Chapter 11
"What the hell is going on here?" came the Official's gruff voice as he entered the Keep a few moments later to see Eberts and Claire crouching over the same empty space on the floor. They seemed totally preoccupied, so when no answer to his question was forthcoming, he barked, "People, I want an explanation!"
Claire threw an exasperated glance over her shoulder, before disembodied whimpers distracted her attention again. "Darien, I can't help you while you're still invisible. You're going to have to stop the flow of quicksilver for me." She paused to listen and could hear her Kept struggling to control his raggedly erratic breathing. As the seconds ticked by she silently willed him to reappear and without conscious thought, began rubbing his back comfortingly. "Come on sweetheart, concentrate."
"No…can't," Darien eventually managed to groan before a desperately screamed, "Please…!" burst from his lips when the fire consuming his brain flared once again.
Claire felt his body bucking under her hand and struggled to sound calm and reassuring as she urged, "I know you can do this, please try." He didn't respond and in her growing desperation she did the only thing she could think of and adopted a haughty, commanding tone to say, "Darien Fawkes, stop wasting my time and listen to me. You stop the flow of quicksilver right now or I'll have you thrown in the padded room and you can go through this alone!"
Whether her words had somehow shocked him into complying, or he'd simply managed to regain control of the gland, she didn't know, but a tremendous wave of relief flowed through her when a spectacular shower of quicksilver flakes suddenly flew all around them and a dazed Darien dramatically reappeared. He sighed heavily and slumped over into his Keeper's waiting arms as the pain quickly subsided back to a dull ache.
Claire moved around so that Darien's head was resting in her lap and pushed his sweat-drenched hair back off his forehead. "Better?" she asked, her voice returning to one of tender concern.
"Mmm…thanks," he murmured, feeling his eyelids beginning to close. He was absolutely drained and wanted nothing more than to lose himself in a dreamless sleep.
"Darien, stay awake," Claire urged. "I need to know what happened!"
"Burning…." he muttered as he lost the struggle to do as she asked and allowed the darkness to take him.
Looking over to where Eberts was busy explaining what he understood of the situation to the Official, Claire shook her head in disgust and enquired in a stony voice, "Would it be too much to ask for you to postpone your little discussion until later and give me a little help over here?"
"He's still stalling!" Jared Stark informed his wife angrily, slamming the handset down after yet another fruitless phone call to the Official. "He's found fault with every single detail of the handover so far, from the location of a suitable rendezvous, right down to the type of vehicle we're allowed to use. The problem is, even though I know he's using delaying tactics, I can't see what advantage he expects to gain."
"I don't mean to question your plan darling, but an employee is far more expendable than our child," Eleanor pointed out reasonably, careful not to provoke her husband further. "From what I remember of the Official, he's a frustrated, arrogant little man, with a very high opinion of himself. Allowing his agent to languish here is a small price to pay if it allows him to enjoy having a sense of power over us and he probably wants it to last as long as possible."
"Well in that case I think it's about time we raised the stakes don't you?" Stark asked rhetorically. He punched the button on his intercom. "Please ask Mr Hobbes to join me in my office immediately," he requested before cancelling the call. A sneer twisted his lips as he looked over to his wife, "I do hope he's fully recovered from his recent blood loss my dear, because he may well need every drop he has left."
"How's your head?" Claire asked Darien gently the next morning as he slowly woke from a deep sleep.
He took a little while to answer, taking in his surroundings and experimentally flexing his neck. "Feels like a pumpkin someone's smashed up against a wall," he replied groggily. He blinked his eyes and massaged them with his hands. "What've you done to the lights?"
"The lights? Nothing, why?" Claire enquired, handing him a couple of small white tablets and a glass of water.
Darien took the proffered items and stared down at them in disbelief. "Aspirin? Can't you give me something stronger, 'cause these are like sticking a Band-aid on a bloody stump." he moaned unhappily.
Claire gave him a sympathetic smile. "As soon as I receive the final test results and check things out I'll be in a better position to know what to give you, but in the meantime you'll have to be satisfied with those. Now what did you mean about the lights?"
"Um, ah, nothing really," Darien lied unconvincingly. He suddenly realised he may well have let himself in for a whole new session of being poked and prodded. When Claire gave him her patented 'I wasn't born yesterday Darien Fawkes' look he knew he was in trouble. "Well, um, everything's kinda got a glowy look about it," he admitted reluctantly.
"A 'glowy' look?"
"Yeah, you know, kinda golden and hazy round the edges," he tried to explain.
Claire frowned, and after a few moments consideration said, "Well, that may be a residual effect from the bright flash you experienced before you collapsed yesterday, but I'll have to schedule a few more tests…"
She was interrupted when a quiet voice behind her announced, "The final results are here Dr Keeply. They came through a couple of minutes ago and I thought you'd want to see them right away." Lucy walked forward and handed a bulging folder to the doctor and smiled shyly at Darien. He grinned back, thankful for the interruption.
"Oh that's wonderful Lucy. Can you let the Official know?" Claire replied distractedly and started anxiously flicking through the pile of data. "Mmm," she murmured to herself.
"What?" Darien asked nervously. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to wait to find out my fate?"
A smile spread across Claire's face as she met his anxious gaze. "Don't worry, it's good news. It looks like the pain you experienced yesterday was the gland letting us know the damaged areas are regenerating."
"Oh goody," Darien grouched. "Do you think you could tell it I'd prefer a telegram next time?"
"It's a pity your mood hasn't improved," she observed wryly in response. "Don't you see what this means? We have a much better chance of getting Bobby away from Stark without anyone getting killed if you can turn invisible."
"Oh yeah," Darien mumbled in embarrassment. He'd been so wrapped up in his own personal pain-filled hell, he'd almost forgotten his partner's plight. "Did you ever find out what Eberts was rambling on about yesterday?"
"I've been a little too pre-occupied with you to worry about that, but I expect we'll find out this afternoon, if you're feeling up to a briefing with the Official."
"Count me in," Darien replied decisively.
"C'mon, c'mon," Hobbes muttered to himself as he manoeuvred the pen he'd stolen from one of the guards under the strap holding his left wrist. Fawkes had taught him the trick months ago after they'd been discussing his escape from the complex where his brother had been murdered. "Yes!" he hissed in triumph when the buckle suddenly loosened and his wrist came free; it was a new record. He quickly released his other limbs and was stretching his stiff and aching muscles when a voice drifted in from outside the room.
"I have to escort the Fed to see Mr Stark," a young man announced importantly.
The sound of numbers being punched into a keypad alerted Hobbes to the fact they were about to enter and he swiftly moved behind the door, bracing himself for a fight. As two men entered, he roughly grabbed the first and propelled him hard against the wall. A loud crack let him know the man was out for the count and he focused all his attention on the second individual, who seemed momentarily stunned by the turn of events. Hobbes took full advantage, sweeping his right leg out and taking the man to the floor. A couple of well aimed punches later and he joined his colleague in unconsciousness.
Hobbes eyed the men appraisingly; they were too big to provide him with any suitable clothes, so he decided there was no option but to remain in the pyjamas he was wearing. He hurriedly ripped sheets to bind and gag the men, retrieved the rifle and handgun they were carrying and carefully closed the door behind him. Using the butt of the rifle, he smashed the keypad and then paused as he heard footsteps approaching fast from the left. Silently making his way down the hallway, he dodged around the corner and headed in the opposite direction.
"I ordered Brad to bring the prisoner to my office ten minutes ago and I'm in no mood to be kept waiting," came Stark's irritated voice as he reached the room Hobbes had been imprisoned in. "What the…?" he exclaimed noticing the damaged keypad. He didn't need to look in the room to know Hobbes had escaped and his face turned to a livid shade of red as he barked, "Get the men together and search every inch of this place until you find him!" He paused for a moment then added, "Oh, and I don't care what condition he's in when I get him back, just make sure he's still breathing!"
"So effectively what you're saying is that Stark's property has a secret passage leading from the house deep into the grounds?" the Official asked, looking for confirmation.
"Yes Sir," Ebert replied confidently. "After all the inconsistencies I found surrounding the construction of the house I tried locating the architect who designed it, but unfortunately he died of a heart attack six years ago. However, I did manage to track down the foreman who was in charge of the site. He was initially reluctant to cooperate, but once I informed him of the situation, he was more than willing to confirm my suspicions and was even able to provide me with a set of accurate blueprints. They clearly show the entrance is located in the basement and it has a sliding panel to conceal it from plain sight."
"Who on earth would want a secret passage leading from their house?" Claire asked sceptically as Eberts spread the plans out on the table in front of them.
"One Carl Estevez," Eberts informed her promptly, placing a picture of the man in question in front of them. "He was a very ambitious East Coast lawyer who made a name for himself in the 1970s defending some decidedly shady characters, but as his influence and prosperity grew, so did the number of enemies he collected. He decided to move west and build himself a veritable fortress with a convenient escape route in case of trouble. Unfortunately for Mr Estevez he disappeared before his dream home was completed and there are rumours his body now resides in an overpass in downtown Los Angeles," Eberts concluded with obvious distaste.
"Colourful tale, but how does this help us?" the Official demanded. "Surely Stark knows about the tunnel."
"Actually it's highly unlikely he knows anything about it. The whole construction crew was made up of ex-clients Estevez helped escape lengthy prison sentences and apparently he had a dossier on each one implicating them in further crimes, ensuring their continuing silence," Eberts explained. "In addition, a long, protracted legal battle over the will between his five ex-wives meant the house lay empty for almost fifteen years. I think it's therefore safe to assume even those who knew of the project would have forgotten all about it in the intervening years."
"Yes, quite possibly," the Official agreed. "However, I'm not comfortable sending my men in without some form of confirmation."
"Well Sir, Darien could use his unique talents to slip into the grounds, check out the passageway and report back. If it is indeed unguarded we could breach the fence here," he said pointing to a section of the map on the display board behind him, "and be inside the house before Stark's men know what's happening."
"How viable is that Doctor?" the Official asked, turning his attention to Claire. It hadn't escaped his notice that Darien had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting and barely looked able to sit up straight, never mind infiltrate the residence of a known sociopath.
"Obviously Darien shouldn't be on active duty for quite some time…."
Hey, I'm fine and ready to go when you are," interrupted Darien, afraid they were going to veto Eberts' plan. He straightened up and put on an unconvincing show of being alert and poised for action.
"Let me finish," Claire admonished him gently. "In an ideal world I'd be against Darien's involvement, but circumstances being as they are, I don't see that we have any choice if we want Bobby back alive. After the test results came in this morning, Darien successfully used the gland to turn invisible a number of times and, though his control isn't one hundred percent yet, I think he would be able to carry out the initial reconnaissance.
The assembled group all turned eager eyes towards the Official and after a few moments deliberation he said, "Alright, you have a go."
"How's it looking?" Alex's voice asked in Darien's earpiece as he surveyed the entrance to the tunnel they were hoping would lead him to Stark's house. He'd earlier successfully negotiated the perimeter fence and safely made his way to an area dense with trees without being detected. With all the scratches and scrapes he'd acquired to get there he was convinced no one could have stumbled on the entrance by accident.
"It's all rusted to hell!" Darien grunted as he battled with the lock on what looked like a blast-proof storm cellar. "Just give me a minute." With a satisfying series of clicks the lock eventually sprang open and he pulled at the door. "Yuk!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Smells like something died in here."
"Does the way look clear?" came Alex's voice again. Darien was wearing the woolly turtle hat, complete with camera, but it didn't have night vision capabilities and the area was too dark to make out anything more than blurry shades of grey.
"Seems to be," Darien replied, turning on the large flashlight he'd brought with him to survey the dank and shadowy passageway. "I'm going in."
"Be careful Darien," Claire urged.
He smiled and made his way down the stairs in front of him. The only sounds to be heard were his own footsteps and the occasional drip of water from damp walls. Without any discernable landmarks, time and distance seemed to lose all meaning and he cautiously made his way further into the tunnel. After some time the passage began curving to the right and he felt the welcoming hint of a breeze. He hastened his step and around the next bend, found himself facing another door. He'd made it!
However, any feelings of relief were soon replaced by fear as he moved the flashlight to the left and caught sight of something moving towards him. "Oh crap!" he cried out in sudden panic.
TBC