Chapter 10 – Nowhere To Hide
Saturday Afternoon
Dr. Charles Van der Meer gazed down at the emaciated face and then glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Let's call it – time of death is sixteen-thirty-two hours," he announced to the surrounding nursing staff in a somber voice that befit the occasion of witnessing the death of the reigning Chairman of the Centre. He pulled on the crisp white sheet and covered the face of the deceased. "Send the body down to Pathology," he said, stepping aside so that the orderlies could get to the wheeled bed. Already one of the nurses was pulling at the white curtains that had surrounded the comatose patient and given him the illusion of privacy whether he needed it or not – there was no more need.
Willy stared numbly at the hospital bed and the now-shapeless mound that had, until just a few moments earlier, been his boss. Lyle's dispatch of a lawyer to arrange for his bail that morning still hadn't managed to pry him loose until well after noon – just in time to race back to the Centre and Mr. Raines' side and watch the skeletal Chairman draw his last few shuddering breaths. With William Raines gone, everything that held him to the Centre was now gone too. To make matters worse, there were FBI agents crawling through every nook and cranny of the place looking for, he'd heard, kidnap victims being held against their will – and Lyle had been taken into custody and removed from the premises in handcuffs. If his luck held, his turn in the cuffs was next – and this time, there wouldn't be a Centre lawyer Johnny on the spot to bail him out as quickly as possible.
For the first time he could remember in all the years he'd spent at the Centre, he didn't have the slightest idea what he should be doing – or for whom. He didn't have the slightest idea where the nameless man that had been sent after Miss Parker might have gotten to – nor was he really interested in finding out at this late date. None of that seemed to matter anymore.
It had been Mr. Raines who had brought Willy into the Centre, arranged for him to receive top training in marksmanship, martial arts and all forms of physical coercion and torture. It had been Mr. Raines who had kept him at the top of the food chain that was the sweeper corps – Mr. Raines who had taken care of him and seen to it that his paycheck was more than ample. Last but not least, it had been Mr. Raines that had sent him along with Lyle on this latest boondoggle – but Mr. Raines was no longer there to give him any direction or guidance as to whether the project would or even could continue without either Mr. Raines or Lyle at the controls of the Centre.
Willy sincerely doubted that Lyle would be willing to go to similar lengths for his sake – and considering that, his becoming as willing and loyal a retainer for Lyle Parker as he had been for William Raines seemed more than a bit far-fetched. After all, Lyle's entire agenda was wrapped up in his own delights and pet activities – where Mr. Raines had always kept the welfare of the Centre first and foremost in his consideration. Mr. Raines had even remarked several times about his misgivings about the day when Lyle took over the Centre and made the massive and powerful corporate behemoth complicit in deeds that pushed the limits further than they really ever should be pushed.
Willy shuddered. Mr. Raines had become the father-figure that he could look up to and emulate – there was nobody who could take his place. Lyle could wheedle and finagle and worm his way into the Chairmanship – or, heaven forbid, Miss Parker could find herself behind that big, ornate desk on the top floor of the Tower – but neither option would be one he wanted to be around to see.
His dark eyes met the watery blue of the attending physician without having a single emotion or tear apparent. "Thank you," was all he said – it was all there was to be said. Already the orderlies had begun to wheel the bed toward the back of the Renewal Wing and the service elevator that would take the body down another level to the in-house morgue. Willy looked about him at the sterile floor – at the stainless steel trays and carts holding medical machinery or assortments of shiny instruments. He had no reason to remain – he had no reason to stay in the Centre itself or in any capacity dealing with the Centre or its interests.
With difficulty, Willy pulled himself to his full height and straightened his shoulders. He was a member of the Centre elite after all – or at least, he had been for longer than he wanted to remember – a sweeper who had long been at the right hand of the man who wielded the true power of the Centre. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Without a single backwards glance, he strode purposefully to the swinging doors of the medical facility and headed toward the elevator.
He had an ascent of ten floors to figure out what his next move was – other than to put some serious distance between himself and the federal agents crawling through the Centre's entrails.
oOoOo
Jarod sighed. The benefit of having brought Miss Parker to Mercy General was that he knew the people here and trusted that she'd receive the best possible medical care to see her through. The downside, however, was that so many people knew him and had come to rely on his expertise. A trek to his car so that he could drive back to the precinct and let the Captain there know that his commander at the 47 wanted him back now had been sidetracked at least three times. Twice he'd been consulted on developments with his patients, whom he'd left in the care of trusted colleagues, and then he'd had to put Maricela Sanchez off again.
As he walked toward the front door of the lobby, he saw that he was going to be sidetracked once more – for coming through the glassed doors from the other direction was Mr. Broots and a very worried and much grown-up Debbie. The computer tech's eyes bulged as he saw who was standing on the other side of the door. "J…Jarod…"
"Mr. Broots," Jarod nodded and then looked at Debbie. "Miss Broots. You've grown quite a bit since last I saw you."
Debbie looked startled. "I've heard my dad talk about you, but I didn't know…"
"You were outside in the backyard of your dad's house the one time I visited," Jarod explained with a smile. "It was a very brief visit, and you didn't see me." He returned his gaze to Broots. "You have something for Sydney, I take it?"
Broots patted the over-the-shoulder bag that rested in khaki casualness against his right hip. "Right here."
"Then let's get inside so we can take a look at it, shall we?" Jarod suggested and indicated the hallway that led to the elevator. "The sooner we have everyone where I know they're safe, the better."
"How's Miss Parker?" Debbie asked with much more confidence than she felt.
"She's still unconscious," Jarod replied as the elevator door slid open. "They've given her some blood and some strong antibiotics, though – so I'm fairly sure she should be waking up sometime soon."
"Do you know who did this?" the young woman wanted to know.
Broots shot Jarod a cautionary glance that told the Pretender that there were still things that the man was protecting his daughter from knowing – this evidently being one of them. "We have a fairly good idea who's behind it," Jarod answered carefully, telling the truth without being entirely forthcoming. "We just need to be patient and a little careful for a little while longer."
"But why…"
"Debbie." Broots' one-word chastised his daughter into reluctant silence, and Jarod looked away so that she wouldn't bristle at the sight of him finding the exchange humorous at her expense. Debbie was obviously as intelligent as her father and quite possibly much more curious – which could spell trouble for the girl as time and her proximity to the Centre combined into a volatile mix.
She frowned and looked down at the scuffed toes of her tennis shoes. The three were silent for the rest of the elevator ride and the walk down the corridor towards Miss Parker's room.
Sam stood up and let the three get past him and into the room. Debbie's eyes were glued to Miss Parker's face – until Sydney rose and put out an arm to her, indicating that she should sit down in the chair he'd just vacated. Broots studied the face of his boss and then moved to join Jarod and Sydney in a huddle in a far corner near the foot of the hospital bed. "Mr. Broots…" Jarod prompted.
Broots pulled the strap of the bag from over his head and threw the covering flap back to reveal a thick pile of documents and then slid his hand in to pull out a jewel case with a writable CD disk inside. "Miss Parker wanted me to print out as much as I was finding – but when Sydney's call came, I started to save the files aside. I copied them all to disk just before we took off…"
Jarod took the CD case from the tech and looked at it for a moment. "What did you find out?" he asked after he'd looked back up again. "Give me the high points…"
Broots lowered his voice so that it would be hard for his daughter to hear. "Well, it seems that Hydra's Teeth was the Centre's newest answer to the cash flow problem. Mr. Cox had perfected a combination of chemical, auditory and sensory deprogramming and brainwashing techniques to take a person – say, a homeless man picked up off the streets – and turn them into an automaton willing to do whatever task their "mentor" sets them. Ostensibly, the ultimate purpose was to create an army of throw-away assassins, trained and single-minded of purpose whose connection to the person or agency whose dirty work they did was virtually non-existent."
"And…" Jarod prompted, his stomach turning. He'd already heard much of this from Sydney before – certainly there had to be more…
"And, apparently, Lyle and Willy went homeless-shopping for test subjects in New York City about the time Sydney says that your friend went missing." Broots' face wore an expression of sympathy. "Then Raines collapsed the morning after the other two took off – and Lyle took charge of the first subject to finish the process. Mr. Cox has actually complained to the Triumvirate that Mr. Lyle was jeopardizing the project by trying to rush it – stealing one of the subjects really before he was ready…"
"How much does Miss Parker know of this?" Jarod asked Sydney, who merely shrugged and pointed at Broots with his nose.
"Miss Parker only consulted with me at the very beginning," the Belgian explained, "and asked me to summon Angelo to her one day. Other than that…"
"She knows only a few details of what I found here," Broots finished. "I was going to give her the rest of this information today – but instead…"
Jarod pointed to the bag. "Is everything on this disk printed out and in there?"
"Nope," Broots answered. "Didn't have the time. You called and made it clear that it was in my best interests to get the hell out of there…"
"Still…" Jarod was quiet a moment. "Nine chances out of ten, Lyle has at least heard of the FBI raid on the Centre…"
"The FBI?!" Broots gaped.
Jarod's glance was sharp as it bounced meaningfully from Broots to Debbie. "…and has had Cox delete as much of this information from the Centre mainframe as possible before it gets found. That means this…" He waved the CD case in the air. "…may well be the only copy of some of this material. The FBI will need to see this to make sure Lyle is put away for a long time."
"What about your friend, Jarod?" Sydney asked gently.
Jarod's face grew tense. "With any luck, they'll find him along with all the others that were taken." He patted Broots on the shoulder. "I'll make a copy of the CD, so that Miss Parker can have a chance to read everything too – but I'll need to get a copy of this to the FBI. And now…" He moved toward Sam and the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can – and I'll get Broots, Debbie and Sydney to a safe place for the evening after that."
Sam's stony face didn't even twitch. "Just remember," was all the sweeper said in a low and threatening tone. The fact that the Lab Rat had managed to stem Miss Parker's bleeding and get her safely to a hospital notwithstanding, hanging her out as bait when she couldn't even defend herself was enough to make his blood boil every time he thought about it.
"I haven't forgotten," Jarod replied tersely. "Just keep them all safe until I get back. Be doubly alert – nine chances out of ten, that initial Hydra's Teeth subject is the one who is pulling the trigger on Miss Parker, and won't look like Centre personnel after all."
"I know how to do my job." Dark chocolate eyes clashed with ice blue. "You just remember that we're not through, you and me," Sam warned again and then looked away from Jarod with studied disinterest.
oOoOo
If Gabe Watson had had any reservations about allowing the strange little man to show him around the Centre, they had long since evaporated. The man who continually referred to himself in third person by the name of Angelo had so far taken the most computer savvy of the agents past an amazing series of passwords and security screens and into the very heart of the Centre mainframe. Then he'd led the agents on a department by department tour of the Centre underground facility – a tour that had made him glad when the reinforcements from Dover had arrived.
The Centre complex, both above and below ground, was massive. So much went on here – and so much of it was obviously of a very questionable nature – that Watson was fairly certain it would take forensic scientists and accountants and experts of all kinds months and months to sort through everything. It would take a long time to erase the sight of young twin girls staring at him somberly from opposite sides of a table in an otherwise sterile laboratory setting – each wired with dozens of leads that had been taped to a forehead or into the hair. The adult in the room had very pointedly avoided looking him in the eye – and Watson had come away from the room with the vaguest impression that something very wrong was happening there.
And still the odd little man with the disheveled mop of reddish was leading him onward – off into what looked to be an unused corner of a maintenance area. "Here!" Angelo beamed at the FBI agent and pointed downward.
Watson followed the pointing finger and then gaped. There was a manhole in the cement floor. "I thought this was the last sublevel!"
"Secret," the disheveled little man shook his head. "SL-27. Bad place." He seemed to shrink from whatever memories his words evoked for a moment, and then bent to pull expertly on the metal cover. "Down there," he pointed into what seemed like thick darkness.
Watson beckoned to Okui and nodded his head at the puddle of darkness at his feet. "We're going to need flashlights," he stated tersely. Okui nodded in response and walked away for a few paces, already talking into his cell phone and ordering what was needed. Watson turned back to his odd little guide. "Do you know what's down there?"
The shaggy head nodded surely. "Bad things. Bad man. Others very empty – waiting."
What the Hell was waiting for him in that darkness, Watson wondered, and what the Hell was an underground facility doing with a secret basement? Just what all HAD gone on here? He peered down into the dark hole, trying to penetrate the features of the landscape below him without success. The entire idea was bringing up the hair on the back of his neck.
The moment Watson saw one of his other men approaching with two high powered flashlights in hand, he pointed down and asked. "Will you show us?"
The odd little man backed away shaking his head vehemently. "Not go back. Angelo not go back there. Bad things happen…" He gazed up at the startled FBI agent with wild-looking eyes and then bolted around a corner.
Okui's dark eyes snapped back to his superior's face. "Odd duck," he commented wryly. "Definitely more than a couple fries short of a Happy Meal."
"I wonder. Considering everything he's shown us, I'm not so sure about that," Watson responded slowly and then held his hand out for one of the flashlights. "Ok, men – after me…" And after shining the light down into the hole to make sure there was some sort of ladder to facilitate his descent, Watson began to lower himself into the darkness below. He'd feel better when his feet were on solid ground again, so that he could pull his service revolver against whatever evil that impenetrable darkness hid.
oOoOo
"I had a meeting with Mr. Parker at this time, did I not?" Mr. Adin asked the Chinese woman seated so primly behind the desk in front of him. "Did you not call me with the time yourself only this morning?"
"I did, sir," JeiLing told the tall and powerfully built African representative calmly. "But some men came about an hour ago and took Mr. Parker away – and didn't leave word for how long he would be gone."
"This is VERY irregular," Mr. Adin frowned at the secretary.
"I'm sorry sir," JeiLing replied, her almond-shaped eyes wide and understanding. "Perhaps if we made another appointment for tomorrow…"
"Tell me, young woman, what kind of people were they that came in a simply removed Mr. Parker from his office?"
"Federal agents, sir," JeiLing reported without guile.
Mr. Adin's face folded even further into a frown. "If Mr. Lyle has been taken into custody, then who is responsible for the day-to-day operations of the Centre?"
JeiLing smiled up at the tall man. "Miss Parker, as head of Security, would be the one who would be sharing the responsibility for operations until the stockholder's meeting on Tuesday, sir. Would you like me to call her secretary to see if she's in her office?"
The African folded his arms over his chest. "That would be most appreciated."
oOoOo
Captain DiAngello waited until Jarod had closed the door behind himself before settling his backside against the corner of his desk and folding his arms over his chest. "So you're leaving us. Evidently they want you back over at the 47th."
"Yes, sir," Jarod nodded. He'd placed a call to the precinct about fifteen minutes before arriving, claiming to be Captain Fischer and formally requesting that his detective be released to return to his regular precinct. The call, and the paperwork that had been timed to arrive on DiAngello's desk that morning, were the two pieces of this Pretend that he HAD been able to plan out ahead – the exit strategy that would allow him to simply fade back into the woodwork and vanish. "Is there a problem, sir?"
"No…" DiAngello's dark eyes rested on this man who had breezed into his precinct, turned what would normally been a case to slip through the cracks and be forgotten into frontpage-crowding headlines and details. "I can't help but wish that I could keep you on here. You've done good work here, Holmes."
"Thank you, sir," Jarod smiled with wry humility. "But I belong on the other side of the city, sir. Not that I don't appreciate the offer…"
DiAngello straightened up and offered his hand. "If ever you get tired of that bunch over there…"
"I'll know what precinct to transfer to," Jarod finished for him, shaking the captain's hand warmly. "Thanks for putting up with me, sir."
"I look forward to seeing you make a bigger name for yourself, son." DiAngello nodded and slipped back behind his desk. "Good luck to you."
Jarod turned and walked from the captain's office and didn't let a sigh of relief go until he'd reached the relative safety of his desk in the bullpen. There was little that he would want to take with him – the picture of his parents and siblings that had graced his desk was already tucked into the slender filecase that held the CD Broots had given him. All that was left for him to do was to have a final interview with Watson when he got back from Blue Cove – and he could go back to being Jarod Russell, MD.
With a few hearty handshakes from the detectives in the room, Jarod threw his jacket over his shoulder and walked from the precinct.
Frank DiAngello watched the departure very quietly from the privacy of the glassed-in office at the south end of the bullpen – and then, when Jarod had disappeared through the side door leading to the parking lot, pulled a folder from his in-box and opened it again for the fourth time.
It was a response to his inquiry about Detective Jarod Holmes, sent to the captain of the 47th Precinct. In blunt terms, Captain Fischer had informed him that there was no detective attached to the 47th by the name of Jarod Holmes – and that there had been no inter-precinct transfer.
It had all been a rouse – cleverly designed and brilliantly executed – but one that had worked out well enough in the end for all concerned. The police department had been lauded in the print and broadcast media from the Times to the Village Voice to Dateline NBC as finally being proactive FOR the little people of the city in investigating the disappearance of the otherwise invisible street people. They were even receiving kudos for being willing to bring in the FBI when the case started taking unexpected turns. The Police Commissioner, as a result of all of the media attention, was riding higher in the polls recently than he had since taking office.
And now Frank DiAngello was on the horns of a dilemma. Did he blow the whistle on a man who had impersonated an officer of the law – and in doing so, created a public relations windfall for the department and all concerned? Or did he ignore the evidence sitting on his desk and let this man ride off into the sunset, never to be seen again?
He'd have to think about that one…
oOoOo
Miss Parker stirred and then moaned. There was a deep ache in her shoulder that made her entire body thrum in sympathy – although there seemed to be enough of a cushion between her mind and the pain that movement wasn't agony. She was comfortable – not like the last conscious thought she could remember with her head in Sydney's lap and his voice in her ear – and the hand that slowly moved up to touch at the painful shoulder wasn't caught back and restrained this time.
"Miss Parker?" Sydney's voice sounded from close by, and she could hear someone moving to get closer to her.
"Miss Parker?" This time it was Debbie Broots' voice coming from much closer to her and on the other side of the bed from Sydney. "How are you feeling?"
Slowly Miss Parker opened her eyes. Debbie had shifted from the chair at the side of the hospital bed to sitting next to her – and her face wore an anxious and slightly frightened expression. The grey eyes moved to the other side of her, where Sydney stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his face in a relieved smile. "Did anybody get the license number of that truck?" she quipped and tried to chuckle, then groaned as the use of the muscles of her chest made her shoulder ache even more.
"We're working on it, Miss Parker," came Sam's voice from the far side of the room – and it took her a moment to locate him in his chair against the far wall. "It was a hit-and-run, though…"
"Jarod's working on tying up loose ends where that's concerned," Broots moved up next to Sydney and drew her attention next. "He'll be back in a bit."
Miss Parker heard the soft snort of derision from her sweeper, but chose not to acknowledge it. Instead she turned her gaze to Sydney. "How bad?" she asked, knowing that he dared not tell her anything but the truth.
Sydney moved closer to the bed and reached down for a hand. "The bullet passed completely through – and Jarod's emergency surgery at my house kept you from bleeding to death. There is some muscle damage that will take time to heal – if at all." He patted the hand with his other. "You're lucky to be alive."
"We still gotta get through the rest of this," Sam remarked in thinly-disguised disgust. When Miss Parker's gaze landed questioning on him, he continued, "Seems the Lab Rat let where we were taking you out of the bag – so whoever it was that Lyle sent after you will know where to come to finish the job." His face tightened. "He and I have a score to settle between us over that one…"
"Down Sam," Miss Parker's voice may not have been strong, but it still wielded a tone of authority. "Jarod rarely does anything without a reason."
"He thought it was sweepers doing the job," Broots interjected. "Now, it seems, we find out that you have one of those folks from the Hydra's Teeth project aimed at you."
"And we aren't going to know what kind of person to look out for," Sam finished. "If it were me…"
Miss Parker tried to sit up, but quickly gave up when her entire upper body blossomed with devastating agony. "You stay still," Sydney soothed, a hand landing on her good shoulder and exerting just enough pressure to assure that his demand was obeyed. "You're in no shape to do anything but just lie here and get better."
"I need my gun…"
"That bastard ain't gonna get to you, Miss Parker," Sam's voice was low and deadly.
"Sam…" Sydney's eyes quickly darted to Debbie in a silent chastisement for the rough language.
"Uh…" Sam knew better, and felt chagrin for being so much a sweeper around a young woman he'd known as a child so many years before. "Sorry about that, Short Stuff…"
Debbie shrugged, unimpressed with the protectiveness of the men. "I've heard worse…"
"From me," Miss Parker added with a wry tone. She looked up at Broots. "But if the man is coming here, you and Debbie need to be elsewhere…"
"Jarod's going to take Sydney, Broots and Debbie to his place when he gets back," Sam announced.
"Where did he go?" she asked Sydney.
"To finish the Pretend he started when all of this began," Sydney told her frankly. "One of the men Lyle and Willy gathered up in their harvest of homeless was one of his friends."
Miss Parker lay back in her pillow and closed her eyes. "So his being involved is nothing but coincidence?"
Sydney glanced at Broots and decided to come clean himself before she found out some other way. "He called me when he had enough information about his friend's disappearance to see the Centre's fingerprints on it. I hadn't heard from him in years…" he added when Miss Parker opened her eyes and stared at him in shock. "He was desperate – and it sounded like something the Centre had no business doing in the first place…"
Miss Parker sighed and closed her eyes again. "You and I will have to have a long talk one of these days, Syd," she announced quietly. "But for right now…"
"Um…" an unfamiliar voice broke through the tension in the room. Maricela Sanchez found herself squared off with the big and husky protective man who had his body between her and the patient she needed to examine. "I'm going to need you all to step outside…" She saw the look of disbelief and stubbornness on that stony face and added, "I'm the one Jarod called to arrange her admittance without the gunshot report. You can stay – I'll draw the curtains for privacy – but…" she gazed at the others. "The rest of you…"
"Come along Broots," Sydney gestured and held his arm out until Debbie had started to move toward the door as well. "We'll be right outside…"
"Miss Parker?" Sam asked, his tone making plain his need to hear that his boss was willing to let him be removed from line of sight protection, knowing that an assassin was probably still stalking her even here in the hospital.
Miss Parker looked up into the dark eyes of the lady doctor to see only restrained curiosity and professionalism – and then nodded. "I'll be ok," she told him. "Let the doctor do her job. I want to get out of this place sooner rather than later, you know…"
As Sydney walked through the door, he could hear the curtain being drawn. He and Broots looked at each other in a shared lack of an idea of what to do next – and then he smiled. "I'll bet you're both hungry."
"Famished!" Debbie agreed enthusiastically. "Daddy had us leaving before we could even…"
"Then how about we go find the cafeteria and have ourselves an early supper – so that we don't strain Jarod's larder when he takes us to his place?"
Broots nodded, and then the three were heading back down the corridor. "Good thinking, Sydney," the computer tech added as they stood waiting for the elevator.
oOoOo
Hank steered the big sedan into one of the parking spots and turned off the engine, grateful to have finally wound his way through the traffic snarls and obstructions and arrived at his destination – albeit much later than he'd thought he would. He stared up at the building that rose seven floors above the level of the parking structure he was on and wondered just where, in that maze of rooms, his target had found her haven. Finding one person in an institution that took care of hundreds on any given day was going to be an interesting puzzle.
The rifle would do him no good – it was too big and bulky to carry into a busy public facility with security guards at regular intervals. Leaning over, Hank opened the glove box and smiled. He pulled out the handgun that had been stowed in there and quickly ejected the clip, finding it full but for one bullet. A quick glance had him reaching again for the second fully loaded clip that had been lying hidden by the weapon – a clip that he slipped into the front pocket of his trousers. The handgun slipped into the outer pocket of the sports coat he'd been given when his mentor had prepared him for his trek.
He was all set now. He had more than enough to make sure that everyone around his target was eliminated too. He climbed from the sedan and placidly pushed the lock button on the key ring. I decide who lives and dies, he heard echoed over and over in his mind as he walked toward the covered pedestrian crossing to the hospital proper. I decide who lives and dies.
oOoOo
Mr. Adin stormed up to JeiLing's desk, this time his face a mask of dark fury. "Young lady, you were to make an appointment for me to meet with Miss Parker. Why have you not called me back with a time?"
JeiLing's face was carefully schooled to genteel neutrality, but her stomach was wound up into knots. "I've been unable to get in touch with Miss Parker, sir," she began in an apologetic tone. "Her secretary said that she didn't come in to the Centre today – and that all attempts to reach her at her home and her cell phone have failed."
"This is intolerable!" Mr. Adin snarled. "The Triumvirate will hear about the careless way in which the Centre is being run lately!"
JeiLing flinched visibly. "I'm truly sorry, sir – I don't know what to tell you…"
Eyes as dark as hers but snapping in an impatient fury nailed her where she was sitting, stripping her of any illusion of protection behind her desk. "And you may need to find yourself another place of employment, when I'm finished speaking to my superiors."
The tall African stalked away and gestured brusquely to the heavy-set bodyguard who had hung back and away from his boss' business. JeiLing let go a long and shuddering breath. Her hand trembled as she reached once more for the telephone.
Surely SOMEONE knew where Miss Parker was…
oOoOo
Jarod sighed as he climbed from his car and carefully locked it. It had been a long afternoon, and it promised to be a long evening. He had the Broots and Sydney to get settled in his apartment, and then an entire night guarding Miss Parker with Sam as a companion to look forward to yet. He sincerely hoped that he and Sam didn't kill each other before they'd had a chance to nail the guy gunning for Miss Parker – and he was tired enough and too lazy to try to SIM his way through the probabilities.
Something in the way Captain DiAngello had looked at him had bothered him all the way back from the precinct. He'd reviewed his actions, the prep work he'd done to set the stage for the persona – and other than personal contact between the two precinct captains or the interference of someone who had run into him before, he couldn't imagine what could have been wrong. Still, senses that had served him well told him that something had gone wrong – that he needed to be on his toes. Pretending within a law enforcement milieu was a high-wire act in the best of times – and he had been rusty and not had the luxury of time to prepare properly.
Thankfully both his residence and place of work were far enough removed from there that he wouldn't have to worry too much about running into anybody he'd met during that Pretend. Hopefully by the time he'd gotten his degree and board certification as a psychiatrist, he could move a long ways away and improve the odds of having to manufacture more lies. That was one part of Pretending he didn't miss at all anymore. All he had to do now was handle the phone call from Agent Watson, and do what it would take to pull that end of the Pretend to a finish as well.
Then, with any luck, he could watch the ensuing mess that Lyle and the Centre would no doubt become play itself out on his portable TV on his breakfast table – safely removed both from the Centre and his Pretends by distance and the security of his real identity. Hiding in plain sight had, after all, been a very effective camouflage for a very long time – with no reason to change tactics in sight.
Jarod walked to the elevated pedestrian crossing, barely even noticing the man who had reached the other end of the walk before him and was now pulling open the door to the second floor of the hospital. So wrapped up in his own thoughts and musings was he that he never even bothered to give the man in the tan sports coat and black pants at the nearby nurse's station a second look as he walked toward the elevator. Jarod's back was turned so that he missed the delighted look on the nurse's face at seeing a friend she'd not seen for a while.
And he was far enough away that he didn't hear the nurse respond, "I'm sorry, Doctor Kellogg, but there's nobody on this floor with that nature of injury. You might want to check the surgical floor…"