Chapter Fifteen

Remaining in the Jimmy for a few more seconds, Methos felt the approach of the Horsemen as a malevolent throbbing deep in his head. This was not how he'd intended for the two groups to have their first encounter. If only he and MacLeod had not had that time-consuming heart-to-heart earlier, they might have arrived and been inside the facility well ahead of Kronos and the others.

Hearing Cassandra's gasp over the communications system made him suddenly aware that she was now catching her first sight of the unexpected Caspian and Silas, and that she was standing behind the Jimmy, exposed to their view as well. Rushing to open the door and get out of the truck, Methos carefully sauntered around to the back of the vehicle and casually placed himself between the advancing Horsemen and their former slave. He was careful not to make eye contact with Cassandra – flanked protectively by Duncan, aware of her distress but not the reason for it – as he did this.

He stood, hands in his pockets, like a gunfighter awaiting the latest challenge.

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When Cassandra got out of the vehicle, Kronos could hardly believe his eyes. Of course, he'd been aware of her tracking him for quite some time, and had plans to deal with her when the moment was right, but to have her involved in this little venture was far more than he would have dared hope for. He thought with some chagrin that he could have made far better use of her had he known in advance of her participation.

The glance he shot at Smith caused the mortal to recoil as from a physical blow. "I only found out about her last night," he sputtered, correctly guessing the cause of the dark look. "You were sleeping off jet lag. I didn't want to disturb you. I did try to tell you earlier."

Caspian, smelling blood in the water, was clearly torn between pouncing on Smith's discomfiture and advancing on Cassandra, a delectable treat he had been denied two thousand years ago and which he had been craving ever since. Looking at her from across the parking lot, he licked his lips.

"Patience, brother," Kronos murmured in his ear. "I promise you full rights to her once I've returned her parting gift to me all those years ago." Caspian leered his agreement. Tossing a threatening "Wait here" toward the hapless Smith, Kronos led his brothers toward their rivals, where their fourth and errant brother now stood waiting.

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Of the three men standing before them, Duncan recognized only Kronos. Cassandra's sudden palor and Methos' somber demeanor told him that the other two were known to them both, and it didn't take precognition to guess who they were.

"Greetings, brother," Kronos purred to the old immortal. "First, let me thank you for your invaluable assistance in reuniting me with our lost brothers. By day's end, the Four Horsemen will ride again...thanks to you."

Duncan shot Methos a burning look, knowing he could somehow feel it on the back of his neck, but the older man gave no indication as he replied with a smirk in his voice. "Ah, Kronos. You always were one for baseless assumptions."

Kronos flashed a wide but mirthless grin at Methos before turning his attention to the Highlander. "Duncan MacLeod. I've long looked forward to a reunion with you, as well. We have some unfinished business, you and I."

"I expect all debts to be made good by the time this is through," Duncan said calmly, arms folded.

"On that, we are in complete agreement," Kronos laughed. "I present to you my brothers, Silas and Caspian. Clearly, you've met Methos, my dear right hand."

Duncan deemed it safest to say nothing.

The large man, Silas, now approached Methos with a friendly grin that seemed out of place under the circumstances. "Brother!" he boomed, and wrapped the oldest immortal in a bear hug that lifted his feet from the ground and audibly forced air from his lungs.

"Hello, Silas," Methos grunted, betraying a hint of a smile and giving his back a couple of slaps.

Kronos allowed the hug to continue for some ten or so seconds before saying quietly, "Silas, put him down now." Silas regretfully obeyed and retreated, but not before awarding his long-lost friend with a hearty slap on the back that nearly knocked Methos to his knees.

Without warning Kronos moved toward Cassandra. "And look who we have here." When Duncan moved to cut him off from her, Kronos squared off, nostrils flaring over an eager grin, and Caspian and Silas moved in to offer support. In the blink of an eye, Methos was between the Scot and the scarred one, his back to MacLeod and leaning against him slightly – though whether this was to keep Duncan back or to avoid making physical contact with Kronos himself, MacLeod wasn't sure. Methos raised a hand to halt the approaching Silas and Caspian, the latter of whom looked to Kronos for instruction.

After a few seconds of eye contact with Methos, Kronos nodded his order to stand down, and Caspian subtly backed off. "Time enough for all of this," Kronos said expansively. "Shall we enter?" He gestured grandly toward the facility.

Methos nodded to Duncan, who reached for Cassandra's arm.

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She hadn't realized until Duncan touched her arm that she was pressing her back flush against the Jimmy's rear hatch. Cassandra felt her face get hot, ashamed that after two thousand years, the sight of the Horsemen still inspired such terror within her. Catching Methos' eye, she flashed him a black look for his deception, but received only an opaque gaze in return as he hung back to bring up the rear of their team.

Allowing Duncan to guide her toward the building, she heard Kronos' voice in her ear as he leaned in suddenly. "We'll have a nice chat later." Cassandra barely suppressed a shudder and hurried her pace. Her breathing was coming in short gasps, and she closed her eyes, trying to find a calm place within herself to which to retreat. Her nerve was rapidly failing her.

Sensing her burgeoning panic, Duncan sought to offer support by putting his hand on her shoulder. Because she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in the protective comfort of his strength, she jerked away from his hand and hurried toward the door.

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While finding it difficult to turn his back on Kronos, Methos nevertheless betrayed no discomfort as he followed his team through the door. Soon all six immortals had entered the facility which the boldly colored sign outside proclaimed to be "Laserocity."

The perky brown-haired girl Methos had dealt with several times in the past week greeted each of them brightly as they entered and helped them navigate the state-of-the-art metal detector he'd ordered. MacLeod and Cassandra went through without incident, and after placing his car keys into the little tray, so did Methos. Returning his keys, the perky girl skipped eye contact entirely. Odd, given the rather aggressive flirting she'd done with him on every previous encounter.

The old immortal tensed when Kronos excused himself and went back outside, returning less than two minutes later, but he, too, sailed through the security screen without offense.

Within five or six minutes of entering Laserocity, both teams had cleared security and were ushered into the "briefing room" to receive the rules and instructions for the game, Methos' nerves singing like the strings of a violin tuned much too high. The Horsemen had assembled along a wall without a bench, Kronos leaning against the wall with his arms folded and wearing a palpable air of command. Silas and Caspian together constituted a coiled spring, awaiting his release of the safety mechanism to leap into action.

Team Methos, on the other hand, placed itself in a corner far from its competition, Cassandra hugging herself on the bench, Duncan standing at her side trying not to look concerned. The team captain himself chose a spot on the bench a couple of feet from Cassandra, but adopted a nonchalant slouching posture. He almost looked bored to death.

"Hi, I'm Ken," said the gangly staffer who bustled into the room. "Welcome to Laserocity. How many of you have played laser tag before?" Ken looked around at each of them, clearing expecting a show of hands.

"None," Methos sighed before the silence grew menacing.

"Okay," Ken breezed on. "Well, basically, you'll have two teams. Each team has a base to defend. The playing field has numerous obstacles and shelters to hide behind or get trapped in. The bases are cone-shaped structures hanging from the ceiling and have a sensor on the bottom. You shoot this sensor from directly under it six consecutive times to disable it. Disable your opponents' base three times and you win.

"Each of you will be issued a vest with a power pack and sensors on the chest, back, and shoulders." Ken touched each of these areas on himself as he spoke. "Your weapon is attached to the vest by a short cable. A direct hit to the chest or back will disable your weapon for six seconds; shots to the shoulder kill it for three seconds.

"If a player is activated, the lights on the sensors will be steady; if he's disabled, they'll flash. No need to shoot at someone who's disabled – the sensors are only active when the weapon is active. Try not to disable your own teammates. You can tell yours from your opponents by the color of lights. One team will be yellow, the other one's red.

"Rules of conduct are basically, no running, no climbing onto the obstacles, no jumping from the catwalk, and no competitive physical contact with other players. Let your weapon do all the attacking. Any questions?"

"Will the game be supervised?" Having written the game plan himself, Methos already knew the answer; he simply wanted the information to be out on the table for all participants to see.

"Yes," said Ken, looking away quickly. "There are cameras covering the whole playing field, and the action will be monitored by several people in the control room. Any conduct violations will be acknowledged over the intercom. Three violations will disqualify the offending team." Ken scanned the somber faces of the group, avoiding Methos' eyes. The old man felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up slightly.

"Well, I guess that's it. Let's get you all suited up and start the game."

Ken herded his six charges into a room containing several racks of laser tag vests. Silently, they all shrugged on the cumbersome vests and buckled the straps. Methos still cultivated his air of disinterest, Cassandra still looked small and vulnerable, and Duncan glowered like a warrior being asked to settle a serious dispute via tiddlywinks. On the other side of the room, Ken was struggling to locate a vest that could accommodate Silas' girth. Caspian leered at Cassandra constantly, while Kronos kept his annoying half-smile aimed at his prodigal brother, who studiously ignored him.

Just as Methos was about to ask Ken about the irritating low-frequency hum he kept hearing, he realized it was the sound of his own anxiety resonating in his head. For the first time, he questioned his plan and the wisdom of going through with the contest. Beads of sweat formed all over his forehead, and he suddenly knew that things were about to go very, very wrong.

"Okay," Ken said, clapping his hands together. "We're ready to go."

Silently, they all filed into the playing field.