A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, Spiderman: Homecoming, Thor, and Thor: Dark World.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Thanks go out to collectivefandomstuff (Miscellaneous Nerd Stuff) from Tumblr. I sto… um, borrowed a post from the blog and, mea cupla, forgot to give credit, so here it is.
Year From Hell: Season 3, in progress. Please stand by…
To all my family, friends, and readers from around the world, be safe, don't give in to paranoia, fear, and anger. If you have family, friends, or even a neighbor or co-worker who has a difficult time getting out, or just needs a shoulder to (figuratively) lean on, don't be afraid to help them out.
Do The Five:
Hands: Wash them often. 20 seconds is recommended. That's the length of time it takes to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle" or the Alphabet song through once. It's also the time it takes to recite the opening narrative to Star Trek. You know it. The one that begins, "Space, the final frontier…". For those inclined, it's also the amount of time to recite the Lord's Prayer. I'm sure we all have something we can recite or sing for 20 seconds, even if it's part of a popular or favorite song, poem, or even a Shakespeare soliloquy.
Elbow: Cough into it.
Face: Don't touch it.
Feet: Stay more than 6 feet/2 meters apart.
Feel: Sick? Stay home.
Most of all, stay safe. And for all our sake's, stop hoarding toilet tissue and hand sanitizer. That's just stupid.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 84
Avengers Compound
Upstate New York
"Another party, Tony?" Pepper called out as she let herself into the lab waving a tablet.
Tony turned off the welder and laid it aside before removing his gloves, helmet, and protective apron. He wiped his face with a towel and fetched a bottle of water from the fridge, taking the tablet from Pepper. "Looks like it's all on schedule. Tell Happy that he's a guest, not security that night."
"But what's it for?"
After drinking the bottle dry, Tony tossed it in recycling. "To introduce my daughter to our friends, of course. She deserves so much more for all the years I've missed."
Pepper led him over to a chair, rubbing his shoulders, letting her touch work it's magic. "I know you feel bad for not being there, but what does Darcy want?"
"Nothing. That's why I'm giving her everything. She'll be in my will by the end of next week, I'll buy her a house, condo, penthouse, car. Hell, I'll even fly her and Cap to Paris for her birthday."
"What if she doesn't want any of that?" The chair spun and Pepper crouched in front of him. "What if all she wants is her father? To know you, and for you to know her?"
Tony gazed into her eyes and found a bit of truth he could use. "She gets that too. We'll go somewhere alone, just the three of us…"
"Two," she pointed at herself with a half-grin, "because someone has to run the company." Tony pulled her onto his lap, holding loosely around her waist. "Record it for me to watch later."
"Or, and this would be so much more fun, we can do a video conference on the big screen so you can see everything in real time."
She hugged him around the neck. "You have some of the best ideas. Not always, but now and then."
Darcy's Apartment
Upstate New York
Darcy passed the share ride driver a tip, let herself out, and headed for the apartment once he'd driven away. Inside, she threw her jacket and purse on the sofa and stomped into the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes beginning with her shoes and ending with the panties she bought just this week, hoping Steve would get to see them one day soon. "Probably won't happen now."
She walked out to the kitchen to put on the kettle and back to the bathroom to take a hot shower. When she got out, the kettle was whistling. She returned to the kitchen tying the belt to her robe.
Taking her favorite mug from the cabinet, she dropped a bag in and poured the water. While it was steeping, she took out her stash of double chocolate chip cookies, tucked the bag under her arm, and carried the cup to the sofa.
Drawing her knees up, she tucked the robe around her feet, stirred the tea, and removed the bag, taking a sip while she scrolled her contacts for a number she swore she'd never call again, and dialed.
It was answered on the third ring. "Jane's phone. Ian speaking."
Flustered at first, Darcy didn't respond.
"C'mon, Darcy, luv. Speak to me." There was a pause that said she was the last person he expected to hear on the line. "Didn't expect to ever hear from you again, Peanut."
Huffing into the phone, Darcy stretched her legs out, crossing her legs at the ankles under the coffee table. There was an awkward silence which she broke before Ian could say something else stupid, "I just… I need someone to talk to. To tell my troubles to and Jane was the first person who came to mind."
"She's not here at the moment and won't be for a fortnight. Thor's been about the last week or so, and they been makin' up. He's taken her back to Asgard for a bit of holiday." Disappointed, Darcy was about to hang up, but didn't when Ian offered, "I could have a go at givin' out a bit of advice, if you're of a mind to hear it from an ex."
Seldom had Darcy not already known the answers to most questions in her mind even before asking, and now was no different. She just needed to hear it from someone else. "Fine," she huffed, as if the agreement had been dragged out of her. "Tonight I found porn on my date's phone."
"Uh-huh. And?" was Ian's deadpan response following a silent pause, as if he'd expected her to elaborate.
"What do you mean, 'and'? I found porn. On his phone," she added, emphasizing the words she deemed the most telling.
The door of the RV opened and closed, followed by Ian's shoes crunching on gravel. "Let me see if I have all the facts. I'd say you and this bloke have been datin', but haven't shagged yet. That means he's het, er, straight, as you Yanks say. And you got cheesed off 'cause he was watchin' porn."
Darcy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yes, but…"
"You're bloody daft, getting gutted over rubbish. Just shag the bloke and be done with it."
Mixed in with all the British slang, Darcy got the gist. "I overreacted, didn't I?"
His throaty laugh cheered her up somewhat, but not so much that she missed hearing it. "Too right you did. If you're hot for this bloke, call and apologize. Tomorrow's soon enough."
"I will," she told him truthfully, because now that he put it in words, she knew he was right. "Ian?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
That laugh came again. It was one of the things she liked most about him, his easy laughter. "You're welcome. Sleep tight, Peanut."
Darcy let out a long sigh, "One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"Stop calling me Peanut." Before Ian could respond, Darcy hit end, put the phone on silent, and tossed it on the sofa next to her.
Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts
Joliet, Illinois
The door closed behind Dinah and Klaus, returning early from their night out. Seth summoned the lift, selected their floor, and tipped his hat as the doors closed. Dinah clasped her husband's hand with a scowl. "Retched luck, love."
"Who could've predicted that our favorite lounge would be closed due to a broken water pipe?" He smiled and kissed her fingers. "But their bad luck has brought me good fortune."
"How?"
The doors opened and he turned them in the direction of their suite. "I will have you all to myself for the entire night." He let them in, locked the door, drew her into the library, and over to the love seat he'd moved in front of the fireplace. While she seated herself, Klaus went to the bar, and came back with two glasses of their favorite pousse-café, what some would call a digestif. Tonight, they were partaking of a particularly exquisite cognac, Cuvée Louis-Alexandre Marnier-Lapostolle.
~~O~~
Ever the professional, Clint decided it was time to check in with the teams. First up, Alania Mitchell and her partner, Auntie, entering a conversation in progress.
Mitchell: …then I told him, 'You put either of your grimy mitts on me again without permission…
Auntie: [breaks in] He?
Mitchell: [somewhat sheepish] I was still in denial then. Um, where was I? Oh, yeah. I said, 'I'll break both off at the wrists, and slap you so hard with them, your grandchildren will feel it!'
Auntie: [snorts] Sent him home with sore dangly bits, did ya?
Uncomfortable with the subject matter, Clint once more attempted to intervene, with the same results as before. "Can we please talk about someth-"
Mitchell:[chuckled, both ignoring Clint] Turned out he likes his partners on the spicy side. Anyway, we went back to his place to have sex, and he had this-
Clint cut off the feed, hoping to prevent traumatic nightmares, knowing it was futile. He gave them a few seconds to conclude their conversation, then opened the line again. "Time to work for a living, ladies. South side of the building. Join me?"
~~O~~
Crouched behind a bush, Clint made a quick weapons check of his person with one hand while mussing his hair with the other. When it was done to his satisfaction, he tapped his headset, tuning in to the frequency assigned to Cooper Grant and Mortimer "Morty" Hayden, coming into yet another odd conversation.
Morty: [in a fake British accent] The chauffeur?! How could you do this to me, Dolores?!
Cooper: [in a falsetto] How could I not, Richard? You married your job long before I ever had sex with Jean-Paul!
Morty: Don't you put this on me! [snorts] I knew I shouldn't have hired a ridiculously good looking Frenchman as a chauffeur.
Cooper: Well, that wouldn't have stopped me from having sex… with Donald!
Morty: [gasp] You didn't!
Cooper: [triumphantly] I did!
Morty: [moaning] How could you have sex with my best friend?
Cooper: [laughs scornfully] And let me tell you a secret, Richard. He was so much better than you. He took me to heights I've only imagined.
Morty: [in his normal voice] Ssssss! Burn!
Cooper: [smug] Thanks.
Morty: [crying as "Richard"] You're tearing me apart, Dolores.
Clint broke in, "What goin' on, guys?"
Cooper: [snickers] There's a couple in the penthouse 'cross the way. They're havin' a tail-twistin' fight. We can't hear what they're sayin', so we're givin' 'em lines.
Morty: [as "Richard"] Look at this laptop I'm waving around, Delores! Look at it!
Cooper: [as "Dolores"] If you love your laptop so much, why don't you marry it?
Morty: Maybe I will.
Cooper: [growls] I hate you, Richard, and I especially hate… your mother.
Morty: [gasps] My mother is a saint and a gift to mankind!
Cooper: [scoffs] Your mother is a decrepit old hag! She's never had one kind word for me since day one.
Morty: You take that back! [Pause] Where are you going, Delores? I'm not done yelling obscenities at you like a ******* tool!
Clint made several attempts at putting an end to their fun and games. A situation that caused much aggravation on his part, so he just let them continue.
Cooper: [hisses] I hope the Cubs lose their next three games.
Morty: [gasps] First my mother and now [gulp] the Cubs? How could you betray me like this, Delores? The fan who displays Chicago Cubs memorabilia in every room of our home like an ******* asshole?! How could you?!
Cooper: [slowly, emphasizing each word] What're you going to do about? Huh? ["Delores" scoff] Mother was right. You're a coward, Richard. And you're lousy in bed.
Morty: What am I gonna do? I'm gonna take this gun-
At this point, both men broke character, Morty continuing.
Morty: Ohmygod! Ohmygod! He's got a gun, Coop! Shit! We gotta stop this! Put the gun down, Richard! She didn't mean it!
Cooper: [his Kentucky accent coming out] Hold on, Dolores! We'll save you!
The line went dead, and all Clint could do was rub his forehead, take a deep breath, and let it out in a heartfelt sigh. His good humor was restored when Alistair Kane, the only true loner in a group of self-proclaimed loners, added his two cents.
"Aw man. It was just gettin' good."
He sent a prearranged signal to Natasha. A five-minute warning, as it were. Their marks had already finished their bedtime drinks and should be passing into a soporific state at this moment, relaxing them enough for the coming festivities to hit them with the element of surprise.
The women joined him, each facing a different direction, watching their backs. Mitchell, who'd been giving her age as twenty-nine as long as they'd known each other, had short dark blonde hair shaved into the Star of David on one side. Her partner was a fortyish woman with the darkest skin he'd ever seen on a human, dreadlocks in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and answered only to "Auntie". No one, not even Clint, knew her given name. Only Natasha had been brave enough to ask. An event the Black Widow quickly added to her lengthy list of regrets.
"All in place, mate," Auntie whispered as she passed him a half-full bottle of cheap whiskey. "This'd be easy-peasy out 'n the back o' Bourke. Just slip in and route out the rotters."
Clint grinned, opened the bottle, took a swig, wincing as it went down. "You couldn't have gotten something a little more palatable, Auntie?"
"Naw," she cackled, giving Mitchell a shove with her elbow and winking, "that's how yer gone sell it. You want 'em to believe yer rotten," she nodded at the bottle, "that's the way to go."
Mitchell added her voice, "What she's trying to say, boss, is the cheaper the drink, the more you reek, and that's a plus for this op."
"Right," Auntie agreed. "This gone be a beaut." She reached around and came out with a six-inch knife, black handled, sculpted edges, pointed tip, and a suspicious looking stain where the blade and handle met. "Take Chester wit ya," one eye closed in a wink, "he'll do ya right."
Having suffered the wrath of Auntie in the past, Clint knew better than to insult her, however, slightly or unintended, so he went with the truth, as one should. "That's generous of you, but this situation calls for a little more subtlety."
Thankfully, Chester vanished back into its hiding place without a fuss. Without turning, Mitchell, Alana to her family and close friends, snickered, "You name your knives?"
Auntie shrugged one shoulder, the movement causing the silver nose ring in her right nostril catch the light. "Don't everyone?"
"Uh, no," Mitchell scoffed. Then, her features took on a thoughtful expression. "You know, that's not a bad idea." She pulled out a boot knife. "Think I'll call this one… Hawkeye, 'cause he never misses a target."
~~O~~
Mitchell and Auntie arrived as he opened the case at his feet. With care, he lifted the recurve bow from the protective casing. With a snap of the wrist, it unfolded. Laying it aside, he attached a specialized tip to a shaft, slipped a pair of night vision goggles over his eyes, nocked the arrow, drew it back to the anchor point, inhaled, exhaled, and released. "Bingo." Grinning, he removed the goggles, shoved them into a convenient pocket, and tapped his headset. "Show's about to start, Nat… On my mark… Mark."
~~O~~
With the flash drive tucked safely out of sight, Natasha leaned close to the door, listening to Klaus and Dinah move about the room, talking quietly to each other in German. She wasn't fluent, but got the gist. Their preferred watering hole was closed for repairs, hence, their early return, trapping her here. If they found her before Clint could provide a distraction, she'd have to fight her way out. Not a problem, but by the time the authorities came, they might be long gone. Not happening, she thought with a smirk. Your asses are grass and I'm a John Deere.
She adjusted the closures on her gloves, did some warm-up stretches, and breathing exercises to pass the time.
"Two-minute warning…" Clint's voice rasped in her ear. "Any requests?"
Grinning though no one could see, Natasha tapped her headset, "Yeah. You need a make-over. Hair, clothes, and especially…" She snorted, shaking her head at her partner's succinct three-word response, "Anatomically impossible for most of the population. How about 'Are You Lonesome Tonight?'"
In the background, she heard the distinctive voices of Auntie and Mitchell razzing their team leader. The joking around ended abruptly at Clint's announcement, "One minute. Serious faces on, team. Mark."
~~O~~
While Clint divested himself of unnecessary clothing and equipment, vest, night vision goggles, and so forth, Mitchell and Auntie grabbed handfuls of his shirt to create wrinkles. Auntie passed over the bottle. He took a long swig and splashed some on his clothing to set the scene.
Mitchell sniffed and immediately backed off, waving a hand in front of her face, "You reek, Barton."
"Thanks, Mitchell. You too." He locked up the bow and stood. "Good thing I didn't shave today," he murmured under his breath as he slipped around the corner and jogged down the block. Approaching the building with bottle in hand, Clint stumbled and swayed his way up the circular drive to the main entrance, counting down the seconds.
Right on cue, he banged his fist on the door, rattling the glass, calling out the first name that popped into his head, "Car-o-line! Sweet Car-o-line! Lemme in, babe!" The hidden cameras were right where he needed them to be: on him. "I'm lonesome wit'outcha!" Slurring his words and interspersing them with hiccups, he pounded again, and just as he planned, the security guard opened the door. "Oh, hey. I (hic) wan' talk to m' girl, Car-o-line."
"Get lost, pal. There's no Caroline here," the guard, spun him around and gave him a shove. "Go home and sleep it off."
A well-dressed older man walking past watched their interaction. Clint swayed, but stayed upright, catching the newcomer's interest. He quickly strode up the drive, calling out, "Is everything okay here, officer?"
Snorting with disgust, the guard tucked his thumbs into his belt on either side of the buckle. "Nothing I can't handle, sir."
As if sensing that the new character in their play might assist with his "quest", Clint clutched his sleeve, leaning close and exhaling in the man's face. He backed away from the alcohol on his breath. "You gotta help me, friend. I (hic), I wanna shpeak t' m' girl, Caro(hic)line, and this gent (hic), gent (hic), guy won' lemme shee her." Looking up at the building's façade as if the imaginary girl were watching, he sang out at the top of his lungs.
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so goood
Sweet Caroline
I believe they never cooould (hic)
Sweet Caro-
He cut off when the guard grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "I told you to beat it," he growled, pointing down the street in the direction from which Clint had come.
Clint pulled free, swiping ineffectually at the wrinkles. "Hands off the mer-(hic) merchandise, buddy. Jus' lemme talk to Car-o-line a minute then I'm outa here. I wan' her to know how much I (hic) mish her." The guard gave Clint another shove. He tripped on purpose making it seem accidental and fell in the flower bed. "No-no-no-no! I haven't seen m' girl yet. I know she mishes me as much as I mish her." Rolling onto his back, Clint squinted up at the other man. "Now Ima shing her fav'rite shong."
Are you loneshum t'niiiiight,
Do you mish me t'niiiiight?
Are you shorry we drifted apaaaaart? (hic)
Does your memory stray to a bright sunny day
When I kissed you and called you shweet (hic) heart?
Clint inhaled, preparing for the next verse, but didn't get the chance to continue. All according to my evil plan, he snickered to himself.
The guard yanked Clint out of the flower bed. He fell against him, relieving him of his weapon.
"Get out of here before I call the cops," he snarled, giving Clint a shove to get him started.
~~O~~
In the guise of an innocent bystander unwittingly caught up in the drama, Fincher put a hand on the guard's shoulder. "Here now, my good man. Violence isn't the answer. It's obvious the poor fellow is intoxicated to the point that he's lost all good sense." Lowering his voice, he leaned close, "The situation can be easily solved by allowing the young woman in question reason with him."
The guard was already shaking his head. "I've already told him and now I'm telling you. There's no one here by that name."
Fincher took in the building's façade with a sigh. "Are you sure? Have you checked the guest register?"
"This is a private boarding school, not a hotel. I know all the students and staff. Not a Caroline among them," he shrugged, giving Fincher an apologetic sniff.
"Then I'm sorry for the trouble, my good man." The hand on the guard's shoulder was removed. "I'm a doctor. Why don't I take him off your hands so you can get back to your post?"
Without waiting for a response, Fincher took hold of Clint's arm, steering him toward the side street. As they reached the corner of the building, Clint pulled free to pat his pockets. "Shit. Can't find m' ******* keys." A hand waved his comment away, "Don' need 'em though, 'cause I jus' 'membered Car-o-line's room," he pointed into the dark, "is in da back."
As Clint turned the corner, Fincher followed, doing his best imitation of helping while making things worse. Once out of sight of the guard, Clint kept up the drunk singing, readying himself for the next phase in their plan.
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so goood
Sweet Caroline
I believe they never cooould
Sweet Caro-
Sure enough, once they vanished into the dark, the guard came running, shouting, "You can't stay here! This is private property."
The guard stumbled to a stop at seeing Clint grinning and clutching a handgun in one hand and all traces of drunkenness gone. His eyes widened with a small touch of fear, which eased when Clint didn't shoot.
Fincher stepped around Clint with a matching grin, "Sorry about this, officer," he told him while taking an object from his pocket. "We can't allow you to raise the alarm."
"But-"
Too fast for the guard to react, Fincher pulled him close, whispering in his ear while holding something in front of him. The guard slumped to the ground and Clint poked him in the ribs to make sure he wasn't faking.
Fincher dropped the object into his pocket, and together, they moved the unconscious man into the bushes where he wouldn't be seen. "I've been meaning to ask you. Mitchell."
"What about her?" Clint asked while brushing dirt from his hands as they moved into position for the next phase.
"Does she like older?" Fincher grinned and smoothed the sides of his goatee.
His companion snorted, a smirk twisting his features. "She does, but you wouldn't pass the physical, and even if you did, she's hooked up."
Though disappointed, Fincher didn't let it get him down. "Story of my life, Clint. Day late, dollar short, no vagina."
"If you're that anxious for female companionship, Nat'll give you a few names."
Fincher felt a shimmy of anticipation tickled his stomach. "Speaking of Nat…"
Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Clint started them walking again. "Trust me. Do not go there. You'd end up looking like Leroy Brown."
Fincher pushed a hand through his fashionably styled hair, adding a bit of swagger to his walk. "I'll watch my step, then. This face is too pretty to end up on a barroom floor."
They were joined by Auntie and Mitchell. Clint acknowledged them with a nod while turning the conversation back to business. "You're up, Fincher. Pick a spot."
The other man nodded at a micro-park on the contiguous corner. "It won't take long. Once it's all over, I'll stay with them until you give the go-ahead." He turned to Auntie and Mitchell, passing over a key. "Get the black bag from my car and take it to the park."
The women moved off without a word. Clint looked at his watch, as did Fincher. He tapped his headset. "Coop, Morty. Got the sitch with Delores and Richard worked out?"
The unmistakable thudding of fighting, a woman screaming obscenities, and a man insisting he was only going to use the gun to scare the woman. "Almost, boss. Cops're on their way. I've sent them a copy of our surveillance video, but without our comments."
"Copy that. We're a go in three minutes," Clint reminded them while ignoring Auntie and Mitchell's questions. He tapped into Natasha's frequency, "Two minutes on my mark, Nat… Mark."
Undisclosed Location
Maria Hill bore the brunt of Veronica's ire with her usual stoic equanimity, barely blinking at the tight-lipped recitation of facts as she saw them, knowing better than to laugh or make light of the woman's reactions. Veronica finally wound down, arms crossed, and standing beside the bed barefoot and wearing only the gown, having removed the unnecessary splint and bandages.
Her eyes followed Maria as she paced from one side of the room to the other as if diagnosing Veronica's state of mind. She stopped, looked her in the eyes, and calmly stated, "You're right. It's all a sham."
"Kidnapping is a federal offense. Not sure about all the drugs you've been giving me, but it should be federal as well."
One side of Maria's mouth turned up in her only show of humor, "You were never drugged, Ms. Lovejoy." She put a hand up to forestall Veronica's new outrage. "The only thing you were given was a few harmless post-hypnotic suggestions. As for the kidnapping charge," she waved at the door, "you're free to go whenever and wherever you like." Veronica raised her chin confidently, losing some of her bravado at Maria's next comment. "But if you do, you'll never know why we engaged in the charade in the first place."
Veronica's eyes flicked back and forth with her thoughts for several seconds. She was a woman who made quick decisions. Taking a seat, she gripped the arms of the chair. "Could I at least have my clothes? And something to eat and drink?"
Careful to keep her emotions internal, Maria tapped the headset in her right ear, "Bring Ms. Lovejoy food, drink, and clothing." She smiled in a way that caused Veronica to believe that this had been the plan all along. "I'll be back soon and we'll have that talk."
"Talk?" Veronica echoed.
"Yes. The one where I tell you how and why you're here. In strictest confidence, of course." Another woman entered with a tray and a bag tucked under one arm. She set the tray on the table, laid the bag on the bed, and left again without a word. "Your clothing was damaged. Hopefully, these will be suitable." Maria made one last parting shot before closing the door, "Enjoy your meal. Ring if you need anything else."
Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts
Joliet, Illinois
Seated before the bank of computer monitors, Dinah scanned each one, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The drunken oaf who'd disrupted their nightly ritual had disappeared, as had the night guard. Neither could be seen by any of the external cameras, and that set all of her senses on high alert.
Klaus, standing behind her, ventured a question. "Shouldn't we call for reinforcements?"
Dinah's glare was reflected on the monitors. "And have our superiors believe we're unable to deal with a drunk who knocked on the wrong door?"
"My mistake," he whispered in a tone that was beginning to grate on her nerves.
Dinah loved Klaus with all her heart, but he had none of the courage and intelligence of his forefathers. Even their superiors had described him variously as pompous, sycophantic, unctuous, oleaginous, and obsequious.
"Don't trouble yourself," she murmured as an appeasement to his ego, "I…" She transferred the video feed for the camera on the south side of the building to the main screen, zooming in on a spot near the corner. "Did you see that?"
"See what, liebchen?"
Dinah manipulated the keyboard and soon, the image became clearer. The guard they'd been unable to locate was lying behind the hedge, unconscious. She stood abruptly, knocking over the chair. "Wake the children at once! We're leaving tonight."
Before either of them could move, every fire alarm in the building went off at once, followed by the emergency lights, and sirens. As they exited the security room, the students were already streaming out the front door, most pulling bathrobes on over their pajamas. "I order you to stop! Don't go outside! There's no fire! It's a trick!"
Klaus grabbed her arm, pointing. "Dinah! Look!"
Smoke billowed throughout the immense lobby area, down the stairs, and in the hallways. Urging her toward the door, Klaus held his handkerchief over her nose and mouth, protecting her instead of himself. He coughed and stumbled. Dinah held on tight, dragging him with her out into the fresh air.
In the distance and getting closer were the high-pitched screeching of sirens.
Crowds of onlookers were gathering at a safe distance. Strong arms led them away from the building, setting them side by side on the steps of a closed salon. They looked around, but couldn't find any of the students. Dinah and Klaus accepted cups of water, wondering what was really happening.
Firemen swarmed around their truck, putting on oxygen tanks while others connected the hose to the hydrant in front of the building. Dinah hated that it detracted from the elegant façade of the academy. The gardener hid it by planting red and yellow-twig dogwood. It angered her now that the shrubs had been damaged by the firemen.
Paramedics took Dinah and Klaus in hand, leading them to an ambulance.
"We must find our students," she told them in between bouts of coughing.
A chubby, balding man attached an oxygen mask to a tank and placed it over her nose and mouth while another responder did the same for Klaus. "You won't do anyone any good if you die of smoke inhalation." He pointed his chin at a group of firemen and police. "They'll take care of 'em for you."
Causing a scene would bring even more unwanted attention, so Dinah and Klaus followed the directions from the paramedics.
~~O~~
While chaos reigned outside, Natasha made her way through the building to the rear, let herself out, and jogged toward the micro-park. As she approached, she pulled off the oxygen mask, shoved it into a pocket, and slowed to a walk, not wanting to disturb Fincher and his charges.
Bringing a small night vision viewer to her eyes, she scanned the teens sitting cross-legged on the grass, picking out the face of Dr. Bennett's daughter, Kaitlyn. Holding the viewer in one hand, she leaned against a tree and put on a pair of sunglasses with specialized lenses.
The group of earnest teens whispered to each other, some holding hands, or with arms around each other for comfort. A spotlight came on, highlighting Fincher standing on a bench speaking in a calm, soothing tone. One by one, Natasha watched his audience relax.
"Ladies and gentlemen, keep your eyes on the pendant," Fincher held up large red stone hanging from a strip of leather, spinning, first one way, then the other, over, and over. The glasses Natasha wore would prevent her from being affected by what was coming.
"If you've never experienced mass hypnosis, you're about to."
Several of the kids gasped, but didn't move.
"Now," Fincher pointed at his eyes with his left hand, "look into my eyes… Don't look away… I am all that you can see and hear… Nothing else matters except the sound of my voice… And," he snapped his fingers, his audience staring forward, unblinking, "sleep… Down, down, down. Sleep… sleep… sleep… You are completely asleep and will do as I say…"
TBC
Cuvée Louis-Alexandre Marnier-Lapostolle is a special selection of cognacs taken from the best known districts (Grande Champagne, Petite Champagne, Borderies, Fins Bois and Bons Bois) and aged at length in oak casks. It is only available in duty-free shops in Canada and France and liquor stores in Quebec, Canada, and the Netherlands.
"Sweet Caroline" is a song written and performed by American singer Neil Diamond and released in May 1969.
"Are You Lonesome Tonight?" is a song written by Roy Turk and Lou Handman in 1926. It was recorded several times in 1927—first by Charles Hart, with successful versions by Vaughn De Leath, Henry Burr, and the duet of Jerry Macy and John Ryan. In 1950 the Blue Barron Orchestra version reached the top twenty on the Billboard's Pop Singles chart.
In April 1960, after Elvis Presley's two-year service in the United States Army, he recorded the song at the suggestion of manager Colonel Tom Parker.