to the window to stand and stare out absently.
It was very difficult for the former Pretender to sit on the sidelines and wait – out of control of the circumstances for the time being. He hadn't really had the time to plan this Pretend out the way he normally did, and it was a shock to discover that Pretending in the way he had once indulged was a skill that rusted with disuse. Even now he knew that he really needed to get himself back to the precinct house so as to pull a neat end to that façade. The time had come to let Jarod Holmes fade back into the woodwork from which he'd been crafted of whole cloth before either the NYPD or the FBI started asking questions. But…
Jarod turned his head slightly and gazed at the woman lying so still and wan against the crisp white hospital linen. It had taken so very little for him to toss aside years of planning and execution in falling away from the Centre radar – to run back to Sydney for help and run to Miss Parker's aid when circumstances had turned against her. Being here in a room with the two of them – even though under the watchful and distrusting eye of Miss Parker's pet sweeper – felt almost relaxing. He was at home with them – he didn't need to pretend that the first thirty-some-odd years of his life had been but prologue. They knew him better than anybody else in the world.
That was a comfort he hadn't realized had been missing for the past five years. He was glad to have his parents – his real parents – back in his life again, grateful for every day and moment he'd been given to get to know them better and build a life for himself based on reality rather than manipulative genius. He'd even begun to get on better terms with the young man who was his biological duplicate – a young man who resented being constantly weighed against him progress-wise and had for a time a year or so ago become quite rebellious and angry. Only as Jarod had begun to make a life for himself as a psychiatric resident while celebrating his clone's independence in wanting to pursue a career in structural engineering had the boy begun to feel that he was moving out from under an insurmountable shadow. Ethan lived in New York – a software engineer for a security company – and a frequent visitor to the little apartment Jarod called home now.
But being in the room with Sydney and Miss Parker, Jarod felt a long-denied piece of himself stand up to be recognized. This was his past – part of what had made him the person he'd become eventually. He couldn't deny his deep and abiding connection with these people if he wanted to.
Three sets of heads jerked up when the cell phone in Sydney's pocket began to chirp.
Jarod frowned. "Who…?"
Sydney flipped the phone open and gazed at the caller identity. "It's Broots," he announced and put the device to his ear. "Where are you?" He nodded, listening, then looked at Jarod. "He's here in New York."
"And he has his daughter with him, safe?" Jarod asked.
"Debbie's with you?" Sydney relayed the question, then nodded the answer back to Jarod. He listened carefully, for Broots was talking to him – and then put his hand over the mouthpiece. "He wants to know if you still want all that information on Hydra's Teeth?"
Jarod blinked. "Information on what?"
"On that project of Lyle's and Cox's that made use of the homeless…"
Jarod straightened and stalked over to Sydney, his hand outstretched. "Let me talk to him."
Sydney didn't hesitate, but handed the little device up to his former protégé.
Jarod put the phone to his ear. "Mr. Broots."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "J….Jarod?"
"You say you have information on the Hydra's Teeth project from the Centre Mainframe?" Jarod asked, not letting Broots' surprise distract him.
"I copied as many of the files as I could to disk before I left to pick up Debbie from school," the computer technician explained patiently. "I knew how long it took me to design a way to find them in the first place – and so how easy it would be for them to just disappear them. Sydney said they were important…"
"I have a friend who may have ended up caught up by Lyle and Willy when they went looking for research subjects," Jarod explained in return. "I have evidence linking the two of them to the kidnappings – but nothing connecting the Centre as an organization to a reason FOR the kidnappings." Jarod began to smile. "This could be the beginning of the end."
"Jarod!" Sydney hissed at him urgently.
Jarod held his hand up for his old mentor to restrain his reaction for a time. "Can you come to Mercy Hospital?" he asked Broots hopefully.
"I suppose," Broots hedged. "Why?"
"Because Sam and Sydney and Miss Parker are here – and it would be easier for you to be under our protection here than off by yourself somewhere…"
"Except that you have the Centre coming straight to us," Sam grumbled at him with a glare that Jarod blinked and ignored.
"It will take me some time…"
"Call when you're downstairs," Jarod directed. "I'll come down to you and bring you up here. I can always put you and Debbie and Sydney up at my apartment for the evening, once we get our game-plan in motion."
"Game-plan?" Now Broots sounded less than confident.
"I'll talk to you when you get here," Jarod told him firmly. "Make haste carefully, Mr. Broots." He disconnected the call and handed the cell phone back to Sydney. "You were going to say?"
"You don't need to bring down the entire Centre," the Belgian scowled as he slipped the little phone back into his shirt pocket. "Miss Parker is ready to take charge of the Centre and turn it around. That's why Lyle did this!" Sydney's hand swept out to gesture at the woman in the bed.
"I know! I just am having trouble with squaring that idea with knowing how much she wanted to be free of the place once and for all," Jarod complained with a frown.
Sydney shook his head. "She knows as well as anyone the good that the Centre could do with the proper hand at the rudder. After all of this, she deserves her chance."
Jarod's gaze shifted between his old mentor and the woman who had spent the better part of six years trying to chase him down – and then he sighed. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stop it from going that far," he stated apologetically. "The FBI – or at least some elements within the agency – has wanted to put the Centre under a microscope for years, and now they have that chance…"
"Not everything the Centre does is evil, Jarod," Sydney said softly. "A lot of GOOD things have come out of the Centre – although I'll admit the bad overshadows them most of the time."
Jarod shook himself and then seemed to come to a decision. "I need to go. I need to finish things at the police station so that law enforcement doesn't come looking for me too.
Sam sniffed derisively but managed to keep his commentary to himself. "Going to be gone long?"
"An hour, maybe two," Jarod replied. "If I'm going to be much longer than that, I'll give you a call."
"What about Broots?" Sydney looked up sharply. "You said you'd be here when he got here…"
Jarod's brows knit for a moment. "Sydney, why don't you go down and wait for him in the lobby. Sam can stay here and keep Miss Parker safe in the interim. "Just, when everybody's here, everybody stay in one place so we can control the situation better."
"I don't like it," Sam grumbled.
"That really doesn't matter much to me," Jarod retorted. "There's a certain order that goes with a successful Pretend – and I don't intend to start leaving nagging questions with the wrong people. I have a life to go back to that doesn't include living life quite so close to the edge."
"Let him go," Sydney interfered before Sam could utter another word of protest. "The sooner he leaves, the sooner he'll be back." Sydney blinked and rounded on Jarod. "You ARE coming back, aren't you?"
Slowly the Pretender nodded. "As soon as I do what needs to be done, I'll be back – I promise." His eyes impacted with Sydney's. "I promise," he repeated and then walked briskly from the room.
"He's not coming back," Sam shook his head and sneered. "He's gonna run to save his skin."
"I don't think so," Sydney countered thoughtfully. "I raised Jarod to never make promises he has no intention of keeping. He'll be back – just maybe not as quickly as we might like."
oOoOo
SL-27 had been partially renovated after a bomb had demolished nearly all of its contents over seven years before – several of the small living spaces had been restored, as well as some of the laboratory space. All of it, however, looked decidedly ominous in the pinkish glow of what was essentially emergency lighting – and Mr. Cox could only pray that his memory was as good as he'd always claimed it to be.
"Down that hallway, you'll find living quarters doors," he pointed down one semi-lit corridor and stood aside. "Take them down there and give each one his own space. We'll work out who's stored where later."
Nine sweepers nodded obediently and led their particular charges forward into the semi-darkness by a tightly-held arm. Mr. Cox watched the living embodiment of two years' worth of hard work placidly tromp under the control of their muscle-bound escorts and then turned to look about him. His arms were aching with the weight of paper copies of all of his formerly computerized notes, memos and reports – the documentation of what he'd done and both the reasons for it and the outcomes. Without this, Hydra's Teeth would never be more than the nine men who had just been taken from one underground cell to another a little deeper into the ground.
He pushed one door open with a foot and scowled. This room obviously had missed out on Mr. Raines' renovations – the floor was covered with charred debris and partially melted and burned furniture. The second door he pushed open disclosed a long disused office that had only been singed around the edges. There was a metal desk next to the wall that, with but a little cleaning, could be made serviceable until Lyle could dispatch maintenance down here to make the space genuinely useable. Mr. Cox hesitated only a moment at the thought of the dust and ashes contaminating his precious research before he let the heavy notebooks and file folders drop carefully onto the desk.
"Anything else?"
Mr. Cox whirled around, startled, to find himself face to face with one of the nameless sweepers that had been ordered to his disposal. "Yes. Set a guard on the hallway near the spaces for round-the-clock surveillance."
"And the rest of us, sir?"
"Go on," Mr. Cox nodded tiredly. "Make sure the access is closed behind you when you leave. We don't want anybody tripping over it, now, do we?" He signed. "And get someone from janitorial down here. I refuse to hide in this pit as it is."
The sweeper nodded and removed himself from the doorway of the half-burned office.
Mr. Cox looked about him in dismay. Something was very amiss – he'd been thinking that his next center of operations would have been a comfortable office up high enough to have large picture windows overlooking the magnificent park that surrounded the Centre Tower. Now here he was hiding in a deep dark hole.
He ambled out of the office and cast a gaze toward where the sweeper designated to be left behind to watch the research subjects was settling into a metal chair retrieved from somewhere. No! There was no way in hell he was going to stay down here like a criminal hiding from the law. He'd done nothing wrong – and that which would have been misunderstood had been carefully hidden away.
"I'll be back," he announced to the sweeper and spun on his heel. Now all he had to do was remember where the ladder leading upwards was.
oOoOo
Angelo's head tipped to the side as he sampled the thoughts and emotions pulsating from the strange man's mind. Already this stranger had spent nearly an hour staring down at the funny dark papers that were the Centre – from time to time pausing in his studies to speak to other strange men who looked to him and direct them into yet another corner of the vast underground labyrinth.
The man's mind was very clear – he was looking for people. Angelo frowned slightly. People who didn't belong here?
Then the little empath blinked in surprise. The man's mind had brought up a face – a face that Angelo knew very well. This man knew Jarod – knew Friend – and had seen him not that long ago! This man was HELPING Friend!
In that case, Angelo could help the man.
He pushed through the grate and lowered himself soundlessly into the back corner of the little office into which The Man had settled and slowly moved forward until, with a start, The Man noticed him.
Gabe Watson frowned slightly. He hadn't heard anybody come into the office – and he certainly wouldn't have expected a visit from a person who obviously seemed to be mentally challenged. The little man blinked rapidly and tucked his head in a manner that just wasn't normal – but continued to approach him slowly. "Yes?" the FBI agent asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone. "Can I help you?"
"Angelo help YOU," Angelo said with a beatific smile. "Angelo knows. You follow."
"Follow you?" Watson asked with an indulgent smile.
The strange little man nodded vigorously. "Yes. Angelo show you ALL the secrets."
