Wednesday, December 22
Brattleford Prison
The wind howled mournfully across the open land and rattled the barren limbs of trees that stood sentinel on the hills surrounding the snow-covered valley. Clouds scuttled across the sky, causing the wan moonlight to play tricks with the shadows. The man that crouched in the trees on the north edge of the valley shivered convulsively as the wind flung blowing snow in his face. He turned away briefly, glancing behind him as he did so. Dimly, he could just make out the huddled shapes of three other people. They squatted low to the ground a short way back into the trees in an attempt to shield themselves from the drifting snow and biting wind. This night wasn't fit for man or beast, and the man wondered again how he had let himself get into this situation.
He turned into the wind again and gazed down into the valley below. The grove of trees under which he sheltered gave way to open land not far from where he stood. The intermittent moonlight reflected off of the snow, causing the isolated trees and shrubs to show up black against the wavering grayness of the countryside. On the far side of the valley, he occasionally caught a glimmer of reflected light, as the river meandered across the land and disappeared into the distance. He knew it must be wide and deep, because even in this weather, it hadn't totally frozen over. He raised a set of binoculars and fixed his attention on the complex of buildings that sat in the center of the valley. Brattleford Prison. Through the crisp, cold air he could clearly make out the details of the facility. Three separate rows of fencing circled the perimeter. Each fence was six feet from its nearest neighbor, and all were topped with inward-mounted posts that held layers of razor wire. Even though it looked no different from the others, the man knew the center row of fencing was electrified. At approximately 25 foot intervals were high, glassed-in towers where armed guards kept close watch on the area. The grounds themselves were brightly lit and spotlights roved restlessly across the entire complex. The man shivered again. Not a place that people went willingly.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, two figures silently materialized.
"It's done," one of them breathed softly to his leader.
The man nodded once and, in a voice that might have been nothing more than the whistling of the wind in the trees, he replied, "Now . . . we wait."
"I don't like it!" Leeds said harshly, staring belligerently at the two other men in the office.
"I don't like it, either," Admiral Bennett replied coldly, "but there it is. There is simply nothing else we can do right now. Dr. Quest claims the technology isn't available and nothing I said would get him to change his story."
"Do you believe him?" Commander Barclay asked in a quiet tone.
Bennett was silent for a while, going over the encounter again in his mind. Leeds began to pace restlessly, and after a moment, Bennett glanced at the man irritably. Finally, he sighed and replied, "No . . . no, I don't think I do. There's something else going on there . . . he knows something. You could see him tense up when I brought up the idea of fully immersive VR. Not only that, when I started to push, he was ready to throw me out of the house. I'd be willing to take odds that he's solved the problem and is keeping quiet about it."
"Trying to patent the idea?" Barclay asked, sitting forward in concern.
Bennett shook his head sharply. "No. I don't buy that. It's not like him."
"Are you sure, Admiral?" Barclay asked. "I don't know the man . . . only met him the one time, after that hijacking fiasco . . . Are you absolutely certain that he's not playing this situation, looking to make a profit?"
Before Bennett could reply, Leeds jumped in. "Not a chance. No, Quest is sitting on this because he doesn't want anyone else to have it. He's afraid of how someone else might use the technology."
"I wasn't aware you knew Benton Quest that well," Bennett said sarcastically. Then in sudden, sharp irritation, he snapped, ''Sit down! Your pacing is getting on my nerves."
Leeds didn't sit, but he did come to a stop in front of Bennett's desk. "I don't know Quest. Never met 'em. But I do know Race Bannon, and he has enough boy scout in him that he would never work for a man that would sell that kind of technology to the highest bidder."
"Then if he isn't the problem, he is definitely going to be the target," Barclay observed. "What about added protection? Surely Quest can see the logic in that."
Bennett spread his hands in frustration. "What logic? Niemeyer's tied our hands. Quest is convinced his security is adequate, and I have no way of convincing him otherwise. I tried!" Bennett ran his hand through his hair in agitation. "And right now, Bannon isn't even there!"
"What!??!" both men exclaimed. "Where the hell is he?" Leeds demanded.
"In Colombia," Bennett answered in frustration.
"Then who's maintaining security?" Leeds demanded.
"Quest swears that the Compound is secure and can't be penetrated. I tried to convince him to take guards, but he wouldn't hear of it. Pushed him hard enough, in fact, that he started getting suspicious. But nothing would change his mind. Short of telling him the truth, there was nothing else I could say. And even then, it might not have done any good.
"What's the deal?" Leeds questioned. "Why does he have such an aversion to protection?"
"It's not protection he objects to," Bennett replied. "It's the government. He doesn't like government agents in his home."
"Why?"
Bennett flicked a warning glance at the man standing before him and replied, "Let's just say he has his reasons."
"But . . ."
"Leeds . . ." Barclay said in a flat, unquestionable voice, and shook his head. "Let it go." Then he turned back to Bennett. "Were you able to accomplish anything?"
Bennett nodded. "I sent a man back to keep an eye on the place. He won't be much help if there's an attack, but at least he can warn us if anything suspicious happens. And I was able to get Quest to agree to come to Washington after Christmas to meet with Dr. Wolencheck."
"We should send the additional security, whether he wants it or not," Barclay observed.
Bennett shook his head. "You forget. Niemeyer ordered us not to interfere. I'm stretching it, as it is, just putting one man there for surveillance." He sighed and slumped back in his chair. "At least Bannon is due back today. That is some comfort."
"It's not enough. We've got to warn Quest," Leeds insisted.
"We can't!" Bennett all but snarled in frustration. "Niemeyer has expressly forbidden it."
"I don't care!" Leeds said angrily. "Quest is too valuable to put at risk. If we can't put extra security on him, we have to warn him of the danger. If Baxter gets his hands on Quest or any of his family, we'll be in a lot worse shape than we are now."
"Leeds is right," Barclay agreed. "We have to do something."
"Don't you think I know that?" Bennett demanded. "I've got a call in to Niemeyer's office. I'm going to try and get in to see him sometime today. I'll lay the whole thing out for him again and push him to at least allow us to talk with Quest. I've got to make him see reason!"
"And if you can't?" Barclay asked.
"Then I'll go to the President!" Bennett replied.
"It's not good enough! It'll take too much time." Leeds snarled, beginning to pace again.
"It's all we can do," Bennett replied with finality.
The six men in black stood in the middle of the exercise yard and gazed around them at a sight that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Bodies were strewn everywhere they looked. Their positions told a tale of fear and dementia. The main door into the prison stood open, held there by the body of a man in a guard uniform. His face was purple and bloated and his eyes protruded from the sockets. His swollen hands clawed blindly at the gate as though he had been trying desperately for escape when death caught him. The only sound to be heard anywhere was the incessant moaning of the wind.
The invaders had come equipped to break into the prison, but as it turned out, they simply walked in the front gate. During the final minutes of their lives, a number of the guards had tried to bolt from the facility. When the strike force arrived, they found dead men piled in the doors, propping open the gates. The bodies bore evidence of a fight and there was blood everywhere. All six men were sharply reminded of the sounds of shrieking and gunfire that had been heard when they began their stealthy move toward the prison facility. Perhaps the dying men had thought that getting out of the enclosure would save them. Perhaps, at the end, they were no longer sane. No one would ever know . . . there was no one left alive to tell the tale of what had happened in those last few minutes.
Swallowing hard against the rising sourness in his throat, the leader barked sharply, "Enough! Let's get what we came for and get out of here."
Reluctantly, the men moved to follow, as the leader of the group moved carefully past the dead guard in the doorway and into the prison itself. Even the sight in the yard could not prepare them for what greeted them inside the prison itself. The silence was absolute. Bodies sprawled in the hallways everywhere they went. All the faces were frozen in expressions of pain and madness.
"Where is this guy?" one man said hoarsely.
"Yeah," another one muttered. "Let's get this over with. I want out of here."
"He's in the maximum security wing. We have to get to the main control room. Baxter's computer genius is supposed to have taken care of the monitoring and obtained the codes we need to get to him."
The group moved quickly, dodging obstacles, until they reached the entrance to the main control room. The man in the lead reached out to drag a body out of the way, but discovered it rigid and inflexible. It was as though the man had turned to stone when he died. With the aid of two of the others, they dragged the body clear and then grasped the door handle with a silent prayer. It swung open without resistance. None of the electronic locks were engaged.
"Well, I guess she managed to get into the system," one of the men muttered softly. They stepped into the room, then stopped abruptly as the low murmur of voices was heard. The leader's breath caught sharply in his throat as he gazed at the huge bank of monitors mounted on the wall across from him. On their various screens, watchful guards moved with purpose, staff members went about their jobs with apparent efficiency, and prisoners lounged in their cells. There was no sign of alarm at all. After a frozen moment, the leader stumbled forwarded, leaving his assault team standing in a huddled group staring blindly at the monitors. He fell into the chair that sat in front of the main computer console. His mind was becoming so numbed to the devastation around him, that he hardly even registered the body of the man he had to forcibly shove out of the chair before he could sit. He tapped at the computer console for a moment and suddenly a new voice filled the room.
"Well, it's about time! What kept you?" The female voice sounded impatient.
The leader's voice sounded thick and raspy in his own ears as he replied sarcastically, "Sorry, Dr. Shemanski, there were . . . obstacles . . . that we had to get through."
"What kind of obstacles?" Edgerton's voice asked sharply.
"Bodies," the man replied flatly. "Where is this guy? I want to get him and get out of here before someone realizes there's something wrong here."
"You have plenty of time," Dr. Shemanski replied. "The outbound feed shows that everything is normal. You'll have until shift change at 7:00 a.m. before anyone is liable to discover anything amiss."
"Well, that's good," the man replied coldly. "If this guy is still in a wheelchair it will probably take us until then to get him out of here."
"What's the problem?" Edgerton demanded again.
"The good Dr. Nydek neglected to take into account enclosed hallways and the panic factor. We have dead bodies everywhere. Some corridors are totally blocked and the only way through is to climb over. We're going to have to clear a path. Oh, and you might also tell him that it would have been nice if he had warned us that the dead were going to be as stiff as boards. It makes moving them a bit difficult." The man glanced down at his feet and shuddered at the sight of the man lying like a hard rubber doll, his limbs molded into the shape of the chair he had been sitting in.
Distantly, he heard the voice of Dr. Nydek say, "Advanced rigor . . . interesting . . . didn't know it would do that . . . have to do more tests . . ."
"You go right ahead, Peter," Dr. Shemanski replied to him soothingly, "I'll be right along." Her voice turned brisk again as she said, "Alright, let's get this show on the road then. The computer files say that Surd is in cellblock A32. That's almost exactly at the center of the facility."
"Fine. So how do we get there?"
The monitor in front of him changed and the plump face of Dr. Shemanski appeared. She was frowning slightly as she gazed at the information in front of her. Dr. Edgerton stood stiffly, bent slightly at the waist, looking over her shoulder. Finally, Shemanski sighed and looked up. "It's not going to be easy. This is a supermax facility . . . one of the new, maximum security prisons that only houses the worst of the worst. You have that special transmitter and headset I gave you?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, put on the headset and turn on the transmitter. Then I'll talk you through the place. The first part will be easy enough. Leave the control room, go up the hallway until you reach the first corridor to your right. Go down that hallway. You're going to have to find the head guard . . . he should be there in the control room somewhere. At least he was when the gas started to take effect and I never saw him leave. You'll need the . . ."
"You were watching all of this while it happened?" the man interrupted in horror.
"Of course," she replied coldly. "How else do you suppose we could analyze the effectiveness of the nerve agent? As I was saying, you'll need the electronic swipe key the head guard carries." She paused briefly. "Well? Are you just going to sit there? I thought you wanted to get this done."
The man stumbled to his feet, suddenly afraid he was going to vomit. He wanted out. The hell with this whole business.
"There isn't a hole deep enough to hide in."
That cold voice froze him where he stood. Raising his head, he saw Edgerton glaring at him. Every monitor in the room suddenly contained his image. "We would find you . . . hunt you down like a dog. Mr. Baxter does not tolerate betrayal." It was not a threat, the man realized, but a promise. He shuddered violently and finally replied hoarsely,
"Alright. Then let's get it done. I want out of this hellhole." He waved to the men with him and they searched quickly until they found the head guard. Gingerly, the man pulled the chain from around the man's neck and dangled the plastic card in front of one of the monitors. "Is this it?"
"Yes," Shemanski replied. "Now, out the door, down the corridor to your first right. Then down that corridor through three locked security doors, and then right again. Get moving. I'll give you added directions as we go."
The six men moved out of the control room and began following the directions they were given, moving ever deeper into the facility. As they went, they dragged bodies out of the way and shoved them into corridors or other rooms so they cleared an exit path as they went. Finally they came to a stop in front of a solid metal door. A swipe card reader and a keypad were mounted on the wall beside it. The door had no handle of any kind. It sat at the junction of four corridors. The intersection was larger and more open than any they had seen yet, and as they looked around, they could detect a host of equipment set into the walls. It was all cleverly disguised and they had to peer closely to see it at all.
"What is this place?" the leader asked uneasily. "It's . . . different."
"This is the entrance into the supermax facility. The area of the prison you've been moving through to this point is the standard maximum security prison. The door in front of you leads to an underground tunnel that will access the rest of it."
"I don't get it," one of the others commented.
"A supermax facility is the Bureau of Prison's modern answer to Alcatraz," Edgerton replied. "Only the worst inmates are housed here. They are the uncontrollable, the deadly, and the unreformed troublemakers. The only way to get here is to commit murder . . . either as an original crime or against a guard in another facility. And once sentenced here, the odds are you will die here. To this point, no one has ever been released from a supermax prison. Inmates are locked down 22-23 hours a day. All are in solitary confinement. The only people they ever see are the guards when they are moved to the exercise facility or their lawyer . . . if that person chooses to come here. The inside is a maze . . . all twists and turns into blind hallways and dead-end corridors. Under normal circumstances, there's no escape from one of these places."
"You should run into no further problems with blocked hallways," Shemanski added. "The guards themselves don't stay in this wing other than when prisoners need to be moved." The woman paused briefly and the leader of the assault team could hear the click of computer keys over his headset. "Alright, you will need three things to get into the door. You are going to swipe the card in the reader and key in the following code." She rattled off a string of letters and numbers. "You got that? You're going to be time dependent on this. The system will only give you 20 seconds to input that before locking down."
The leader's throat was dry and tight as he commented, "Another security procedure, I assume."
"Exactly. Once you've input that in you should get a green beacon light on the reader. When you do, tell me. I then have another 30 seconds to get and reply to a challenge code in the control room that will trigger the door. As soon as it opens, get inside. It will shut behind you."
"Can't we prop it open? I don't want to be shut up in there."
"No!" Edgerton said, sharply. "You'll trigger a whole host of other automatic lock down measures, not to mention warning every law enforcement agency in about ten surrounding states, if that door doesn't close within the allotted amount of time."
"We've wasted enough time," Shemanski said impatiently. "We still need to get Surd out of the facility and loaded on the helicopter before the authorities realize something is wrong. Let's get this done. Do it . . . now."
The man hesitated fractionally, then reached out and swiped the card through the reader. It beeped at him and a red light began flashing near the keypad. With a trembling, he keyed in the code the woman had given him. For about ten seconds the light by the keypad glowed a steady red. Then, with a soft beep, it changed.
"Green."
He could hear the woman working at the keyboard over his headset. Suddenly, with a soft sigh of air, the door before them swung open on silent hinges. The man took a deep breath and then said sharply, "Let's go."
The six men moved quickly into the tunnel in front of them. The leader didn't look back as he strode purposefully deeper into the complex. The corridor moved downward at an angle for about twenty yards before it began to rise again. His men followed him, not looking around. All were focused on the job ahead. They wanted nothing more than to finish what they had been sent to do and then get out. Eventually, the tunnel leveled off and opened out into a round open entryway. Eight, evenly spaced corridors opened off of the room, radiating out like spokes of a wheel.
"Which way?" the man asked.
"Third hall on your left. Start to count the doors and corridors. This is a maze and there will be no landmarks or points of reference."
"You," the leader pointed at one of the men, "come with me; the rest of you, stay here. We don't need to risk getting anyone lost in this rabbit warren." Following Dr. Shemanski's instructions, the two men moved into the bowels of the building. It was like nothing they had ever seen before. It was brightly lit, even in the middle of the night. The walls were a muted shade of white, as was the floor. The silence was eerie. An occasional soft rush of air could be heard as unseen vents allowed warm air to move through the corridors. But other than that, there was absolutely nothing . . . no people . . . no movement . . . no sound . . . nothing but empty white halls seemingly devoid of life, and silence.
Finally, Shemanski called a halt to their progress. "There should be a door with another swipe reader very near you on your left. Do you see it?"
"Yes." The man moved up to the door. Like the one that led into this complex, it was solid metal with no handle or window, but there was a code stenciled in silver on it. Directly across from the door he could just make out an opaque panel that was slightly different from the surrounding walls. Surveillance, the man thought to himself. What could a total paraplegic have done to merit this kind of security?
"There's markings on the door. It says 4D32."
"Good. That's the one we're looking for. We'll follow the same procedure as before, with a different code." The woman read off a second string of numbers and letters. Without hesitation, the man swiped the card and keyed in the code.
"Go," he said, as the light on the keypad turned green, and stepped back from the door. After a moment, it swung open silently, and the two men looked into the cell. It was about 12 feet deep and about eight feet wide. The room contained a bed, a desk, a shelf with a small television set, a fluorescent light fixture, and a round pedestal that both men assumed normally served as a chair. All of these items were made of solid concrete and appeared to be a continuous part of the concrete walls and floor. Across from the door, at the far end of the room, was the first window they had seen . . . a narrow slit about 5 inches wide and about 3 feet tall. To one side, they could also see a toilet and sink of metal that were securely set in the concrete of the walls and floor. A small shower could be seen on the wall opposite the sink. The only other thing in the cell was a large, encased chair, which held the body of a man. All that was visible was his head. The top of the skull was covered with wild, white hair that seemed to stick out in all directions. His face looked old, his expression slack, and his pale blue eyes stared at the ceiling sightlessly. The man gave no sign that he knew they were there. Both men jumped as one of the monitoring devices on the chair beeped softly.
The leader moved swiftly into the cell and spoke urgently, "Dr. Surd? Dr. Surd, can you hear me?" The man didn't even twitch. "What's wrong with him?" he asked Edgerton and Shemanski sharply.
"I have no idea," Edgerton replied, "but we don't have time to worry about it now. Just get him out of there and we'll take care of it once he's back here. You're running out of time."
"On the back of the chair there should be an override switch," Shemanski informed him. "It will be yellow. Flip that and it will allow you to guide the chair wherever you want it to go. Be sure you close the door to the cell behind you and then follow my instructions."
The two men did as they were instructed, and before long they found themselves back in the round room where the others were waiting. Gathering the rest of them, the men moved back down through the underground tunnel and into the main facility again. As they exited the door, a fetid stench met them.
"What the hell . . ." the man in the lead gasped. He looked around. The bodies that had been so rigid not more than an hour and a half before were now little more than piles of rotting flesh and bones. Growing pools of fluid swamped the floor. Next to him, one man doubled over, vomiting violently. It was more than any of them could take. All six broke and ran. The leader retained just enough sanity to take the chair with him as he went.
Out. He had to get out. He couldn't take it any longer.
And through the roaring of the blood in his ears, he heard Shemanski's voice saying, "Advanced decomposition. Fascinating. Peter will be quite pleased."
"So you'll be there, right?" Jessie asked anxiously.
"You know it," the black girl replied excitedly. I wouldn't miss this party for anything. Malcolm's been bugging me for days, wanting to know if I'd gotten the invitation. We were starting to worry, girl."
Jessie sighed. "I know. There's just so much to do, what with the wedding and the snowstorm and Hadji's guests from Bangalore and all. I practically had to sit on Jonny and make him help me finish the invitations last night."
Becca Harris waved the bright red envelope she held and grinned as she slammed her locker door closed. "Well, I can now tell Malcolm it's official. You can bank on us being there."
"Cool! Look, I gotta run or I'm not going to catch everyone before my next class. I'll call you before the party, okay?"
"Sounds good. And remember what I said . . . you need an extra set of hands to help set up, you just call me."
"Will do!" Jessie replied as she spotted a couple of girls further up the hall. "Hey, Nancy . . . Beth . . . wait up!"
Several hours later, she returned to her locker to find Jonny waiting for her. "Did you hook up with everybody?" he asked as she approached.
"Yep. My last were Mike and Mary, I bumped into them coming out of English. How about you?"
"All I've got left is Matt. I thought I'd get him at lunch, but he must have left school because I couldn't find him. He's got Spanish last period so I thought we could hang around and catch him as he left. He should be out in about half an hour."
"You sure it's meeting the full period? It's the last day of the term. Maybe they'll get out early."
Jonny looked at his girlfriend skeptically. "Are you kidding? Have you ever known old man Burroughs to let any class out early???"
"You do have a point," Jessie conceded. Then she hesitated, looking at him quietly.
"What?"
"Jonny, I really do wish you'd reconsider about not inviting Bobby."
"No," he replied flatly.
"But he's been one of your very best friends for years!"
"I don't care. He won't come without her and I don't want her anywhere near you."
Jessie's eyes flashed dangerously. "Jonathan Benton Quest, don't you dare use me as an excuse for this. I can deal with Francesca Hamilton. This has nothing to do with me. This is you. You still haven't come to terms with everything that happened between the two of you. You get angry every time she comes anywhere near you. You have got to learn to let it go."
Jonny turned and yanked his locker door open viciously. "I don't have anything to come to terms with. Francesca used me, tried to steal from my father, and almost got you killed. I have every right to hate her guts . . . and I do. End of story."
"No, it's not!" Jessie grabbed his arm and tried to make him look at her. "It can't be. I'm not saying you have to forgive her for what she's done. And I sure don't mean that you should ever trust her. God knows, I never will. But you have to learn to let the anger go. It will eat you alive if you don't. Jeez, Jonny, look at you! It's causing you to become alienated from one of your closest friends."
"Bobby knows how I feel about her."
Jessie snorted derisively. "And that's supposed to make a difference? It sure as hell didn't make a difference two years ago when I hated her and you thought she was God's gift!"
Jonny flinched as though Jessie had struck him. "That's not fair . . ."
"Why not?" Jessie demanded, now as angry as he had been moments before. "I tried to tell you something wasn't right, but you wouldn't listen either. She could do no wrong. All you could see were her big violet eyes and gorgeous figure. Why do you expect Bobby Evans to be any different?"
"But he knows what she's capable of. We've told him what she did."
"It doesn't matter. Bobby is one of the most fair, forgiving, and tolerant people we know. As far as he's concerned, she lived through hell in Egypt and has paid her dues for the things she did. He thinks she has learned her lesson and wants nothing more than to be accepted and get on with her new life. And you can bet that she's shown absolutely no chinks in that façade. All you're doing is coming off as petty and vindictive."
"I don't care. I'm sorry Bobby can't accept it. I'd be happy to have him at the party. All he has to do is leave her at home. I don't want her at the Compound."
Jessie opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped abruptly, her face going briefly blank before smiling at someone over Jonny's shoulder. "Hey, Matt! We were just coming to look for you. You out of class already?"
"Yeah. We had a written test and I finished up early," Matt replied, coming up and leaning against a nearby locker. "What's up?"
"We just wanted to give you your invitation to our Christmas party," Jonny said, handing him the bright red envelope.
Matt took it slowly, staring at it for a long time without saying a word. Finally, he looked up and asked Jonny point blank, "Are you inviting Bobby?"
Jonny shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"You know why not."
Matt's eyes fell before Jonny's intense gaze and for a long time he didn't say anything. Eventually, he sighed and said softly. "He and Dad got into it really bad last night. Screaming at each other and everything. Dad told him that he was grounded for the rest of the month, that he had to stay in the house all the way through the holidays. No dating, no parties, nothing. Bobby told him flat out that he wouldn't do it and that he was going to come and go as he saw fit. Dad was absolutely furious. For a minute, I thought he was going to smack Bobby."
"Oh, Matt . . ." Jessie whispered softly. "I'm so sorry."
"And then Marla showed up. She'd come to return a gift that Bobby had given her for her birthday last August. Said that she just couldn't keep it. Bobby was still mad at Dad and he unloaded on Marla. She was practically in hysterics before he was done. I ended up taking her home because she was so upset." He looked at his two friends helplessly. "Everything is just going to hell."
Jonny closed his locker door softly, not trusting himself to say anything at all. He knew that if he did, he'd regret it later.
Matt looked again at the invitation that he still held in his hand and after a minute, he held it out to Jonny. "I'm sorry, man. I really want to come, but I just can't."
Jonny looked at his friend, shaken, and asked, "But why? Matt, this had nothing to do with you. We want you there."
The other young man shook his head. "He's my brother, Jonny. I know he's being an idiot, but I can't turn my back on him. When the crash comes, he's going to need everyone he can get. I think his relationship with Marla is finished. I can't see her coming back to him after last night. And if I come to this party, he's going to see it as me siding with you against him. I can't do that. I'm sorry." Matt turned to walk away. "I'll see you guys around."
"Matt, wait . . ." Jessie called after him.
He looked back at her questioningly. Jessie turned to gaze at Jonny with a pleading expression, but he just shook his head. Finally, she sighed and turned back. "If you change your mind, you're welcome to come."
Matt nodded silently and walked away. After a minute, Jonny said gruffly, "Come on. It's getting late. Let's get going."
Washington D.C.
It was late afternoon, and darkness was beginning to gather as Admiral Bennett sat working at the desk in his Pentagon office. His meeting with Niemeyer earlier that afternoon had not gone well, and he had returned from it with a splitting headache. He had taken a couple of aspirin and lay down for a while, but had soon risen again and gone back to work. Now, he sat in a warm pool of light formed by his desk lamp as the gathering dusk threw the rest of his office into shadow. His attention was focused on a pad of paper where he was trying to organize his thoughts for his appointment with the President the next day. He wouldn't have long . . . only about 15 minutes . . . so it was vital that he make the most of that time. He had to convince the man to override Niemeyer's edict about keeping Dr. Quest in the dark. A sharp rap on his door interrupted him. Before he could respond, it burst open and Commander Barclay strode in, followed closely by Isaac Wolenchek and Connor Leeds. Dr. Wolenchek carefully closed the door behind him, and Bennett didn't miss the careful way he surveyed the outer office as he did so.
"Admiral, we've got a serious problem," Barclay began without preamble.
Bennett's eyes flicked from one man to the other, alarmed. "Problem? Dr. Quest . . ."
Barclay shook his head. "No, not Quest. But related to it, I'm sure. Someone's taken out Brattleford Prison."
"'Taken out Brattleford Prison?' What do you mean by that? You mean, there's been a jailbreak? From that facility? I thought that was next to impossible!"
"No, not a jailbreak," Barclay replied grimly. "I mean 'taken out' . . . totally. Everyone in the facility is dead."
Bennett stared in stunned silence, unable to say a word. Finally, he gasped, "But . . . how?"
It was Wolenchek who replied. "It sounds like a direct attack. Probably some form of gas. But it's like nothing I've ever seen before."
"There's no clue as to what happened? What about the security monitors?"
Wolenchek shook his head. "Tampered with in some way, but we can't figure out how. All they show is the prison continuing on throughout the night as if nothing was wrong. No alarms, no glitches, nothing. Everything appeared to be fine right up to the point when the first guard arrived for the shift change at about 6:45 this morning. Then, suddenly, all the monitoring equipment showed nothing but carnage."
"Can we tell what time the place was hit?"
Barclay shook his head. "No. It could have been anywhere between 8:00 p.m. last night and dawn this morning. We know the evening shift change came off without a problem, but we've been unable to find anyone who even attempted to contact them after that."
"What about the bodies? Can't we at least determine a time of death?"
Barclay and Wolenchek exchanged a look and then both turned to look at Connor Leeds. For the first time, Bennett noticed that the man had not stepped up to the desk with the other two. Rather, he was sitting on the edge of a chair on the other side of the office. He was leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. The overall impression was one of total exhaustion.
"No." Leeds' voice was low and hoarse. Slowly, he raised his head and Bennett was shocked by what he saw. Nothing ever fazed the brash Irishman. But now he looked as though he had seen the horrors of Hades itself and couldn't rid himself of the memory.
Bennett exchanged an alarmed look with the other two men and rose from his chair to come around the desk. He stopped in front of the seated man and asked, "What do you mean, 'no'? We need to narrow down the time as closely as possible. Autopsies will . . ."
"Autopsies won't be possible," Leeds replied in a flat, unemotional voice. He didn't look at Bennett . . . didn't seem focused on anything at all.
"Explain yourself!"
Barclay stepped up and caught at Bennett's arm, drawing him back from Leeds. "I'm sorry, sir, but he's right."
"But . . ."
"Admiral, there was virtually nothing left. Nothing but rapidly disintegrating bone."
"There was slime on the floors," Leeds said distantly. "It was all that was left. Even the bones were dissolving. And the smell . . . nothing could keep out the smell. It was everywhere." He reached up and rubbed his nose compulsively. "You could smell it as soon as you entered the valley." He blinked constantly. "It was sweet and gagging and the closer you got, the worse it was. You couldn't shut it out . . . couldn't get used to it. It just got worse and worse and . . ."
Barclay reached out and laid a hand on Leeds' shoulder, "It's all right, Connor. Just rest now."
"I can still smell it," the man said, as though Barclay had not spoken. Then, "I think I always will." Then he lowered his head into his hands again and was silent.
The three men drew away and Bennett turned to the other two and hissed, "What happened out there???"
Wolenchek shook his head. "We really don't know, Admiral. It's like nothing anyone has ever seen. Every living thing in the place is dead and rotting at a terrifying speed." His eyes flicked to the younger man sitting across the room. "This has really shaken him."
"He was there." Bennett made it a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Barclay agreed. "I sent him as soon as I heard there was a problem there."
"Why?"
"Because Brattleford Prison is the facility that Jeremiah Surd was being held in."
"Surd!"
Barclay nodded grimly. "In the Supermax section."
"So Surd's dead, then," Bennett said thoughtfully.
"We don't think so," Wolenchek replied.
"What?" Bennett blurted. "You just said everything living had died."
Both men nodded and Wolencheck continued, "And he might be dead. But if he is, what happened to his wheel chair?" The man nodded, seeing comprehension dawning in Bennett's eyes. "Surd's cell was closed and locked down like normal, but there was no sign of the chair, either in the cell or anywhere else in the facility. Leeds searched every inch of the place looking for it." Wolenchek glanced again at the man sitting across the room. "I think that's part of the reason he's so shaken."
"And from what Leeds could tell," Barclay added, "he thinks that a path had been deliberately cleared from the front gate through the facility to the entrance to the supermax wing."
"But why? Why is Surd valuable enough to anyone to slaughter an entire prison full of people? And how was it done? To kill everyone more or less at the same time and yet leave one person alive?"
"I have a theory on that," Wolenchek mused. Out of the corner of his eye, Bennett saw Leeds head snap up sharply, and for the first time he seemed with them again. "I think that in some way a gas was introduced . . . probably a nerve agent of some sort. It's like nothing I've ever seen, but the development of this kind of weapon continues to go on, even though it's been banned in every civilized part of the world."
"But how did they avoid killing Surd?" Before anyone could speak, Bennett answered his own question. "His self-contained air supply. Of course. But that still doesn't answer the question of why."
It was Wolenchek that replied. "As well as being a brilliant research scientist in the development of nerve agents, he is also highly skilled in the area of computers and software applications. The last rumors I heard said that he was working in the area of VR. If Benton Quest was working in this field, then Surd was, too. He hates Quest and would do anything to outdo him."
"Are you telling me that someone . . . probably Baxter . . . has gotten his hands on a man capable of solving the weapon's problems?" Bennett demanded in horror.
Wolenchek shook his head. "No. It's not common knowledge, but Surd is totally unresponsive. No one knows for certain what caused it, but when he was finally tracked down the last time, they found him totally catatonic."
"Brain dead?"
"No. More like his brain functions fine, but it can't connect to the world around him. Probably the only one who knows what happened is Julia Canova, and she's not talking."
"Where's she?" Bennett asked, watching Leeds out of the corner of his eye. The man had sat back in the chair and was staring that the others with an intensity that seemed to border on fixation. Leeds' eyes glittered in the dim light and Bennett wondered what was going through his mind. He made a mental note to himself to tell Barclay that Leeds was to see one of the service psychologists at the earliest opportunity. "Is she secure?"
Barclay grimaced a little. "For the present. She's in a facility in Texas. It probably needs to be one with stronger security, but there really isn't much we can do. Females that have committed her types of crimes are exceedingly rare and we don't have any federal women's facilities that are appropriate. I know the Bureau of Prisons has been negotiating with several states to have her transferred to a maximum security state facility, but so far it hasn't happened. I have warned the staff at the facility she is currently in about the possible escape risk, but . . ."
"How do you warn against something like what happened at Brattleford?" a harsh voice demanded. Leeds has been quiet for so long that the sound of his voice made all of them jump. "No one saw it coming there. I went through that entire facility . . . I counted what was left of piles of bones. Every guard, every prisoner, every support person were all accounted for. No one got out. I don't think they knew what was happening until it was too late. How do you warn against that???"
The other three men where silent. There was nothing they could say. Abruptly, Leeds changed the subject.
"Did Niemeyer authorize protection for the Quests?"
Bennett sighed. "No. The best I was able to do was to get him to agree to one man for surveillance of the area. And we all know that that person is already there. I just didn't bother to tell Niemeyer that. He wants Quest set up as a target. He thinks that the one man can keep an eye out and when there is suspicious activity, he can call us and we'll send reinforcements. But Niemeyer says I can't send those without his direct authorization!"
"The man is an idiot!" Barclay exclaimed, cutting off Leeds as he started to protest. "He's asking for Quest to be taken."
"Niemeyer claims that we can't go against the wishes of a private citizen and that if Quest feels his security measures are adequate, then who are we to argue."
"Quest needs to be told," Leeds said in a strangely quiet yet highly charged tone of voice.
Bennett shook his head again. "We can't do it. We've just got to make the best of it and hope that we can locate Baxter and retrieve the weapon before the man moves on Quest." Bennett looked sharply at Leeds. "That's an order, Leeds. Let it go. Clear?" After a moment the dark haired man slumped back into the chair and closed his eyes.
"Yes," he replied, his voice suddenly filled with exhaustion.
The three remaining men exchanged looks again and Bennett made a sudden decision. Stepping over to the chair, he leaned down and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Go get some rest, son. I don't want to see you here tomorrow. Also, call Central Medical and make arrangements to go in and talk to their clinical staff. Clear?"
Leeds looked up at Bennett with eyes that were clouded and murky. "Yes, sir," was his only reply.
Bennett turned back to the others. "Barclay, you are to find Surd. I don't care where he is or what it takes . . . find him. I don't want Baxter figuring out how to revive the man. And Isaac, I need for you to start work on a defense against this thing. If the worst happens, I want to be able to destroy it. Questions?"
Both men shook their heads. With a final glance at Leeds, who still sat slumped in the chair, Bennett said, "Then get to it."
Twilight was falling as Jessie and Jonny's snowmobile broke through the trees at the Quest Compound and headed for the main house. Jessie gazed anxiously toward the big hanger that housed the Quest aircraft south of the main compound. Nothing. Everything appeared just as it had that morning.
As though reading her thoughts, Jonny turned his head and yelled back to her, "He would have hangered the plane."
She squeezed his waist gratefully, acknowledging his comment, and wished desperately that she was in the house and knew that her parents were home safely. Reading her thoughts again, Jonny gunned the engine and sped on. He cut the engine as they approached the house, and slewed it to a stop at the front door. Both of them were off the machine and striding toward the entrance almost before it came to a halt.
As they entered, both of them heard Race's voice saying, "Well, University of Illinois has some good research programs."
"Yes," Benton's voice replied, "but they aren't strong in mining. It's mainly coal mining, and even those mines are mostly closed."
"DAD!!!" Jessie flung herself at her father exuberantly, as she erupted through the dining room door.
"Well, now here's a greeting!" Race replied, catching up his daughter and grinning delightedly. "Hi, Poncheta."
Jonny was two steps behind her, grinning widely. "Hey, Race . . . man, it's good to have you home!"
Race squeezed Jessie tightly as he reached out to give Jonny a quick hug, as well. "You have no idea how good it is to be here."
"Where's Mom?" Jessie asked, giving her father one more tight squeeze before releasing him.
"In our suite, unpacking. So are the two of you done for the term?"
"Yep," Jonny replied with a wide grin. Jessie kissed her father and left the room quickly, heading in the direction of the Bannon quarters at the far end of the house. "So what are you guys up to?"
Benton, Rajeev, and Kefira were all sitting at the dining room table. There were books and pamphlets spread out over the entire surface. As Jonny glanced over, Kefira smiled at him.
"Where's Hadji?" he asked her.
"He is upstairs in his room. He just received a telephone call from Bangalore."
Jonny's smile faded. "Is there a problem?"
"I do not believe so." Kefira grimaced slightly. "At least, nothing more than usual." The two of them exchanged a look and a wealth of information seemed to pass between them. Kefira smiled again. "He should be down shortly."
"Slammin'," Jonny replied, tugging off his coat. He threw it over the back of a vacant chair and then settled comfortably into it. Across the room, the door to the kitchen swung open and Mrs. Evans entered carrying a tray. She set cups of steaming hot cocoa in front of the others. Jonny was about to ask if he could have some as well, when she set a cup in front of him.
"I heard you come in the door," she replied to his unspoken question.
"Thanks," he replied, smiling at her. Then his smile dimmed slightly, thinking of Bobby and Matt. Mrs. Evans nodded and turned away. Jonny wasn't sure if she was angry or just being her normal, reserved self. Whichever it was, he still felt really bad about the entire mess.
"So, have you made up your mind which schools you're going to visit?"
Kefira gazed helplessly at all the materials spread out before her and replied, "Not yet. I am not even sure where to begin."
Benton chuckled, "Oh, it's not that bad."
"True," Rajeev agreed. "After all, we have eliminated a large number of schools already."
"Including all of those I had intended to apply to!" Kefira replied.
"If you are going to do this, daughter, it is only proper that you chose the best school you can. While I am sure the schools in Missouri and Colorado have fine programs, I have to agree with Dr. Quest. Their curricula are too focused and technically oriented. You must have the broader-based theoretical background, as well, which you will not received there." Rajeev picked up a large, color brochure, which had been lying in front of him and began flipping through it. "I am impressed by the sound of the program at M.I.T."
Benton nodded. "It's a fine school with an outstanding engineering program. And I know the dean there personally. He's a good man, equally dedicated to education and research . . . a combination that's not always easy to find in the larger, high profile schools. He's provided strong guidance to his faculty and staff, and they follow his philosophy willingly."
"Yes, I understand," Kefira replied, "but I also like the sound of the program at Columbia. It affords the same broad-based theoretical background, but both its Industrial and Civil Engineering programs offer specific course offerings in mining engineering. And what is more, they have a six-year program that allows for the concurrent completion of both a bachelor's and master's degree. And I can take the master's specialization in mining engineering."
"But if that's what you're interested in," Race joined in, "The University of Arizona in Tuscon offers the same type of program, and it's only a five year program, rather than six."
"But it does not offer the specialization in mining engineering." Kefira pointed out.
"Then, what about the program at the University of California at Berkeley?" Rajeev asked, shoving a brochure at Kefira.
Kefira shook her head sharply and shoved it right back at him. "No. They offer no specific coursework in mining at all . . . at any level."
"I don't get it," Jonny said. "It sounds to me like the program at Columbia is perfect for what you want. Why go to the trouble of looking at the other schools if they don't have a program just like the one at Columbia?"
"Now, Jonny," his father said, "you know that everything has its pluses and minuses. It's just wise to look at all of the possible choices."
"Yes," Rajeev agreed. "I do not believe she should make this choice too hastily."
Kefira tossed the brochure she was leafing through into the center of the table in irritation and glared at the two men across from her. Then she turned to Jonny and replied, "Haste has nothing to do with this. They simply do not want me to attend Columbia."
"Why not?" Jonny asked in confusion. "I thought it was a really good school. After all, it's the one Hadji picked." Then Jonny paused, and his gaze narrowed slightly as he glanced at his father and Rajeev. "Or is that the problem?"
Both men shook their heads sharply, as Kefira replied sourly, "No, that is not it. They do not like the nature of the degree requirements."
"Which are?"
"I must intern for a year in a working mine. And the internship requires that I work in all phases of the operation. My father feels it is inappropriate for me to be working as a miner."
"It is not necessary," Rajeev replied stubbornly. "You will not be required to do the work of a common miner at home, so I do not see the point in wasting your time doing it as part of your course of study."
"But I can not fully understand the difficulties that go into the job if I have not done it myself. I need the experience in assessing the lie of the stone beds, tracing the fault lines, and setting the detonation charges."
"NO!" Rajeev exploded, alarm written all over his face. "It is too dangerous!"
Jonny and Kefira exchanged knowing glances. "Oh, I get it," Jonny said to her. "Has he always been like this?"
"Yes. Although for a time, I thought he was getting better."
Jonny shrugged and grinned. "My dad's just as bad. I think it's a parent thing."
"That must be it," Kefira agreed solemnly.
Race, Benton and Rajeev all glared at the two young people, and Benton was just about to retort when Hadji strode into the room with a scowl on his face. Before he could say a word, Kefira turned to him and asked, "Hadji, does it not make sense to have first hand experience of processes you will be required to supervise, even if you know you will not be personally doing them on a daily basis?"
"Of course," Hadji replied confidently as he pulled up another chair and sat down beside her at the table. "Father has always told us that theory is no substitute for actual experience."
Rajeev sighed and tried again, "This is what you hire well-trained workmen and experienced foremen to do. You do not need to be able to do their jobs; particularly when there is no way they can do yours. You do not have time for such things."
"I am not saying that I would be out doing their job!" Kefira exclaimed in frustration. "I am saying that if I know how to do their jobs, I can better understand what I can reasonably ask of them and what I can not."
Jonny and Hadji looked from Kefira to her father and then at each other. "This is an on-going argument, isn't it?" Jonny asked his brother.
As Hadji nodded, they all heard the phone ring. Benton began to rise, but in the middle of the second ring it cut off abruptly. Benton settled back into the chair, saying, "Mrs. Evans must have gotten it." Then he looked at his guests who were glaring at each other across the table. He sighed and said, "Both of you have valid points."
Mrs. Evans stuck her head around the corner. "Mr. Bannon, you have a phone call."
"Alright. Thanks, Mrs. Evans. I'll get it in the family room." As he rose to go, Race commented. "You know, this can't be resolved right this minute. You need to visit the school. You never know. Once you get there, you may find that you hate it and may change your mind totally."
"A valid point," Rajeev conceded, and Kefira nodded reluctantly.
"So we add it to the list of the places to visit and go on from there," Benton said, tossing the brochure into a small pile set off to one side. Then he scanned the table. "Is that it, then?"
"I believe so," Rajeev replied, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
Benton nodded, "That gives us six to visit and look at more closely. That's not bad. I just wish that you could stay, Rajeev, and be with us when we talk with them."
"I wish I could, too," he agreed, "but I am afraid I must leave tomorrow. Kefira was correct when she said that we have problems in our northern mine which require my attention. And I have the initial meetings with the crews to begin development of the new stone beds that we acquired from the Rafiq family. That simply cannot be delayed. These are set high in the mountains and if we do not get the preliminary work done now, before the winter snows hit, we will be behind an entire year. I want to have actual production set to begin this spring. So I must return." Rajeev turned and looked Benton Quest straight in the eyes. "But I have no concerns. Hadji was right in insisting that I bring my daughter here. I know now that she is safe and well in this place, and that I can trust you to help guide her in what she chooses to do. I must thank you again for your kindness, Dr. Quest." He glanced at his daughter. "I do not believe that I have ever known her to be so happy."
Kefira leaped up and ran around the table to throw her arms around her father. "Oh, Father . . ." she choked.
Benton glanced over at Hadji and the look on his eldest son's face said it all. Turning back to Rajeev, he smiled and said, "It is my pleasure."
Race nodded to Mrs. Evans in thanks as he passed her in the hall. Entering the family room, he picked up the phone.
"Bannon." There was a long moment of silence. "Hello?"
"Bannon." It was not a question.
"Yes, this is Race Bannon. Who is this?"
"I need to talk to you. In person. Now."
"Who is this?" Race demanded. Then something in his memory clicked and he froze. "Leeds?!?" Blood thundered in his ears, as a cascade of old images tumbled through his brain. He felt his face alternately flush and then go hard and cold. "Over my dead body! I want no part of you!"
"Bannon, listen to me!" the voice at the other end said desperately. "This is important! We have a situation here . . ."
"I don't give a damn what you have there, you bastard. You could be up to your ass in alligators, and I still wouldn't care."
"I'm trying to help you! You don't understand . . ."
"I understand all too well. I understand that you're a plague and that everyone around you ends up dead. I understand that the only thing you care about is power. And I understand that I don't want you anywhere within a hundred miles of anyone I care about!"
"It would serve you right if I just left you in the dark, you arrogant son of a bitch," Leeds snarled.
"It would probably mean I'd have more of a chance of surviving!" Race snarled back. Through the phone line, Race heard a sudden, sharp gasp of breath, as though someone had just struck Leeds in the stomach. There was a sharp thump followed by the sound of shattering glass . . . then, nothing but stark silence. Finally, Race heard Leeds inhale again, a deep, shaky sound.
"Listen, Bannon, you have to believe that I wouldn't have contacted you if it wasn't vitally important." Leeds finally replied hoarsely.
Race held the phone away from his ear and stared at it, that unconscious prickle down his spine that had always warned him of danger, kicking in suddenly. He had known Leeds since he first came to I-1, and he had never heard the man sound like that. Slowly, he returned the phone to his ear and, almost out of habit, stated, "You've bent the truth and put people at risk for your own private agenda all too often. Why should I trust you now?"
"You have no reason to. I know that. But what's going on right now is so far beyond anything we've ever dealt with before, you can't begin to imagine. And it involves the Quests. You have to hear me out!"
Race caught movement out of the corner of his eye. As he looked up, he saw Jessie and Estella walk by the door, heading for the dining room. Unconsciously, he lowered his voice. "Alright, I'm listening."
"It isn't safe to talk on the phone. We need to meet face-to-face."
"What's wrong? Afraid you're being watched?" Race asked sarcastically. Then he stopped, thinking about the man's reactions and what he had said earlier. Race's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Or is it that someone's watching us?"
"You better pray someone's watching your back, Bannon," Leeds snapped in frustration. "Right now, you don't know how badly you need it!"
Race sighed. "Alright, I'll meet you. When?"
"Tonight. I can be there by 10:00 p.m."
"NO!" Race said sharply. "I told you . . . I don't want you anywhere near my family. I have to be in New York tomorrow. I'll meet you there."
"That's not a good idea," Leeds said, sounding almost panicky. "You need stick close to Quest."
"Listen, Leeds, I don't know what your problem is, but the Quests are safer here than anywhere else in the world. And I don't have any choice about being in New York tomorrow. I'll be there whether I meet you or not. It's your only choice. You meet me there or not at all."
"Okay," Leeds said reluctantly. "Where?"
Race considered it for a moment. "Central Park. At the Columbus Circle gate near the statue of "The Maine". I'll be there at 1:00 p.m."
"Alright. I'll be there."
"Don't be late. I won't wait!" And with that, Race hung up. He stood for a long moment, staring at the phone. The last thing in the world that he wanted right now was to see Leeds. Race had meant what he said . . . the man was a plague. And if Estella should find out about the meeting . . .
"What the bloody hell does HE want???"
Race whirled, automatically dropping into a defensive crouch, ready to lash out at the interloper. Catching sight of the person standing in the doorway, he forced himself to relax and stand upright again.
"I have no idea."
"But that's not going to stop you from meeting him, is it?" Estella demanded angrily. "You swore to me that you were out of that!"
"I am! I've been out for a long time now."
"Then why is he calling you?!"
"I told you. I don't know. I haven't talked to Leeds in over five years."
"And suddenly . . . out of the blue . . . two days before we're supposed to be married again, he calls." Estella spat, advancing on him. "Don't lie to me, Race. I can deal with a lot of things, but I won't be lied to . . . not any more!"
"I'm not lying!" he replied, fighting to keep his voice even.
"Why don't I believe you? Probably because I've heard it all before. You always lied to me about it . . . and him." She was standing directly in front of him now, her face flushed and her eyes blazing. For an instant, time fell away and he could almost believe they were standing in their New York apartment again. "If I hadn't caught you talking to him, you wouldn't even have told me he called, would you? WOULD YOU???"
Race couldn't meet her eyes. Finally, he replied heavily, "No. No, I probably wouldn't have."
Estella stood there briefly, staring at him. He could see her eyes getting brighter and brighter as they filled with tears. Then, she turned and fled the room. A moment later a door slammed sharply. In the silence that followed, he could hear laughter floating down the hallway from the dining room, followed by the indistinct sound of his daughter's voice. He moved slowly across the room and slumped down into a chair.
So it begins again, he thought. He laid his head back against the chair, the throbbing behind his eyes suddenly almost unbearable. What am I going to do?
"And you should have been Bryan's face!" Jonny crowed. "I have never seen him so red in my life!" Laughter filled the room as Jonny finished his story.
"His face was almost the color of his hair," Jessie agreed. She turned to Kefira, who was laughing with them, but with a slightly mystified expression. "You see, Bryan is incredibly shy. He's just as happy to have no one notice him. But he's got this incredible voice. How he ended up loose enough to be willing to sing with the group, I have no idea, but the instant he started to sing, everyone else began dropping out and he just kept going. It wasn't until he reached the bit about all the naked girls that he realized that he was singing alone and what the words said."
"Poor Bryan," Benton laughed. "That wasn't very nice, you know."
"But he does have a beautiful voice," Hadji pointed out. "It is a shame he can not overcome his shyness enough to sing more often."
"Well, I would like to hear the song," Kefira replied with a glint of mischief.
"I do not think that is necessary," Rajeev commented dryly. Kefira looked at him with a mock scowl. "At least, not while I am around," he amended, hastily. That sent everyone back into gales of laughter.
"So, son, are all the preparations complete for your Christmas party?" Benton asked.
"Yeah, we distributed the invitations today. We'll decorate on Tuesday and Wednesday of next week. Other than that, I think all that's left to do is the food, and Jessie's in charge of that."
The door to the kitchen opened and Mrs. Evans stuck her head in the door. "I thought I heard you, Jessica. While you were gone this morning, the caterers called about the food for the wedding reception."
Jessie rose hastily. "There isn't a problem, is there? I thought everything was taken care of."
"No, they just had some questions. I talked to them and . . . "
The sound of their voices was cut off as the swinging door into the kitchen closed behind them. Jonny stared at it vacantly, the sight of the Quest's housekeeper brought back his conversation with Matt earlier that day. He really hated this. Jessie had been right. Matt and Bobby had been his and Hadji's best friends since the first day the family had arrived. Was he wrong to cut Bobby off simply because he had decided to date Francesca?
"Jonny?"
The tone of his father's voice finally penetrated his concentration and he brought his attention back to others in the room. "What?" Concern was clear in all of their faces and he could suddenly feel the tension in his shoulders and the frown on his face. He forced himself to relax and smile. "I'm sorry. Was I off in the ozone?"
"What's bothering you, son?" his father asked.
"Oh, nothing," Jonny replied lightly.
Benton held his gaze firmly, not saying a word. It was Hadji who replied quietly. "That is not true. Something has disturbed you. I have noticed it ever since I returned home."
Jonny started to shake his head, but something stopped him. For a long moment, he gazed down at the top of the table silently. Then he sighed and looked up again. "Yeah, well, I guess I don't hide it very well, do I?"
"No," his father said quietly. "So what is it?"
Jonny laughed in a slightly bitter tone. "Francesca. What else?"
"Who is Francesca?" Kefira asked, sitting forward slightly.
When Jonny didn't answer right away, Hadji said, "I told you about her . . . the girl Jonny dated for a while."
Kefira suddenly looked concerned. "The one that dislikes Jessie so much?"
"Yes," Hadji agreed. "But what can Francesca be doing that would upset you this much? She has no power to come between you and Jessie any longer."
Jonny sighed again. "That's not the problem." After a moment, he told his family about the relationship between Bobby Evans and Francesca. "It's a mess. Matt says that things at home are really bad. Bobby's started staying out late and doing stuff his parents have told him he can't do. He's openly defying them, and Matt says he's convinced it's at Francesca's instigation. She wants something again, and she's using Bobby to get it. I just have no idea what. Matt's tried to talk to him, and so have Jessie and I, but he's just not listening."
"You have told him the things she has done?" Hadji asked in concern.
"Yeah," Jonny replied, dispiritedly. "But he's convinced that she's changed. He's squiring her around like a queen and she's just hanging on him."
"I thought he was dating Myron Dawson's granddaughter," Benton commented in surprise.
"He was," Jonny replied bitterly, "but he dumped Marla flat when Francesca fluttered her eyelashes. He's even accused Matt of being jealous when he's tried to talk to him about it."
Benton sighed. "Unfortunately, there isn't much you can do. If he's that determined, you're going to have to let him learn his own lesson." He looked at his son thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he said, "And you know, son, maybe he's right. Francesca has been through some bad experiences. I imagine she could tell some real horror stories about spending time in an Egyptian jail. That has to change a person."
Even before Benton finished speaking, Jonny was shaking his head. "No, Dad, I don't buy it and I never will. She's poison, and sooner or later, she's going to hurt Bobby really bad."
Benton shook his head sadly. "Then all you can do is wait and be a friend when he needs one."
Jonny leaned back and ran his hand through his hair in an unconscious imitation of Race. Reluctantly, he admitted, "That's another problem."
"You and Bobby are not speaking," Hadji stated without hesitation.
"Oh, we're speaking," Jonny replied in disgust, "but it's not exactly civil. And now Matt's backing off, too. Says he has to side with Bobby because they're brothers."
Jonny's father looked at him steadily. "Are you asking him to choose?"
Jonny shook his head. "No. But Bobby's really pissed because I told him he couldn't bring Francesca to our Christmas party, so he's refusing to come at all. And Matt's afraid that if he comes, Bobby will get angry at him, too." Jonny expression was glum. "I don't want to lose either of them as friends, but I really don't know what to do here."
The room was quiet for a long moment. Finally, Kefira spoke up hesitantly, "Perhaps it is not my place to say anything . . ."
"No, please," Jonny urged her, "I'd like to hear what you think."
"Well, I do not know this Francesca Hamilton, other than what Hadji has told me." Jonny nodded. "What I do understand is business, and, of late, I have also come to understand politics and political maneuvering better than I used to. And what I have discovered is that the enemy that is known and kept under close observation is much less dangerous than the one that is out of sight. Distance makes them much harder to control. It seems to me that if you are certain that this girl is going to cause trouble, you would be better to have her close at hand where you are able to find out what she is attempting to do."
Jonny nodded slowly. "I can see the sense in that."
"You also gain something else," Kefira continued. "You do not alienate your friend, Bobby, or his brother. This allows the one brother who believes the way you do to become your eyes and ears to the situation when the girl is not around you. She does not even have to believe you trust her. If Bobby's brother believes you and will keep you informed, then all that is necessary is that Bobby trusts his brother." She looked up and grinned at Hadji suddenly. "I have begun learning these sorts of lessons recently."
Hadji grinned back at her with a touch of pride, as the others laughed. "Yeah, I'll bet you have," Jonny told her. Then he sobered again, considering her advice. "Thanks, Kefira. I'll definitely think about it."
Race stood in front of the closed door to his suite debating about what to do. It was now close to midnight and a good eight hours since his fight with Estella. Since that time, they had studiously avoided each other. Dinner had been tense, although it seemed no one else had noticed. His stomach roiled as he stood there indecisively. He felt boxed in. He knew Estella's feelings about I-1, and Leeds, in particular. In the time Race had known her, Estella had disliked a fair number of people, but there was no one else that she hated as much as she did Leeds . . . a particularly strange situation when you consider that she had never even met the man. And he knew that if he really wanted to ensure their continued happiness, he should call him right now and tell him to forget it. He didn't want in the middle of his mess, anyway.
And yet . . .
There had been something in the man's voice . . . something he had never heard before. Fear? Yes, that was part of it. Desperation, too. But there was something else . . . something indefinable that set his internal radar to sounding clearly. Leeds' implication was that his current problems involved the Quests . . . the people he had come to regard as his family. That meant that whatever else might suffer, he simply couldn't turn away.
Opening the door, Race stepped inside quietly and surveyed the room. Light came from a large picture that hung on the wall across from the sofa. An engagement gift from him, it was her original, full-sized drawing of the Colombian dig site. He had had it carefully matted and set in the mat were photographs of the various members of the crew going about their daily routine. Everyone looked busy and happy and it reflected the good times on that excavation. The picture took up much of the wall and he had had a light incorporated into the frame so it stood out clearly. He gazed at it for a long time before letting his eyes wander around the room, again. It was neat and orderly, as usual, but that wasn't what he noticed. Rather, he noted how much it had changed in the last two months. Before Estella had come to live with him again, this room had been somewhat sterile. It was simply a private space if he ever needed one. But now, there was an indefinable feeling of personality to it. Subtle changes had turned it into something warm and welcoming. It seemed to exude a sense of tranquility, and he could feel himself responding to its influence. He wondered how much of that was actually the atmosphere, and how much of it was a change in him. He crossed the room and sank slowly into the large sofa. He noticed that there was no light shining from under the bedroom door. So, Estella hadn't waited up for him. He sighed softly, knowing there would be no resolution to this fight tonight.
He thought again about Leeds and the urgency of his words. He could try to explain this to Estella, but would she believe him? She had accused him of lying to her about his status with Leeds and I-1. The truth was, she had the right to be suspicious. He used to lie to her regularly. When it came to his job, Estella had always preferred to know the truth and deal with it rather than turn a blind eye. It had taken him a long time to learn that lesson. But by the time he came to understand this about her, lying had become a simple reflex. What's more, she could always tell when he wasn't telling her the truth, and the misery in her eyes always let him know that she knew. For a long time, he told himself it was to protect her, but that was a lie, too. As things had gone from bad to worse between them, her misery used to give him a sense of power . . . in some sick way, he remembered getting a kick out of hurting her. Looking back on it now, he couldn't believe how twisted he had become. The job had eaten away at him until he could hardly stand it . . . or himself, and he had taken it out on her. She had stayed for almost eight years, but there were limits to her endurance. Eventually, she reached a point where she couldn't take it any longer, and she had ended it. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and rested his head in his hands, trying to shut out the memories that came back to him so powerfully . . .
"Please, Race. I can't take this any longer."
"You're my wife!"
"Not for much longer."
"What?"
"I filed for divorce. Jessie and I are leaving."
"You can't!"
"I already have. Please, Race, please . . . just let it go. I . . . I can't go on . . ."
"No! Estella . . . "
"I can't live like t-this anymore. It's t-tearing me apart. Please, Race, I'm begging you. Don't f-f-fight me on this. Please . . ."
"But . . . but, you can't! What about the Church? They'll excommunicate you for this!"
"I know. I've already talk with Father Matthew. He says he understands my situation, but there is nothing he can do. The Church's rules are clear. But it doesn't matter. Not any more . . . I just can't do this any longer."
"But you've always said you never believed in divorce. Your faith was so strong . . ."
The misery and hopelessness in her eyes was like a bottomless well, and he knew then that he was destroying her. Her reply was barely audible. "Please . . ."
" . . . Race . . ."
He shuddered violently, still gripped in the nightmare of his memories. He couldn't lose her again. He couldn't!
"Race," the voice said again, and he jerked upright to find her kneeling in front of him. She gripped his wrists and gazed at him in concern. "Race, what's wrong?" He stared at her wildly for a moment, unsure if she was real or another part of his dream. She was little more than a shape in the dim light, silhouetted against the light of the picture behind her.
"Estella?" he asked hoarsely. Abruptly, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to him tightly. "Not again," he whispered raggedly. "I can't. Not again. I'll do anything . . ." He buried his face in her shoulder and clung to her frantically.
Estella was shaken. What the hell? He was shaking uncontrollably and panting like he couldn't breathe. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing his head down so it lay on her chest and stroked his hair gently. Rocking him like child, she made soft, shushing sounds, trying to calm him. Slowly, his breathing evened out and his stranglehold eased. Eventually, she leaned back and looked at him, one palm against his cheek. "What in heaven's name, Race? Are you all right? Has something happened? What's wrong?"
He sighed deeply and, releasing her, he leaned back and laid his head against the back of the sofa. He opened his mouth to say 'nothing', but what came out was, "Reliving old nightmares." The truth, he thought in amazement. My God, I told her the truth.
She rose from her kneeling position and sat quietly beside him on the sofa. Laying a hand on his leg, she said, "Tell me."
"I'm sorry I hurt you."
"What? When?" she asked, confused.
"All those years ago. I never wanted to. I don't know what made me do it."
"Race, what are you talking about?"
He turned his head on the sofa and looked at her. The light was still behind her and he couldn't see her face. "All those years ago . . . when I always lied to you about what I was doing and where I was going. If there's any justice in this world, I'll burn in hell for the torment I put you through."
"You did what you had to do."
"I did what they wanted me to do. There's a difference."
Estella reached out and took his hand gently. "Race, what happened in the past is over. We both agreed to that."
"Yes, but it seems my past just keeps coming back to haunt me," he replied bitterly. "To haunt both of us." He drew his arm back, trying to pull his hand out of her grasp, but Estella refused to release it.
"I owe you an apology, too."
"What for?" he asked, confused.
"For jumping to conclusions. For not allowing you the chance to tell me what was going on. It wasn't fair. I just heard you say his name and I saw red."
"You had the right."
"No, I didn't. Maybe, back then I did, but not now. We agreed we would put the past aside and start over. That means that I have to give you a chance to explain, not just pass judgment."
With a deep sigh, Race reached out and drew her into his lap. "Do you know how much I love you?"
"I have an idea," she replied, smiling. She slid down a little and snuggled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. "So what did Leeds want?" The name still came out sounding like something of a dirty word, but she was trying.
"I don't know, but something was definitely up." Race frowned as he laid his cheek against the top of her head and settled more comfortably into the sofa. "I haven't heard from the man in five years or more. Any contact I've had with the agency has been through Bennett. You remember him?" He could feel her nod.
"I always rather liked him."
"Bennett's a good man," Race agreed. "Deserved his promotion. But Leeds . . . I really don't know much about what goes on in the agency any longer. I've been totally out since about a year after I was assigned to guard Benton."
"What made you leave?"
"A lot of things, I guess. I was disillusioned with the agency . . . had been for a long time, I think. I just couldn't see it. They were assigning me to work with Leeds more and more often. I think they were trying to get me to mentor him the way Corbin did me, but Leeds was too ambitious and too callous. He didn't take the lives of his men seriously enough. And then the incident at Halfaya Pass occurred . . ."
He stopped and Estella felt a tenseness steal over him. "Tell me about it," she urged softly.
He was silent for a long time and Estella wondered if he would reply. Finally, he said, "A sordid little tale . . . like a lot of the stuff we'd been getting. The agency had been tracking a mystery man who was dealing in weapons for quite some time. We got word that he had a covert distribution route set up in northern Africa. The weapons came in through various ports throughout Africa and were shunted northward over land. Supposedly, they came up through Halfaya Pass and down to the sea again, where they were picked up and disbursed to buyers throughout the Middle East and Europe. Leeds and I were sent in to recon the operation. It wasn't a seek and destroy mission . . . it was investigative only . . . confirm the existence of the distribution route, get the lay of the land, and get the information necessary to set up a later mission.
"It didn't take much to confirm the rumors of the distribution network. All we needed to do was scope out the terrain and we should have been out of there. I was mission head; Leeds was my second. But Leeds was a hotdog. He wanted to blow the whole thing wide open then and there. But something felt wrong about the entire deal. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but it stunk like a set up to me. I decided later that it was how easy it was to confirm the rumors that had bothered me. We'd been chasing this guy for years . . . he was like a will-o-the-wisp. But suddenly, here it was, all the information just handed to us. So I decided to follow our original orders and pull out . . . wait for a second operation that had backup and better preparation. Leeds was pissed. He wanted the glory of bringing the guy down, no matter what. So he got himself a team of ten men . . . kids, really . . . and went in on his own."
His body was so tense Estella could feel the low-level tremor of over stretched muscles running through him. His arms felt like steel girders wrapped around her. She was appalled at how strongly this memory still haunted him . . . even after all these years. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and stroked the hair at the nape of his neck gently, trying to send a sense of calm to him. She hated to make him live through it again, but she instinctively knew that he needed to get it out. "Tell me what happened," she urged him softly.
He sighed and continued, "It was a trap. They were waiting for them at the top of the pass. It was wholesale slaughter. At the last minute, I had gotten wind of what Leeds was planning, but not soon enough to stop him. I was about half an hour behind them. By the time I got there, the only one left alive was a 20-year-old kid by the name of Nelson who bled to death in my arms. Their attackers lost only one man . . . the rest were gone without a trace. I was still sitting on the ground with the kid in my arms when Leeds stumbled into the middle of the carnage without a scratch on him. It was all I could do to keep from killing him myself. The only thing that stopped me was that he seemed to be in shock and I couldn't get a straight answer out of him. He just kept repeating 'They were waiting for us.' and 'They knew we were coming.' over and over again. I found out later that he had been bringing up the rear and when the attack hit, he froze. He remained behind, out of sight, which was why he ended up unhurt."
"You know, I think I read something about that in the papers at the time," Estella said, thoughtfully. "But I didn't realize you were involved in it."
"No, they managed to keep our names out of it," Race replied bitterly, "but it caused something of an international incident. The U.N. Secretary General had asked us to go in, but when it blew up, he completely disavowed any knowledge of it. Privately, he was furious. Told Bennett that he had asked us to go in and check on it, not incite a slaughter. It was a mess."
Estella pressed herself against him, trying to convey comfort through the contact. "What happened after you got back to Washington?"
Race shrugged. "There was an investigation. Both of us were suspended pending the outcome. In the end, we were both given written reprimands. Leeds had a promotion in the works that was scrubbed and he went back to doing grunt work. And I was assigned to the Quests for a babysitting detail."
"You never told them the truth about it, either." He didn't reply. "Did you?"
"I told them the truth."
"But not all of it."
Race sighed. "No, not all of it."
"You protected Leeds. Why?"
"Because whatever he did, it was still my responsibility. I was lead on the operation and I knew what he was like. I should have been in better control of him. The fault was mine."
"So you got stuck with an assignment that was a slap in the face for a man of your experience and seniority. You weren't happy about it, I'll bet."
"If they hadn't done it, I would have been dead within a year." It was said flatly, as a statement of fact.
Estella sat up abruptly and looked down at him. Race still couldn't see her face, but the abrupt tension in her body told him the comment had upset her.
"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding shaken.
He shrugged again. "I was totally disillusioned. I'd seen too much darkness . . . participated in too much of it. I hated the people I was working with, and the one good thing in my life went away when you and Jessie left. My soul was blasted to hell and gone, and I had nothing left to live for. As Nelson died in my arms, I remember thinking that it would have been so much easier if it had been me. Agents don't live long in that state."
Estella slid back down into his arms and clung to him tightly. Slowly, she began to feel the tension drain out of him. "So Bennett assigned you to a babysitting job to give you time to recover."
"Not exactly," Race replied dryly. "It was more like I was given the job as a reprimand and Bennett didn't oppose it because he knew I was too close to the edge. What none of them expected was that I would find a place here and chuck I-1 totally."
Estella laughed, still sounding a bit shaken. "Must have burnt a few people when you did that."
Race echoed her laughter. "Yeah, they didn't like it much, but by that time I really didn't care."
They sat in silence for a while, just holding each other. Finally, in a soft voice, Estella said, "I'm sorry."
His arms tightened. "For what?"
"I never realized how bad things were for you then."
"Not your fault. I never told you."
"No, but still . . ."
"If I hadn't lied to you . . . had tried harder to make our marriage work . . . you would have been there for me. The fact that you weren't was my fault, not yours. You always tried . . . tried longer and harder than I ever deserved."
"I think we were both at fault. But you're right about one thing . . . the past doesn't matter any longer. What's important is what the man wants now. So tell me what he said."
Without hesitation, Race related the entire telephone conversation. Then he said thoughtfully, "You know, it was more what he didn't say that's got me spooked. The way he sounded. Leeds was rattled and that is seriously out of character for him."
"Maybe he's changed."
Race shook his head. "No, that kind of man doesn't change. It's the worst part about someone like Leeds. He never sees his hotheadedness or ambition as wrong. Unfortunately, it's the people around him that pay the price. And his own self-confidence is what gets him into trouble. If I were to guess, I'd say that something has happened that's put him in a position where he feels powerless, and that's what's got him upset."
"Is it possible this is a trap? Could he be setting you up for some reason?" Estella asked slowly.
Race frowned, considering the possibility. "Possible, I guess, but unlikely. What does he have to gain?"
"Then I think you have to meet him . . . find out what he's got to say."
Race sat up abruptly in surprise. He shifted her around so the light finally fell across her face and looked at her closely. "Are you sure about this, Estella? I will blow it off. I won't risk our relationship over this. You mean too much to me for that."
She smiled at him and leaned forward to kiss him deeply. Finally, sitting back again, she replied, "No, this is something you need to do. If Leeds has some information that affects the safety of our family, then we need to know what it is. But I want to be there to cover your back. I'll stay out of sight, but I don't want you going in there alone."
"I wish you could, but if you want to help, I have another job I need you for."
"Just name it."
"Rajeev has to go back to the airport tomorrow. The meeting with Leeds is set for 1:00 p.m. Without leaving him at the airport way too early, I can't do both. If you want to help, we can both take him to the city and you can escort him to the airport while I make the meeting with Leeds."
"Can't you just fly him into Kennedy, drop him off, and we can both go to meet Leeds?"
Race shook his head. "Not easily. You know what air traffic is like at Kennedy. It's the reason our hangars are at LaGuardia, and even that's bad enough. And the car is at the hangar. I'd have to take him to Kennedy, land, drop him off, and then take off again and land at LaGuardia. It would take too long."
"I don't like it," Estella sighed. "I don't like you going in there with no one to back you up."
"You don't need to worry. It's a very public place, and I really don't think Leeds is setting me up. And I promise you, I'll be very, very careful." He caressed her cheek gently. "I have everything in the world to live for, now. I'm not going to lose it all because of Connor Leeds. I hate to make you go all the way to New York, though. I know you must have a lot of things to do here."
She smiled and shook her head. "Not a problem. I was going to tell you that I needed to go with you anyway. Jessie ended up ordering my gown from a shop in New York because she didn't like anything available here." Estella grimaced. "Seemed nothing was 'just right' in her estimation. At any rate, the dress is ready to be picked up, but I have to go in and try it on to be certain there are no further alterations needed."
"And if there are? The wedding is day after tomorrow. There's going to be no time to alter it again."
"They claim they can do it for me while I wait. Let's just hope they're right."
"Well, I guess that settles it then. We both go to New York tomorrow."
"Fair enough. Look, we had better get to bed. It's going to be a long day, and it's already late." She made to slide off of his lap, but Race stopped her.
"One other thing . . .'
She cocked her head to one side and said, "Yes?'
"I meant what I said. I don't want anything coming between us again."
Estella leaned forward and kissed him deeply. "Never again, my love. Never again."