Dead Man's Switch

by MMB

An overheard threat to the Centre, an secret long-hidden within the Centre itself, and a pair of new projects that the Centre has kept carefully hidden from everyone makes for a minefield that not everyone is going to survive. Can Jarod, Miss Parker and her team band together to rescue innocent victims from the evil of not one, but TWO corporations that have no scruples?

11. Chapter 11 - Shot Heard 'Round the World

Chapter 11 – The Shot Heard 'Round the World

Sydney checked his watch for the third time and then threw an anxious look out the kitchen window toward the street. Jarod, sitting at the table and nursing a cup of coffee, chuckled. "I've never seen you this nervous before, Sydney," the Pretender commented.

"Broots promised me that he'd be here bright and early – so we could go over to Miss Parker's together," Sydney worried, then sighed and walked back to the kitchen counter and poured himself another cup of the bracing brew. "I want to get this over with."

"I'm in no hurry myself," Jarod responded quietly with a somber look on his face. "She'll be furious with you three for keeping her out of the loop – and she'll want to KILL me for dropping out of sight."

"Considering her reaction to the details about Duplicity, I'd wager that she'll be more glad to see you than pushed out of shape," Sydney countered. "I don't think she was any more happy to hear what we found out than you were."

Jarod shrugged. "What about Sam – is he going to be at her house when we get there so that he shares his proper portion of her disgust with you?"

Sydney rose again and paced forward once more to look out the window. "The plan was that we're all to meet here at eight-thirty." He threw his wrist up again. "And it's eight twenty-eight now – with no sign of either of them." He turned with a glare when he heard Jarod snicker – snicker! – from the table, and then returned to his seat. "Have you had any inspirations as to what to do for Miss Parker, at least?"

"An idea or two," Jarod chuckled again and then threw up a defensive hand at yet another glare. "C'mon Sydney – lighten up! You'd think you were an expectant father!"

"This is life and death, Jarod!" the old psychiatrist exclaimed in frustration.

"I know," Jarod put out a hand and patted the old man on the forearm. "But stressing out isn't good for you at your age…"

"I'm not THAT old," Sydney snapped and pulled his arm out of Jarod's reach. Jarod's mouth dropped open, and he'd just started to chuckle yet again when a loud knock resounded through the house. "About time!" Sydney muttered and rose to answer the door. "I was beginning to wonder," Jarod could hear him saying to whoever had knocked.

"Did he come?" It wasn't Broots after all – but Sam. Jarod stiffened – even Sydney's assurances that Sam was more a member of Miss Parker's "team" than a Centre sweeper hadn't laid fears decades in the making completely to rest.

"Inside," Sydney stated, and the pause between his statement and the sound of the front door closing bespoke of his stepping outside and looking up and down the street. "Where the Hell is Broots?"

"Knowing him, he'll be here at eight-thirty on the dot," Sam reasoned and followed Sydney around the corner to the kitchen. His gaze met and held Jarod's tightly. "Jarod - good to see you, man," he offered to the Pretender – a man whom he'd chased on foot more times than he wanted to remember.

Jarod blinked and then nodded, a little stunned. Friendly words – from a sweeper? "Sam," he acknowledged.

"There he is!" Sydney exclaimed from his spot watching out the kitchen window and then bustled over to the door. "About time! I'm supposed to be at Parker's in a little over fifteen minutes!"

"Sorry, Sydney – it couldn't be helped," Broots' voice sounded genuinely apologetic. "Debbie got a call from a friend, and you know how teenagers can be when they get on the ph…" The balding technician's excuse skidded to a halt as he stepped far enough in to see where Jarod had risen from the kitchen table. "J..Jarod. Hello."

"Hello, Mr. Broots."

"Daddy?" A very pretty and very much grown-up Debbie Broots peered past her father to the man standing in Sydney's kitchen. "That's Jarod?"

Sam frowned at Broots. "Do you know him?"

"He helped my daddy out when there was trouble at his work," Debbie offered with the innocence of the young. "You remember, Sam – the second time we played checkers? Daddy told me all about him…"

Sam flinched – he still was uncomfortable with being reminded how easily a little whippet like Debbie could clean his clock at checkers, or that the second time they'd vied over a checkerboard had proven the first to NOT be a fluke. "I remember," he growled. "So – what's the plan?"

"Now that we're all here, we should head over to Miss Parker's," Sydney stated firmly. "God only knows who much time we have…"

"Are we all going over together – or in separate cars?" Jarod asked quietly, looking from face to face.

"Separate cars," Sam nodded, deciding. "She's expecting Sydney – but not me or Broots. Or you." He gave Jarod an assessing look. "Seeing you will probably throw her for a loop."

"Maybe it will keep her from just going ahead and bringing out her gun and shooting us all where we stand," Broots asked hopefully.

"Daddy!" Debbie complained. "She's not THAT bad…"

Jarod snorted and put a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing, and even Sydney had to stifle a chuckle. "You tell him, cherie," the psychiatrist reinforced the young girl's declaration. "Now – you know what you're supposed to do?"

"Keep Evan busy while you talk to Miss Parker," Debbie chirped easily.

"Good – because he's probably not going to get that trip in to Dover this weekend," Sydney told her with a serious expression. "Something important has come up…"

Debbie nodded. "Daddy told me that you have something to tell Miss Parker that will make her unhappy. I can keep Evan out of the way – honest."

"We'd better go," Sam put out his arms as if to usher them all out of the house. "She's expecting to take off for Dover soon – and we don't need her bringing Evan over HERE to collect Sydney."

Jarod's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Yeah." It was Debbie who explained. "All the good games and things to do are over THERE."

oOoOo

Miss Parker poured herself a second cup of coffee and then had to cover her mouth as another huge yawn could no longer be suppressed. "Damn!" she muttered aloud as her eyes opened once more and she turned to look at Evan. "I can't wake up this morning."

"When's Sydney coming?" the little boy asked.

"He'd better get here pretty soon – or we'll just have to go over and get him, won't we?" She smiled at her brother and sipped at the hot brew, willing it to kick in and begin to wake her up. "It isn't like him to be late…"

She stifled yet another smaller yawn as the sound of a vehicle's engine purred in close – and then was extinguished. Oddly enough, there were several others that sounded equally close when they too died away – and then came the slams of several car doors. "What the Hell?" she exclaimed in a soft whisper and then moved to her front door.

"Sydney," she greeted her old friend with a frustrated look on her face. "You're late."

"Parker…"

"What are THEY doing here?" she demanded, catching sight of Broots and Sam and Debbie moving to join the psychiatrist.

"We have something to tell you," Sydney stated softly – and the tone of his voice brought her attention back to him quickly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Sydney…"

"And we brought help," Sam told her in a no-nonsense tone that brought her gaze back up to him – and then beyond as he turned to let the man behind him join the group.

Miss Parker stared, her mouth dropping open in shock. "Jarod?"

"Hello, Miss Parker," the Pretender said gently. "It's been a long time."

"Sissy, did Sydney come?" Evan asked and then moved out from behind his sister and smiled brightly. "Debbie! Are you coming too?"

"No, Evan," Debbie said and then pushed forward and took the little boy by the hand. "My daddy has something important to talk to Miss Parker about – and he thought that you and I could play together while they talked. Is that all right with you?"

"Sissy!" Evan asked, his eyes on his sister's face. He tugged at her hand when he saw that she hadn't heard him. "Sissy! Can I play with Debbie for a little bit?"

Miss Parker's shocked stare broke finally. "Oh. Um. Yes." She smiled wanly and patted him on the shoulder. "Why don't you take her up to your room while I see what's going on here."

The two children trotted across the living room and down the hallway to the bedrooms while Miss Parker still stood in the open doorway. "Can we come in?" Broots finally asked in a tiny voice.

Silently she stood back and aside so that the four men at her doorway could troop through and into the house. Jarod was the last – and it was to him that she finally hissed, "You have a lot of nerve coming over like this – as if we're old friends having a friendly reunion!"

"It wasn't my idea," Jarod answered her evenly. "It was Sydney's."

"Sydney…" She pronounced his name like a threat and turned a blood-chilling glare in the older man's direction.

"Sit down, Miss Parker," Sam took charge before she could fly into the psychiatrist's face. "There's something we need to talk about – something important."

She whirled on her personal sweeper. "So important that you had to call in JAROD of all people?"

"He called me, Parker," Sydney admitted softly. "He'd found out about Duplicity somehow."

"Fitting that Mr. Raines couldn't be content with playing God only twice in his life," Jarod commented dryly.

"You shut up! The last person I want to hear from right now is YOU. As far as it goes, I should be hauling your sorry ass into the Centre right now!" she spat at him. "That, at least, would get Nosferatu off my back…"

"You don't want to do that, Miss Parker," Broots chimed in with a diminished voice, "at least, not until after we tell you…"

Miss Parker flounced herself into the cushions of the couch and then waved her hand around to indicate that the others should seat themselves. "So – what the Hell is so important that you have to call in a fugitive…"

"Your life is in danger, Miss Parker," Sydney began lamely and then glanced at Sam. "Sam…"

"Oh for God's sake, give me a break!" she exclaimed and then couldn't help the yawn. "My whole frigging life is in danger everyday, boys – I work for the Centre, just like you do…" Her snapping grey eyes landed on Jarod. "Well, like MOST of you do…"

"Miss Parker." Sam's still, dark and somber intonation of her name brought her gaze back to him. "You need to listen. This is important!"

"You haven't told me anything I didn't already know," she growled.

"Several weeks ago, we had that anniversary banquet in Dover – remember?"

Finally Miss Parker's frustration slipped slightly, and she nodded. "OK – yeah. What about it?"

"Well, while I was out taking a breather, I overheard something – two men were discussing their plans to bring the Centre down…"

"Bring the Centre down?" She stared at him incredulously and then threw her head back and laughed. "That's rich. Better men have tried…"

"And they said very plainly that there was only one obstacle to their plans – and it was you. Whichever one was in charge said that if you started digging where you weren't wanted, the best way to handle it was to take you out completely. The other said he knew how to make it look like an accident…"

"You're serious?"

"Miss Parker, surely even you've noticed how there are a lot of little things going very wrong at the Centre lately," Broots piped up, "up to and including that fraudulent expense report that got you and Mr. Lyle in hot water with Mr. Raines. Haven't you wondered WHY a few hundred dollars more here or there on an expense report would set Mr. Raines on that kind of rampage?"

"Or why looking into the matter and beginning to unravel the fraud would get an auditor from our own accounting department killed in his office?" Sydney added grimly, "or why suddenly someone was stopping Evan on the sports field to threaten you?"

"And then, when we were looking in the computer yesterday, we set off several alarms…" Broots told her. "You weren't paying attention, I know – but…"

"Those weren't all that important…" she hissed defensively.

"Yes, they were, Miss Parker," Broots's serious tone and face convinced her that he wasn't just being hysterical. "Each of those document pointed a finger at a very unlikely person – someone in the ideal position to bring the Centre down from the inside."

Her manicured brows climbed her forehead. "You think… whatzizname in Accounting…?"

"Think of it, Miss Parker," Jarod chimed in finally, "what better way to do in the Centre than from the inside, and what better position to manage such a feat than the financial heart of the organization? For God knows how long, these people could have been tinkering with the finances – draining contingency accounts, seeing to it bills aren't paid, materials aren't ordered or the wrong parts are ordered, imaginary expenses are charged… Surely you don't think your project was the only one being fleeced?"

"But…" Miss Parker rubbed her eyes in an attempt to make her brain follow all of the information. "doing it that way would take months – years! The Centre has been incredibly profitable – even since your escape, Jarod. It would take more than just a tweaking of a number here or there or an expense report falsified…"

"There's nothing that says that this hasn't been going on a long time, Miss Parker, long enough to have quietly siphoned away a good deal of the money." Broots told her.

"My efforts at relieving the Centre of its ill-gotten gains back when I was dealing with the Centre and its behavior regularly probably just helped matters along down the road to collective ruin," Jarod admitted with a touch of chagrin. "I played right into the hands of men determined to do the Centre ill."

Broots nodded "But now, maybe, things are getting down to the wire…"

Miss Parker rallied herself enough to glare at Sydney. "So why didn't you tell me when you first started to suspect?"

"Because of the nature of the threat, Parker," Sydney reasoned with an even voice that belied the twisting in his stomach. "If we told you that you had to stop digging into things, all that would have happened would have been your digging into things that much more deeply and quickly to try to beat them at their own game. We were already uncovering things that people didn't want discovered – and we found Duplicity, didn't we?"

"How can I protect myself if I don't know where a threat is coming from – much less that there IS a threat?" she demanded coldly. "And besides, you'd think even YOU would know by now that the best way to face down a potential threat is straight on…"

"It was Broots' and my idea," Sam stated firmly. "Sydney was all for telling you right away…"

The sweeper's words did nothing to placate her. "But he agreed with you in the end?" she asked with her glare turned on full-blast on her oldest and most intimate friend and colleague. "Still keeping secrets, eh, Syd?"

"Miss Parker…" Jarod's voice called to her as if from a distance. "How you got to this point is moot. The issue now before us is what to do about it." He frowned as the telephone began to ring.

"'Before US', Franken-boy? Who says that any of YOU will be the ones to do anything?" Miss Parker growled and rose to answer the telephone – deliberately walking with the cordless receiver into the back of her house so as not to be overheard.

Broots gazed at Sydney with a look of relief on his face. "Well, that went better than I expected…"

Sydney only shook his head. "This is far from over, Broots," he cautioned. "I don't think we've heard it all yet."

"She does seem to be more wanting to blame YOU than either of us," Sam noted. "She expect more from you or something?"

Before Sydney could answer, Miss Parker returned to the living room, her face a study in frustration and impatience. "That was the Centre, boys – I've been summoned back in for an interview with Nosferatu." She swayed slightly, as if momentarily dizzy. "Shit – and I don't even feel well." She sighed. "I guess Evan will have to wait for his trip to Dover…" her eyes landed hard on Sydney's, "…and we'll just have to see if its going to be just the two of us, or if we'll have company." She swayed again and leaned into the door jamb for stability.

"On Saturday?" Sam gaped. "Even Raines knows better than to pull that kind of stunt. The last time, the Centre grapevine took weeks to recover from all the rumors about the explosion in Raines' office…"

Jarod's eyes were glued to Miss Parker, taking in the fact that she looked as if she hadn't slept a wink all night and was literally ready to drop. "Are you all right, Miss Parker?"

"I'm fine," she growled at him, the glared at the others. "If you don't mind playing babysitter to these ninnies, I'll run into the Centre real fast and take care of this…" She yawned widely. "After I have a little more coffee, that is. I can't wake up this morning…"

The alarms were ringing loudly in Jarod's mind, and his brows furled as Sam's words kicked his mind into gear. "You say that these men said that an accident could be arranged?"

"And that it should be done so as to cause as few waves as possible," Sam nodded.

"That's what I thought," Jarod's face wrinkled and he moved hastily to the door.

"Where are you going?" Broots asked in sudden concern.

Jarod merely pulled the door open. "To check out a theory – and you can pray that I'm wrong." He pointed. "Sit down, Miss Parker – you're not going anywhere yet."

"Just who the Hell do you think…"

"Do it, Parker," Jarod frowned at her. "Something doesn't feel right – and I don't want you rushing off only to find that "accident" they've arranged for you just down the road to the Centre."

"Fine. Whatever." Miss Parker sat down heavily on the couch and sighed loudly. "Just hurry it up, Jarod. I have places to go, people's heads to bite off…"

oOoOo

The silencer spat three times, and the three adults in the room dropped to the floor almost immediately. The little boy in the chair at the table flinched heavily and then looked up into the face of the blue-garbed man with curiosity and a hint of fright. "Are they dead?" the child asked evenly.

"Come with me," Langer growled instead, and stepped in close enough to grab the boy by the elbow and drag him to his feet. "You're going to be taking a little trip…"

The child looked up into the strange face with a little more trepidation, but refrained from causing a fuss – and Langer couldn't help but wonder at the kind of upbringing would result in a child perfectly willing to go with a stranger that had just slaughtered people in front of him. He reached his hand into the pocket of his overalls and pushed the button on his control device – and then herded the boy into a corner as the low rumble of a small explosion sounded from outside the audio-visual lab. There he quickly removed the janitorial overalls, uncovering a cheap dress suit that matched that worn by many here.

"Don't make a sound or give me any trouble," he threatened the child by waving the silenced gun in front of his face, "or you'll end up like them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the boy answered in a remarkably even tone. "Is this a SIM, sir?"

Langer frowned. "A what?" He took tight hold of the boy's elbow and pulled him out into the corridor, where many of the people were already moving at a very fast walk if not a trot. "C'mon."

The boy seemed to sense the man's desire for no conversation, for he fell silent and moved with this stranger's hand at his elbow just as he moved for all the other big men in his life. Even the tight grip didn't cause him to grimace – he'd grown used to having many of the nerves in that joint pinched. Actually, he looked around himself at the expressions of unease and sometimes shock and was thankful that he'd been released from yet another day of vocabulary drill in Pa-Ruski.

Today, for all that it had started in the same way every other day in his life had started, looked as if it would actually be different. Different, that was, until a low and threatening voice had his guardian stopped dead in his tracks:

"What the Hell do you think you're doing with that boy?"

Delgado left his cart the moment he heard the low rumbling from the kitchen area and, pulling his silenced gun from his overalls, made quick tracks down the corridor toward the double doors behind which his target had just been taken. He could hear Fishbain's footfalls directly behind him and then turn off at a doorway very close by. The two of them exchanged a glance before both of them shot out the locks of the doors and burst through into the room beyond.

The SIM Lab was already well-populated for that early in the morning. The boy – a young man, really – was already pacing back and forth in front of a whiteboard that was covered by incomprehensible mathematical equations. Seated at a table in front of him was a grey-haired man with whom Delgado had seen the boy several times. A bodyguard near the door wasn't quick enough – and fell to Delgado's first bullet. Then the older gentleman fell face-forward into the table – and finally a quick trio of bullets took out the observation glass and then the two black gentlemen who had sat hidden behind it.

"Move!" He motioned to the young man with the gun, already peeling his overalls back after retrieving the control device for the main explosion from his pocket.

"What's going on?" the young man demanded imperiously.

"Shut up, if you know what's good for you," Delgado scowled and thrust the gun forward until the heated muzzle was only inches away from the young man's forehead. "Say another word, and they'll find your brains sprayed all over the wall."

The young man decided that perhaps now was NOT the time to attempt to rebel. He nodded his understanding to the stranger, who finished shedding the overalls to uncover a suit of clothing that made him look very much like the other sweepers in the building. It was a clever ruse, the young man thought even as his arm was grasped painfully at the elbow to steer him just slightly in front of his new guardian.

Delgado saw with satisfaction that Fishbain had also overpowered his target and gotten the boy into the hallway. "Showtime!" he muttered with a cold smile and pushed the first of three buttons on his control device – and then dragged at his captive as the sounds of yet another explosion ripped the building in the front.

"Move!"

"You too," he heard Fishbain hiss. Together the two men ushered their captives toward the sweeper's lounge – and the doorway to an outdoor landscaped exercise area beyond.

"Where's Langer?" Fishbain exclaimed in dismay as they gained the double glass door exit and found that they were the only two people in the room.

"We don't have time to worry about him," Delgado growled and thrust the young man in his grasp through the door. "He knows the escape route – either he'll get here on time or he won't." He threw up his wrist and studied his digital watch. "He has thirty seconds before we have to bring the place down."

oOoOo

"As I thought," Jarod announced grimly as he strode back into the house. He looked over at Sam. "An accident – a carefully arranged, "supposed" accident."

Sam caught his breath. "The car…"

"Jarod," Sydney held his breath.

"The brake line is nearly disconnected – and just minimal driving will drain all the brake fluid in about three minutes. The accelerator is also jimmied." Jarod looked down at Miss Parker, who was blinking her eyes and trying to focus. "Look at her," he ordered and pointed. "She looks drugged. That's what clued me in. You were right, Broots, Sam – whoever it was that labeled her an obstacle to be removed has made his move."

"Nonsense," Miss Parker stated in slow-motion. "I've been drinking coffee all morning…"

The Pretender turned to his former mentor. "How many people knew what Miss Parker's plans were for this weekend?"

Sydney shrugged. "Any number of them, I'd guess – up to and including Mr. Raines."

"So it's logical that whoever drugged her and sabotaged her car is fully expecting not only Miss Parker to have her "accident", but for Evan and maybe even you to be in the car with her?"

"Man!" Broots breathed. "We would have never thought…"

"But we foiled the plan," Sam complained. "She's safe again – for the time being." He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes glued to Jarod's face. "Right?"

Jarod was shaking his head. "If we don't give these people what they want – an "accident" – then they're going to KEEP coming after her until they finally get her. She's an obstacle and a threat until she's gone."

"You don't think that's the reason she's been called back to the Centre – to make SURE she gets in the car to drive while she's drugged?" Sydney asked, aghast.

"More than likely."

"So what are we going to do?" Sam demanded, his heavy dark brows beginning to knit together in frustration.

Jarod looked into the sweeper's face with a brittle smile. "We give them what they're expecting."

"WHAT?" Sydney grabbed his former protégé's arm hard. "We're going to give them an accident?"

"I'm not going to have an accident," Miss Parker drawled from her spot on the couch and waved a finger at nobody. "I'll have you know I'm a good driver…"

"Normally you are, Parker," Jarod nodded and moved to sit next to her. "But they've rigged it to look like you've been drinking – and probably just killed yourself running into a power pole on the way to the Centre."

"Explain yourself, Jarod," Sam growled.

Jarod looked up and into the worried and frustrated faces around him. "The only way these people will back off is if they think they've accomplished their goal."

"You don't know that!" Broots objected – then backed down as the Pretender turned serious eye on him.

"A person doesn't have to be a Pretender to know the way a quality assassin sets up his scene. The work on the car is a masterpiece – designed to look like equipment failure rather than sabotage," Jarod countered with more patience than he knew he'd had. He looked down at his huntress with sympathy. "Looks like you're finally going to get free of the Centre, Miss Parker- just not the way you thought you would…"

"And just how the Hell do you think you're going to be able to accomplish this?" Sydney demanded angrily. "You can't kill Miss Parker to keep her from being killed!"

"That's the beauty of this," Jarod seemed to agree with his old mentor. "The only people who will know that she's not dead will be us – but the Centre, and her enemies inside it, will think she is."

Sydney shook his head in denial. "It's impossible!"

Jarod's smile grew. "Not really." He turned to Sam. "Go bring me the rest of the coffee she made this morning – and the can of coffee. We need to figure out what she's been given first before we can proceed." He then looked at his former mentor. "And tell me, Sydney – do you still have an active medical license that allows you to write prescriptions?"

oOoOo

The explosion from the front of the building threw the sweeper who was accosting Langer completely off his feet. "I was ordered to make sure of this boy's safety," he said quickly, taking advantage of the situation, "getting him back to his space. You'd better see what's going on…"

The sweeper frowned, but the urgency of the situation elsewhere drove him to make a snap decision. "Well," he began, then shook his head. "Fine. Report to your regular station when you have him safely away."

"Yes, sir," Langer answered in the brisk style the military had drilled into his so long ago. The grip he had on the boy's arm tightened again, and he began once more to move.

"The living quarters are THAT way," the sweeper pointed down a corridor leading off to the right of where the three were standing.

"That's right…" Langer gave the man a shaky smile that would hopefully convince the sweeper of his telling the truth. "Thanks." He pulled at the boy and began down the corridor that had been pointed out.

He walked down the corridor until he could no longer feel the man's eyes boring holes into the back of his head, then immediately did an about-face that nearly pulled the boy from his feet. "C'mon," he urged and checked his watch on his other arm and grimaced. He had less than a minute to reach the exit before there would BE no exit for him.

oOoOo

"But I thought we were going to go to Dover!" Evan whined as he watched Sam and the man they called Jarod help his sister out her front door.

"Your sister got a call from the Centre," Sydney explained patiently, "and she has to go back in to work for a bit." He hated lying to the boy – the next few days would be very hard for him – but there was really no help for it. A grieving little brother would be essential to making the illusion even more real for those who were awaiting a death.

Debbie wasn't convinced either by the simplistic explanation she'd received for why Jarod and Sam were taking an obviously ill Miss Parker in to work. "Daddy…" she began in her turn.

"Not now, Debbie," Broots shushed at her in uncharacteristic brusqueness. Although he trusted Sam to take care of Miss Parker with his life, Jarod's connection to his prickly boss was more of a mystery. He looked over at Sydney and realized that the older man was going to be grieving too – despite knowing that Miss Parker wouldn't really be dying in the crash.

After all, Jarod was supposedly very much in control of the situation – a fact that usually assured success even in some of the most impossible circumstances. A bit of simple sleuthing – simple by Pretender standards, that is – had led Jarod to the substance that had rendered Miss Parker almost reeling drunk. Once that had been determined, Sydney had followed Jarod's orders and taken a quick trip to the pharmacy to fill the prescription that Jarod had requested – and then overseen the dosing of the already drugged woman. The additional chemicals would be the miracle-workers – slowing the heartbeat and respiration until they were virtually non-existent in order simulate death. It was obvious Sydney knew better than most just how dangerous Jarod's plan was – just how easy it would be for the illusion to suddenly and tragically become reality – and his fear showed easily.

What hurt most was that Debbie would be heartbroken – over the years, she and Miss Parker had developed a very close relationship and, like Evan, she couldn't be allowed "in" on the planning. All she knew was that Miss Parker wasn't feeling well – and that the trip to Dover would have been called off anyway, had the call in to work not come.

The plan was breathtakingly simple – Jarod would drive the crippled Boxster and, the moment he suspected the sabotaged accelerator and brakes were ready to fail, he'd stop, climb out, aim it into a telephone pole and put it back into gear with a stick on the accelerator pedal. It would be Sam and Jarod together who would put Miss Parker – now virtually insensate from her dual chemical dosings – into the driver's seat reeking of alcohol and then administer to her the contusion on the head that would ostensibly be ruled the cause of death. Sam would then be the one to call the ambulance as a concerned passerby in order to make Miss Parker's death official and then about an hour later call the Centre to report the accident and Miss Parker's death – Jarod would hurry into Blue Cove to take his place as the "substitute coroner" and receive the body. He'd fill out the necessary paperwork and then spirit Miss Parker away from Blue Cove.

If it worked – IF it worked – the Centre grapevine on Monday morning would be filled with rumors about Miss Parker's old drinking habits and her notorious driving. And with any luck at all, Sydney would get a telephone call letting them know obliquely that Miss Parker had been safely delivered both from her Centre prison and the plot against her – but not to expect anything much before Sunday night.

It was going to be a damned long weekend – that was all. Broots sagged against the mantle in Miss Parker's living room. Too damned long.

oOoOo

Langer coughed and pushed the choking boy forward through the dust that seemed to be filling the corridors now as they headed toward the side wing and the sweeper's lounge. The boy tripped over his feet and would have fallen but for the iron grasp on his arm – and finally gave a grunt of pain as the tight grip of the stranger nearly dislocated his elbow.

"Don't stop!" he choked and dragged the boy along, heedless of the child's struggle to breathe. There it was – the double doors that signaled the sweeper's lounge. He put on a final burst of speed and pushed through them.

"About damned time," Delgado snarled, his captive already subdued with the chloroform and draped over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Fishbain too had an unconscious boy in his arms.

Langer sighed – this could have gone better. "At least I made it," he coughed harshly. "I got stopped…"

"Talk later. Use the chloroform and take him out, and we're gone!" Delgado barked. "We're at zero hour."

Langer broke the vial wrapped within the rag and pulled it out to put it over the boy's face. "Sorry," he stated with genuine regret even as the boy suddenly sagged in his grasp. He hefted the boy up into another fireman's carry and moved to join his colleagues. "Ready."

"Alleluia," Fishbain remarked and pushed through the glass doors first with Langer following close behind. A few steps behind was Delgado – and it was when the three reached the small grove of trees ten yards out that he pushed down on the second button on his control.

And the world suddenly rocked, and the men staggered to keep their balance.

oOoOo

Horace Evanston reached out and grabbed the wall to keep from being thrown almost completely to the floor as a third explosion tore through the building. Ahead of him only a few yards, the ceiling tiles and cement beams above them crashed to the ground, bringing up a cloud of dust and dirt that made him choke. All around him, he could hear the screams of those who hadn't been lucky enough to be out of the way and had been hit by the falling debris.

Some of the sweepers who were relatively uninjured began to trickle out of the doorways, wild-eyed and obviously looking for some way to get away from whatever fate was ready to deal. Some of the support staff – assistants and janitors – were pushing their way toward the front entrance – the only one kept open and unlocked during the day shift.

"Stay at your posts!" Evanston shouted, to no avail. Not a single person was listening to him – the will and need to survive outweighing any authority standing in the way. He grabbed at the arm of the closest sweeper, only to be nearly jerked off his feet when the man simply pulled away and continued on his determined drive out and away.

It only took a few minutes, but then Evanston was standing in an empty corridor, listening to the sounds of distant chaos and suffering. Then a thin cry began to sound from one of the training rooms between himself and the collapsed building – and he felt himself drawn to investigate.

Inside a completely demolished classroom was a small child – one of the boys the facility had been built to house and train. The child's head was awash in blood from a gash over one eye, and the desk at which the boy had been sitting had been hit by a piece of falling cement so that it had collapsed and trapped the child's legs. Dark eyes filled with terror and pain pleaded with the administrator for rescue. Evanston felt his heart go out to this boy – one of the tinier subjects – Pisces, he guessed – for being abandoned by nearly everyone he knew, for on the ground only a meter or so away from the boy was the body of one of the psychiatrist-mentors assigned to the project. The man was very obviously dead – his face a mass of bloody and mangled flesh.

Evanston glanced about in concern that actually entering the demolished room might trigger even more collapse – but then rushed over to the injured child. "Hang on," he shushed at the boy, whose arms immediately reached up. "Let me get this away from you…"

It took effort spurred by adrenaline, but after a couple of lifts, Evanston had the chunk of concrete shifted off of the desk and could begin to disentangle the child from the furniture. The boy whimpered quietly, but otherwise was silent in the face of what must have been fairly painful manipulation of bruised and contused limbs – and then was free. Evanston lifted the child up into his arms, aware and concerned that the child was so small and light, and rushed to the corridor again.

His mind spinning, Evanston rushed through the empty corridors, and then remembered the exit in the sweeper's wing. It lead not to open country, but rather to a wonderfully landscaped exercise yard surrounded by a brick wall – but it WAS an exit from the building nonetheless. AND it was closer than any main entrance. He turned a corner and began to run.

oOoOo

"She has to hit her head hard on the steering wheel, to make the contusion realistic," Jarod told Sam somberly.

The sweeper stared at him. "If you think…"

"What do you want," Jarod demanded harshly, "to slam her head against the steering wheel and make the accident look good, or attend her funeral sometime in the near future?"

"But WE could kill her," Sam countered angrily, pointing to a woman who already looked virtually dead.

Jarod shook his head. "Not if we do it right," he stated with a tone of assurance. "I can do it, if you don't want to…"

"SHIT!" Sam stomped away from where Jarod had expertly crashed the Boxster into a telephone pole, leaving just enough room to make it possible to access the driver's seat. "You're not giving me much choice…"

"We don't have one!" Jarod growled in a low and harsh voice. "Either we make her look dead now, or she will BE dead soon enough. What do you want it to be?"

"You do it." Sam frowned. "You've probably been wanting to punch her one for everything she's done to you – here's your chance. But…" the sweeper added, coming up to nearly nose to nose with the Pretender with real violence in his eyes, "…if you DO kill her…"

Jarod nodded, not needing to hear the rest. He didn't like what had to be done any more than Sam did – but he could sympathize with the sweeper not wanting to be the one to actually injure Miss Parker. There was no help for it, however. He bent into the driver's space, taking hold of Miss Parker's head and, after carefully eyeing the steering wheel, propelled it forward hard so that it slammed into the thick bone just above her eye socket. The laceration bled a little – but the drugs in her system kept her heart rate suppressed so that it wasn't gushing like a normal head wound would.

Jarod felt for her pulse and waited. Yes, there was one of the few beats of her heart. When she came around – after being pronounced dead by him and issued a death certificate and then spirited out of the coroner's office – she'd have one helluva headache and need a couple of stitches close enough to her eyebrows for the scar to be mostly hidden when healed.

When he straightened, he felt Sam directly behind him. "Is it done?"

Instead of answering, Jarod merely stepped aside so that the big man could see what he'd done. Sam's quick intake of breath told the story – as did the panicked look on the man's face when he put his hand up to her neck and felt no discernable pulse. "Are you SURE you didn't kill her?"

"Her heart is only beating four or five times a minute," Jarod reminded him. "Enough to just keep her alive, but not enough that a more casual exam would find her living. We have to count on the fact that the locals won't be that discriminatory – they'll feel for a pulse and, like you, not find one. What's more, they'll smell her – and the booze we had her rinse her mouth out with and sprinkled all over her clothing should be a clincher for the cause of the accident in their minds."

"Fine." Sam didn't like it, but the plan DID seem to be virtually foolproof. No wonder the Centre had spent so much money trying to get this man back in their control – the planning and strategy he could produce on a moments notice… "Now what?"

Jarod pulled Sam's arm to get him away from the car. "Now YOU call the police – tell them you saw her hit the pole – and then WE get the hell out of here. Drop me in town near the police station – which is across the street from the coroner's office."

"How are you…" Sam began.

"Don't ask," Jarod warned him with a quick frown. "After all these years, I'd just as soon not start giving out all my secrets."

oOoOo

"Let me get over the wall first," Delgado ordered and then pulled himself up on top of the cement block barrier that surrounded the exercise area. Once up, he turned and reached down. "Hand me the oldest kid first."

Fishbain and Langer manhandled the limp form of the young man to where Delgado could hoist it up over the wall and then drop him carefully to the ground on the other side. "Here's the next one," Langer panted as he and Fishbain hoisted the smaller boy up to Delgado.

"Lemme go over and get him," Fishbain said and followed statement with action. He dropped to the other side of the wall and then put up his arms to catch the boy and lay him on the ground not far from the first.

"OK Dave," Delgado reached down again. "Now the last one."

Langer hefted the boy he'd escorted out up to Delgado and then, like Fishbain, pulled himself up and over the wall so as to catch the child as he was dangled over the other side. Delgado waited for his colleagues to pull the body of the oldest out of the way slightly so that he too could finish his hurdle.

"We haven't much time before the Forest Service sees the smoke on the horizon and comes to investigate," he the moment his feet hit the ground, "and we have a mile of forest to get through before we get to where we left our van. Let's move it."

"Forgetting something?" Langer answered with a jerk of the head toward the wall and the partially demolished building behind them.

"Oh yeah." Delgado's face mirrored his chagrin as he pulled the control from the pocket of his jacket one last time. "Say "sayonara," suckers," he grinned and held the control up high enough to be over the top of the wall and pushed the final button. The pillar of flames was easily visible over the top of the trees as he bent to hoist his charge back up into a fireman's carry and lead the way off into the thick pine forest.

oOoOo

Jarod easily picked the lock on the Blue Cove Coroner's office and slipped inside without anyone seeing him. It was a Saturday – under normal circumstances, the office was deserted, just as he'd planned. In a long-ago SIM, he'd learned that the local police switchboard would make a token call to this office before attempting to page a coroner from home – as part of the SIM had involved faking a death and acquiring all of the relevant paperwork without the authorities themselves being much the wiser. It had brought down a thirteen year old's estimation of the police – but the planning that had gone into the SIM was now standing him in good stead.

The phone jangled – just as he'd expected. Donning latex gloves, Jarod reached for the receiver. "Coroner's Office," he answered officiously.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then an obviously confused police officer asked, "Dick?"

"This is Dr. Jarod Hyde," Jarod answered sanguinely. "Dick had some personal matters he had to take care of and asked me to finish up some paperwork that he didn't get through last night. What can I do for you?"

"Well, this is Varens with the BCPD. We got a DB out on Route 1," the officer announced curtly. "We're gonna need a pick up and post-mortem."

"Route 1? I'm on my way," Jarod answered and hung up the phone. Grimly he smiled to himself as he grabbed the keys to the coroner's van from the key holder near the door – a keyring that he noticed also included keys to the office itself. Everything was working according to the SIM – it was all too easy.

oOoOo

Evanston was halfway to the trees when the final explosion blew him completely off his feet. He twisted as he fell so that his full weight didn't fall on the child he held in his arms, and with horror watched as the fireball that engulfed the entire building behind him rose higher and higher. From his vantage point, it seemed as if every last inch of the construction had been targeted in the bombing – for what else could it have been?

He didn't want to stick around to see if there were mercenaries waiting to see if any rats had managed to escape the sinking ship, however. Something told him that those who had tried to escape through the main exit into the parking structure may not have made it away before the place had blown – in which case only HE had escaped the structure unharmed.

The Centre had many enemies, he knew this as a fact; but never in his wildest imagination had he ever considered those enemies to be courageous enough – have the guts – to directly target and take out a full Centre facility. His role as administrator of the place was well-known, Evanston realized with an even more hollow and sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched the flames. If word were to get out that he'd escaped the fate all the others had suffered…

He rose to his feet and pulled the toddler back up in his arms. If his memory served, there was a wall around the yard – but two years ago, he'd had a section of it taken down and a steel gate put in to provide for fire access to Centre water supplies in case of forest fire. At the time, it had been a safety issue – now, key to the gate on his main keyring in his trousers pocket, it was his ticket to escape.

He turned south and began to trot toward where he thought the gate would be. He could follow the wall until he found it – but one way or the other, this was the last time he'd be up in these woods again.

oOoOo

"Did you find any identification?" Jarod asked of the Officer Varens, who averted his head as he pulled Miss Parker's limp form from where he'd placed it behind the wheel.

"Name's Melissa Parker – she's one of those Centre folks," Varens held out Miss Parker's purse with a hand still garbed in the traditional latex glove of a police investigation. "We've tangled with her a couple of times – her boyfriend was murdered a few years back, and we've given her some warnings about drinking and driving…" He sniffed. "Evidently she didn't listen to them…"

Jarod sighed dramatically. "They rarely do," he commiserated. He carefully placed Miss Parker's form on the gurney within the open confines of the black plastic body bag and then zipped it closed. "I'll get her back to the barn – but I doubt there's any question about how this one happened."

"Such a pretty lady," Varens commented quietly, almost to himself.

"Yeah," Jarod agreed. "I wonder if she has any family?"

Varens just shrugged. "I'll tell my captain that you'll get the paperwork over to him ASAP." He patted Jarod companionably on the back. "Just the way you wanted to be spending your weekend, I bet – autopsying a pretty dead woman."

"Ah well," Jarod shrugged back, "comes with the job." He walked around to the front of the car. "Works at the Centre, huh? Maybe they know more about how to contact her family…"

"Probably." Varens wasn't paying much attention to him anymore – the tow truck had finally arrived. "Over here, Lem," he beckoned with his hand.

Jarod pulled up onto the road and swung the coroner's van around to head back to Blue Cove. "Come on, Miss Parker," he said gently to the quiet form in the back of the van, "your first step to freedom from the Centre is taken at last."

oOoOo

Sam opened the door to Miss Parker's house and then closed it behind himself.

"Is it done?" Sydney asked quietly.

"Yeah," he answered, a hollow feeling in the bottom of his stomach. "I dropped Jarod at the coroner's, to take care of Phase Two."

"Geez!" Broots breathed as he rose from the couch and came over to join them. "When I got up this morning…"

"I know," Sydney stated with a pat on the shoulder for his friend. "I suppose we should break the news…"

Sam had moved further into the house until he could see where Debbie and Evan were playing cards at the kitchen table. "Let's wait for a little bit," he countered, a hand up to prevent Sydney from coming any closer. "Wait for the police to call – and then we can say that we genuinely got the news that way."

"I hate lying to Deb," Broots whispered vehemently.

"I hate lying to Evan too," Sydney whispered back, "but a few days of grief is worth her being able to be around to raise him…"

"Won't he return to his foster parents?" Broots frowned.

Sydney shook his head. "No. Miss Parker and I discussed this a long time ago. We decided that if anything should happen to her, I would retire, adopt the boy myself and raise him properly somewhere where the Centre ISN'T."

Sam just sighed and walked over to the front window, running his fingers through his short and dark hair. "Its going to be a long day."

"Yeah," Broots agreed, slumping back down onto the couch.

Sydney walked over to the mantle where Miss Parker had kept all of her favorite family photos and picked up the one where Catherine and a very young Miss Parker were laughing together. He felt the burn of repressed tears in the back of his head and bit down on his lower lip to keep them at bay. She was still alive, he reassured himself silently.

So why did he feel as if his world had just fallen in?

oOoOo

Willy was stunned – and more than a little concerned. The two calls had come into the Centre switchboard virtually at the same time, and both messages needed to be given to Mr. Raines at once – and both pieces of news would be immensely unwelcome.

Still he had a job to do. Willy ran a conscientious hand over his short and curly coif and then straightened his tie and jacket. It wouldn't do for him to look jangled or disconcerted by the news he carried – after all, it didn't affect HIM in the least except in the way it affected Mr. Raines' ability to control and direct the power of the Centre. And there was no way in Hell that he'd miss Miss Parker's continually abrasive and obstructive presence…

His preparations complete, he threw back his shoulders and walked over to the etched glass doors to knock gently before pushing one open. "Sir?"

Raines looked up at him with eyes that seemed even more sunken than usual. "What?" he rasped after a noisy draw on the oxygen tank.

Willy took a quiet, deep breath and walked into the room, the papers he held in his hand completely steady and unshaking. He handed the papers to his boss. "There's been some bad news…"