Chapter 4
[Outskirts of a rural town, Southampton]
"We still have a ways to go, you know," Wesley remarked. He watched as Amy nibbled on half a brick of old cheddar. The detour to the farmer's market cost them an hour's traveling time.
"There's a difference between farm-fresh and that processed stuff from those conglomerates. Trust me, I know these things. Wanna piece?"
"No thanks." Wesley squinted at the horizon. The sun was setting. "We'll have to set up shop in a country inn near the coast. We can start our search in the morning." He was still unsure about the final objective of this mission. According to Willow, Spike and Buffy were rather cosy until recently. Perhaps the Slayer was more far-sighted than he realized. Spike was dangerous, no matter what The Initiative did to restrain his violent impulses. Buffy wanted to be prepared for the eventual 'battle to the death'. If this lily actually works.
[London, 11PM]
Giles was exhausted. He had just returned to his West End flat after several hours giving sworn statements to the police. The Real IRA delivered a coded message to the Guardian newspaper, claiming responsibility for the defense building bombing. The bomb was supposed to blow the next day, but Giles' friend apparently triggered it when he opened the building door.
Giles unlocked the door to his flat. Someone clubbed him in the back. He spun around and lunged at his assailant's legs. They tumbled into the living room. Giles gasped as the attacker gripped him around his neck in a chokehold.
"Okay, that'll be enough, Mike," a woman's voice said. Giles saw Roland, his fellow Watcher, bound and blindfolded on the couch.
"Rupert, is that you?" Roland asked.
Mike pulled Giles up to his feet. The woman looked squarely at him.
"What do you want?" Giles demanded, "Who do you work for? The chairman? Real IRA?"
"Hardly," she replied.
"Do you expect me to talk?" he asked.
The woman grinned. "No, Mr. Giles, I expect you to die."
Giles struggled again, fearing for his life, but Mike held onto him.
The woman looked puzzled "Goldfinger. 1964. The James Bond classic: no, Mr. Bond I expect you to die? Really, Rupert Giles, you should rent a movie once in awhile." She instructed one of her men to remove Roland's blindfold. She nodded at Mike, who untied Giles' wrists.
"Melissa Thorne, MI5, British homeland intelligence." She held out her hand.
Giles glared at Mike, who was expressionless. He turned his attention to Ms. Thorne and chose not to shake her hand. "I suppose M sent you. Or 007?"
"Oh you DO have a sense of humour after all," she replied.
"What's this all about. The bombing at the defense department? I told the police everything."
Mike finally spoke. "We know of that incident and our people are working on it as we speak."
Giles then saw Roland – rubbing his eyes. He must have been in captivity since Scotland.
"The chairman." That's what MI5 was interested in. This scheme to depose the monarchy and/or the government.
"I'm not quite sure what you're asking of me," Giles pretended. He preferred that the Watcher's Council stayed out of the public spotlight.
Melissa anticipated Giles' concern. "Don't worry, Mr. Giles, we know everything. The Watcher's Council: guardians of supernatural knowledge. We won't be running off to squeal to the tabloids, if that's what you're thinking. The chairman. The Slayer. All of it. Did you know that the chairman used to work for us? East Germany before the wall fell. A bit of a rogue, he was."
"So what do you want with me?" Giles scratched his head. This whole plot to dethrone Her Majesty was becoming messier with each passing day.
"We want you, Mr. Rupert Giles. Or should I say, Corporal Rupert Giles, veteran of the Falklands War and formerly a librarian in Sunnydale, California. We want your insights. Your knowledge of the chairman. His confidantes."
"How did you...?" Giles began to ask. Why bother. They'd have their ways. "Who sent you? Someone in the Watcher's Council?"
"Someone higher than that," Mike blurted. Melissa darted a disapproving glance at him. Too much information, Melissa thought.
"We leave for Southampton at once. The Arimathea Lily." Mike opened the door for Giles and Roland as they left the flat.
Melissa dialed her cell. "Hello? Yes, Your Highness, Mr. Giles will help. He's fine, we didn't hurt him ... well, maybe his pride. He'll do his duty: he's a former soldier."
At the other end of the phone, the young prince was pleased. As his ancestors did before, he would protect his kingdom.
[Country manor, near Southampton]
The chairman uttered a chant and closed his eyes. He was having a vision of Giles running across a meadow. Two others. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and a female companion. They're coming closer.
Thomas, the Watcher stumbled into the room. "Sorry, sir, you wanted your fried chicken regular or extra spicy??"
The chairman blinked. He lost the rest of the vision. Idiot! "Spicy, Thomas, I want spicy. Oh, and get me the macaroni salad too. Not that awful green colesaw crap. Now go!!" Thomas closed the door quickly.
Giles ... AND Wesley. Two watchers recently returned to England. We'd better act fast. He held the black magic book. Embossed in gold was a motto in Latin: "I will not serve." Supposedly the line Lucifer uttered when he defied Heaven.
The chairman cackled. The House of Windsor?! I will not serve. Not anymore.
[Outskirts of a rural town, Southampton]
"We still have a ways to go, you know," Wesley remarked. He watched as Amy nibbled on half a brick of old cheddar. The detour to the farmer's market cost them an hour's traveling time.
"There's a difference between farm-fresh and that processed stuff from those conglomerates. Trust me, I know these things. Wanna piece?"
"No thanks." Wesley squinted at the horizon. The sun was setting. "We'll have to set up shop in a country inn near the coast. We can start our search in the morning." He was still unsure about the final objective of this mission. According to Willow, Spike and Buffy were rather cosy until recently. Perhaps the Slayer was more far-sighted than he realized. Spike was dangerous, no matter what The Initiative did to restrain his violent impulses. Buffy wanted to be prepared for the eventual 'battle to the death'. If this lily actually works.
[London, 11PM]
Giles was exhausted. He had just returned to his West End flat after several hours giving sworn statements to the police. The Real IRA delivered a coded message to the Guardian newspaper, claiming responsibility for the defense building bombing. The bomb was supposed to blow the next day, but Giles' friend apparently triggered it when he opened the building door.
Giles unlocked the door to his flat. Someone clubbed him in the back. He spun around and lunged at his assailant's legs. They tumbled into the living room. Giles gasped as the attacker gripped him around his neck in a chokehold.
"Okay, that'll be enough, Mike," a woman's voice said. Giles saw Roland, his fellow Watcher, bound and blindfolded on the couch.
"Rupert, is that you?" Roland asked.
Mike pulled Giles up to his feet. The woman looked squarely at him.
"What do you want?" Giles demanded, "Who do you work for? The chairman? Real IRA?"
"Hardly," she replied.
"Do you expect me to talk?" he asked.
The woman grinned. "No, Mr. Giles, I expect you to die."
Giles struggled again, fearing for his life, but Mike held onto him.
The woman looked puzzled "Goldfinger. 1964. The James Bond classic: no, Mr. Bond I expect you to die? Really, Rupert Giles, you should rent a movie once in awhile." She instructed one of her men to remove Roland's blindfold. She nodded at Mike, who untied Giles' wrists.
"Melissa Thorne, MI5, British homeland intelligence." She held out her hand.
Giles glared at Mike, who was expressionless. He turned his attention to Ms. Thorne and chose not to shake her hand. "I suppose M sent you. Or 007?"
"Oh you DO have a sense of humour after all," she replied.
"What's this all about. The bombing at the defense department? I told the police everything."
Mike finally spoke. "We know of that incident and our people are working on it as we speak."
Giles then saw Roland – rubbing his eyes. He must have been in captivity since Scotland.
"The chairman." That's what MI5 was interested in. This scheme to depose the monarchy and/or the government.
"I'm not quite sure what you're asking of me," Giles pretended. He preferred that the Watcher's Council stayed out of the public spotlight.
Melissa anticipated Giles' concern. "Don't worry, Mr. Giles, we know everything. The Watcher's Council: guardians of supernatural knowledge. We won't be running off to squeal to the tabloids, if that's what you're thinking. The chairman. The Slayer. All of it. Did you know that the chairman used to work for us? East Germany before the wall fell. A bit of a rogue, he was."
"So what do you want with me?" Giles scratched his head. This whole plot to dethrone Her Majesty was becoming messier with each passing day.
"We want you, Mr. Rupert Giles. Or should I say, Corporal Rupert Giles, veteran of the Falklands War and formerly a librarian in Sunnydale, California. We want your insights. Your knowledge of the chairman. His confidantes."
"How did you...?" Giles began to ask. Why bother. They'd have their ways. "Who sent you? Someone in the Watcher's Council?"
"Someone higher than that," Mike blurted. Melissa darted a disapproving glance at him. Too much information, Melissa thought.
"We leave for Southampton at once. The Arimathea Lily." Mike opened the door for Giles and Roland as they left the flat.
Melissa dialed her cell. "Hello? Yes, Your Highness, Mr. Giles will help. He's fine, we didn't hurt him ... well, maybe his pride. He'll do his duty: he's a former soldier."
At the other end of the phone, the young prince was pleased. As his ancestors did before, he would protect his kingdom.
[Country manor, near Southampton]
The chairman uttered a chant and closed his eyes. He was having a vision of Giles running across a meadow. Two others. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and a female companion. They're coming closer.
Thomas, the Watcher stumbled into the room. "Sorry, sir, you wanted your fried chicken regular or extra spicy??"
The chairman blinked. He lost the rest of the vision. Idiot! "Spicy, Thomas, I want spicy. Oh, and get me the macaroni salad too. Not that awful green colesaw crap. Now go!!" Thomas closed the door quickly.
Giles ... AND Wesley. Two watchers recently returned to England. We'd better act fast. He held the black magic book. Embossed in gold was a motto in Latin: "I will not serve." Supposedly the line Lucifer uttered when he defied Heaven.
The chairman cackled. The House of Windsor?! I will not serve. Not anymore.