Chapter Fourteen

Kronos sat, drumming his fingers against the wheel of the black Hummer he had 'procured' for the use of the Horsemen. Silas was content to gaze out the window at the facility that would house the contest; he stretched his legs and turned a laughing face to his brothers.

"I like this Hummer much better than the airplane brother. A man can move and breathe in here. Not as good as a horse, but good." Silas accompanied the final words with a blow to Kronos' shoulder and a nod to Caspian.

"Only you would find a horse better than a machine that can carry you twice as far in half the time." The disgust in Caspian's tone was thick as molasses.

A raised hand by Kronos stalled Silas' return volley before it truly began. "You are trying my patience, brother. Both of you are here on my sufferance. Do not forget who is in charge of this undertaking."

Silence reigned after Kronos' pronouncement. Caspian contemplated the uses of the vast trunk space of the Hummer, while Silas turned his attention to some birds wheeling overhead. Kronos continued to drum the steering wheel in barely restrained impatience.

Just as Kronos thought he would have to hit something to relieve his tension, a non-descript man hurried out of the facility toward the SUV. Breathing a quiet sigh, Kronos stepped out of the truck.

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The first five minutes of the drive from the dojo had been excruciatingly tense. MacLeod had chosen to ride in the front with Methos, leaving the back seat to Cassandra and her brittle silence. At least her stillness is better than the dark looks the Highlander keeps throwing my way, thought Methos.

"You know, if you're not careful, your face will freeze like that." As an icebreaker, it was not one of the best Methos had produced. Suppressing a cringe, he continued, "Really MacLeod, we don't have time for you to brood."

"We're on our way, what else would you have us do … Methos?" Duncan emphasized the old man's name in a manner that indicated he was still smarting from the revelations in the dojo.

Methos wrapped his unflappable calm around him like a cloak, the mantras continuing unabated in the back of his mind. "I would have you reach into the glove box and pull out that box."

MacLeod opened the box as Cassandra leaned forward, her interest piqued by Methos' tone. The inside of the box revealed three comma-shaped pieces of plastic, none bigger than a thumbnail, and three black elastic bands with what looked like small microphones attached. Touching the edge of the box lightly, she asked the required question, "What is this?"

"What are you up to now, Methos? This looks like communications equipment." MacLeod sounded condemning, and Methos shook his head slightly before answering.

"Yes, MacLeod, it is communications equipment." He spoke slowly, as he would to a child. "I told you, there will be noise piped in to cover the sound of movement. Probably loud rock music," Methos ignored the look of outrage that crossed Duncan's face at this. "These little babies will let us remain in contact with each other regardless."

Reaching over, Methos lifted one of the small plastic pieces out of the box, shifting his eyes back to the road quickly. Wouldn't do to have a fatal accident on the way to the contest. Holding the piece in the palm of his hand where both MacLeod and Cassandra could see it, he began to lecture in what he privately referred to as his 'Dr. Pierson' voice.

"This is an earpiece. It is small enough to remain undetected by anything other than close scrutiny. The case is plastic, and it contains an independent power source. Sorry MacLeod, you won't have one of those cords running into your coat like the Secret Service. It borrows from advances made in technology for hearing aids.

"The second component is the microphone assembly. The band goes around your neck, with the mike positioned over your larynx. It is somewhat uncomfortable at first, but it eliminates the interference of background noise. This is old technology, German Panzer commanders used it during the Second World War, but the casing has been updated to limit the metal content."

So intent was Methos on his recitation, that he almost missed MacLeod's subtle stiffening beside him. "What now MacLeod?" he sighed. "Problems with the ethics of it? Too much like cheating for you? Gonna take me to task for using enemy technology?"

MacLeod quickly swallowed whatever comment he had been about to make. Methos wondered how close he had been with his jabs. Cassandra impatiently waved at Methos. "I assume there's more for us to know?" Her tone indicated that she had no problem with their having an edge on the competition.

"Right, where was I? This system will enable us to remain in constant communication. Anything you say will go over the system to the other users. Grab a set and put them on so you'll be accustomed to them by the time we get there." Dr. Pierson had returned, and the other two could see him mentally checking his list of information to impart.

"Why is the plastic so important?" Cassandra ventured from the back seat. He allowed himself a glance at her in the rear view mirror, but her face was down as she worked at putting on the microphone and earpiece.

With another mental check mark, Methos turned to address the question. "I have arranged for a metal detector at the entrance to the facility. It is sensitive enough to detect a dinner knife in someone's pocket. Didn't want to risk it picking up the electronics."

"That should keep things fair," Duncan mused. "But who is manning the detector?"

"There will be five employees on site during the contest. Four are responsible for monitoring the game and maintaining adherence to the rules of the facility. One is in charge of the metal detector and policing the entrance." MacLeod and Cassandra heard the satisfaction in Methos' tone. "I think that covers everything. We'll be there in ten minutes."

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Silas and Caspian stepped out of the truck at Kronos' signal. Both men were thankful for the opportunity to stretch their legs before the coming conflict. They were also curious as to the identity of the man standing with their leader.

"Brothers, I would like you to meet the hired help." Although Kronos' tone was jocular, there was no mistaking the condescension with which he viewed the mortal. "Mr. Smith has information for us." Caspian rolled his eyes at the obvious alias and folded his arms across his chest. Silas simply looked menacing and large while he waited for Smith to speak.

"Yes, well," Mr. Smith nervously cleared his throat. He had thought the money for this job would compensate for a lot of things, but these three men were very intimidating and he was suddenly unsure. Swallowing his fear, he pictured his bank balance instead of the cold eyes staring at him.

"The facility was rented by a Mr. Benjamin. He paid for several extra features, including the installation of metal detectors and the wages for five employees. As instructed, I have arranged for the metal detectors to be disabled. The employees have agreed to vacate the premises after the contest begins. They have programmed the onsite computers to log all game related information and to broadcast all the necessary messages. The sound system has been pre-programmed with your music selections and set to continuous play."

"Quite the efficient servant you have here, brother." Caspian grinned as he began to circle the man. Even the illusion of self-possession caused his predatory instincts to spring to life.

"There is one other thing –"

"Does he require constant supervision? Has he failed you yet?" The questions drowned out whatever Mr. Smith was trying to say, and the constant circling was very distracting.

Kronos laughed at Caspian's antics. "Hold brother. Don't confuse the help, we may need him again later."

"As I was saying," Smith tried again. This time it was Silas who interrupted him.

"Brothers," he called, "someone is coming." All three men froze and watched from the shadows as the vehicle approached.

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Methos pulled the Jimmy to a halt in a parking space not far from the main entrance. Although the vehicle was more exposed there, it would be more convenient were a quick getaway required. Cassandra was the first to alight, looking around cautiously and stepping to the back of the truck to adjust her communications gear. Methos laid his hand on MacLeod's arm to stall his exit.

"Wait MacLeod, there's one more thing you should know. I've hidden weapons throughout the playing field." He hurried on with his explanation before MacLeod could interrupt. "There are two swords secreted under the stairs to the catwalk in the north-east corner. Another is hidden in a barrel in the north-west section. I've managed to hide other weapons in alcoves and on ledges. You should be able to find some daggers, throwing knives, stilettos and the like pretty easily. Just try to imagine where I would put them."

"Why are you telling me this now, Methos? Why not when Cassandra was in the car?" MacLeod's anger was building again. "Are you so afraid of what she might do to you that you're willing to leave her defenceless?"

Methos heaved a sigh. "She is the least of my worries at the moment, MacLeod. But frankly, I don't think she's in the proper frame of mind just now to know about these weapons." The old man seemed exhausted. "But believe me when I say I truly do not wish to see her hurt any more than she has been. I just wanted you to know that the weapons are there, in case Kronos tries anything. If he does, I assure you I will make sure Cassandra is able to defend herself. Or you can, if you are closer."

"What could he try, Methos? You've planned for everything. You could probably make a career out of this." MacLeod made no attempt to hide his bitterness.

"You don't know Kronos, what he's capable of, what he – "

"And I don't know you either," MacLeod interjected. "You've made that abundantly clear." Shaking off the hand neither had realized still lay on his arm, MacLeod stepped out of the Jimmy just in time to feel approaching immortal presence, and to hear Cassandra gasp.