"I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold"
"Fields of Gold" - Sting
20 October 1999
Oxford, England
"Now that we're all somehow back together again, let's talk about the monumental cockup that was our last hit, shall we?" O'Banian looked around the room at the ten other Immortals. "For starters, I'll take complete responsibility for my lackadaisical attitude goin' through the front door. I should have had better situational awareness there."
"I think," interjected James MacNaughton, stroking his chest where the massive .44 caliber round had struck him, "before we get too deep into an after action review of our own shortcomings, we should talk about our enemies' actions at the scene first. Those were not Hunters. I think we just had our first run-in with that special team they mentioned in the announcement a few weeks ago."
Ruth Okin, who had called for the Council's retreat, agreed. "Yes, and did any of you hear what they said when we called to pull out? They immediately ordered a cease fire and to let us go. Why was that?"
"That has ta be obvious," snorted O'Banian. "They didn't have the numbers to chase after us. They were jus' there to protec' tha family. They're not organized enough ta do anythin' else. Tha's all."
"Then why didn't they take our heads when they had the opportunity?" asked Pittman. "They certainly had the chance when we were down. MacNaughton and I were completely helpless as soon as the shooting started. You said you were shot through the lung and had been thrown through the door, that you could only lie on the ground."
"And I was very much the same," admitted Batakova. "I was shot in the stomach and could hardly move."
"De Lioncourt and I were badly hit, as well," proclaimed Bilsby. "They got us through the window soon after the shooting began. We could barely limp aware when Ruth ordered the retreat."
"Again, I say they were not organized enough to do so or they would have," declared O'Banian. "It was just a sign of their own weakness. Don't take it as a sign of mercy on their part. The Watchers and the Hunters are all the same."
"I have to agree with Siobhan," said Razumov. "I heard one of them arguing with the leader when he gave the order to let us retreat. He wanted to pursue us, not let us slip away."
"See?" stated O'Banian. "It's in their blood to want to destroy us. The fact we all survived that hit was a fluke. We might not be so lucky next time. We have to adjust our tactics so we can hit them harder next time."
"When is the next strike?" asked Penn. "And where?"
O'Banian consulted her list. "Andover. As soon as we can get there. Probably day after tomorrow."
"Okay," replied Penn, "so what do we change?"
"For starters," said Mikal, "we stop just going through the front door. We use the back, as well. Hit from at least two sides to keep them occupied on two fronts."
"Right," agreed O'Banian. "We'll have to rehearse that a few times to make sure we don't shoot up our own people."
"We can do that," whispered LeFitte. "It's better than just sitting around the hotel. What else?"
MacNaughton spoke up again. "Better reconnaissance of the site before we hit. We showed up just minutes before we went in that time. For all of the other hits, we were there at least an hour beforehand. We should go back to that."
"I agree," said Bilsby. "The more information we have about the target area before we go in, the better."
The conversation continued for another hour as the group identified both the elements of their raid they could improve and what they should keep the same. When they were finished, they believed their next hit would be all the deadlier as a result.
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21 October 1999
Paris, France
The Guardian planning meeting had been going well, for the most part, until Michael Walker decided to ask a question which made Devon Sather grouse inwardly with irritation. Until this moment, the EDOW had been sitting quietly at the table. Now, he spoke up.
"Are you trying to grow the Guardians as an effective team, Dev, or supervise their individual assignments? I'm a bit confused by recent events here."
"Obviously, I'm trying to help them develop as a team, Mike, but in order to do that, I have to have an idea of how they actually operate on the ground. That is why I was with them in Northampton a few days ago."
"So you were not there to take command of that operation yourself?"
"Naturally, being the senior man present, I did take command."
"Did you think you were the most qualified to do so?"
"Damn it, Mike? What is this? An inquisition? Yes, I did. And the results should speak for themselves. The enemy was caught by complete surprise, three of them were killed in the ensuing fight, at least three more wounded, they retreated before penetrating further into the house, and the family was unscathed."
"And one Guardian was killed and another wounded. You left that out," added Walker.
"We're fighting Immortals, Mike. With old shotguns. They have brand new MP5 and CZ-75 pistols. We captured five of each type of weapon, if you'd like to see them. You can't go up against that kind of hardware with a bunch of farmer's double barrels and pump guns and expect to come out without a scratch. We're lucky to have only had two casualties that night."
Walker raised both hands, palms out. "It's alright, Dev. I'm not trying to embarrass you in front of your entire staff."
"It certainly fucking seems like it, Mike. So what are you doing, then?""
"I'm just trying to get a clear picture of what happened that night and what your overall intent for the future of the Guardians is."
"Then why not read my report again and get the fuck out of my face?"
"I'm not the enemy here, Dev."
"Then stop acting like a goddamn fucking bureaucrat and act like an ally, Mike."
"You've made the sailor come out of him again, boss," commented Jonathan Matzel, smirking.
"Clearly," replied Walker. "I should have brought a bottle of rum to calm him down."
"You'll need a whole fucking bar for that by now," declared Sather, his face red.
"I'll be sure to have our next meeting at the bar downstairs, then," said Walker, grinning. "Will that work?"
"I'll hold you to that," growled Sather, letting a small smile appear on his own face. "You're buying."
"Of course." Walking smiled again. "That's how it works, right?"
Sather laughed now. "Yeah, it is. Alright, you got me, Mike. I'll behave. For now."
"Thank you."
"Now, tell me more about this raid."
"Siobhan O'Banian was definitely the leader. She was the first one through the door."
"But you threw her out. Why was that?"
"We weren't trying to take prisoners. Just protect the family. I saw the best way of breaking the attack as getting her out of the house. I thought she would rally the troops if she were shot down in the house or if she were able to recover fully. I made a decision on the spot and got her out of there."
"It was quite a risk."
"So was the whole mission, but it paid off for the Daltons."
"I'll grant you that," allowed Walker.
"It's also worked out in one other way. Just this morning, I got a report that a Hunter attack in Germany was foiled by Guardians. The Immortal in question was wounded, but was able to escape. One Hunter was killed, but the rest got away."
"Who was the Immortal?"
"Burkhardt Sacher," Sather said flatly.
"Ah, good," answered Walker. "It would have been a shame to lose an old soul like Sacher."
"It would have been nice if the Guardians had been able to take a prisoner."
"They're under orders to try, but not to go to undue risks for it. I'd rather they survive first."
"Granted," said Walker. "Now you said in your report that you identified some deficiencies in Field Watcher training and that we need to improve some things as a result. Tell me more about those. I know you listed them there, but there was little detail. Please expand on them. I was intrigued by this suggestion."
"How much time do you have?"
"As much as you need, Dev."
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23 October 1999
Stockbridge, England
The Parisian phone line rang in Ruth Okin's ear. She held the handset with thinning patience, waiting for Omeir Faaris to answer. A finger twisted around the phone cord a little tighter with each successive ring. The click signifying an answer was a welcome relief.
"Bonjour?" (Hello?) answered Faaris.
"Omeir, it's Ruth," she said Okin in English
"Ruth? Where have you been? I haven't heard from you in weeks."
"I've been in England," she replied. "It's been hectic, if you want to put it mildly. I got a call from another friend who also heard about the mortals killing Immortals and came here. There's a group of Immortals who are doing something about it."
"Then why haven't you called me sooner? Tell me where you are so I can come there and help."
"No, no not yet. We could really use your help here, but it's too fluid right now. Something in my mind tells me to wait until we have a better idea of what's happening here before asking you to step in."
"What's going on there, Ruth?" Faaris queried.
"It's a decent enough group. I think you'd approve. They call themselves the Council and they're led by an Irish woman named Siobhan O'Banian. The people attacking Immortals are a global organization called Watchers and she wants to destroy it all. The Watchers have even created a special task force to try to stop us.
"We've made nine strikes so far. We had one in Andover yesterday. The task force - they call themselves Guardians - were there and we killed six of them. We also killed all the Watchers there. We're making two more hits tomorrow, one in Littleton and one further south in Winchester. After that, I think it will be okay for you to join us. I'll let you know for sure when it's over."
"Would you send me an email with some more information so I can let MacBane know what's happening?"
"Sure, I'll do that. No problem."
"Thank you, Ruth."
"I'll call you again soon, Omeir. Talk to you soon."
"Goodbye, Ruth."
"Goodbye."
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24 October 1999
Littleton, England
The house at 18 Grove Gardens was a three bedroom semi-detached bungalow of brick construction. The property had a decently sized plot with gardens to the front and rear. There was even a small greenhouse at the rear of the house. A small, decorative brick wall lined the front of the house and had a tiny green and white wrought iron gate at the end of the drive. O'Banian had even gone as far as to look up the value of the bungalow prior to arriving. It was currently valued at £142,000. Once more, she marvelled at what the Watchers must be paying their people in order to afford such nice houses.
"Are you sure about this, Siobhan?" asked Hewett Penn. "We usually wait until nightfall before we go in for our hits. Do you really want to go now? It's only five o'clock. The sun will be setting in an hour."
"No, it would still be two hours or so after that before it's fully dark and I want ta be linkin' up with Michael, Ruth, and the others by ten so we can move on. This place is tiny. Besides, we checked it out last night and it was clear. We should be able ta hit it now without a problem."
"It's your call," said Bilsby from the passenger seat.
O'Banian tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Alright, then. You know the plan? We go through the front. Emily, Marton, and James will hop the fence to the back and come in from the rear. We take 'em from both sides."
"Got it," acknowledged Penn.
O'Banian tapped her brakes twice. LeFitte, MacNaughton, and Razumov in the vehicle behind them drove past them and parked thirty meters ahead. The doors to their car opened and expunged the three Immortals who took off at a run. O'Banian counted to thirty in her head. Turning the key to switch off the engine, she grinned darkly.
"Let's go," she said to the others, picking up her MP5 and opening her door. Bilsby and Penn were right behind her.
They ran through the open gate and straight for the front door. Penn took the lead and checked the lock. It was not locked. He turned the knob and threw open the door, darting into the sitting room, he MP5 at his shoulder. O'Banian and Bilsby followed him. After that, everything went to hell.
Penn saw the first Guardian and triggered his MP5 just as the Guardian fired his pump shotgun. Most of the buckshot pellets hit Penn in the right hip, throwing off his aim as he was driven to a knee. Cursing in pain, he fired again, hitting the Guardian in the chest. A blast from another shotgun caught Penn in the left side and dropped him to the floor next to the fallen Guardian.
"Dirty fucker," screeched O'Banian, turning her MP5 toward the three Guardians to her left. She and Bilsby fired at the same time, each of them hitting a Guardian and putting him down. The last Guardian managed to fire two shells at Bilsby before being hit in the head by a burst from O'Banian's MP5. Bilbsy crumpled to the carpet, his blood seeping into the thick weaving. O'Banian stood alone in the sitting room.
The sound of more shotguns and even a rifle firing from the direction of the kitchen kept O'Banian moving. She entered the next room to find three Guardians firing rapidly at Razumov, LeFitte, and MacNaughton through the glass door. All three of the Immortals were still in the back garden, caught in the open by the fire. LeFitte was on the ground, hit in the right thigh and doing her best to crawl out of the line of fire. Razumov and MacNaughton were firing bursts back through the shattered glass at the Guardians.
One Guardian, a bolt-action hunting rifle in his hands, took aim over the iron sights at the two Immortals in the back. O'Banian fired at him first, hitting him with a rising three round burst from the shoulder to the temple. He dropped like a stone. Caught in a crossfire, the two remaining Guardians pulled back into a connecting hallway, out of sight.
"Jansen, Hall, Sykes, we need help," one of them called out.
"Shit!" cursed O'Banian. Turning to those in the back, she yelled, "It's fucked. Pull out. James, help me with Hewett."
"On it," replied MacNaughton, storming through the back door, his MP5 held ready. Behind him, Razumov knelt to assist LeFitte in her escape. O'Banian and MacNaughton pulled back into the sitting room. Penn was already stirring. O'Banian changed her plan on the move.
"Get Darmond," she ordered, training her MP5 on the hallway and firing a burst in that direction just to keep the Guardians' heads down. Next to her, Penn slowly stood on wobbly feet.
"Get yer stuff," she told him. "We're clearin' out."
Not bothering to ask why, Penn nodded and picked up his submachine gun. Stumbling once, he steadied himself and then joined her in pulling security. They began to back out through the front door as MacNaughton dragged Bilsby's body.
MacNaughton deposited Bilsby in the backseat of O'Banian's car while she and Penn covered the house. They remained in place until Razumov and, by now, a fully recovered LeFitte joined them. With a nod from O'Banian, they broke apart and returned to their vehicles. Seconds later, there was only the sound of their tires squealing on the pavement as they sped away.
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24 October 1999
Winchester, England
The five Immortals stood concealed in the trees behind 1 Grange Close, their submachine guns charged and on safe. Each of them also had their respective bladed weapons of choice on their backs or waists, per their own selection. None looked particularly happy in the dimming dusk light.
"I'm not saying it's a bad idea to be out here," whispered Eric Doyle again, "just that I don't like it. I know that any attacker, if they actually show up, will sense us if we're inside, but it's going to take us time to get to the house. Just think of how much damage they can cause in the time it takes us to travel the hundred meters from here to the back door."
"I don't like it, either," replied Jennifer Ellis, shifting her UMP to her other hand. "But we don't really have a choice. If they sense us at all, they might bypass the house entirely. Then we'll never have a chance to engage them at all."
Doyle smiled at the pretty Algerian in the fading light and nodded. "Like I said, I get it. I just don't like it."
"This is my first night on this kind of watch," admitted Chris Pellier. "Are we taking heads if they show up or just fighting them off?"
"Whichever they force us to do," answered Frazier evenly. "Ashton's instructions were to use the minimum force necessary to protect the family. He said nothing about not taking heads if it came to that."
"Good enough, then," said James Pellier, who was also on his first night. "Let's hope for a dull, dreary night."
"That's what all the others have been," replied Doyle. "I think the Santana family has been more stressed about this than we have lately. They've been pacing until late at night and going to bed around one in the morning."
"At least the parents," clarified Ellis. "Dominick and Caitlin have been the ones pacing. Juan, Christopher, and Victoria have been going to bed at normal times just like always."
"They know about all this, right?" asked Chris.
"Of course," said Frazier. "We spoke with them the first night we were here and told them we would be standing by out here. They tried to convince at least one of us to remain indoors with them but understood our reasons for not doing so."
The temperature had been cool throughout the day and continued to drop after the sun went down. By eight o'clock, it was seven degrees (46℉) and Ellis was shivering. Doyle put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
"How do you people live in such a frigid place?" she whispered, huddled closer to him.
"It's all in what you know, I guess. This isn't so bad to me. I suppose if I went to your home, I'd be melting, am I right?"
Ellis grinned and punched him lightly in the chest. "Maybe," she said. "I'm perfectly comfortable in thirty to thirty-five (86℉ to 95℉). Sometimes higher."
"See? I'd be dying in temps like that. Thirty degrees is a heatwave here."
"Heh, you should try summering in the southern U.S., then. Their summers sometimes get into thirty-eight (100℉) or higher."
"Oh, God," hissed Doyle, trying to keep his voice low. "No, thank you."
"It's not so bad," cooed Ellis, nestling closer to him. "It's not like Central and South America. It's even hotter there."
"No, thank you, my dear. I'll stick to merry old England, thank you very much." He pulled her a little closer, enjoying the physical contact.
"Alright, you two lovebirds," interrupted Frazier. "We have a little company coming 'round the back. I see two."
The Pellier brothers peered through the branches at the pair. "They must be hostiles," said Chris softly. "I see submachine guns."
"They're doing a reconnoiter. I'll bet you a fiver on it," added James.
"They're coming this way. Back up," whispered Ellis.
The Immortals cautiously tread back through the trees toward the A34 fifty meters to the west. They reached the road and kept to the shadows, jogging south along the property line another hundred meters as the trees would allow and ducking into the woodline again. They waited. The crept east again toward open ground. To their relief, they did not feel the tingle of Immortal presence.
They paused at the edge of the woodline, the open ground presented a danger to their concealment. Ellis tapped Chris Pellier on the shoulder, appointing him as the one to go out and check whether it was clear for the rest of them to break cover. He nodded and jogged out along the treeline, stopping only when he reached a point at which he could see the house again. He knelt and stayed in place for two full minutes, just watching. He came back at a dash.
"I saw them returning to wherever they came, I think," he reported. "We can go back to our original point and wait."
Ellis nodded. "Okay. Hurry, everyone."
The group stood and moved at a quiet jog. They were back in the cluster of trees within a minute. Ellis had them each do a quick weapons check of their suppressor-equipped UMPs and Glock 17s. They gave her a thumbs-up and waited again.
Ten minutes of silence rewarded them with the sight of two shadows approaching the back door. The pair, a man and a woman, waited at the sliding glass door. They saw one of the shadows consult a wristwatch, as if awaiting a prearranged time. When they agreed upon time arrived, the male shadow tried the sliding door, found it locked, and then fired three suppressed rounds into the door. The glass shattered and the pair walked through it at a rapid trot.
"Go," whispered Ellis.
The five Immortals broke cover and made their way toward the house at a run. Halfway there, they heard Caitlin Santana scream, followed soon by a shout from Dominick. Eric Doyle, the fastest runner of the quintet, bounded up the deck stairs. The Pelliers were on his heels.
Ellis saw the female Immortal, alerted by their buzzing electric presence, turn to see Doyle just as he reached the top of the deck. The woman opened her mouth to warn her partner. Doyle fired his UMP as his slender form cleared the glass door, the double two-round bursts punching into the woman as he moved. The second burst hit her high in the chest. She fell to her knees, choking on blood. Doyle delivered a buttstroke to her temple as he neared her, driving her to the floor, unconscious. Behind him, both of the Pelliers fire simultaneously, both of their two-round bursts striking the male invader in mid-turn. Hit in the right side, his lung perforated, the man fell and twitched in agony. The Pelliers fired again into the man's chest to stop his movement.
Ellis and Frazier peeled to the left around the Pelliers and Doyle to get a better view of the sitting room. Ellis felt bullets tug at the shoulder of her sweater and fired a burst into the room at the first target she saw, a brown-haired man of moderate height. Hit in the arm, the man dropped his submachine gun and sank to a knee.
"Hold your fire," ordered Frazier sternly to everyone in the room. To the amazement of all, each Immortal complied, all who were still standing staring over the sights of their weapons at the others.
Ellis took a moment to survey the room. Caitlin Santana was on her knees, clutching a bleeding shoulder. Dominick and Juan were at her side whispering softly to her. Christopher and Victoria were just now entering the sitting room to discover why their mother had screamed, their eyes wide in horror at the sight of so many people with guns. Victoria, only five years old, immediately broke into silent tears. Dominick pulled the small girl to him. Christopher, three years older than his sister, was slightly more stoic and stood staring at the intruders, his arms at his sides.
"I think," said Frazier, "what he have here is what you call a standoff. Wouldn't you say, fellas?"
One of the invaders, a tall man with Slavic features, eyed each of the new Immortals in the house and scowled.
"I beg to differ," he countered, dropping his firearm on the floor. "We came here with a mission and I, for one, intend to finish it. If that means going through you to do it, so be it." He unbuckled his gun belt and let the CZ 75 fall to the sitting room's carpet, as well. His hand rested on the hilt of the longsword strapped at this side and waited. "I am Dasmius Mikal. My challenge is to you." He looked to his comrades. "Are we agreed?" The remaining pair nodded silently.
"Well, sir," replied Frazier, lowering his UMP. "I am not the leader of this group, but I am perfectly willing to accept your challenge if it means the safety of this family. I am Wallace Frazier." Frazier glanced at Ellis. She nodded silently. He turned and placed his UMP on the kitchen counter. With a sidelong glance at Mikal, he smiled as he undid his own gun belt. "Shall we take this little affair of ours out back so we don't damage these good folks' home?"
"Whatever suits you best," replied Mikal. "I shall await you there."
Placing his pistol on the counter next to his UMP, Frazier turned to Ellis. Her eyes were wide as she regarded him.
"You don't have to do this," she said.
He nodded. "Yes, I do. It's been agreed. If there is any honor among them at all and I succeed, they will leave. It's better than an all out gunfight, isn't it?"
Ellis thought quietly for a moment and then reluctantly nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "Good luck." Then she embraced him.
Frazier smiled and returned it. "Call that return embrace a loaner," he said. "You can give it back to me when I return."
Ellis nodded to him as he turned away, hoping he would actually do so in a few minutes time. Such things were never a guarantee in the Immortal world. She stepped lightly through the broken glass door to observe the duel. The others silently followed her. She even heard the gasps of the two downed Immortals as they revived and the murmuring of one of the invaders as they explained what was happening.
Mikal stood as he had promised in the back garden of the Santana's property. His sword was still sheathed, his hands behind his back. His eyes were focused on the stars overhead.
"I had hoped," he said as Frazier approached, "to one day return to my home in Romania. At times like these, even Immortals come face-to-face with their own mortality. Please know that I hold no grudge against you personally, Mister Frazier. This is all business to me."
"Is there any way I can talk you out of it?" Frazier asked the Slav.
Mikal smiled. "I'm afraid not. Just know this - and I ask the same of you - if you fall tonight, I will honor whatever funeral requests you may have. In my case, I would like my body buried in the Transylvanian mountains where I was born. Have you any such requests?"
"Well, I was born in Ireland, in Ballinlough. If you're willing to be so obliging, I'd like to be laid to rest there."
"Consider it a pact, then, between two gentlemen," said Mikal, offering his hand. Frazier took Mikal's hand and shook it warmly.
"I wish we could have met under better circumstances, Dasmius Mikal," stated Frazier.
"And I, you, Wallace Frazier."
The two men smiled, released each other's hands, and stepped back. With a stately bow, they drew their swords. For the briefest of moments, the men simply eyed each other over their blades. Then they struck.
Unlike what Hollywood would have one believe, true sword fights, even between masters, are quick, bloody, and lethal. Rather than being a long series of blade-clanging exchanges, they actually do not last long. A fight involving three or four exchanges of blades would be considered a long one in reality. The same is true when it comes to martial arts or other types of combat. The reality is much shorter than the fantasy. When two opponents face each other, even two who are supremely skilled, the better of the two is determined rapidly and the loser is incapacitated or dead in a very short time.
The two Immortals advanced on each other at the same time, their swords both swinging in a perpendicular stroke toward the other's neck. Steel met steel in a massive clang and the two changed places, their blades sliding back as they resumed their stances. Mikal pulled back with his sword, going in immediately with an overhead stroke at Frazier. The Irish Immortal pushed his blade to the side to deflect the stroke as he stepped to the side and then looped his weapon around for a decapitating strike at Mikal's exposed neck. The Romanian, however, had stepped forward and was out of range.
Turning, Mikal came at Frazier again with a rising stroke that caught him with the tip of his blade from left hip to right shoulder. Mikal continued in a spin, his sword rising to finish the kill. The flair ended the fight. Frazier hit him with a diagonal stroke across the spine as his back was turned. With a cry of pain, his momentum still turning him, Mikal fell to his knees. Frazier knocked the longsword from his hands.
"I will honor our pact, Dasmius Mikal," promised Frazier, his blade rising.
"You have my heartfelt thanks, Wallace Frazier," said Mikal, closing his eyes and offering his throat. Frazier's sword fell along with Mikal's head. From the deck above, Dominick Santana gave a gasp of surprise. Back in the sitting room, Caitlin held her children closely to her.
When the Quickening had concluded, the Council members gathered silently around the body of Dasmius Mikal and said their final words. They allowed Wallace Frazier, due to the promise he had made, to join them. Once they were all satisfied, they gathered their weapons and, per their agreement, left the Santana house without further molestation.
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25 October 1999
Winchester, England
Jennifer Ellis took a breath, her retelling of the events of the night before complete. The young looking woman looked down at the small conference table and sighed, her exhaustion obvious. She and the others of the security detail had stayed at the Morris family's house until shortly before sunrise. The others, except Frazier, were now getting some much needed rest while she had come straight to the tiny operations center to report to Ashton and Honnecker.
"Wallace will be away for a few days. He wanted to keep the promise he made to Dasmius Mikal before he took his head. He's making the arrangements to fly his body to Romania right now."
Ashton nodded solemnly. "It was a reasonable enough request from Mikal. Any of us would have agreed to it. I see no problem with his going. Will anyone be accompanying him for security?"
Ellis's eyes widened. "I didn't think of that. I'm sorry. Right now, no. He's alone."
"Normally, I'd say he's perfectly fine on his own. These are not normal times, though."
"I can go with him," volunteered Dubin from the far corner.
"Sorry, Darren, I need you here. Max, would you mind sending one of your men along with him?"
"That won't be an issue, General," replied Honnecker. "Channing is well rested by now. He can go with Frazier and watch his back. I'll arrange the link up."
"Good. Thank you." The Minoan looked across the table at Ellis. "And you, little lady, need some sleep. Your job is done for now. Excellent work last night. Now go get some rest."
Nodding, Ellis stood and walked out of the room, her slender frame displaying the extent of her weariness. Behind Ashton, Honnecker turned to face his laptop as a ping alerted him of an incoming email.
"We have something else, General," he announced. "Another message from our Navy friend."
"Read it, please, Max."
General Honnecker,
There was an attack by the renegade Immortal faction on a Watcher family in Littleton last night. The Guardians were there and were able to repel the assault at the cost of five men. The family is safe, though.
There was an unexpected reward from the attack, however. One of the Guardians had the clearance of mind to pull out a camera and take several photographs of the Immortals as they were retreating. I have been able to obtain copies of these pictures and I am sending them to you in this message. We have definitive proof of our suspicions now. The leader of this group, which we have learned calls itself The Council, is Siobhan O'Banian.
From these photographs, we have also identified James MacNaughton, Emily LeFitte, Hewett Penn, and Marton Razumov. One of the Guardians at the scene believes he saw Darmond Bilsby there, as well. We know this is not all of the Council since we also received reports of their attack in Winchester last night, as well.
The family in Winchester which was attacked was the Santanas, one of those your group - by the way, I've started referring to you as The Alliance - was guarding and successfully turned away the Council. For this, I am truly grateful. We had a Watcher nearby, of course - he is the one assigned to watch Eric Doyle - and he thinks he saw Ruth Okin and Michael De Lioncourt in the group. He was not able to identify the others. He did say, though, there were five of them. We now know the Council numbers at least eleven members. Ten, I should say, since Wallace Frazier took the head of one of them. Our man reported seeing a Quickening last night. We have not yet spoken with Caitlin Santana so we do not have her input on the event or her information regarding any of the other Immortals who were present, if she knew any of them.
Despite the loss of five Guardians last night, a great deal of information has been gained regarding the Council. I wish the same could be said for the Hunters. We did have some Guardians encounter some of them in Germany a few days ago and they were able to kill one, but no prisoners were taken. We are hoping the Guardians will be able to get a prisoner or two in the future, with luck without the loss of an Immortal life in the process since they are only able to identify the Hunters once an attack begins.
I hope this information is of use to you. I will let you know anything else I discover as it becomes available. I wish I could tell others about the Alliance and make my support of you more public but sadly that is not the case right now. In the meantime, I wish you the best of luck.
PO2
Ashton heard a low, animalistic growl emanating from Dublin's corner of the room. He kept his face impassive, but whispered to the Irishman, "Chan eil an-dràsta." (Not right now.)
Swivelling in his seat, he leaned in to read over Honnecker's shoulder. The German was viewing the pictures that had been attached to the email. Taking some time to look at them himself, Ashton grinned.
"The loss of his men is sad, it's true," he said, "but it does present an opportunity. We have learned the names of several of the players. Michael De Lioncourt, Siobhan O'Banian, Dasmius Mikal, Darmond Bilsby."
Ashton leaned back, thinking. He snapped his fingers. "I have an idea. There is someone who knows that man and who could be useful." He turned back to the conference table and opened his own laptop. He began to write out an email.
Honnnecker was about to ask Ashton what he meant by "that man," but was distracted by a ringing phone. He answered it and began taking a report from one of the scouts out in the field. All the while, the Minoan's fingers worked on his keyboard.
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26 October 1999
Edinburgh, Scotland
Ottenbreit cradled the phone in his shoulder, taking the cigarette from his lips. He tapped the ash into a nearby tray as he listened to the voice on the other end. The German grinned.
"This class is doing exceptionally well," said Harlan Earnshaw. "They will graduate and be available to you by the end of December. We can then take on a new class."
Ottenbreit wanted to clap his hands. "That is spectacular news, Harlan, better than I could have hoped. Superb work. And you'll be coming back to Europe for a few weeks after that?"
"Yes, sir. I don't particularly care for the heat here so it will be nice to get back to a more reasonable climate for a little while."
"You are welcome, of course. Maybe you will even be able to see some of the fruits of your labor while you're here."
"That would be a nice bonus."
"How many do you want for the next class?"
"Let's go with half of the original group, maybe forty, forty-five."
"That won't be a problem. I'll arrange it with Adam and Emilio so they have the men ready when the time comes."
"Thank you, sir."
"The thanks go to you, Harlan. Many, many thanks."
"Don't make me blush, sir."
Ottenbreit could hear the chuckle in the man's voice. He responded in kind. "It's all true. Anyway, I will see you when you arrive for your well deserved break. Thanks again, Harlan."
"You're welcome, sir. I'll report back again, soon."
"Goodbye, Harlan."
"Goodbye, sir."
Ottenbreit hung up the phone and laughed aloud. If his enemies thought they had a difficult problem facing them now, they should just wait until Harlan Earnshaw's graduates showed up on the scene. They would then be begging for the good old days of August and September when things were so easy.
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28 October 1999
Eastleigh, England
O'Banian scowled at the computer captured from Andrew Dixon, not even reading the pages of information as she scrolled through them. Her mood was too dark to concentrate on such details. She tapped on the mouse and keyboard simply to keep from doing what she preferred, smashing everything in sight. Behind her, the other members of the Council sat quietly, scattered throughout the hotel suite. They had neither moved from this city nor had they made plans for another strike in three days. The inactivity was getting to them all. So, too, was the growing string of defeats.
O'Banian scoffed and flexed her fingers. She needed to do something. Standing, she paced to the far end of the suite and back to the kitchen table. That didn't help. She went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of juice. Downing it in three gulps, she refilled the glass and sighed. That helped a little bit. She went back to the computer.
Thinking aloud, she said for the others to hear, "England has become a shitstorm. I think we need ta relocate. Move our operation somewhere else."
"Any thoughts on where?" asked LeFitte from the sitting room, her feet up on the coffee table as she lounged on the couch.
O'Banian didn't answer. She just scrolled through lines of data inside the Watcher news feed. Several items caught her eye. She focused on them.
"France," she finally replied. "This thing says there have been a lot of Immortals killed there lately, even more than in England. We move our fight there."
Ruth Okin, sitting next to LeFitte, perked up. "I have a few people who are willing to help us in Paris. If we go there, we can link up with them."
"I've got a few folks waiting for word on where to join us, too," added De Lioncourt. "That would be a perfect meeting ground."
"That settles it, then," decided O'Bannian. "Paris, it is. I'll make a few calls myself."
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29 October 1999
Winchester, England
General Honnecker,
I am Donald McShayne, a Watcher trusted by the agent you know as PO2. I have been tracking the movements of the Council for several days now. They are currently in Eastleigh and are planning to change their place of operations from England to France, specifically the Paris area. They left this morning. They will be meeting with several other Immortals who are in agreement with their cause. I don't have names, but there are at least six, possibly more, who will be joining them.
I hope this helps.
McShayne.
"That's it, General," said Honnecker after reading the message, "just this short missive sent from another anonymous account even though the man did choose to identify himself."
"That's enough. It's a major shift for them. The Paris metro area is likely full of Watcher families and they will not have to bounce around as much as they did in England in order to find targets. We need to move in the next day or two. I also need to contact the others on my list of supporters and have them meet us in France."
"While you do that, boss," said Dublin, "I'm going to go ahead of the rest and get things prepped. There is also something else I need to do while I'm there."
The tone of the Irishman's voice drew Ashton's attention. He glanced his friend's way, divining its meaning.
"Alright," agreed Ashton. "Just don't go overboard."
"Me? Go overboard?" Dublin gave him a look of pure innocence.
Ashton's reply sounded neutral despite its sarcasm. "Yes, Darren, you. I've met you. I know what you're like."
END OF ACT 1
