Chapter 24 – The Fun Begins

"Mrs. Jamison, I'm Jim McKenna – Chairman of the Eire Foundation." McKenna was standing, impressed by the poise and confidence that the woman who had entered his office wore about her like a perfume. He put out his hand. "We're very pleased to have you coming on board with us."

"Catherine Jamison," Miss Parker shook the hand offered to her. "I look forward to working for you, sir."

"Please, sit." McKenna moved to behind his desk and waited for Miss Parker to have demurely deposited herself in one of the comfortable chairs. "You understand this is considered your final interview for the job?"

"Yes, sir," Miss Parker replied, her eyes neither shifting to look about the office or looking down at her hands, despite her nervousness.

McKenna continued to watch her for a long and silent moment. The woman had class – that was obvious – and she didn't intimidate or spook easily. That boded well for a position where she was going to have to deal with imposing or intimidating people on a daily basis. Finally he looked down and opened the folder that sat on his blotter in front of him. "It says here that you have a degree in Industrial Engineering, and worked for the military in a civilian capacity for several years."

"Yes." Miss Parker was impressed. She knew he was reading her mother's resume – but she'd never really known how closely her mother's career had paralleled her own before either of them had become enmeshed in the Centre.

"Tell me, Mrs. Jamison, why did you decide to move into the private corporate security field?" McKenna folded his hands on the desk and waited patiently.

"My husband retired from the military and got a job with the police department here in Philadelphia," she responded easily, having read up on the history Jarod had compiled for their little Pretend family. "I wanted stability – my son is old enough that I want him to be able to make and keep friends for longer than six months at a time…"

McKenna was nodding. This much was what his other interviewers had managed to gather already. "And why apply to the Eire Foundation?"

"I wanted a job with challenges," she answered after a moment's thought. "The Eire Foundation seems to fit the bill."

McKenna grinned at her. "I like your style, Catherine… May I call you Cathy?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "I really do prefer Catherine – if you don't mind…" Her mother had never let anyone call her anything but Catherine that she knew of – it was bad enough that Sam had spoken for "Cat" before she'd had a chance to really think things through.

"Not a problem – Catherine it shall be." He pressed the button on his intercom. "Hazel, would you please make sure that Mr. Murray is ready for his appointment, and then have security escort Mrs. Jamison to his office?" He rose, letting go of the button before getting a reply and held out his hand again. "I'm certain we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other over time," he told her with a smooth smile. "Good luck in your new position."

"Thank you very much, Mr. McKenna," Miss Parker smiled back, carefully keeping the smile from looking plastic. "And thank you very much for the position. I'm certain that you'll find my work satisfactory."

"I'm sure I will," he replied with a predatory look in his eye. The office door opened and a dark-suited security man looked in. "Please see Mrs. Jamison to her appointment with Mr. Murray," McKenna instructed his man. "And be informed, this lady is soon going to be one of your new bosses – so treat her right."

"Yes, sir," the blank-faced man replied and then glanced at Miss Parker. "Mrs. Jamison, if you'll please follow me…"

"Mr. McKenna," Miss Parker inclined her head as she turned to leave the office. She schooled herself not to release the sigh of relief she'd been holding until after the door had closed behind her. One down, she congratulated herself, and one to go before this thing is underway at last!

Jarod had been right – the similarities between the Centre and the Foundation were almost eerie. Surveillance cameras were positioned at exactly the positions that she would have instructed her sweepers to keep them – and the number of dark suits in the hallways was easily the same proportion as sweepers to other employees. There was the same mild ambiance of hurry on the faces and in the feet of those walking the corridors with her. Pick me up, blindfold me and put me down again, she thought, and I'd be hard pressed to say whether this was the Centre or the Foundation!

This must be the administrative wing, she decided – all the office signs indicated the people inside were at the top of the corporate food chain. Her office would be located somewhere along the fringes of this, if the security design of the facility matched the high standards that had governed Centre arrangement.

A tall man came out of another office and bumped her shoulder slightly. "Excuse me," a familiar deep voice said apologetically – and Miss Parker looked at the face without allowing her recognition to show. "I didn't mean to run into you," Jarod told her in very neutral tones.

"No harm done," she allowed and continued moving on beyond him – taking note of the label outside the door through which he'd emerged. Clever boy, Jarod, she smiled inwardly. Now I know where to find you.

She threw her shoulders back and prepared for her final hurdle before being officially hired. The day was off to a good start.

oOoOo

Sam squared his shoulders and took the hand of the tall, thin, aging Lieutenant. "Sam Jamison," he introduced himself easily. "I've just been assigned to you."

Lieutenant Walter Sullivan gave his new detective a quick, studying look. Tall, muscular, with intense blue eyes and stoic mien, Sam Jamison looked every bit detective material. His work history and record were clean, with nothing indicating that he would prove to be either a problem or a genius. Sullivan was content. His unit was a crack team, taking in only those who not only could work well with others, but keep their noses to the grindstone and clean at the same time. If the work history of the new guy was any indication – especially considering that some of that history was with the military – Jamison was going to fit in just fine.

"I'm Lt. Sullivan," Sullivan replied and then gestured to the shorter, swarthy man standing close to the window that looked out into the parking lot. "And that's your new partner, Lester Jarek." He glanced at Jarek. "Show him his desk, hand over your caseload, and get to work." He sat down at his desk and waved the detectives out the door.

"Les Jarek," Jarek stuck out his hand and was encouraged when Sam's grip was just as firm and strong as his.

"Sam Jamison," Sam answered. Jarek might have been shorter than he, but there was the bulge of muscle beneath the fine linen shirt the man wore that told Sam that the man was NOT to be trifled with.

Jarek led the way over to the far corner of the room, where two desks were situated facing each other next to a somewhat grimy window that looked out onto a cement jungle street scene. "Here you go," he pointed to the desk with absolutely nothing on its surface. "Need time to settle in?"

Sam shook his head as he sat down and tried the chair. It was a little loose in the seat, but nothing outrageously bad. "Nope. What we got?"

Jarek pulled a manila folder out of a short stack and tossed it across the expanse of two desks. "Check this out – and then we have a few witnesses to interview."

Sam opened the folder and had to work not to cringe at the crime scene photographs of the naked body of a woman who had been beaten. Still, as he flipped past the photo and headed for the autopsy report, all he could think of was how much better this was than working for the Centre – mostly. At least here he KNEW he'd be working for the good guys while Miss Parker and the others dealt up close and personal with the bad guys. Only his position with Miss Parker at the Centre had kept him from not being quite so sure there.

And maybe some of those street smarts that had made him skirt the ragged edge of the law while growing up would come in handy. Yes, his PO would be laughing his ass off now to see him – or staring at him with awe and pride. Sam decided that he'd head for the latter – the idea of actually talking to his PO now, after all these years, with a successful police career in hand sounded interesting. Maybe, when this was all over, he'd look into a police academy.

This was the kind of job he was good at – now all he had to do was DO it.

oOoOo

Sydney was exhausted and dozing – but had so far managed to keep from being hauled bodily back to his space. The medic who had taken charge of young Adam at first had been completely hammer-handed – Sydney could see that the man wasn't trained well enough to do much more than bandage skinned knees and hand out aspirin for headaches. He'd brushed aside the young medic in disgust and taken over the daunting task of caring for an expanse of back that had been literally ripped to shreds.

It had taken nearly three hours to treat Adam's injuries properly, very tenderly daubing at the torn flesh with soft cotton soaked in peroxide, applying an antibiotic ointment that would speed healing and then laying a light layer of gauze bandage over the entire surface. All that while, he'd kept up a stream of light talk aimed at soothing the young man as he writhed in agony under the chemical assault and the sensation of light pressure against exposed nerve endings. In the end, the only coherent word out of the lad's mouth had been a drawn out "noooo," that told Sydney that his diagnosis of the Pretender being very close to willing himself dead had been spot on.

By the end, Adam had drifted into unconsciousness. Sydney finished by making sure pulse and blood pressure were steady and strong, as well as establishing an IV to replenish the young man's fluid levels, to nourish him and to provide pain-free access to administer more antibiotics and a pain killer – and then finally sat down in the uncomfortable straight chair next to the hospital bed to try to rest.

He had no illusions – McKenna or one of his lackeys would be in within the next few hours, demanding a progress report and an estimate of when Adam would be ready to go back to his space and his tasks. In that, he was working on very familiar, very much loathed, ground. Protecting this young man while he healed would take all of his wits and talents at persuasion, easily as much as protecting Jarod had ever taken – something he'd not have in sufficient supply if he didn't get his own rest.

Now, however, with the relative peace of an abandoned medical examination room, Sydney could take the time to study his new protégé. There was no doubt that this was another carbon copy of Jarod – Sydney would never have been able to tell the difference between the original and this young man if faced with the two at the same age at the same time. Adam even had the beginnings of the mole that had appeared beneath Jarod's right eye.

Were the others like this one, Sydney wondered – and then wondered why it was that the Foundation only had one of the missing Duplicity clones. Was it that the bodies of the others had been vaporized in the explosion – or had they been injured in the explosion to the point that they had all died except this one?

"Mmmmnnn…" Adam was waking up.

Sydney straightened in his chair and took careful hold of the hand that didn't have the IV tubes running to it. "Take it easy," he soothed at the young man. "Don't move for a while." He watched as familiar dark eyes blinked and squinted and tried to focus on his face. "I've taken care of your back as best I can – but you need to help me help you. Lie still…"

"Nnnnnooo…" Adam managed finally through lips cracked and dry. "Let me die."

Sydney stood up and cast his eyes about the examination room, looking for the omni-present signs of cameras and microphones, and then bent over the bed, putting his mouth near Adam's exposed ear. "Listen to me," he whispered softly, urgently and vehemently. "Help is coming – you have to hang on. We will get you out – but you have to help us."

Cancer was stunned. Help? Help for HIM? He struggled to make his foggy mind cooperate. "Wha…"

"We know about you – and we know you're here. There are others, working to make sure you're taken care of properly – but we have to give them time to do their jobs."

Cancer tried to turn his neck further, to see more clearly the face that belonged to this gentle, accented voice whispering such fantastic, unbelievable things in his ear. "Who are…?"

Sydney gave the young man a gentle smile. "My name is Sydney, remember? I told you I'd be taking care of you for a while."

The young man on the bed swallowed hard and seemed to run out of energy to move. "I… heard you… called me Jarod…"

"You look just like him," Sydney told him honestly. "When I saw the shape you were in, I couldn't help myself…" He squeezed Adam's hand. "I took care of Jarod – a long time ago."

Cancer could feel his heart sink. No wonder the man seemed to know how his mind worked! This was probably the man who had written that green notebook that had always held something that would obstruct and confound what he was trying to do. "Go… away…" he whispered and, with a supreme effort, turned his face away.

"I can't," Sydney replied simply. "I'm as much a prisoner here as you are. I was brought here to take care of you."

It was the worst unfairness in a lifetime of unfairness – and Cancer couldn't control the tears that wanted to leak from his eyes. Another was in danger – because of him. "Let… me die…"

"I can't," Sydney told him sadly. "If I do, my own life is forfeit – and besides, I couldn't let you die if I wanted to. You are too important – to me, and to other people you've never met." He bent over the young man and whispered again. "You have to help me – we have to survive long enough to be rescued."

"No." Cancer was tired – tired of living, tired of worrying about others.

"You have to help them – or at least look like you're helping them," Sydney insisted, his whisper more vehement still. "We have to give Jarod and the others time…"

Jarod? Cancer forced himself to turn back to face his new caregiver. At last he knew his defense. "I know… Jarod… is dead," he said carefully, repeating what he'd been told far too many times in his life. "They killed him."

Sydney shook his head. So this was how the Centre had controlled these young men with the same intelligence, the same capabilities to confound as the original – convince them that the original was dead. How typical. "Jarod escaped," he corrected gently. "They lied to you."

Cancer's mouth dropped open. It was the one thing that he'd never once considered possible – that part of any of the information he'd been given had been false. He'd… he'd trusted the people around him to tell him the truth – the accuracy of his SIMs had necessarily depended entirely on the accuracy of the foundational information he was given – and now he was told that they'd deliberately… His entire world, everything he thought he knew, was shaken to the core. "Alive?" The word was barely audible.

"Yes." Sydney smoothed his hand across the young man's forehead. "Alive and working to get us both out of here – and we have to help him."

Cancer closed his eyes and opened them again, blinking them slowly to bring the focus back. Finally he could see the face that bent over his – more or less – and read the intensity and conviction in the golden-brown gaze. If this man were telling him the truth, then maybe – just maybe – it was enough to give him a reason to live. And if this man were going to make sure he lived, whether he wanted to or not, it would be good to know that he was helping in his own behalf. He closed his eyes one more time and with a deep breath pregnant with uncertainty set aside the intent to die. "Help how?" he whispered, opening his eyes and looking desperately at Sydney. "What do you want me to do?"

Sydney's mind, as tired as it was, began to kick into gear – and his lips tweaked in the very beginnings of a smirk. "I have an idea…"

oOoOo

Zoë shuddered as the heavy metal door of the Cumberland Federal Correction Institution clanged shut behind her – and the guard led her to a chair at the end of a long line of similar chairs. She sat down in what was essentially a glassed-in desk with a desk on the other side of the thick, Plexiglas window. To the side was a telephone handset hanging from its cradle built into the divider between cubicles.

There was a distant clang of metal doors – and then the squeak of a small wheel that desperately needed greasing. With mild curiosity, she watched the slow steps of the aging and balding man dragging a small cart with an oxygen tank attached. There were chains at his wrist and ankles – chains that, considering the man's physical condition otherwise, were most likely useless. William Raines was skeletal beneath his rough orange-pink prison overalls – skeletal and obviously ailing.

It had come to her as she'd again waited futilely outside Susan Granger's security gates – the realization that Jarod's friends, the recipients of his philanthropy, knew nothing. They, like herself, knew only that he lived and had helped them. His location and any inkling of how to find him was a mystery. And so she'd retreated once more to her motel room to mope – and to think. There had to be a way. And there was. If Jarod's friends knew nothing, then perhaps the time had come to approach those who were NOT Jarod's friends. He'd spoken of these people as well – and she knew at least one of them personally.

But no matter how much she might have wanted to, Zoë simply couldn't convince herself to talk to Lyle. It didn't matter that he was now on trial for the murders of over a dozen young Asian women over the years, or that he would be behind shatter-proof Plexiglas windows – his evil had come all too close to her in the past. She could still remember him, the scent of his aftershave as he'd tied her up painfully, still remember knowing that she was merely bait for Jarod and dead whether she brought the Pretender into the open or not. Even thinking about Lyle could get her heart pumping faster in fear. No, she wouldn't speak to Lyle. That left only one alternative.

Raines settled himself into the chair beyond the glass and glared at her – but Zoë felt very little other than a vague sense of curiosity. This man, this William Raines, had been the man holding Lyle's leash the day Lyle had captured her and taken her to that isolated barn. And now, looking at him and remembering the news stories about his arrest and pending trial for a sordid assortment of crimes and horrors, she found it difficult to see the monster within the invalid. He could hardly breathe – his face reflected the effort it took to draw breath. She waited until he'd finally stopped gasping dramatically for air and had reached for his telephone receiver before taking up her own.

"Who the Hell are you," he wheezed and gasped for oxygen through the plastic tubing, "and what the Hell do you want?"

"I need to find Jarod," Zoë stated slowly and clearly. "Where is he – or how do I find him?"

Raines' eyes bulged from their sunken sockets. "You think I know where Jarod is?" he wheezed and then began coughing viciously instead of laughing hard. It took several long moments for him to regain his composure and recover himself to the point that he could speak clearly again. "Do I look like I know where Jarod is?" he demanded bitterly in a winded voice.

"Then tell me how to find him," Zoë insisted in a flat voice. "I have to find him."

Raines stared at her, and then his eyes widened. "You decide who lives and dies," he stated slowly and clearly – and then nodded as her face lost every last trace of emotion. Dr. Cox – that weasel that had managed to escape the country before the Centre came crashing down – had evidently done his job well enough. His human guided missile was still seeking, still hunting. That, if nothing else that had happened over the last few days, lifted his spirits immensely. Now, to use this tool that had fallen into his lap to exact his own revenge… "Report," he demanded breathlessly.

Zoë's mind slipped easily into gear. "I have interviewed several people who benefited from Jarod's help in the past , but have to date found no verifiable information that has lead me to his current whereabouts."

"Unacceptable!" Raines stormed, and then looked around as he coughed and wheezed and caught his breath again.

"Do you have any orders for me?" Zoë asked, her mind now completely empty and ready to accept new directives.

Raines thought for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. "Jarod's weakness was always for those he felt closest to." You, he thought with a vicious twist of humor, being one of them. "If interviews with past beneficiaries has proven futile, speak with those who are or have been closest to him since his escape."

"Names," Zoë demanded in her emotionless tone.

"Dr. Sydney Green," Raines spat out angrily. It HAD to be Sydney. Sydney was the only one to have known some of the things that the government had made essential parts to their case against him. Sydney had ALWAYS been a problem. "Talk to him – get him to tell you what he knows – and then kill him. Remember – YOU decide who lives or dies."

"I decide…" Zoë repeated automatically, the trigger phrase engraving the new directives into her subconscious.

"And once you find Jarod, you will kill him – and then return here to report your progress. YOU decide who lives or dies. YOU do…" Raines was beyond elated. Here he was, trapped behind bars, probably for the rest of his life – and he could still reach out and deal with those who had crossed him.

"Kill Sydney – and kill Jarod," Zoë repeated mindlessly. "I decide who lives or dies…"

"Now go," Raines ordered her after a long, noisy and painful gulp of oxygen from his cannula. "Don't return until you have completed your work."

"I decide," Zoë muttered, hanging up the receiver and rising from her chair as if hypnotized.

"Guard!" Raines choked out, hanging up the receiver on his end and rising from his chair. It was a long walk back to his cell – and he hated being constrained by the chains on top of the oxygen cart that was his lifeline – but the exertion today would be worth it.

oOoOo

Ray Carlisle took another glance at the MapQuest directions he'd printed out, and then threw the paper onto the passenger seat of his Toyota coupe and turned the corner onto Washington Street in the infinitesimally tiny berg of Blue Cove. His eyes were immediately drawn to the local police cars sitting with lights flashing in front of the address he'd been seeking. Curious and a little concerned, he pulled to the side of the street and climbed from his car.

"Officer," he called out to one of the uniformed men manning a line of yellow police tape, evidently designed to keep all but police officials from coming anywhere near the house in question.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm just in from Miami," he answered, pulling both his driver's license and his private investigator's license from his pocket and handing it over. "I needed to speak to the man who lives in that house about a case I'm working on. Has something happened to him?"

The young officer looked around a bit and then leaned over. "He's vanished – poof!"

Carlisle pulled back, startled. "Poof?"

The officer shrugged. "We got a call this morning from a lawyer fella from Dover, claiming that Dr. Green was evidently missing. We got the address and drove over to investigate – and the lawyer was right. Car in the garage, luggage in the car, lights on in the house, but no Dr. Green. Place looked trashed too – like someone had camped out in it for days."

Carlisle pursed his lips. "Any chance I can get in – look around?"

"Don't be stupid. Dover CSU is all over that place like fleas on a dog," the young officer shook his head. "What's your interest?"

"Like I said," Carlisle repeated patiently, getting ready to back away, "I needed to speak to Dr. Green about a case I'm working on in Miami. Nothing really important – he just has information I need."

"Sorry, bud," the officer handed Carlisle his papers back. "Looks like you missed him."

"Yeah, looks like I did at that."

Carlisle returned to his car and climbed in, then sat for a long moment rubbing his chin and considering. In his experience, people very rarely vanished into thin air for no good reason. Was it a coincidence that Susan Granger was looking for this Jarod fellow – and the one person he'd figured out would know best how to find him had suddenly pulled a disappearing act? He shook his head. Ray Carlisle knew better than to believe in coincidences.

He turned the key in the ignition and turned his car around. He'd seen a small motel about five miles back toward the interstate – he'd hole up there and do a lot more poking around. Something was definitely rotten here. He'd come looking for information that would lead him to a human mystery – and now had to solve another mystery disappearance just to be able to attempt to do that.

He hoped Susan would be liberal when it came to her paying his expense account. This was going to be an even greater challenge than he'd first thought.

oOoOo

"Mrs. Goldstein?"

The grey-haired woman turned to look at the younger of the two boys who had come so recently into her care. "Yes, Leo?" she asked and then resumed her task of peeling potatoes for the evening meal far enough ahead of time to allow for unforeseen events. It was a trick she'd learned a long time ago…

"Do you have any information about…"

"Geography?" Virgil finished for his younger brother.

Laurel Goldstein turned once more, this time her silvered brows rising high on her forehead and her hands stilling at their task. "Did I hear you correctly? Geography?"

Leo nodded vigorously. "Or do you know where we could get information about this topic?"

Stu Markham had told her that she was being touched to take in two extraordinary young men into her home when he'd talked to her about returning to the Foster Parent program – and he'd not been kidding. Virgil and Leo Doe were about as different from the not-quite-delinquent norm as it was possible to get. The boys were obedient when asked to do chores – although they'd needed instructions on some of the most basic concepts, as if they'd never had to carry out trash or wash dishes in their lives. They were quiet, never arguing or even playing music too loud.

They also were incredibly insecure people – always asking permission for the most simple things or standing around and looking as if they expected to be beaten within an inch of their lives for daring to question her. Laurel could only wonder at the life they'd had before they'd come to her – and hope that she'd be around when those responsible for whatever abuse had been done to them was made to pay for it.

"I suppose there was a reason I've saved them all this time," she nodded finally and reached for the small hand towel that hung from a bar not far from her kitchen sink. She kinked a finger at them. "Follow me."

The boys followed her at a comfortable distance as she led them into the living room and over to a bookcase that stretched the entire length of her living room window. "Down there," she pointed, her finger indicating the broad expanse of yellow magazine spines. "There's some who say that if everyone who saved their National Geographic magazines were to drop their entire sets all at the same moment in time, the Earth would shudder on its axis."

Leo and Virgil looked at each other with eyes wide. "You mean…"

Laurel just shook her head and chuckled. "That was a joke, boys. But this is what I have – just don't make a mess or get the maps separated from their articles, OK?"

Leo squatted down. "Mauritania? Egypt?"

"You wanted Geography…" she replied, heading back for the kitchen. "Like I said, just don't make a mess of them – and put them back where they belong when you're done with them."

Virgil finally squatted down next to his younger brother. "It seems this geography is a fairly large topic."

"Maybe that's why they make it such a large part of that test we took from Mr. Markham," Leo speculated, carefully extracting the last three issues from the tightly packed bookcase. "If we both read – and then compare notes – we can get through the material faster…"

"You realize that there was probably a reason that we weren't given this information to begin with," Virgil warned, taking the next three issues in the set for himself.

"I don't care," Leo stood and walked over to the couch. He settled on one end, with two of the three magazines balanced on the overstuffed arm next to him. "How can I expect to know how to predict human behavior if I don't understand environmental factors – cultural factors that are dependent upon the environment? And you – you speak how many languages without knowing a thing about the people who speak it all the time. Doesn't that bother you?"

Virgil looked down at the picture of a golden stylized mask on the cover of the first magazine in his hand – and then followed his brother to the couch. "I never thought of that…" he admitted, settling down and putting his two extra issues on the arm nearest him in a mirror image of his brother's actions.

Half an hour later, Laurel wandered back into the living room, wondering what the two were up to that would make them so silent. She stopped short in the doorway, astounded. Both were engrossed in reading – and reading quickly from the looks of it. Leo frowned and began manipulating a map that had been inserted in the pages of the issue he was reading, opening the map entirely and then studying it with an intensity that Laurel had never seen before.

She walked back into the kitchen, certain now that she'd know exactly where her two charges would be between now and suppertime. Extraordinary, she shook her head as she collected the potato peelings in her sink and moved them to the trash. She'd miss them, IF that woman in New York was able to win custody of them. Then again, they deserved a good home…

oOoOo

Miss Parker looked around the small room she'd been afforded as an office – and she nodded to herself. She had one immediate supervisor, Chad Murray, but otherwise the entire security forces of the Eire Foundation were under HER supervision. She moved behind the desk and sat down, finding the chair amazing comfortable. There was a computer terminal to one side of the desk, and a phone unit on the other – with a file cabinet situated behind her. There was enough room for a few personalizing items, but the entire office exuded a no-nonsense and business-only atmosphere. This would do, she thought contentedly, this would do VERY nicely.

Jarod had really outdone himself to get her a position this high in the authority food chain. Murray had filled her in on her paycheck – easily several hundred dollars more than she'd earned in base pay at the Centre – and on her more immediate duties. The Foundation was beefing up its security teams and wanted them to have specialized training. She grinned. That was one end of SIS that she'd always enjoyed – weeding out the recruits who couldn't take a licking from a "mere woman". Eventually she would be expected to oversee and possibly upgrade the internal security systems for the entire facility – something she'd been involved in for as long as she'd been at the Centre. This job would be a piece of cake – putting her exactly where she'd need to be to keep an eye out for the people Jarod would tag as suspects.

She tapped her finger on her as-yet empty desktop blotter, then rummaged in her purse to pull out the two-sided photo frame she'd purchased this past weekend. The pictures of Evan and Sam she situated to the side and behind her telephone, where it would be out of the way most of the time. It also completed the image of the happily married woman and mother that was essential to keep her functioning under cover here.

A knock sounded on her door – and a slight, middle-aged woman pushed through with her arms loaded with folders. "Mrs. Jamison? I'm Lila, your assistant. Mr. Murray asked me to bring you the active files on security recruits – and to bring you up to speed on the way things are done here."

Miss Parker nodded and gestured to a corner of her desk. "I'll have to get an inbox and an outbox, I see," she commented lightly. "Where are the files kept otherwise?"

"Oh, in Data Storage," Lila pointed vaguely toward the door. "I can show you where that is, if you'd like…"

"And is there an employee manual? I'm going to need to see what the qualifications are for employment in the security team if I'm to know how to weed through the applicants." Miss Parker smiled as her new assistant nodded and took the request in stride. "I'd also like a complete security layout of the facility – cameras, microphones, the whole lot. If the high security level research done here is to be overseen properly, I need to know what it is I have at hand."

"Yes, Mrs. Jamison." Lila smiled at her new boss. The woman definitely seemed to be on top of the security game – which was a relief. She had no intention of having to break in another amateur like the last occupant of this office.

"How long have you been associated with the Security Director's office, Lila?" Miss Parker asked suddenly, catching her new assistant a little off-guard.

"Seven years, ma'am," Lila replied proudly, if a little unsure of why such a question was asked.

"Good," Miss Parker nodded in satisfaction. "I don't need to have to break in an assistant who doesn't know Jack about security."

Lila smiled wider now. Yes, she was going to enjoy working for someone who definitely knew her business. "Yes, Mrs. Jamison. If you'd like to follow me, I'll show you where our Data Storage area is…"

Miss Parker's eyes dropped to the pictures on her desk. Wish me luck, boys, she thought as she moved away to follow Lila back out into the hallway again. It starts now.

oOoOo

Evan moved to a sunny spot on a bench next to the chain link fence and sat down. It had been a long and boring session, sitting with that Ms. Russell in the principal's office discussing his placement. He wasn't entirely sure he liked Ms. Russell – she'd given him a couple of looks that had made him feel like a bug under his microscope from home. The principal had taken a long time to study the folder that Ms. Russell had given him – filled, he assumed, with his report cards and records of his schoolwork.

Then, just before the principal hauled him off down the long semi-dark hallway to his new classroom, Ms. Russell had reminded him to stay at the school until she came for him in the afternoon. Mr. Powell, the principal, assured her that there was an after-school program in place for children with working parents – it all sounded so very exciting… NOT.

And now it was lunch recess. He'd had to admit the cafeteria fare here was better than that at the Blue Cove Elementary, but that was about the only thing that he could chalk up as "good". The rest of the students were giving him a wide berth – as if he had a disease or something. It was lonely – and he missed his old friends.

"Anybody sitting here?"

He jerked, pulled abruptly from his unhappy reverie to stare up into the face of a tiny blonde girl he'd seen sitting on the other side of the room from him. "Nope," he shrugged and scooted further toward the end of the bench to give her as much room away from him as possible.

"I'm Jess," she told him as she sat down. "What's your name?"

"Evan," Evan answered reluctantly.

"It isn't easy being the new kid, is it?" she asked with a knowing look.

"Nope," he answered again, not quite sure what this girl was going to want of him.

"Where are you from?" she asked next.

Evan thought quickly. His sister and… no… his Mom and Dad had spent a great deal of time going over the back story that he was supposed to "sell" – and it was those answers he would be expected to hand over. "All over," he replied a little sullenly, hating to lie. "My Dad was in the military – we moved around a lot."

"Where was your favorite?" Jess asked with a spark of interest.

Evan found himself thinking fast yet again. That hadn't been a part of the story – what would he say, what COULD he say and have it fit in with the rest? "I dunno," he answered finally – and then smiled. He doubted this girl could have been in Paris, as he had been with his sister… his Mom… only two years ago. "Paris was kinda neat."

Jess' eyes bulged. "You've been to Paris? France?"

Evan nodded.

"Tell me about it," Jess begged. "I've never been anywhere but just here in Philly – my dad never wants to take us anywhere fun."

Evan began to talk – remembering the trip that he'd taken with Sissy and Sydney and talking about the Eiffel Tower and the Arc du Triumphe and the Louvre. He was careful to always say "Mom" and "Grandpa". As he did, he began to feel better.

He'd been considered a bit of a nerd in Blue Cove, spending more of his free and recess time in the library than with any of the other kids in school. This, on the other hand, was kinda fun.

Maybe this Pretending wouldn't be so bad after all…

oOoOo

Sam looked over at his partner and could see that Jarek was no more impressed by the answers the boyfriend of their victim was handing out than he was. "And you're saying that you left her apartment at eight last night?"

"Yeah – and she was alive when I took off," the scruffy-looking young man answered, his hand running up and down his other arm nervously. "I mean, she just told me to bug off…"

"And you mean to tell me you LET a woman tell you when to bug off?" Sam couldn't restrain himself anymore.

The sudden spark of white-hot fury in the dark blue eyes was missed by neither of the detectives. "I didn't need her," the punk sneered, his tone turning sarcastic now. "There are lots of women who wouldn't mind spending time with me…"

"Suuuure…" Jarek nodded and glanced at Sam. That one simple question had done more to demolish the credibility of the young man's statement than fifteen minutes of patient questioning had. He now had a very good reason to check up on this fellow's alibi – a vague reference to a hooker by the name of Savannah. "Don't leave town," he warned the punk in an ominous tone, "'cause we may need to talk to you again."

"What the Hell would I go somewhere else for?" the punk tried – and failed – to look innocent. "You guys know where to find me."

Jarek let Sam lead the way back out of the filthy tenement apartment into an equally unhealthy hallway, headed for the stairs. Neither was willing to talk until they'd regained the street. "He's hiding something," Jarek pronounced with certainty.

"He's got a temper, that's for sure," Sam agreed, waiting at the passenger door of the unmarked police car for Jarek to unlock the car. He opened the door and folded his tall frame into the passenger seat. "How much do you want to bet that temper of his has had him in trouble before?"

"No takers." Jarek twisted his wrist. "Look – we've talked to her employer, her co-workers and now the boyfriend. Let's head back to the barn, do our paperwork and call it a day."

Sam shook his head. "Call it a hunch," he began and pointed to a spot just around the corner from where they'd been parked. "He's gonna try to run – I can feel it."

Jarek gave a short, sharp coughing laugh. "Run where?"

"Just humor me." Sam twisted in his seat so that he could watch the front stoop of the tenement building. "He was itching to go – I could see it."

"You sure that wasn't itching to score drugs instead?" Jarek demanded, although he too had twisted the rear view mirror so that he could keep watch while in position to pilot the car if need be.

Sam shook his head. "That wasn't drugs making him jittery, Les. He was…" He stopped because the scruffy punk they'd just grilled had appeared on the stoop and seemed to be looking carefully both up and down the street. "Hate to tell you I told you so, but…"

"Let's just follow him," Jarek cranked on the wheel as soon as the punk's back was turned, "and see where he takes us."

Sam nodded, reaching for the radio transmitter. "I'm going to get checking on the kid's yellow sheet – like I said, his temper has probably gotten him in trouble before."

"You did this kind of stuff in the military too, eh?" Jarek asked while they waited for the dispatcher to relay the information they'd requested and kept their movement down the street, shadowing the punk, low key.

"I've done my share of second-guessing scum," Sam answered with a curt nod. He just wouldn't say anything about the fact that the "scum" had been his employers…

oOoOo

Emily watched Donald Krohn's face as he read through the first installment of what she and Jarod had decided would be HER contribution to the effort to destabilize the Foundation. Using information she'd gleaned from several former employees and uncovered through hard work poring through records available on the Internet – as well as tracing back the family story of the McKenna's from the first record of their landing at Ellis Island – she had pieced together a very intriguing story.

"You have documents to back all of this up?" Don asked, raising his head from reading his computer screen. "The last thing we need is for officials of whatever organization this is that you're writing about coming at us for defamation and libel."

"I have eyewitness testimony, and I have public records," Emily assured him. "I've got us covered back to front on this."

"You realize that the Foundation lawyers are going to be all over our asses for this."

"They can try," Emily tossed off with bravado. "We haven't asked anybody to breech non-disclosure agreements, and everything else we've put together with the use of records that even Benedict Arnold could have legal access to. All we're doing is connecting the dots and drawing logical conclusions without making any concrete accusations."

"And you say you don't want this under your by-line?"

Emily shook her head firmly. "I have a couple of sources I want to protect – one of them currently employed with the Foundation. I don't want any connection from that person to me."

"That isn't going to work, Em," Don shook his head at her. "We don't do things that way. There has to be a trail of responsibility."

"YOU know that I'm the one writing the articles," Em told him pleadingly. "You could always mark it up as a staff-produced story – and only bring me into it directly if any legal challenge starts to fly."

"I don't like it," Don shook his head again, reading ahead again by a few paragraphs. "But the real bitch of it is, this story NEEDS to be told. This is almost as bad as that place in Delaware in the news just a month or so ago…"

"I know," Emily put a hand on his shoulder. "That's why I think we should run with this and wait to see how the world reacts."

"Are you willing to bring in law enforcement – to make sure that you're working within legal limits?"

"Bring on whoever you think I need," Em told him firmly. "Run everything I write on the story through the Legal Department too, to make sure there's no stepping over the lines when it comes to libel or defamation. I want this story to stand on its own two legs, depending on the evidence."

Don nodded and then read through to the end of the article. "I'm taking this to Legal," he announced, hitting the print button and turning as the printer on the table behind the both of them began to whir and click. "I'll let you know when – and if – we're going to run it."

"It needs to start soon," Em pushed at him. "If they find out what is going to come out, they'll have the opportunity to shove a lot of it into a dark corner and dare us to betray our sources to prove our case. This story needs to come as a shock – and put THEM on the defensive right away."

"Relax, Em," Don stood and moved to collect the pages of her story. "I'm on your side. I won't sit on this any longer than I have to – I promise. Good work, by the way." He was already pulling his cell phone from his pocket and hitting a programmed button. "I need to talk to Hank – make the appointment for yesterday." He listened for a moment. "Tell him it's big – and potentially explosive."

Em let the tight smile of satisfaction light her face as she sat back down. Jarod had wanted the Foundation distracted – and the idea of writing an expose on the origins and purpose of another research and development firm in the heart of Philadelphia pulling the same kind of unethical stunts as the Centre had was hers. The key to accomplishing this, of course, was that her name at the paper wasn't the same as Jarod's alias at the Foundation.

The trick, of course, was praying the Foundation wouldn't connect Emily Russell with Jarod Simmons.

She closed down her computer terminal and pulled her purse out of her desk drawer. The time had come for her to pay the rent a furnished apartment that had been acquired in Emily Simmons' name a month earlier. Jarod would be finally moving in there completely to substantiate the story that he lived with his sister. She'd miss him – but this would protect the both of them.

And then she had to pick up the Parker boy – who looked too much like her brother for her liking.

oOoOo

"Are you sure this is going to be necessary?" Jake McKenna demanded of his brother as they exited the Chairman's office.

"Very sure," Jim replied sourly. "I've tried to put several calls through to Mrs. Mutumbo since I spoke with her the other day – and no reply. I called the hotel she was staying at, and it seems she left for Africa this morning – without leaving that first deposit on the investment we'd agreed to."

"That still doesn't mean that we start sending her threats," Jake shook his head. "The Triumvirate is a powerful consortium, Jim – we don't want to be messing with them."

"They reneged on a contract," Jim persisted stubbornly. "If we let them get away with that now, we'll never be able to rely on their funding. I'm not saying that we do the woman in – just that we let her know that she needs to "fish or cut bait," as Dad used to say – remember?"

"By sending Bateman to Africa?" Jake asked in an astounded tone that then tempered as a tall, leggy blonde woman walked regally from Data Storage and began making her way towards them down the corridor, an armload of files in hand. Jake nudged his brother. "She's new?"

"Oh yeah." Jim hooked his brother's elbow and hauled him to a halt in front of Miss Parker. "Catherine Jamison, this is Jake McKenna – my brother and right-hand-man. Jake, Mrs. Catherine Jamison."

"How do you do?" Jake extended his hand automatically, then blinked as the hand that grasped his in a firm and steady grip had a forefinger graced with a simple silver ring that looked oddly familiar. He stared up into the woman's face. "Do I know you?"

Miss Parker worked hard not to let her dismay show. She remembered Les Vickering from some of the monotonous meetings about dwindling funding from the Centre – the last thing she'd expected was to run into him here. All she could do, however, was bluff and pray that he didn't recognize her despite her almost complete makeover. "I don't believe so," she lowered her voice just slightly in pitch, just another piece of a Pretend she'd have to remember to continue from now on.

"Mrs. Jamison is our new Securities Director – she's going to whip our security forces into shape post-haste." Jim beamed at his new employee. "And, from the looks of those folders, you're digging right in."

"Actually," Miss Parker smiled at the Chairman of the Foundation, "I'm hoping to have a far more complete picture of your security team by the end of the day. So, if I'm not being rude or out of place…"

"No, of course not." Jim smiled at her as he stood aside and cleared enough of the corridor so that she could pass. "Now THERE is a striking woman, Jake." When he didn't get a response, he took a look at his brother's face and found it a study in thoughtfulness. "Jake?"

Jake shook himself. It was right on the edge of his memory – he was sure he knew her from somewhere, but where? "Oh… yes. Very striking," he repeated numbly, and turned to follow his brother again.

But the memory of that face bothered him.