Note: If you guys have a little faith and patience with me when it comes to telling a Liason story with Liason in fact separated for several chapters, then I think the pay-off will be quite nice and you'll be pleased with the end result. Eyes on the prize, as always – but don't forget to enjoy the ride while you're at it.
The Battle Of Who Could Care Less – 25
She woke up the next morning alone in Robert's bed and was momentarily confused when she didn't find Jason's warm body next to hers. But as weariness bled away to subdued alertness, Elizabeth realized where she was. Robert was already dressed and was shaving in front of the massive mirror at the far end of the room. The sheets that he had used the previous night were folded and rested atop his pillow, and he had left both of them in the exact same spot on the floor that he had slept.
Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. After Jason had left last night, Robert had staunchly refused to let her stay alone in the room. Instead, they had tossed her meager possessions into her canvas tote and walked back to his room. She had been asked – or commanded, rather – to take the bed while the agent slept on the floor despite her protests. Both of them were anxious and on edge, seeing as how this was the third day of the coup and they still had no idea what the necklace meant.
Wearily, she shoved off the covers and grabbed her jeans and a clean t-shirt from her bag and shuffled into the bathroom to shower. When she got out, Robert was on the phone with Dr. Wilde and motioned for her to hurry up. She went through the motions, securing her identification in her front pocket and engaging her weapon before tucking it against her side, and the agent hurried her out the door.
They went directly to the research facility leased by the Bureau on the Oxford campus, walking quickly side by side. Elizabeth ducked into the compound first, trying to ignore the rumble of her stomach. Robert followed quickly on her heels and led the way down a maze of corridors to where Mark and Faolan had staked their ground.
The two of them expected to find the art historians struggling with the necklace and their own frustrations, but they felt the shift immediately as they stepped into the office. The air was charged with energy and electricity, and the two men were huddled close together over the cast of the necklace with several open books spread out around them.
"What's going on?" Robert asked, not bothering with morning pleasantries. He ushered Elizabeth forward first and the two of them scurried over to the other agents. "Have you got something?"
"Do you know what it says, Dr. Wilde?" Elizabeth asked, her weariness giving way momentarily to excitement and hope.
"It's a mirror-image, Lizzie Love," the old man answered breathlessly as he motioned for Mark to flip to the middle of another thick book. "The script is a reflection of the original writing!"
"What?" Robert's eyes darted back and forth between Mark and Faolan as the two men studied the cast before frenetically flipping pages and transcribing nonsensical lines onto their notebooks. "How do you figure?"
"We've been at this for days," Faolan replied, momentarily looking up from the work at hand as Mark continued to write frantically. The older man was clearly excited, and even as he tried to compose himself long enough to relate the breakthrough to the two newcomers, his fingers excitedly played with the pencil he held. "It seemed hopeless – gibberish."
"It's unlike anything I've ever seen before," Mark murmured, flipping several pages of his reference book and searching the Greek letters. "Amazing."
"We hadn't stopped work since yesterday morning," Faolan continued, passing Elizabeth his half-finished bottle of water and a bagel that he had taken two bites out of. "And it was about three in the morning and we still hadn't come across anything. And then it was Mark who suggested putting it away for a few hours and getting some sleep."
Robert absently broke off part of the bagel Elizabeth was scarfing down and nodded along with the professor.
"He was carrying it over to the safe to seal away when we passed the windows," the old man explained excitedly. "And that was when I saw the reflection of the cast in the glass – and by God, it looked as if it could actually mean something."
"We brought it right back over here and went at it," Mark interjected, looking up from his notebook. "First, we took a few pictures and copied down the markings down in the image of their reflection. Faolan said that the structure looked like a defunct Grecian dialect used a little over a thousand years ago."
"I'm not entirely sure what it says," Faolan broke in, picking up his notebook once more and extending it forward so that Robert and Elizabeth could look at the script. "But we pulled all of my character study books and brought them back, and we're almost finished translating the words."
"It's difficult and taking this long only because the breaks between the words aren't completely clear," Mark explained as his colleague went back to work. "Once we have all the words translated, I'll have to let Faolan take over. He's more familiar with the syntax of this dialect because he's seen similar work inscribed into Greek artifacts."
"Once we get all the words translated," the man in question countered, "it will be a walk in the park to fit them together into a sensible phrase – believe you me."
Elizabeth grinned up at Robert, elated and astonished at the same time, and the agent only beamed back. "They did it, Robbie!"
"And what did I tell you, doll?" he winked, rubbing his hands together with glee. "I can't tell you of the significance of your work, gentlemen. If we can get one step ahead of Helena Cassidine…"
"Robert, think nothing of it," Faolan murmured as Mark handed him his notebook with the complete translated list of words and characters. "We're all familiar with the tactics of Helena – no doubt, she's got a cataclysmic event planned and if so, even the smallest bit of help will take you far."
"You're going to get in touch with Bunbury in Paris, aren't you?" Mark questioned, his anxious green eyes settling on the pair. "He's been chronicling her patterns for the past fifteen years and can give you the best and most solid information."
"We're heading there next," Robert informed him with a quick nod. "I've prepared for safe transportation, and with just a little luck we'll be able to get out of Oxford with little publicity."
"God speed," Mark shrugged apologetically, his lips curling into a small smirk. "I'm afraid I don't envy you one bit, Robert."
A ghost of a smile played across the agent's lips before he let out a sigh and focused once more on Faolan. With the man hard at work deciphering the appropriate word order and sentence structure, there was little for them to do. Mark pointed the two of them toward a small refrigerator, and after they had filled up on some fruit and coffee, they wound their way back to the elderly art historian to see if he had finished.
Faolan was squinting down at the paper in his hand as the group approached, his white brows furrowed as he studied it carefully. He looked up when Robert approached and held it out so the detective could read as well.
"What's it say?" Elizabeth asked eagerly, taking a big gulp of coffee and burning her tongue.
Robert frowned at the paper as the brunette quickly blew on the scalding liquid. "How lonely sits the city that once was full of people. How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations." He looked around at his colleagues, nonplussed. "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"
"Are you certain this is it, Faolan?" Mark asked, frowning down at the words.
The old professor nodded. "I checked and rechecked, and I am certain. What could the verse be referring to?"
"Read it again," Mark instructed, crossing his arms over his chest. "It sounds…oddly familiar."
"How lonely sits the city that once was full of people. How like a widow she has become-" Faolan stopped when he noticed that the younger art historian was already on the move, retreating toward the state of the art laptops lined up along the far wall. "Mark?"
"-so familiar," he was muttering as he set the laptop down on the table, glancing over at the paper as Robert moved closer. "Let me check the database – hopefully, it will contain at least some reference to the line."
Elizabeth sipped her coffee anxiously, looking at Robert and her Dr. Wilde as Mark typed away. The younger man sighed and typed some more, and a few clicks later they heard him let out an exclamation of triumph.
"How lonely sits the city that was once full of people," he repeated proudly, tapping the LCD monitor. "That's from the Book of Lamentations – the first half of the first verse."
"Lamentations," Robert murmured, skimming over the Biblical passage as Elizabeth watched. "That entire book is about the destruction of Jerusalem, isn't it?"
Faolan was nodding, slowly at first and then with increased conviction. "Yes – lyric poetry, if I'm not mistaken. It's among the most violent and brutal pieces of writing in the entire Bible. Though the passages lack traditional statements of hope, the poems do manifest a stubborn and tenacious hold on life, which is ironic considering the content of the verse we just found. Does that help at all, Robert?"
The detective shrugged, looking over at Elizabeth who also shrugged in reply. "Your guess is as good as mine, Faolan. What would Helena need with a necklace with Biblical poetry engraved on the back?"
"Not engraved, Robbie," Elizabeth corrected quietly, moving forward and looking down at the cast that sat nearby. "It's not engraved – the script is raised from the back surface. That's got to mean something." She frowned down at the cast, tracing her fingers over the writing as the other men thought. "It would be awkward to wear – she can't want it for that reason. The bumps would feel horrible against your neck. It's not meant to be worn."
"No, it's not," Faolan agreed. "There do exist some noteworthy pieces of ancient jewelry from the same era as this Grecian dialect that we see on the back of the necklace. And the first thing you will notice about those necklaces is their distinctive style – and how that style differs drastically from the style of this one."
"How so?"
"The necklaces of that period," the other art historian cut in, "were crafted to be delicate and simple. The values of the time were focused on simplicity and a plain, geometric design."
"Not so in this case," Faolan added, pointing down to the cast. "The large jewel in the middle alone gives it away – forget the smaller ones adoring the sides. This necklace would have been much too heavy and outlandish for any respectable woman in that society to wear."
"So what does that mean?" Elizabeth asked, rolling her half-empty cup of coffee between her palms.
"The necklace was most definitely not to be worn," the elderly professor explained. "Instead, it would most likely have been found adorning the shield or armor of an ancestor. However, this speculation on my part is based on the assumption that this necklace is an original remnant of the times. Clearly, it is not."
"But we have reason to believe that it was modeled about roughly 200 years ago to look like an exact replica of the original piece," Mark took up. "The script on the back is a significant indicator of the fact. The language survived for a very short period of time, comparatively, and seeing it on the back of a piece like this is indeed extremely strange."
"Especially since it's not engraved," Elizabeth finished for him, receiving a nod. "If it's not worn, then it's used for ornamentation…which might explain the bumps on the back."
"How?"
She nibbled her lip, wondering if her idea would seem naïve or out of left field, but voiced it anyway. "What if…What if the bumps are supposed to fit into a matching plate – one that matches up with the mirror-image perfectly? Like…a puzzle or a key?"
Robert shared a long look with Faolan as the two men contemplated what the young woman had said. Finally, the elderly professor broke the silence. "Lizzie Love, I wouldn't rule that possibility out. At this point, it does seem plausible. But we have less than nothing to go on in the first place…"
"If it is a key…" Robert murmured, running his finger over the biblical verse. "…then it begs the question, just what does Helena have locked up?"
The first thing he noticed as soon as he stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor of Harborview Towers was that Max wasn't standing outside the door of Penthouse 4. Unable to shrug off the uneasy feeling that had long since settled into the pit of his stomach, Jason steeled his jaw and headed straight for Sonny's door.
It was unlocked, as it always was, and he strode in without announcing himself. He had no sooner slung his duffel bag onto the floor by Sonny's desk than he heard his boss call out to him.
"Jason?"
"I'm back, Sonny," he shouted toward the kitchen, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell's going on?"
The mobster emerged from the dark hallway and Jason was at once struck by how different he looked. Sonny looked as if he had aged a year in a day, and his grim obsidian eyes were as hard as stone as he strode over to the main desk. Jason swallowed, letting his arms fall limply at his sides. Time had trained him to recognize the gravity of any given conflict simply by looking at Sonny and if his present appearance was any indication, they were looking at a very bleak situation.
Sonny opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Carly's yell. The blonde had heard Jason enter and was now thundering down the steps. Jason exchanged glances with his boss, watching as the mobster wearily scrubbed a hand over his face, and then turned his attention toward Carly.
"Jason, you're back!" He recognized the untold relief in her voice and held his arms open to her, catching her as she flew into his embrace. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back." The enforcer shot a quizzical glance at his mentor over his best friend's shoulder, but Sonny remained silent.
"Guess what?" Carly asked¸ pulling back enough for Jason to see the dark circles under her eyes. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she was dressed in a simple brown tracksuit.
The enforcer looked down at her, confused, and shrugged. "What?"
She lowered her hands from around his neck to rest on her flat belly, looking up at him with serious, emotionless hazel eyes. "I'm pregnant."
Jason's mouth fell open, but he snapped it shut quickly. Carly remained quiet as he looked her over, her hands still resting on her stomach, and the enforcer could only tug on his ear as the full weight of her announcement bore down on him. "Oh…congratulations."
She could see that he was sincere, and her nude lips relaxed into a small smile. Jason's arms wrapped gently around her waist when Carly pulled him into another hug, stepping back only to peck him on the cheek. "Thank you," she smiled brightly, her gaze locked on his and avoiding Sonny's entirely. "You're officially happier to hear the news than my own husband."
Jason turned immediately to Sonny, who had closed his eyes and was running a heavy hand through his black curls. "Carly…"
"Save it, Sonny," she replied coldly, wrapping her arms defensively around her middle like Elizabeth sometimes did. "You-"
"Mom?"
Jason looked up at the staircase to see Michael standing on the landing, dressed in his rumpled play clothes. As soon as the little boy saw him, a bright grin bloomed on his chubby little face and he immediately catapulted himself to the main level, shooting across the clean floor to his uncle.
"Jason! Jason, you're back!" He let out a whoop as the enforcer swept him up into his arms, letting his own small arms wrap naturally around the older man's neck. "How was Mexico? Dad said that you guys found Lizabeth, and that she was being held hostage by two senile old coots. What's it mean to be senile, Jason? Is it contagious? Hey, how come Lizabeth isn't with you? Did they not let her back into the country a'cause she's senile, too?"
The mobster broke into a rare grin and jostled the boy lightly in his arms, his smile fading when Michael coughed into his fist. "No, Elizabeth's with a friend of hers. They've got some work to do, but they'll be back as soon as they can. And she's not senile."
"But the old coots are?" Michael questioned, rubbing his palm on his shirt to get rid of the germs his father told him about.
Jason smirked at a weary Sonny, and replied with a curt nod. "Yeah, the old coots definitely are."
The little redhead laughed as his uncle set him down on the floor once more. "Did Mom tell you? I'm gonna be a big brother!"
"I heard," Jason smiled, first at the boy and then his mother. "That's great news, isn't it?"
The child nodded emphatically. "Yeah, but Mom says that babies don't really do much for the first few years. They just eat and sleep and poop and make strange noises that no one understands. So I'll have to wait a little while before I have someone to play Superheroes or baseball with."
"What if it's a girl?" Jason couldn't help asking, and the older man had to bite his cheek to suppress a smirk at the disgusted look on Michael's face.
"It better not be!" he exclaimed, shaking his small fist. "That would be so gross! I won't be able to do anything with her and-"
Sonny frowned when Michael broke off into a coughing fit and exchanged glances with Carly. "You okay, there, Michael?"
The boy nodded, smacking his chest once, but Carly wasn't convinced. "Come on, Mister Man," she ordered, holding out her hand to the five-year old. "I don't like the sound of that – you're probably coming down with something. Teddy's mom said there was a bug going around."
"A bug? Really?" Michael hopped up the stairs after her excitedly. "What kind of bug? Does it fly? Can you eat it? What kind is it, Mom?"
"The kind that gets a hot bath and some Dimetapp – now," Carly replied as the twosome disappeared from view. Jason let out a sigh and then turned toward Sonny.
"You want to tell me what they're still doing here?" The mobster turned his back as he felt his best friend's piercing eyes on him. "And why Carly thinks you're not happy about the baby?"
"I am happy," Sonny replied quietly, heading toward the wet bar and pouring himself some brandy. "I've always wanted us to have our own children. But…"
Jason crossed his arms over his chest and followed reluctantly, standing by the coffee table. "But?"
"The timing's all wrong, Jason," Sonny admitted gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you know she's four and a half months along? And we just found out yesterday. The timing's all wrong – it's…it's not safe right now, especially for a woman in her condition. Things…things just got real bad around here, Jason."
"Then why aren't Carly and Michael on the island by now?" Jason asked, gesturing toward the stairs. "Why aren't Max or Johnny in the hallway? What the hell is going on, Sonny?"
The older man smiled absently, staring at a point on the wall as he took a sip of his brandy. "We're under attack."
The enforcer stared at him for a moment. "…You want to run that by me again?"
"Luis Alcazar has resurfaced," Sonny replied, drawing out each word so that he was practically spelling it out to his best friend.
"What happened?"
"Everything was fine when I returned from the safehouse," Sonny sighed. "Everything was fine when we went down to Mexico after Elizabeth. Everything was fine when I got back. And then…Alcazar came up for air. He bounced back with more men and more resources than our reports ever showed possible. And he's out for territory…and blood."
He didn't scare easily, but Jason could feel the anxiety beginning to surface. "Then why aren't Carly and Michael out of the country?"
Sonny indulged in a rare, emotionless grin, the dimples that made the women swoon out in full-force. He clinked the ice cubes in his glass and glanced over at his best friend, his obsidian eyes hard and dark. "Because our airplane hanger has been destroyed."
Jason's eyes widened, and the mobster continued. "Carly and Michael were packed. They were ready to go. Max was going to get the car ready when we got word that the hangar was bombed. Our jets – destroyed. Two pilots and three crewmen killed. It was clean and quick…and it was Alcazar."
The enforcer had to grip the edge of the wet bar as he thought to himself. "A message."
"A message," Sonny agreed, downing the last of his brandy. "A message to stay put or we really will be killed."
"The Families? What are they prepared to do about this?"
"The Five Families are all on increased alert," the mob boss replied, setting his glass down on the counter. "They're prepared to join us and pool our resources together to fight Alcazar – the preliminary steps are being taken right-"
"Sonny!"
The two men spun around in time to see Carly barreling down the staircase, her blonde mane flying behind her. "Carly, what are you-"
The blonde ignored her husband and threw herself at the remote, immediately aiming it at the television and flipping to the local news channel. Sonny and Jason stared at the photogenic Asian anchorwoman, her serious but melodic voice echoing in the silent room.
"The warehouses," Carly informed them quietly. "The strongholds of the Five Families – all of them exploded exactly thirteen minutes ago, all together."
Sonny's mouth fell open as he watched the news coverage and footage of the five burning sites where firefighters were vainly attempting to fight the blaze before it killed any more people or destroyed any more property. It was a sign – a sign could hardly be any more clear in their line of work. It was a sign that made it quite apparent that none of the other organizations would interfere with the upcoming plans of the perpetrator upon risk of further destruction and bloodshed. Numbly, his gaze swung toward Jason, meeting his enforcer's stricken and disbelieving eyes.
"…And we stand alone."