Chapter 10 – Dealing With The Devil

The cell phone only rang twice before Jarod had it out of his pocket. "Yes?"

"M… Jarod?"

The Pretender smiled grimly. "Mr. Broots? This IS a surprise – I didn't expect to hear from you at all at least until this evening."

Broots hunkered down near the surface of his desk, as if making himself smaller visually would do more to keep him from being overheard. "Sam asked me to get in touch with you – wanted me to write you an email – but I know that this would be quicker…"

"I get the point. What does he want?"

Broots took two deep breaths. "Promise you won't yell at me or…"

"Mr. Broots, if you don't spit out what it is that Sam wants with me, I WILL…"

"He wants to meet. Miss Parker was tricked into getting into the car last night – someone pretending to be me called her in the middle of the night and told her that Debbie was missing…"

Jarod stared. "Say what?"

"Sam's convinced that this isn't the first time she's been… he called it 'gas-lighting'…"

"Gas-lighting?" Jarod was thoroughly confused. "What the…"

"It was an old movie – Charles Boyer wanted to make Ingrid Bergman think that she was going insane, so he'd set all of these situations where she'd claim she saw something that ended up not being where she said it was – or said something was supposed to be in one place and it wasn't…"

"I get the reference," Jarod retorted. "I'm assuming that the only way for anybody to do this successfully would be for them to know their victim…"

"Sam has the answering machine tape – and it has the call recorded. He's talking about getting a voice print…"

The Pretender shook his head. "That doesn't explain why he wants to set up a meet…"

"I think… I think he just wants to have everybody working on this thing on the same page at the same time. Miss Parker's in no shape to help Sydney, and if we can't get the judge to postpone…"

"Where does he want this meet to happen?"

Broots' smile was wide. "Then you'll come? Really?"

"I haven't said that yet – but I'll consider it. Now, when and where?"

"Miss Parker's? After dark tonight?"

Jarod's mind was spinning. "I'll think about it," he promised. "And I'll let you know in good time to pass the word to Sam."

"Th…thanks, Jarod," Broots said earnestly. "I'm sure Miss Parker and Sydney would thank you too – if they knew…"

The line clicked in the technician's ear, and he knew that Jarod had disconnected the call. Damn, he thought as he replaced the cell phone in his pocket and sat up a little straighter in his chair. He's not much more on being polite than Miss Parker was!

oOoOo

Sam stared down into the depths of the bottom file cabinet drawer, almost amazed at this point that he'd actually found it – he'd been at the point of admitting defeat on this score. The file folder he'd spent the last half hour going through each and every one of Miss Parker's files to find had, at last, been located on the floor of the very bottom drawer – hidden from view under all of the hanging files. He reached out and pulled it to him, easily reading "Fountain of Youth" on the label – just as she'd claimed.

He straightened from his crouch and pushed the drawer closed with his foot, opening the folder and beginning to read as he sauntered back towards her desk. He scanned the first page, but started to frown at the top of the third. No wonder she'd gone off like a sky-rocket! If she'd thought this to be genuine – and there was no visible reason for it not to be – it would have been evidence of a cruel and downright obscene experiment getting ready to take place.

She WAS being gas-lighted! What was more, someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make these documents look genuine – using letterhead stationary and what looked to be forged signatures. Someone wanted her making a fool of herself – perhaps even beginning to question her own judgment. Why?

"Can I talk to you?" a soft and unwelcome voice asked from near the door to the office, and Sam looked up to see Willy standing just inside the closed doors.

"Get the Hell outta here," Sam growled dangerously. "Go back to your Master and tell him that I just found proof that Miss Parker wasn't lying down in the…"

"Raines is dead," Willy announced abruptly and with a voice that sounded almost as dead as the man he was speaking about.

That took Sam aback, and he stared at the dark face of the other sweeper. "You're sure?"

Willy nodded. "The doctors down in Renewal pronounced him about ten minutes ago."

"How?"

"The doctor's suspecting carbon monoxide poisoning," the dark sweeper stated quietly. He was thrilled – at least Sam was talking to him. That was better than he'd hoped. "I think something's going on…"

"You can say that again," Sam growled and slapped the folder down on the Plexiglas desk surface. "Here's the folder that Miss Parker sent me back upstairs to find – you know, the one that she claimed proved that there was an experiment involving her little brother when Raines insisted that there was no such thing…" Willy frowned and stepped quickly into the room and reached for the folder, only to have the manila document holder scooped up and away by Sam again. "I'm not having it sprout legs and vanish again…"

"Listen to me," Willy stated earnestly, hoping that he still had some of the charisma that had brought him to his position of power and authority – because he was going to need every last ounce of it. "I'm thinking we've a big problem here…"

"No shit, Sherlock! What gave you the clue…"

"Listen to me!" Willy insisted. "Think about it. Sydney's in jail, and so is Lyle. Miss Parker is in the hospital and Raines is dead." He stared into Sam's blue eyes. "Right now, there's a vacuum at the top of the Centre – everybody who had any chance of taking over has been moved out of the way either temporarily or permanently."

Sam gazed into those dark and intelligent eyes, suddenly beginning to see the pattern. "I see what you're saying…"

"I'm thinking Jarod…"

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Jarod would never do anything to hurt either Sydney or Miss Parker, nor would he kill innocent people in order to frame anybody – not even Lyle." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Still, considering the ways in which everybody's been taken out of the picture, it looks like an inside job."

Broots came barreling through the glass doors. "He said he'd think…" His words died on his lips as he caught sight of Mr. Raines' personal sweeper standing as if facing off with Sam. "I'm sorry…" he squeaked turning around. "I thought…"

"Broots!" Sam called and beckoned when Broots turned to give him a frightened glance. "He said he'd think about it?"

Broots sidled very carefully around Willy until he could move to a point where Sam was between him and the other sweeper. "Yeah. He'll call."

"Who'll call?" Willy demanded.

"We need help on this," Sam justified his decision, "help we can TRUST. I had Broots get in contact with Jarod."

"Jarod? You've known how to find him all this time?" Willy asked slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"N…no," Broots was nearly panting. "H…he called ME this morning… w…when he c…c…ouldn't reach M…Miss Parker…"

"You TALKED to him? You actually spoke to him?" Sam gaped as the bald man nodded nervously. So the little man had more on the ball than anybody imagined, eh? "Just now, too?"

"Y…yes," Broots stammered. "I figured it was f…faster than email…"

Sam pointed an imperious finger at him. "Get him back – now! Tell him things are critical and we need to put our heads together ASAP."

"I'm not working with no damned Pretender," Willy grumbled dangerously.

"You'd rather work for whoever is willing to kill the entire top echelon of the Centre?" Sam challenged back? "And you'd trust that person not to put a bullet in your brain the moment you set foot through the office door?"

Dark brown and ice blue gazes met in a clash of wills and intents, but Willy looked away first. "Damn!" he muttered to himself, turning away to look out Miss Parker's window.

"Get him back," Sam ordered Broots again. "And have him meet us in an hour at…"

"What about we let HIM set the place?" Broots suggested hesitantly. "Give him a little security, you know? After all, when he finds out about him…" His words died as his index finger pointed at the silent and morose sweeper staring out the window.

Sam followed Broot's pointing finger to look at Willy. Yes, having him around right now might make it more difficult to reason with the understandably cautious, if not paranoid, Pretender. "Tell him that he can choose the where, if the when can be within the next hour or two. The way things are going around here, the sooner we get ourselves some sort of game plan in place, the better for all of us."

Broots didn't look encouraging. "I'll see what I can do," he stated and headed toward Miss Parker's private restroom for some privacy.

oOoOo

Jarod pressed a little harder on the fine mesh that was the basis of the moustache, pushing it into the spirit gum that he'd painted on his upper lip. Dover General Hospital was very close to the Centre – too close, under normal conditions – but Miss Parker being a patient there made the trip worth the risk. He wasn't going to try anything fancy – visiting hours had started about a half hour earlier, so walking down the corridors of the hospital in street clothing wouldn't call too much attention to him. Besides, he just wanted to talk to her for a little bit – as much to make sure that she was OK than anything else.

He adjusted the rear view so that he could take a good, appraising look at his minimal disguise, then put it back where it had been and climbed from behind the wheel of his current vehicle, a white SUV. He walked through the front door of the hospital as if it were nothing special, and aimed his steps for the volunteer's desk. "Miss Parker?" he asked congenially.

"Room 176," the older woman answered, writing the number down in a book. "Down this corridor to the first corridor to your left, then straight to here that ends and turn right. Left again at the nurse's station."

"Thank you," he smiled as sweetly as he could at the woman, who gave him a thoroughly charmed smile in return, and then set out to follow her direction. At the nurse's station, he inquired again and had the nurse point him in the direction of the long corridor with ward rooms on either side.

He entered the room quietly, realizing when he didn't get some acerbic comment as he drew closer that she was at the very least dozing. He took the time, while he had the chance, to survey the visible damage. Her face had several bruises that were going to make her look as if she'd lost a prize-fight for a while, and her hand resting on the top of the blanket was encased in plaster.

But her senses were still sharp and conditioned in the Centre way – and just like him, she knew when she was being observed. Soon she was moving just slightly in her bed, and then finally she opened her eyes. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hey yourself," Jarod replied and moved into the room and over to where he could pull a chair closer to her bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a truck," she cracked, and then grimaced in the middle of her chuckle. "Bruised ribs are no fun."

"Tell me about it," Jarod commiserated. "I had to call Broots this morning when I couldn't get through to you – he told me what happened."

"I'll bet you scared him out of several dozen lifetimes," she quipped and shifted against her pillow. "Jarod, what am I going to do? I'm stuck here…"

"Broots said either he or Sam were going to try to talk to the judge…"

"Considering that Sydney is employed at the Centre, I doubt the judge will be very understanding," she shook her head. "And I doubt Raines will bother with sending over anybody else…"

Jarod patted the top of her cast. "Don't you worry, I won't let Sydney down – I'll represent him myself, if need be."

"Jarod…" The idea was audacious – and dangerous.

"Broots called me earlier, told me that he and Sam have uncovered proof that you'd been what he called 'gas-lighted'. Does that make sense to you?"

"I gave them some of that proof myself," she said with a sigh. "Maybe they've found more – I don't know."

"Sam wants me to attend a meet." Jarod watched her face carefully.

Miss Parker's grey eyes held his steadily. "He must feel it's important – because Sam isn't the kind of person who goes to an outside agency for help – trust me!"

"So you think that it's safe for me to meet with him?"

"Did it sound as if Broots would be there?"

"Yeah…"

"Then it's probably safe," she replied with a nod. "Broots is no hero, but he's also not likely to want to lead you into a trap." She smiled with astonishing fondness. "He's a man of principles."

Jarod nodded, relieved. "He wanted to set up the meet in your house…"

"Just make sure you guys don't leave the place a mess when you're done," she smiled at him.

From the depths of his trousers pocket, his cell phone chose that moment to start chirping at him again. With an apologetic look, he pulled it out and opened it. "Yes?"

"J…Jarod? It's me again."

"What do you want, Mr. Broots? You're interrupting my visit with a very sore Miss Parker…"

Broots grimaced. "Sam wants to move the meet up – something else has come up that's made things really urgent."

"More urgent than they already were?" Jarod was surprised and let that be reflected in his voice. "How could that be?"

"Mr. Raines is dead," Broots answered bluntly.

Jarod's jaw dropped, and Miss Parker frowned. "What did he say?" she demanded, shifting in bed and trying to sit up straighter. "Damn it, Jarod…"

"He said Raines was dead," Jarod told her flatly, then spoke to the man on the other end of the line. "When and how?"

"Less than an hour ago – and Willy says that the doctor suspects carbon monoxide poisoning…"

"Willy!" Now Jarod sounded downright skeptical. "Don't tell me Sam is listening to that monster…"

"He's making sense, Jarod – and you need to hear him out."

Jarod was shaking his head vehemently. "No. I'm not coming anywhere near that man…"

"What if what he has to say helps us free Sydney and figure out what happened to Miss Parker? Huh?" Broots finally found his reservoir of courage and decided that now was a time to spend a great deal of it. "He came to US, Jarod – came to Sam, I think, looking for help."

"He was Raines' pet pit bull," Jarod warned the technician. "He can't be trusted."

"He wasn't too thrilled when Sam mentioned we were working with you either," Broots told the Pretender frankly.

"What is it?" Miss Parker demanded again. "Jarod – for God's sake, tell me what's going on or I swear when I get out of this bed… Raines dead? How? When?"

"Hang on," he told Broots and then explained the situation in terse terms.

Miss Parker listened carefully and then nodded. "Willy knows that with Raines gone, his days are numbered at the Centre unless he aligns himself with someone. He's pissed off too many people. He might be dangerous, but he's probably also desperate enough to find a new pocket to slither into that this might be one of the few times we can trust him." At the continued look of suspicion and disbelief, she asked in exasperation, "What does Broots think?"

"He thinks I should hear him out," Jarod replied sourly.

"Broots has a good head on him for things like this," Miss Parker told him. "He's got good instincts."

Jarod stared at her for a while and then put the phone back up to his ear. "Two hours, then," he agreed. "Where?"

"Sam and I agree that you should set up the where – make it someplace that you'd feel more secure."

"How about right in front of Dover Police Headquarters – on the sidewalk in exactly two hours from NOW?"

"We'll be there," Broots replied with relief. "Thanks, man."

"Don't thank me yet," Jarod warned darkly and disconnected.

"In front of the police headquarters?" Miss Parker couldn't help but admire the irony of the setting. "That ought to tie Willy's sphincter in knots. He hates getting anywhere near the civilian authorities…"

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Jarod agreed. "And now, in the meanwhile, maybe you and I can put our heads together and come up with some kind of plan to deal with Sydney's arraignment."

oOoOo

Sydney sighed hopefully. He hadn't seen Miss Parker since the previous morning – although she'd called him from the office that afternoon. The police officers he'd seen had been looking at him with very strange expressions on their faces too – something that made him suspect that something had happened, something that concerned him. He stood patiently and let the police officer escorting him put the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and then shuffled out the cell door and down the familiar path to the interrogation room.

But it wasn't Miss Parker's face that looked up into his as he stepped into the room – but Jarod's. "Doctor Green," the Pretender announced in a very formal tone, his eyes dancing to tell his mentor to go along with whatever he was going to say, "I'm your new attorney – my name is Jarod Bailey."

"What happened to my previous attorney?" Sydney asked in alarm. For Jarod to be here must mean…

"She was involved in a car accident last night and will be unable to pursue your case file," Jarod told him while keeping an eye on the officer as the man walked slowly from the room.

"Is she all right?" Sydney demanded.

"She's been better," Jarod told him, "but she'll be fine after a while. She's been beside herself, worrying that she was letting you down – so I told her I'd pick up the case for her."

"Jarod," Sydney looked about the room and then bent closer, "what about the Centre? Aren't you afraid they'll find you…"

"Sydney," Jarod shook his head at his mentor, "usually I wouldn't be doing this – but I'm in a unique position here today." His eyes pegged and held those of his mentor. "Raines is dead."

"Dead!" Sydney breathed out in amazement.

"And in about a half hour, I'm meeting with Sam and Broots and Willy…"

"WILLY!" the older man shouted. "Are you mad?"

"Calm down," Jarod soothed at his mentor, shaking his head when the face of the escort officer peeked through the window in the door in concern. "Even Miss Parker thinks that it would be a good idea to at least hear the man out."

Sydney's gaze searched his protégé's, looking for some sign that Jarod wasn't fully invested in this mad scheme, only to find that the Pretender was completely serious. "You're going to go along with this, no matter what I say, aren't you?" he sighed eventually.

"I'm going to take full advantage of the opportunities this situation have presented," the Pretender said with a small smirk. "Miss Parker helped me work out a few of the details just before I came here. She wanted me to tell you to hang tough for a little while longer."

"I'm doing the best I can, Jarod," Sydney promised tiredly. "When you see Miss Parker next, tell her I said to take good care of herself…"

Jarod looked at his mentor with some concern. Sydney's entire mien seemed to be diminished – as if the circumstances he'd be thrust into were taking a horrific toll on the inner man. "You can't let this bring you down, Sydney," he said in a comforting tone. "You've got me and Broots and Sam and Miss Parker all doing our very best to get you through this unscathed…"

"Unscathed? I don't think so," Sydney shook his head. "I'm figuring that I'll be lucky if I get through this at all."

"I'm not about to let this go much further, Sydney," Jarod promised. "One way or the other, Sydney, I'm getting you out of here – and soon."

"Just make sure to take care of yourself, Jarod," the old psychiatrist told him firmly.

oOoOo

Sam and Broots were sitting on the bench just outside the police headquarters while Willy paced back and forth nervously. "I don't know why the Hell he had to choose this place," the dark sweeper grumbled to the other two.

"Maybe because he knows that it would put you off-balance," Sam commented dryly, appreciating the humor in the situation but not wanting to make Willy any more nervous than he already was.

Willy tipped his hand and checked his wristwatch. "He's late on top of it all."

"No, I'm not," Jarod said from the open doorway of the police headquarters and then walked calmly down the steps toward the trio waiting for him, looking every bit the calm lawyer type. "Since Miss Parker is now indisposed, I've taken over as Sydney's defense council."

Sam nodded acceptingly. "Good – I take it you talked to Miss Parker about this?"

"It was her idea," Jarod replied with a smirk. "As a matter of fact, when I told her what you wanted, she had a number of ideas. She may be stuck in a hospital bed, but her mind isn't damaged, you know." He moved to sit down between Broots and Sam on the bench and then looked up at Willy with some exasperation. "Well, I'm here. Will somebody please tell me what I'm here about?"

Willy looked over at Sam, who nodded to him. The dark sweeper took a deep breath, never having once believed that he would ever want to work in concert with the escaped Pretender, and then started. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that suddenly we have events happening that effectively take out each and every one of the top echelon of the
Centre?" he said boldly and then waited for the impact of his words to hit his target.

Jarod tossed the notion around in his mind and then was amazed that he hadn't seen it before. "Wait a minute – why Sydney?" he asked.

The sweeper shrugged. "Threatening Sydney made for an opening for an attack on Miss Parker – or maybe it was a way to get back at YOU. Does it really matter?"

Jarod's eyes were narrowed. "That would be clever indeed – to get us to take each other out of the equation. Miss Parker turned Lyle in when she heard some of the details of the second victim."

"I talked to the officer of the watch," Willy countered. "There was more than one call that the police were acting on when they visited Lyle. And it was a while afterward that the search warrant was served and they found the missing body parts from both victims in Lyle's refrigerator…"

"Which keeps the police very nicely confused – do they accuse Sydney of both murders because his semen was found in both bodies, or Lyle because he had trophies of both in his fridge?" Jarod nodded appreciatively. "Whoever set this up, did their homework on how to tie everybody in knots."

"They damned near had Miss Parker tied in knots too, with the appearing and disappearing evidence," Sam remarked. "She told me, finally, that she thinks she was set up to discover the second victim herself – more of the gas-lighting – but somebody else found the body first. She had me drive over to the park where it was found – only the police were already there," he explained to the Pretender. "I'm going to want to go over to her place again and take a look in her liquor cabinet. She got awfully wasted awfully fast last night – and I bet was still under the influence when that call came through about Broots' daughter…"

"That's mean!" Broots exclaimed, shocked.

"Considering that there is no mention of any other victim of the crash," Sam stated ominously, "it stands to reason that our mystery person may have hoped to have Miss Parker taken out of the picture – permanently – with that stunt. Instead, she takes the tape from her answering machine with her – the proof that she really had been called out – and then managed to survive to boot." He gave Jarod a hard glance. "Someone had been at her house looking to retrieve the tape – and they pulled the machine out of the wall when they found the tape gone."

"I'm going to want to go back to the Chairman's office," Willy stated. "Raines was pushing on the intercom button when I found him – and I pushed it myself when I found him unconscious – and the intercom wasn't working. Raines was set up to not be able to call for help – and I think someone tampered with his oxygen tank and replaced it with carbon monoxide."

"Sounds like somebody at the Centre is doing this," Broots observed cautiously.

"Someone with access to the Centre – and to many different levels," Jarod agreed. "That means someone with a pretty healthy level of clearance."

"Do we have anything tangible – other than the tapes and the folder, though?" Willy asked.

"There might be prints on the answering machine from Miss Parker's bedroom," Sam pointed out, "and the voice print from the tape. I haven't had the time to check it out yet, but…"

"And then there's this button," Jarod spoke, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out the little white and black button that he'd found in Sydney's motel room. "I found it checking out the motel room where they found Sydney. I've never seen anything like this before…"

"I have," Broots stated in surprise after reaching over and grabbing Jarod's hand to drag it closer to get a better look. "That's not a button. That's an eye."

Jarod blinked in astonishment. "It's a what?"

Broots nodded surely. "I saw one just like it once – down in the old medical facility sub-level. Miss Parker and I had followed Mr. Cox there after watching him pick up road kill – he does taxidermy, you know..." He nodded at the button. "That's what they use for the eyes."

"Cox?" Willy was frowning. "Didn't he get fired after that bombing fiasco that Raines…"

"I understand that Lyle was furious with him for losing custody of Jarod's girlfriend," Broots filled in the story easily. "At least, that's what I heard from Manny down in…"

"Didn't you just tell Miss Parker that you'd seen Cox back at the Centre again?" Sam pushed at Broots' arm.

"Uh… yeah…" Broots looked around the circle of faces with understanding slowly dawning. "Yeah…"

"I bet Lyle loved that," Jarod chortled.

"Lyle didn't know," Willy stated firmly. "Lyle didn't show up for work yesterday."

"Did Raines know?" Sam wondered aloud.

Willy shrugged and shook his head, and Jarod waved his hand. "Let's not get in front of ourselves here. What would Cox stand to gain by taking out the top management of the Centre?"

"Or doing it while the Triumvirate's poking into things too," Broots added. "When I saw him, he was tagging along behind a whole pack of Africans, here on an inspection trip."

"More importantly, the Centre is vulnerable with no obvious leader at the top of the heap," Sam thought out loud, and then stared around the group in surprise. "You don't suppose…"

"Man! Talk about hostile take-overs!" Broots breathed in appreciation.

"We can't let that happen!" Willy was adamant. "We have to stop it…"

"And how do you think we're going to be able to accomplish that?" Sam demanded. "It isn't as if one of us could walk in and just take over…"

"Why not?" Jarod's voice was thoughtful, but not overly concerned – but the audacity of his suggestion had floored the others. He looked around the tiny circle of stunned faces with a look of surprise. "Oh, come on now! If you can believe that someone can and has arranged for the seat of power to be vacant without being detected, surely you can believe that someone ELSE can take advantage of the situation."

"Who?" Sam asked in an astonishingly small voice.

oOoOo

The Triumvirate delegation had received the news of Raines' death just long enough ago that the extreme shock and dismay had had a chance to dispel a little. A hurried phone call to Nairobi had been made, seeking instructions and a conference with the other members of the consortium, but those arrangements were pending.

The oldest and nominal leader of the delegation was a proud and seasoned banker and guerilla fighter, Siskele Mbala. When others of his staff were ready to charge out, demanding to speak to the next in the Parker line, it was he who cautions restraint and patience. "Let the Centre find its own balance first," had been his advice. "The Centre is a complex and convoluted entity, fully capable of taking this latest blow in stride. We need only continue to study the information we came here to study and wait until that which is going to happen, happens. THEN we will respond appropriately."

Certainly there was enough information to process – information that it had taken a lengthy and heated meeting with Raines to get permission to access – to occupy the time. The latter part of the morning sped by in relative quiet. The few trips outside their comfortable conference room to acquire supplies or refreshments discovered the everyday workings of the Centre to be continuing on as if nothing had happened. When lunchtime came about, the catering crew from the cafeteria was there with the latest in a series of tasty and nutritious meals, served in an efficient and professional manner.

The expected telephone call came a little after two in the afternoon – a summons to the Chairman's office. Mbala looked around at his colleagues' and aides' faces and nodded sagely. "And now we get to discover with whom we shall be dealing in the months and years ahead of us," he announced, pushing the file he'd been studying back on the table. "Letira," he called to the one female member of the consortium that had come with him on this trip, "shall we?"

Letira Balenge was one of the youngest of the delegation – but one of the most powerful. Her father, Chelo Balenge, had been one of the founding members of the Triumvirate; and her seat had come to her by right of inheritance after the old man's assassination three years ago. She was tall, slender, with soft ebony eyes and delicate features – and a lethal training in many of the martial arts. Her trading company was one of the lynchpins of Triumvirate holdings – a clearing house for global dealings that brought a great deal of wealth into the country.

As the two of them walked down the hallway after alighting from the elevator, they couldn't help but note the increased number of Centre sweepers lining the walls. Mbala frowned – this was a sign that the transfer of authority had perhaps not gone as smoothly has he had hoped. He and Letira paused outside the etched glass doors while a somber-faced sweeper had knocked and entered the room to announce their arrival. Then the doors swung open, and they were escorted in.

"It's good to see you," the dark-haired man behind the massive desk announced, gesturing graciously at the two chairs that had been conveniently arranged. Mbala's eyes flicked around the room and landed on the two sweepers obviously standing watch over the new Chairman's shoulder. One he knew well – the man had been at the constant beck and call of the old Chairman, now deceased. The other he'd seen only in passing one other time he'd come to the States to visit and gather information.

Then his eyes lit on the gentleman at the desk and it was as if a light suddenly illuminated the room. He knew that man! Mbala's jaw dropped open slightly, and his steps toward his seat hesitated. Letira, feeling the lapse, turned to her colleague. "Are you all right, Siskele?" she asked in concern, then frowned at the man behind the desk. "What is going on here?"

"Good morning," the man repeated, a knowing smirk slowly spreading across his face. "My name is Jarod, AND, for the time being, I am the Centre Chairman pro-temp. Please have a seat – we have much to discuss."