"Credite posteri..."
"...Atque inter silvas Academi quaerere verum."
"Believe me, you who follow after me..."
"...And seek for truth in the groves of Academe." -- Horace, Odes, Book 2, and Epistles, Book 2.
Chapter 2*26 May 1999, East Coast, United States*
The looters had been clever, but not quite clever enough to shake a very determined five thousand year old man on their trail. He had tracked them down to a small University town on the east coast of the United States, where they had seemingly gone to ground. There was a thriving international black market for stolen or illegally obtained antiquities, and this apparently sedate town had become a very important hub for the smugglers in the last few years.
Methos needed some local help, someone who knew the ins and outs of the local underground trade. Sandro had suggested a contact at one of the leading local Universities. So here he was, waiting in the office of the Professor of History and Ancient Civilizations. The blonde assistant had flirted with him for a while, and then left him to wait.
"Dr.Pierson, I presume?", a rich female voice asked, interrupting his absent scrutiny of an early second century Ivory from China.
Methos looked up to see a very beautiful dark-haired woman enter the room, followed by a thin young man. He assumed his Adam Pierson persona, blinking owlishly at the entrants.
"Ah, that's correct. You must be Dr.Fox?" he said, extending a diffident hand.
"Call me Sydney, please. I'm not big on formality. This is Nigel Bailey, my TA."
Adam shook hands with the both of them, assessing them covertly as he did so. Sydney Fox had a formidable reputation, one that he did not entirely approve of. In principle, he disliked relic hunters and tomb raiders, most of whom he regarded as mercenary adventurers with no true regard for history. However, Professor Fox was also a respected academic, and was reputedly more ethical than the vast majority of treasure seekers.
She was tall, athletic, and had an impressive mix of brawn and beauty to match her brains. Quite unusual. Nigel Bailey on the other hand, was a boyish, rather proper, upper middle class Briton -- the epitome of what Adam Pierson pretended to be. Despite the silly ass air, Bailey was no fool, Adam thought -- just a bit inexperienced.
"So, did Sandro mention why I was here?" he asked Sydney, hiding a smile when he realised that he had been at the receiving end of an equally covert appraisal from the Professor and her assistant. In his loose hand knit sweater and tweed jacket, he knew he looked like a harmless academic.
"Yes, he did," she responded, pointing a thumb at the computer on her desk. "He mentioned the contents of the cache that was stolen: priceless, by the sounds of it."
"Or worth a fortune to a private collector", Nigel put in, stammering slightly. "The coins alone must be worth several million! Not to mention the armour, and the scrolls!"
Adam nodded in agreement, trying not to wince. So Sandro had been able to catalogue most of the items rather thoroughly.
"What interests me," Sydney said thoughtfully, "are the scrolls. And the armor - apparently, it was a full set from the Late Bronze Age, complete with a skull mask. And the inside of the breast plate was marked in cuneiform script. The scrolls, on the other hand, were apparently written in hieroglyphics."
"Yes, so Sandro said," Adam acknowledged. "He can't read cuneiform, and his knowledge of ancient Egyptian is quite limited. That's why he asked for my help," he explained.
"I know. You come highly recommended. I'm told you read several forms of cuneiform as easily as I would read English."
"Akkadian, Elamite, Hittite, and old Persian," he assented. "Sandro's been singing my praises, has he?"
"No, actually, Dr.Amy Zoll sent me a reference from Paris. She tells me I couldn't find a more accomplished Bronze Age scholar anywhere in the world."
Adam couldn't hide his discomfort at that, but he managed to turn it into an expression of embarrassed pleasure. Very bloody funny, Dr.Zoll, he thought. Ha ha.
"This could be one of the most significant finds of the century," Sydney said enthusiastically. "There could have been a lot more contact between the Late Bronze Age Hittite, Egyptian and major Mediterrannean cultures than we suspected. This could be the proof we're looking for!"
Adam looked suitably enthused, nodding vigorously in agreement.
"From Sandro's rudimentary scan of the scrolls, he says there is some mention of an ancient pre-Semitic myth in them," Nigel commented. "You know, the one that later popped up in the Book of Revelations? The Four Horsemen?"
Adam raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Myth and superstition. A local fairytale," he said dismissively.
Nigel frowned. "Well, maybe there was some historical basis to that myth," he said defensively. "I mean, Schliemann did find Troy on the strength of a song. One that scholars had been claiming was a fairytale for centuries."
"I hardly think this falls into the same category," Adam retorted, looking down his nose at the shorter man.
Nigel visibly bristled, and pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Well, we won't know one way or the other till we find the scrolls," Sydney interrupted, before the two men could start arguing over the matter.
Conceding the point, Adam gave her a brief account of why he believed the treasure cache had ended here. Sydney promised to tap her sources to find out if any of the items from the cache were being put on the market, and also to trace where they might have ended up. Adam agreed to meet them both the next morning at Sydney's office.
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It was a beautiful evening, with just a hint of chill in the air, pale pink-tinged clouds scudding across the sky. Adam strolled down the sidewalk toward a restaurant that he remembered from the last time he had been here. How long had it been? About thirty years, he recalled, though the Ivy League university and its surroundings had changed very little in that time.
The restaurant he chose was a cheerful open air café that would see most of its action just a little later in the evening. He slipped into place at a quiet table in the corner, and smiled at the waitress who signalled that she would be with him in a moment. The last time he had been to this town, there had been a small restaurant here - great food, but a single cramped and dingy room, and only the owner's surly son to wait on the patrons. Now this was much better. He relaxed and glanced around idly. His gaze was arrested suddenly at the sight of a familiar face.
She was young, of medium height, slim, with short dark hair cut into an elegant cap. Seated a few tables away, she was reading a book, as though her being there were perfectly normal and ordinary. Methos' mouth quirked up as she continued to ignore his presence. On impulse, he got up and sauntered across to stand over her until she glanced up. Yes, the familiar blue gray eyes set in a face that was not exactly pretty, but was certainly attractive. Amy Thomas.
"Well, well. So that's how Zoll knew where to send that reference," he said.
"Hello... Adam," the young Watcher acknowledged coolly.
The pause before she spoke his name was quite marked.
Methos wasn't surprised. He habitually hacked into the Watcher's databases once or twice a week, and he was aware that Amy was currently assigned to the team headed by Dr.Zoll: the team that was in charge of the Methos Chronicles. He also knew that the team was supervised by his old friend Joe Dawson, Amy's father. When he had first found out about Amy's assignment, he had laughed out loud. Keeping it in the family, eh, Joe?
He didn't wait for an invitation, but folded himself into a chair opposite her, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth up. It seemed that she had deliberately let him spot her, a fact that opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.
"How did you track me down, anyway?"
She stared at him for a moment.
"You booked your tickets in the name of Adam Pierson," she pointed out.
So they had been keeping an eye on the airline databases? Methos gave himself a mental shake. Getting careless, old man. Though he hadn't been trying too hard to hide his tracks, it would teach him not to underestimate the Watchers. He covered up his thoughts with a charming smile.
"So, how's Joe?" he enquired.
"Joe's fine. About as well as you might expect. He is a little upset that he hasn't heard from Duncan MacLeod or you for a while, and he misses his friends, but he's fine."
"MacLeod? I thought he was off circumnavigating the globe or something," he said carelessly, evading the mention of his own long absence.
But she wasn't about to let him off that easily. "Yes, and with both of his wandering boys gone, without a word from either of them, Joe has been quite… unsettled."
"What did you expect me to do, send postcards?" he asked, shifting slightly in his chair.
"It wouldn't have killed you to call once in a while," Amy said, quietly. "He worries."
"It's not really me he worries about, you know," he said. "It's the Highland Boy Scout."
"That's not true," Amy contradicted him. "He misses MacLeod. He also misses you." She shook her head. "Last week, I caught him looking over that long list of outstandings on your account at Le Blues Bar. I'll swear he was feeling nostalgic about it, though he'd kill me if he heard me say so."
Methos had to smile at the thought of Joe getting sentimental over his bar tab, but he was touched, all the same.
"So that's why you're down here breaking the Watcher-Immortal non-fraternization rule?" he asked, with a sly gleam.
Amy's eyes danced. "A wise man I know told me that sometimes you have to do more than just watch. Besides, I'm not the one who broke the rule - you are. I was just sitting here, observing and recording."
Methos laughed again, genuinely amused. She had known that his curiosity would drive him to talk to her, once he had spotted her. Devious, Methos acknowledged.
"And Zoll sent you out after me?"
"Right."
"Listen, do you think you could do me a favor? I need to look something up in the Watcher database," he said, smiling winningly. It was the smile he'd perfected over the years to charm women into friendly complicity.
From Amy, he got a raised eyebrow and a distinctly ironic grin. "Why on earth would you need me to help you? I know perfectly well that you hack into the Paris server at least twice a week."
It was Methos' turn to raise an eyebrow. So she'd found out about that? It wasn't going to be easy to stay one step ahead of this one. But then, he'd always loved a challenge.
"Buy you dinner?" he offered, with uncharacteristic generosity.
"Why not?"
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They were walking back toward the University, arguing over the relative merits of Byron and Keats. It was dark now, and the empty tree-lined avenue was silent under the clear, starlit sky.
A flash of movement ahead of them was all the warning Methos had, but he swept Amy behind him, just before the eerie splat told him that a bullet had cut the air very close to them. Silenced, a medium caliber automatic, he checked off automatically in his mind, shoving Amy toward the relative shelter afforded by the trees on the opposite side of the street. She needed no further prompting, taking off at a dead run.
Methos followed, trying to keep his body between her and the unknown shooter. His keen eyes distinguished one, and then another shape lurking in the shadows, as bullets struck sparks off the road just behind them.
Amy heard Methos stumble and swear fervently, and then they were both leaning against the comforting bulk of a very broad tree. She glanced at him, startled to see tendrils of blue electricity crawling over his shoulder. He had been shot, she realised, oddly perturbed. It was one thing to read about the healing abilities of Immortals, quite another to see it in action.
Methos peeped cautiously around the tree, ducking low, and swore again as he heard the sound of running footsteps. He waited to make sure that it wasn't a trick to draw them into the open, and then stepped out from behind the tree.
"Gone," he confirmed, after a quick scan. Amy joined him, staring in the direction of their retreating attackers.
"What was that all about?"
"Damned if I know," the Immortal said, giving her a quick visual once over. She seemed unharmed, and quite composed, under the circumstances. One might almost think being shot at was not an unusual phenomenon for her. Peculiar for a 'desk' Watcher.
"What now?"
"Now, we head for my place, I think." He forestalled her objection with a raised hand. "We don't know why someone was taking pot shots in our direction, and besides, I really need to get out of this shirt."
Amy looked at the blood stain, and nodded a curt agreement.
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The apartment was neat and sparsely furnished. Amy looked around at the few signs of inhabitation, notably the computer that was open on the desk, and the battered hiking boots standing next to the door. The kitchen was well equipped, and she made herself a pot of tea while Methos disappeared into the bedroom.
He emerged a few minutes later, barefoot, dressed in a loose T-shirt and sweat pants. She suppressed a smile at the sight of the T-shirt legend: Age and treachery will overcome youth and skill every time.
He joined her at the kitchen table, and poured himself a cup of tea, looking abstracted. Amy found herself thinking that it was oddly domestic to be drinking tea with the Immortal she had been assigned to watch. Tim had told her how Adam Pierson had bought him a drink, and chatted casually about blues music.
Of course, he had then given them all the slip and disappeared, surfacing finally in Athens, of all places. It would never do to let the easy-going demeanour fool her into relaxing her vigilance. He was probably thinking about how he could ditch her at the earliest convenient opportunity.
The phone rang, and he excused himself to go and answer it. She followed him out into the living room, keeping a discreet distance away, but still close enough to hear his side of the conversation.
"Hello."
"Hello, Doctor. It has been a long time, but I believe you're still using that title?"
"Who is this?" Methos asked, voice neutral.
"Just an old friend, Dr.Pierson. A very old friend. How is the shoulder? Not that I need to worry, I suppose."
"No?"
"Of course not. Not even a scratch left by now, I imagine. The pretty lady, on the other hand... Who is she, Doctor? Your girlfriend? She really shouldn't walk around alone at night, you know. After all, she's not quite as, er, durable as we are."
"Does this conversation have a point, or are we just passing the time of day here?" Methos enquired politely.
"Oh it has a point, Pierson. Stay away from Dr.Sydney Fox, and stay away from that little cache her friend found in Aerino. I don't want you helping her track it down. Understood?"
"And if I don't comply with this charming request?"
"Your lady friend may live to regret it. And we wouldn't want you losing your head, eh?" A click signalled that the man on the other end had hung up.
Methos put the phone down slowly, and turned to face Amy. "I don't think it's a very good idea for you to go back to your hotel tonight," he said.
"Who was that?" Amy asked, alarmed at the look on his face.
"Probably the man who ordered that shooting tonight," he said. "And whoever he is, he's having this place watched as well. What's more, he knows I'm an Immortal."
Amy glanced at the window reflexively, and Methos noted approvingly that she moved quickly to lower the blinds, careful to stay to one side.
"So why the guns? He had to know he couldn't hurt you, not permanently anyway," she asked.
"I think that was by way of a warning. Made pointed comments about how you shouldn't walk alone at night. About as subtle as a sledgehammer, this guy," he added drily.
"Oh." Her mouth tightened. "I don't like being a target - especially a target by proxy." She remembered Morgan Walker all too well.
So did Methos. And while he had believed her abduction in that instance to be her own fault (a sloppy Watcher is a dead Watcher, he'd said to Joe), this time, she wasn't the one who had slipped up.
"Sorry," Methos said, with a hint of contrition. "If you hadn't been seen with me..."
"Yes, well, that's water under the bridge now, Methos. We'll just have to deal with the situation." She sighed. "For this I requested a re-assignment to the field?"