Sunday, December 26
Conners' Residence
Rockport, Maine
Moonlight shown through the windows of the two-story frame house, tracing a path of silvery light across the floor to the end of the bed. Silence filled the structure as the entire family slept soundly. But some indistinguishable sound had caused Francesca Hamilton to wake abruptly. She lay there, unmoving, searching for whatever it was that had brought her up out of the depths of sleep. Nothing. But still she didn't move. If there was anything that her father had taught her, it was to trust her instincts. And those instincts were telling her that something was not right. She lay for a long time, breathing deeply and evenly in feigned sleep, as she waited. Then it came again . . . just the faintest sense of movement in the shadows. She wasn't alone! She tensed, preparing to fling herself out of her bed, but the instant before she was ready to move, the intruder struck. Catching her in a strong grip, her unknown assailant pinned her to the bed and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her silent. She fought like a wildcat, but to no avail. The man, while not large, was strong and agile. She was helpless from the start. As he held her in a punishing grip, he leaned down and pressed his face against hers. She could feel his breath, warm on her cheek.
"I have a message for you." The words were almost indistinguishable . . . just the barest breath of sound, and Francesca knew in that instant that this was the contact she had been waiting for. "One a.m. tonight," the voice whispered, " . . . the watchtower on the top of Mount Battie . . . he'll be waiting."
She shifted her head, indicating she understood. Then she nudged at the hand covering her mouth. Slowly, the grip eased and she shook free of it. She lay in a pool of moonlight, her captor little more than a dark shadow leaning over her. In the silvery light, her eyes glittered.
"You tell him . . . I'll be there," she hissed. "But you tell him something else, too. You tell him that, whatever it is he wants, there will be a price and he had better be prepared to pay it."
The man's laughter was little more than a soft burst of air in her ear. "Gutsy."
"My father," she said in a cold whispered hiss. "He frees my father and gets him back to the States, or he'll get no help from me. You pass that on . . . and tell him that if he's prepared to deal, I'll see him tonight."
"I'll pass it on," the whisperer replied. "And if you're still alive by midnight you can expect to see him there." And then the man was gone. Francesca lay there, her heart beating wildly, listening for his passage. But she never heard another sound.
It certainly had taken Baxter long enough to decide to contact her! She was not a patient person by nature, although her father had spent years trying to teach her to cultivate it. She was beginning to get seriously fidgety and was very glad that things appeared to be starting to move at last. Francesca thought about Leeds and smiled. She would meet Baxter tonight and find out what the man wanted this time. She had already decided that she would use Leeds and Baxter to eliminate all of her problems at once. With a little bit of careful manipulation, she should be able to get Baxter to spring her father. It was a demand that Baxter would anticipate and understand. But she didn't dare say anything to him about Bannon. There was too much of a chance that he might blame her for the Cairo fiasco. That she couldn't risk. But Leeds solved that problem! She could use Leeds' fixation with eliminating Baxter to get the government man to get rid of Jessie Bannon. Then it was a simple matter to betray Leeds to Baxter. Once Baxter knew about the government man, Leeds would be as good as dead, and Francesca's apparent loyalty to Baxter would gain her a valuable ally. And that would take care of the last of the loose ends. All she had to do was ensure that Leeds got rid of Bannon before she told Baxter about him. Once that was done, Francesca and her father could disappear without a trace and the entire business would be finished. She felt a passing flash of regret about Jonny Quest. She really was going to miss him. She wished she could figure out a way to get rid of the goody-goody side to his personality. She remembered the night in Cairo and shuddered slightly in the cold morning air. Jonny had a dark streak in him . . . one she hadn't realized existed until it was almost too late. If that could be permanently forced to the surface, he really could be hers. She sighed as a favorite daydream suggested itself to her again . . . she and Jonny, traveling all over the world with her father, pulling jobs and then vacationing in all sorts of exotic spots. With an angry shake of her head, she dispelled that thought. Don't be an idiot, she snarled at herself. That's worse than a daydream! It's idiocy that could get you caught again. You've been to jail once, you don't want to do it again!
Ahead of her, a car turned the corner and pulled up to the curb. In the light from the street lamp, she recognized Bobby and Matt's Honda. Francesca put a smile on her face and quickened her pace as the driver's door opened and Bobby stepped out of the car.
"Francesca?" he called, uncertainly.
She went directly to him, completing the last twenty feet at a half-run. She threw herself against him and pressed her body to his tightly, tucking her head down and laying it on his chest. "Oh, Bobby!"
Putting his arms around her tightly, he hugged her to him and said in concern, "Francesca, what's wrong?"
She clung to him for a moment longer before raising her head and giving him a tremulous smile. "Nothing . . . now. I-I just missed you, that's all. I thought yesterday was never going to end!"
His face cleared and he gave her a besotted smile. "I know," he whispered. "I missed you so much." Then he kissed her. Francesca returned the kiss for a long moment before shuddering slightly. Bobby immediately picked up on it and raised his head. "What's wrong?"
She laughed lightly. "I'm just cold, that's all. It's still early and it's so dark . . . "
"Of course you are!" he replied, chagrined. "Come on, get in the car. The heater should be warmed up now." He opened the door and helped her into her seat before going back around to the driver's side and getting in himself. "So where to?"
"When do you have to be back?" Francesca asked innocently.
Bobby's expression immediately darkened and he turned to put the car in gear. "Whenever I feel like it," he replied shortly.
Francesca frowned and laid a soft hand on top of his. "You're angry. What's wrong? Has something happened?"
"It's nothing."
"No, something has upset you. Tell me." She paused for a moment, looking at him. "Your dad?"
"I really thought that getting out this early, I'd be able to avoid him this morning."
"But he caught you going out," she filled in for him when he stopped.
"Yeah. And we got into this big fight. And, of course, brother Matt had to try to step into the middle of it and play peacemaker, which only made it worse . . ."
Francesca made a tiny sound and bowed her head, allowing her hair to fall forward to screen her face. A small, ugly smile played across her lips before she could school her face into an expression of pain. When he brushed her hair back and tilted her face up to look at her, there were tears on her cheek. "I-I'm sorry, Bobby. T-t-this is all m-my fault . . ."
"It is not!" he denied sharply. "You can't be blamed because my father is being an idiot!"
Francesca could see him hesitating, as though trying to decide what to do. Well, she was not going to spend another day sitting around the house going out of her skull! Reviewing her options quickly, she decided that playing the martyr was the only way to go. Reaching for the door handle, she said, "I'm so sorry, Bobby. I can't let this go on. I-I can walk back home from here. You'd better go before your Dad gets any more angry." She opened the door and turned to get out. When he didn't immediately move to stop her, she added, "I'll see you when school starts again."
"What? School starts? Wait! Francesca . . ."
She paused, turning to look back at him. "It think it would probably be better if we don't see each other any more. Then your dad won't have anything to get angry at you about. Goodbye, Bobby."
He grabbed at her frantically. "No! Francesca, I don't want you to go. I . . . " He stopped, as though weighing the options, and then made a swift decision. "My father can go stuff it. This is my life . . . my choice . . . and if he doesn't like it, that's tough. Nothing is more important to me than you are."
She looked back at him with huge, soulful eyes. "Bobby, I . . ."
He cupped her cheek in one hand and said, "I . . . I think I love you, Francesca. Please . . . you can't leave me."
"But your father . . ."
"I don't care about my father! You and me, that's all that matters." He leaned over and kissed her again. "Close the door," he whispered against her slightly parted lips. She closed the car door and then slid her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with abandon. The whole time she was smiling smugly to herself. Yes, he was so easy . . .
After a long while, Bobby straightened and turned back to the car again. "So what shall we do until the Snow Bowl opens?"
Francesca hesitated. "Actually, I thought maybe we could try going somewhere new. We've spent so much time at the Snowbowl, I thought it might be fun to try a different set of slopes. I'd love to go to Sugarloaf, but it's too far away. I thought maybe we could try New Hermon Ski Area or maybe Mt. Jefferson. They're up around Bangor. That's wouldn't be too far, would it?"
He seemed to think about it for a minute and then looked at her and smiled recklessly. "Hey, we've got all day. If you want to go to Sugarloaf, then that's where we'll go."
Francesca was momentarily disconcerted. "But . . . but Bobby . . . that's all the way up near the Canadian border!"
"So?" he asked her with a grin. "You got someplace better to be?"
After a moment, she grinned back at him. "No, not anytime soon . . ."
"Then, let's get started!"
Quest Compound
"ACKNOWLEDGED. DO YOU WISH A MESSAGE TO BE TAKEN OR IS SHE TO BE DIRECTED TO CALL BACK?"
"I do not care," he snarled. "You can hang up on her if you wish. Just as long as I do not have to talk with her!"
Kefira crossed to him swiftly. Catching him by the arm, she guided him to the nearby seating area as she said, "IRIS, apologize to the Lady Neela if she calls and advise her that Hadji is unavailable. Offer to take a message and then allow her to decide if she will leave one or call back."
"ACKNOWLEDGED. DO YOU WISH TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN SHE ATTEMPTS TO CALL?"
"NO!" Hadji replied sharply.
Kefira pressed Hadji down onto a large ottoman and, stepping around behind him, she began to massage his shoulders gently. She said nothing, allowing the feel of her hands and the quiet in the house to calm him. She knelt and slowly worked her way down his back, kneading determinedly at knotted muscles, and feeling the tension slowly start to drain away.
"I should not allow myself to lose my temper in that way," he finally said in a dispirited tone of voice.
"Yes," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes it is easier to know you should not do it than to prevent it from happening."
"I used to be able to control my temper. When I became upset I could meditate and the anger would just fade away."
"Why do you not go and do that now?" she suggested, rising and moving to stand in front of him. She reached out and started on his neck again, using her thumbs to work at tense jaw muscles, and then rubbing his temples, forehead and closed eyes gently. She worked her fingers into his hair, pulling it free from the ponytail to hang loose across his shoulders, and massaged his scalp before returning to his shoulders, upper chest and arms. The tendency of his body to sway under her hands told her that her efforts were having the desired effect. "Things are quiet and you have the time. I would see that you are not disturbed."
Hadji sighed. "I have been unable to meditate for some months now. I seem to have lost the ability to find the inner quiet and relaxation necessary to reach the first level trance." He was silent for a minute and then said, "This is very nice. Where did you learn this skill?"
Kefira laughed softly. "From my mother. She required that all of her daughters learn the art of massage. She feels it to be of benefit in soothing the soul."
"I believe I would have to agree with her."
"You should at least try to meditate. You seem relaxed enough at the moment. Perhaps this time you would find the inner peace to reach the trance state."
"Please do not stop," he protested, as she released his arm and straightened.
She smiled and replied, "I will continue if you will try to meditate. I believe that the rest and quiet would do you good." She moved around behind him again and began rubbing his back gently. The tension had fully dissipated now and he really didn't need the deep relaxation techniques she had been using earlier, so instead she simply used her whole hand in a flat, circular motion across the muscles of his back.
He shifted slightly, settling into his favorite position and began breathing in a deep even rhythm. It was as though old habits returned to him almost immediately and she could feel his withdrawal as he dropped easily into a trance. After a few moments more, she stopped and stepped back from him softly. He didn't move. The peace that seemed to surround him was almost tangible. She moved silently across the family room and into the entryway, meeting Benton and Race just coming up the hall. She made a shushing motion with her hand and moved to close off the room. The two men caught a quick glimpse of Hadji, perched on the ottoman, right before she closed the door.
"IRIS," she said softly, "be certain Hadji is left undisturbed. No phones and no interruptions."
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
Race looked at her in surprise. "Problem?"
She shook her head, drawing the two men with her toward the kitchen. She allowed the door to close behind then before she replied. "I do not believe it is anything serious. He has just been very stressed recently and he is finding it difficult to relax. He had just reached the state where he could meditate and I wanted to give him the chance to do that."
"I know things have been tense around here recently," Benton began in concern, "but . . ."
Kefira shook her head again, cutting him off. "No, Dr. Quest, it has nothing to do with life here. I believe the stress is coming from Bangalore." She shook her head at Race as he reached for the coffee pot on the counter. "Estella is right, you are going to overdose on caffeine one of these days." Race just grinned.
"Do you know what the problem is?" Benton persisted.
"Not for certain," she replied, "but I have an idea." She went to the refrigerator and got a bottle of juice before returning to the breakfast bar and climbing onto one of the high stools. "I have not had the chance to really sit down and talk with him since I arrived. I am hoping to do that this afternoon. I believe that if I have the chance to talk with him alone, he will tell me what is going on at home that is disturbing him." She gave Benton an apologetic look. "He tends to be more willing to talk with me about issues involving Bangalore because I will eventually be his wife and we will deal with them together."
Benton sighed. "I know. Don't mind me, Kefira. I'm just having a mid-life crisis at the moment. I'll get over it."
"I understand," Kefira said with a smile. "My father is going through much the same thing. It is hard for him, too, and he still has young children at home." She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, looking suddenly concerned. "I hope you do not feel that I am trying to take him away in some fashion . . . "
Benton looked startled. "Of course not! I am absolutely delighted. You are a wonderful young woman and I can tell that he is extremely happy when he is around you."
Kefira contemplated the man across from her for a moment and then said, "I told Hadji this last night, but I want to say it to you as well, Dr. Quest. I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful it has been being here with you. I-I have never really fit in at home . . . I am a bit too . . . " She stopped, unable to find the right word.
"Progressive," Race supplied without hesitation.
"Progressive," she said, as though sampling the word. "Yes, I believe that is a good way to describe it. I am too progressive in my thinking for my country. I want things that are not deemed appropriate. And because of that, I have always felt out of place. I do not feel that way here. I have not from the first instant I set foot inside this house. I wanted to thank you for that. It is a truly wonderful gift."
Benton squeezed her hand gently and smiled. "No thanks are necessary, Kefira. The expression on my son's face when he looks at you is all the thanks I need." Then he looked at her questioningly again. "You have no idea what's bothering him? Because I know something is. I've seen the signs. And it's worrying me, because the things I'm seeing strike me as significant."
Race moved from the counter to the bar and sat down. "I haven't noticed anything. What have you seen?"
Benton shrugged. "It's little things, but he's changing habits that have been in place all of his life." He looked at Race. "When was the last time you saw him dressed in Indian attire?"
Race thought about it for a minute and then began to frown. "You know, I'm not sure, but it's been a while. You're right. That's not like him."
"He's stopped wearing a turban almost entirely, and Jonny mentioned not too long ago that he's even talking about cutting his hair."
"Oh, I hope he does not do that!" Kefira exclaimed, sitting up sharply. "I think his hair is sex . . ." She stopped abruptly, clamping both hands over her mouth and blushing furiously. Race started to laugh and Benton grinned.
"Just tell Jessie," Race advised her. "She'll tell Jonny, and Jonny's sure to tell Hadji, and then he'll never touch it." Kefira just buried her face in her hands.
Benton sobered. "So, do you have any idea what the problem is, Kefira?"
"I believe it is simply a case of the old being in conflict with the new," she replied thoughtfully. "His advisory council is largely composed of older men that date from the time of his father's reign, and they do not take to change well. And in many aspects, the Lady Neela tends to be very conservative, as well. She is also strongly influenced by Arun Birla, the head of the Advisory Council, who is extremely conservative. In fact, Mr. Birla actually worked directly with Hadji's cousin Vikram for much of his reign. My father says that Mr. Birla is very good at politics and tends to get the things he wants. Hadji is trying very hard to bring Bangalore forward into modern times and I believe he is finding the conservativeness of the older members of his government taxing. He has to fight for everything he wants, and often times he must resort to 'playing Sultan', a role he does not relish. I do not think that Hadji enjoys wielding the kind of power he has now."
"No, he doesn't," Benton agreed.
Kefira sighed. "He was arguing with his mother again this morning. This happens frequently and it is very frustrating to him. They try to bend him to their will and he will not give in if it goes against what he believes is right." She shook her head. "From what I have been told, the fight in the Council chambers the day after the marriage candidate reception was extremely heated."
"Marriage candidate reception?" Race said, gagging on his coffee.
Kefira nodded. "His mother decided that it was necessary that Hadji be married and produce an heir. She intended that the marriage would occur this spring with the hope that there would be a child by the end of the year. So she called together all the eligible girls in the province and they had this large reception so his Advisory Council could inspect all of the potential candidates and select a wife for him. That was the reason I was at the palace. My family had come for the reception."
Benton stared at her in horror. "You were selected to marry him by his Advisory Council???"
Kefira laughed ruefully. "Oh, no. I was not even a candidate. I was there with the rest of my family in support of my elder sister. I never would have been considered. I don't fit the qualifications of a good Sultan's wife."
"So what are the necessary qualifications to be a good Sultan's wife?" Race asked curiously.
"Subservience, obedience, and the ability to be manipulated," she replied without hesitation. "At least according to Lady Neela and the Council. Hadji disagreed with their search criteria."
"Yes, I suspect he would," Benton agreed dryly. "So how did they receive his announcement about you?"
"Well, technically, there is no betrothal. Custom states that once the betrothal has been announced, I am not allowed to leave my father's house until we are married. And I certainly never would have been allowed to leave the country. So Hadji refused to make it official. Therefore, the Council has not been forced to take a formal position."
"But Bennett knew about it!" Benton objected. "And he was told by the Indian ambassador himself."
Kefira smiled bitterly. "Yes, I know. The story was leaked from the palace within a week after Hadji left the country. Oh, not the name of the girl he is to be married to, but the fact that he is to be married. I do not know if Hadji has confronted Lady Neela with this or not, but I would not want to be in the middle when that discussion occurs!" She sighed and shook her head. "It is all a power struggle . . . political maneuvering . . . and I believe this is what has him upset. But as I say, I have been unable to find the time to talk with him alone to find out for certain. There has simply been too much going on."
"So how can we help?" Race asked, leaning comfortably against the bar.
Kefira looked from one to the other and then said, "What I need to do is get him alone for a period of time. That will give me a chance to get him to open up and talk with me." She smiled, looking slightly embarrassed. "He may be willing to discuss these things with me, but it takes me a little time to get him started. We have not been together long enough for him to turn to me readily, and I must often coax things out of him."
"Good enough," Benton said decisively. "And I know just the way to give you that time. Today, after lunch, I will ask him to go to the lab and begin running a full set of diagnostics on QuestWorld. That has to be done anyway to ensure the integrity of the system now that we suspect our enemies have the equipment and software to access it, so he won't question why I am asking. I'll find something else that will require my attention so I won't be able to help. Can you get yourself invited along?"
Kefira smiled. "He would take me anywhere I told him I wished to go. If I offer to accompany him as his assistant, he will not hesitate."
"And I can see that Jessie and Jonny are occupied elsewhere, as well," Race added. "That should buy you all afternoon if you need that long."
"Will that be enough time?" Benton asked her.
She grinned at the two older men in amusement. "Yes, I believe that will be more than adequate."
"You know," Race commented with a grin, "I bet that if Hadji's Advisory Council could be a fly on the wall right about now, they would be downright scared!"
She turned and looked back up the way she had come. The day was beautiful . . . cold, clear, and sunny, and she could see all the way back up to the large, sweeping S-curve that marked the entry into the final sharp downhill run. It wasn't an easy finish. It was steep and rather rough with a fairly good glaze of ice in several spots, which caused the skier to pick up speed rapidly. And it was that speed that made the final few hundred feet the most challenging of the run, because that section suddenly turned washboardy. To navigate it safely required the skier to use the knees and leg muscles to absorb a lot of the bumps before reaching the last one, which was too large to dampen. That one you gathered yourself for and allowed your momentum to launch you into the air. It was a thrill when done correctly and could mean a seriously painful fall if you missed it. A suddenly flash of bright blue warned her that she was about to find out which way Bobby Evans would come down.
She watched with clinical detachment as he came out of the bottom leg of the S and the ground fell away beneath him. Twice he almost went down, but managed to regain his balance at the last minute. He hit the washboard section going at a frightening pace and she watched him fight desperately to maintain his balance over the center of the skis. Bobby was seriously off balance as he shot into the air and she knew that he was never going to land upright. His skis crossed and he rotated, coming down hard on his back and then sliding a good distance before coming to a stop about 20 feet away. With a private smirk, she put a concerned look on her face and skied over to where he lay on the ground.
"Bobby? Bobby, are you okay?" Dropping her poles, she knelt down beside him and slid his goggles off. He opened his eyes but avoided looking at her.
"Yeah . . . yeah, I'm okay." Slowly, he sat up, wincing slightly as he did so. Francesca reached down and pulled the quick releases on his skis and shoved them out of the way. He straightened his legs carefully and she could tell that he was seriously embarrassed about the fall.
"That last bit is really nasty. I don't know how anyone makes it down the first time without falling," she said diplomatically, carefully hiding her smugness at his inability to keep up with her. She pressed herself against his back, providing a prop for him as he struggled to recover. She pulled off her gloves and reached out to stroke his hair gently. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Tired, though."
"So am I. I thought maybe we could go down and see about getting some lunch. I know I'll feel better after a hot meal and the chance to sit down in front of the fireplace for a while."
"That sounds great." he agreed wearily. He rose to his feet carefully and then bent down to gather up his skis. He gazed toward the lodge about a half mile away and then sighed softly. Dropping his skis back onto the ground, he seated his boots into the locking mechanisms and snapped them into place. "Let's do it."
She still had plenty of energy and could have made the trip back on the gentle slope very quickly, but she stayed with him, quelling her impatience at his slow pace. More than once on the trip back she caught herself thinking that Jonny wouldn't have taken that fall and could have easily kept up with her. But she let none of that show on the outside. When they finally made it back to the lodge, they checked their skis and went inside. Bobby was quiet throughout lunch, generally speaking only when spoken to. Once they had eaten, the two of them moved into the lounge area and sat down near the fire. Francesca contemplated him quietly and then asked, "Have you talked to Jonny Quest recently?"
"No. Why?" he asked. Francesca thought she heard an edge to his voice and wondered what he was thinking. She shrugged and stared deep into the fire.
"I was just wondering. I really had hoped that he'd give in and invite us to his party."
"Well, he didn't," Bobby replied flatly "And I don't know that I'd go now, even if he called and invited us." Alarm flared in Francesca. She didn't know what Baxter wanted, but it was a safe bet that it involved the Quest Compound. She'd gotten involved with Bobby Evans because she gambled that he would be her access to that facility. If she alienated them so completely that Bobby refused to associate with Jonny any more, she was in trouble. Laying a hand on his knee, she said in a soft, pleading voice,
"Oh, please, Bobby, don't be that way. The two of you have always been such good friends. I don't want to break that up. It's not Jonny's fault . . . really, it isn't."
"Why are you always defending him?" Bobby asked in sudden anger. "It's like you think he can do no wrong or something. Why is that? You still like the guy or something?"
Francesca's initial surprise at his outburst slid over into amusement when she heard the unmistakable sounds of jealousy in Bobby's tone of voice. So she'd hooked him far enough to make him jealous of Jonny!
"No, of course not. If I still liked him, I wouldn't be with you, now would I?" She took a deep breath. "Bobby, you have to understand, what my dad did while we were in Cairo . . . it was pretty bad. I-I've never told you about that stuff . . . and . . . and I'd really rather not talk about it. I hate to even think about it! Surely, you know how badly Jessie was hurt when they came back from there . . ."
"Yeah," Bobby replied reluctantly. "I saw her then. She was pretty messed up . . . "
"One of the people my dad was working with did that to her. Jonny has always blamed me for it, at least in part, and I guess that's fair. If I'd refused to do as my dad asked, that might not have happened. Jessie means a lot to Jonny and you can't fault him for being angry about it. I . . . I had just hoped that he'd give me a second chance. I just want is to be his friend. That's all . . ."
"Well, I say, screw him! If he was really our friend . . . my friend . . . he'd understand and accept you because he'd know it was important to me." Bobby reached out and pulled her into his arms. "Let's just forget him, Francesca. We don't need him or his stupid party." Then he leaned down to kiss her.
Francesca thought frantically. What was she going to do? She didn't dare push him any further on this or he would become seriously suspicious. And yet, if she met Baxter and he demanded something from her that involved the Quest Compound and she couldn't deliver, she was liable to end up dead. She had to stop Bobby from getting word back to Jonny that he was totally writing off their friendship. She knew Jonny Quest well enough to suspect that if he did that, there would be no chance of reconciliation between the two of them or of her ever getting close to the Compound. Well, that left her with only one choice . . .
Breaking off the deep, lingering kiss, she smiled up at him. "Whatever you think is best, Bobby." She sat up out of his arms and said, "Come on, let's take one more run down the slopes before we take off for home! I want to do the big downhill . . . the one the Ski Team uses."
Bobby frowned immediately and replied, "I don't know, Francesca. That's a rough hill and we've both done a fair amount of hard skiing today. Maybe we should leave that one for another time . . ."
She turned a pleading look on him. "Oh, Bobby, please. We have no idea when we're going to have the chance to come back. You know how pissed your dad is going to be about this trip, and I really did want to try that one." She paused and looked at him, allowing the doubt to show in her face and voice. "Of course, if you don't feel up to it, I understand. After all, you did take that fall right before lunch . . . " She allowed the silence to linger between the two of them for a long moment before she finished, "You stay here, and I'll join you when I'm done."
Bobby sat up sharply, a frown of concern settling on his face. "You can't go alone! Particularly on that hill."
Francesca rose to her feet. "Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine. You can watch from the porch. There's a good view of the bottom of the run from there." She picked up her coat and began pulling it on. "I shouldn't be gone more than an hour. I'll take the high speed lift to the top and take the first chance at the run that I can get."
"Francesca, wait! You can't do this . . ."
She turned a guileless look on him. "But, Bobby, there is no one else . . . and I really want to make that run."
He stared at her for a long time before he commented with bitter sarcasm, "Its too bad Jonny isn't here. I'm sure he'd be up to going with you!"
"Bobby, that's not fair!" she cried, putting all the hurt into her voice she possibly could. "You know that wasn't what I meant."
"Yeah. Right," he replied. Then he rose and said, "Alright, come on. We'll both go."
"Bobby, you don't have to do this. I promise you . . . I'll be just fine."
"No, I won't let you go alone. Come on, let's get it over with so we can start for home."
Quest Compound
Benton nodded, observing his eldest son. Hadji had remained in seclusion all morning, finally joining the rest of the family for lunch. It had been a little before 7:00 a.m. when he and Race had met Kefira coming out of the family room, and by 10:00, when Hadji still hadn't reappeared, Benton had begun to worry. He finally had IRIS turn on the visual monitors in the common room and watched Hadji sitting for a long time. The young man never moved muscle. While Benton was seriously concerned, he also knew better than to interrupt when Hadji was this deeply in meditation. Benton had seen that state work wonders in his son before, and finally he decided to leave him alone to finish at his own pace. Looking at him now, he knew it was a wise choice. While hard to define, there was a definite change in the young man. He appeared rested and more relaxed than he had in some time. Kefira had been right. Hadji needed that quiet time. "I'm just sorry I can't help you with them today, but if you can get a good start, perhaps we can finish them up tomorrow."
Hadji nodded, swallowing quickly so he could reply. But before he had the opportunity, Kefira spoke up hesitantly. "I do not know how much assistance I can offer, but I would be more than happy to help."
Hadji turned to her with a smile. "I would be glad of your company, certainly, but it is not necessary. I can manage on my own."
She turned wide, pleading brown eyes on him and said in a wheedling tone, "But I would enjoy it. And you have promised to show me the lab . . . " Benton, in the process of taking a swallow of coffee, snorted at the same time and ended up inhaling some of the fluid. He choked and began coughing. Jonny leaned over and thumped him on the back soundly.
"You okay, Dad?" he asked solicitously, the laughing sparkle in his eyes telling Benton that Race had gotten to him and warned him of the plan to give Hadji and Kefira some time alone.
"Yes," he wheezed, catching his breath with difficulty. "It just went down the wrong way."
With a concerned look at his father, Hadji said agreeably, "Of course, if you would like to help you are more than welcome to join me."
"Thank you!" she said with a brilliant smile.
Benton was certain he heard Jonny comment softly, "Sucker!" and then Jessie kicked him under the table. Hadji was oblivious to it all.
Quest Compound
"And this lighthouse is still used to warn ships, as well as everything else Dr. Quest has done with it?" she asked in awe.
"Yes. Father has an agreement with the Coast Guard. He is allowed to modify the lighthouse in any way he needs to be able to use it as a laboratory, and in return, we insure that the light operates properly and we keep it maintained. It has proven to be a beneficial arrangement for both of us."
"So I see." She looked around the room. "This is QuestWorld, then?"
Hadji shook his head. "No, this is just the computer room. QuestWorld is a collection of computer programs that simulates an artificial environment. One day soon, I will take you into that environment and show it to you. But I do not believe that now is the time to do that. Father does not want any of us in QuestWorld until we are certain it is secure." Hadji sighed. "There was a time when it was not possible to be hurt in QuestWorld. But Jeremiah Surd altered the programming a number of years ago and it is capable of doing serious harm now. For this reason, Father does not allow us to go into QuestWorld without someone on the outside to monitor the activity. Since no one else is here, it is better that we leave it until later."
Kefira nodded agreeably. "So what do we need to do here?"
"We are going to run all of the security sub-routines, one at a time, to check for tampering or bugs."
"I am surprised that IRIS can not do this."
"She can," Hadji agreed, "and does so as part of the daily routine system maintenance. But Father does not want to take any chances. Dr. Surd has buried so many things into the programs that comprise the system, we simply have been unable to find them all." Hadji grimaced. "We have a habit of coming on them unexpectedly, and the encounters are generally not very pleasant. So one of the things that Father has insisted on is that we do not rely on IRIS' general maintenance. A human operator checks the security routines regularly as a failsafe."
"That makes sense. So why don't you show me how I can help and let us get started."
For well over two hours, the two of them worked steadily, checking lines of code and testing subroutines. Finally, Hadji sat back with a sigh. "That is the last of the system access routines. Everything appears to be functioning properly and I could not find anything that does not belong there."
"How many actual lines of code are there in the complete environment?" Kefira asked idly.
"Father isn't entirely sure," Hadji replied absently, "but I heard him estimate once that he thought there were probably over 5 billion by this time."
Kefira stared at him, dumbfounded. "He wrote a program with 5 billion lines of code???"
Hadji grinned at her. "Not precisely. Remember when I said that QuestWorld is an adaptive environment?" Kefira nodded mutely. "IRIS is capable of writing her own code in certain circumstances, and some of the applications and expansions that have gone into the system have been written by IRIS herself. Within certain limits, she is also capable of self-repair. This is what makes it so difficult to find the changes that Jeremiah Surd has made. IRIS has actually incorporated them so deeply and widely into the fundamental programming, that they have become integral to the entire system. To try and eliminate them would destroy IRIS and QuestWorld itself."
Kefira thought about that for at time. "But . . . " she said hesitantly, and then stopped.
"What?"
"It's just that . . . well, how long can she do that before . . . I mean, if she can write her own . . . "
"What you are trying to ask is if she is capable of developing her own intelligence," Hadji supplied quietly. "Is she the precursor to the world of the Terminator."
"Yes."
"With the limits and safeguards that Father has put on the system, I do not believe so. But it is one of the reasons why he will not consider making the system's existence known, nor will he ever sell it. To be honest, I think the day will come when he will destroy it. It is an incredible accomplishment . . . the crowning jewel of a career full of incredible accomplishments . . . but I truly believe it is the one that the world in general will never know about."
"How is it that it has never been stolen? All systems can be hacked. You said yourself that Dr. Surd has gotten in and done damage. How have you managed to prevent it being pirated?"
Hadji stretched with a sigh. "For one thing, it takes very specialized hardware to run. Our mainframe systems are extensive and well beyond state of the art. They are custom-designed by Father just for the purpose of running QuestWorld. In addition, built into the entire system at the most basic level of the code, is a virus that is designed to trigger a catastrophic cascade fault if someone manages to get through all of the security and attempts to download the operating code. The virus is pervasive, interactive, and highly sensitive, so that it is not possible to eliminate it in one small segment of code so that it can be downloaded. Eliminate even the tiniest part of it, and it activates and replicates so quickly it destabilizes the entire system and causes the rapid destruction of everything."
"But wouldn't IRIS attempt to repair it even as it is self-destructing?"
"No. The failsafe in IRIS is that once the virus begins to replicate, the first thing to be destroyed is IRIS's ability to self-repair and write routines."
"That is absolutely incredible!"
He smiled at her. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"The complement. Much of the failsafe system is of my own design. Father is a good teacher."
Kefira looked at him for a long time. Finally, she said softly, "You love it here."
The animation left his face and an expression of pain and resignation flickered briefly before he turned back to the console in front of him. "Yes."
She reached out and caught his hands, stopping him from returning to work. "Talk to me, Hadji. Tell me what is troubling you."
He shook his head without looking at her and said, "It is nothing you need concern yourself with. I am fine."
Kefira reached out and laid her hand against his cheek, forcing his head up until his eyes met hers. "Lying to me is not a good way to begin our betrothal, Hadji," she said softly. "Your cares are mine, as are your fears, your hopes, and your dreams. It is the pledge we take. Please do not shut me out."
"We are not betrothed yet, Kefira. Perhaps, in time, you will find that you do not wish to be bound to my problems. I certainly would not blame you." He sighed again and she could sense the bitterness that underlay his comments. "Perhaps we should return to what we were doing." He pulled away from her hands and turned back to his console.
She sat looking at him for a long moment, and then inclined her head regally. "As you wish, Excellency. I am yours to command." Sitting straight in her chair she turned back to her console. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head snap around to stare at her. "I believe you indicated that we were finished with system access routines, Sire. Shall I begin on the individual programs themselves, or do you have another function you wish me to perform?"
"Kefira . . . "
She heard the pain in that single word, and it took everything she had not to give way. She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, knowing that she hurt him by doing this, but she held firm. Schooling her face into a mask of blank, helpful placidness, she looked at him and waited for instructions.
"Stop it!"
"Excellency?"
"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!!!"
Kefira looked at him quietly. The reserved, competent face he regularly showed to the world was gone. In its place was the expression of an incredibly unhappy young man who seemed to be having a very difficult time coping. Finally, she replied softly, "You have left me little choice. I will willingly stand beside you and face anything that comes our way, but to do that you must allow me to be a part of your life . . . whether it is good or bad. If you choose to try to shield me from the difficult parts, then I become little more than another subject in your realm, whose place it is to accept your commands and do your bidding. If that is what you intend . . . well . . . then you would have been better served taking my sister as your wife."
He stared at her, thoroughly shaken. To hear her address him in this way, with that tone of subservience and blind obedience, cut him to his very soul. He closed his eyes unable to look at her blank expression any longer.
"I . . . I cannot do this without you," he whispered, and, shocked, he knew it was true.
"I am not asking you to," she said, and suddenly she was there, close enough he could feel the heat of her body. He opened his eyes to find her inches away. "I am asking you to let me into your life . . . to talk with me when you are troubled . . . for the two of us to hunt for solutions together . . . as partners. Not alone." She smiled at him gently, her eyes bright. "We are not strong that way, my love."
She caressed the side of his face again, allowing her fingers to slide into his hair. His arms went around her, pulling her tightly to him, as she leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips parted under the pressure of his mouth as he kissed her with a deep hunger. For a long time, they continued in that way, trading kisses and gentle caresses. Finally, Hadji stopped, allowing his head to lie on her shoulder, his face buried against her neck, and he began to talk.
He told her about living on the streets of Calcutta as a young child with no memory of his past . . . of stealing food to feed himself and Pasha, and of performing as a snake charmer in the markets for whatever small change he could earn.
He told her about meeting Jonny Quest and his father, and how Benton Quest had fought government officials and petty bureaucracy to take him off the streets. He told her how, at first, he believed that Dr. Quest had done that simply to provide a companion for Jonny, and how shaken he had been when he finally understood that the man had legally adopted him and made him his son.
He told her about growing up with the Quests . . . of being treated the same as his brother, regardless of not being Benton Quest's son by birth. He told her of being given the opportunity to learn from the best teachers and to have anything that money could buy simply by asking for it.
He told her about the discovery of his true parentage, the confrontation with his cousin Vikram, and the rescue of his mother from the dungeons in the palace in Bangalore.
He told her of that day in Bangalore when he was forced to face the truth about himself and his heritage.
And finally, he told her of the realization that karmic fate had been directing his life all along, and how he believed that all he had learned while living with Benton Quest was designed to prepare him for the role he was now being asked to play.
Through it all, she stood, holding him close and listening without saying a word. When he finally finished, they were both quiet for a long time. Then, with a deep sigh, he raised his head and looked at her again.
"Do you understand now, Kefira, why it is that I refuse to allow anyone to forcibly bind you to me? This is something I must do. I do not have a choice . . . it is what I was born to do, whether I like it or not. But you were not. You do not have to deal with the palace politics, or the petty infighting, or the maneuvering for power. Your life can be simple and exactly what you wish it to be."
"And you would fight tradition and political pressure and your own mother to give me what I want, and then simply walk away?" she asked him softly.
"Yes," he replied in a pained whisper. "It is important to me that you are happy."
She gazed deeply into his eyes, thinking to herself that karma was a strange thing. All of her life she had been different and she could never understand why. She remembered wanting desperately to fit in . . . to be able to accept the role expected of her by being born her father's daughter rather than his son . . . but she had never been able to do so. It made her miserably unhappy to contemplate living the kind of life that her sister, Daria, wanted so much. But now . . . finally . . . after 18 years, she understood the road that fate had decreed she walk, and she saw her destiny clearly for the first time.
"Then, beloved, you must allow me to choose what will make me happy. And that is being bound to you and sharing your joys and your pain. Our country is in turmoil right now. It is struggling to balance the old with the new and searching for a way to blend it all together. You and I . . . together, we hold the key to that. You are the future . . . bringing new ideas and fresh life into a dying land. And I am the past . . . raised to the old culture, both knowing and understanding it's traditions, and yet wanting what is new. Together we bring balance. I believe it was fate that brought us together in that palace hallway, Hadji, not random chance. We were meant to be together. I do not believe anything else can explain the almost instant rapport we shared. It is a tie I felt from the first instant I saw you, and it has only grown stronger since. So if you will allow me to choose, then let me choose to be your wife . . . to stand by your side, to share your challenges, and to help you find solutions." She smiled at him. "It is truly what I want." Then, drawing him to her again, she kissed him deeply once more.
It was a very long time before they parted again, and this time, when she looked at him, she saw acceptance and peace for the first time since she had known him. He smiled at her and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Jonny is right."
"About what?"
"He and I . . . we are both very lucky."
She smiled at him. "I am glad you think so."
"I know so," he replied. Then he sighed. "I suppose we should return to the job we were given."
"In a minute," she replied, and easing out of his grasp, she climbed back up into her chair. "There is something I need to tell you about first."
He looked at her attentively, sensing the gravity of her words. "What is it?"
"Do you remember when my father and I arrived in New York, we mentioned the visit we had from the Lady Neela?"
"Yes."
"I think it is time I told you about that visit." Briefly, she described the surprise arrival of his mother and the head of his Advisory Council, and of the subsequent conversation. By the time she finished, he was frowning in concentration.
"That was an odd encounter," he said. "What was the purpose?"
"I have thought about it a great deal since it happened," Kefira replied, "and there are several conclusions I have drawn from it."
"Tell me," he encouraged her, when she stopped.
"Well, to begin with, I believe there were two separate sets of reasons for their visit. One belonged to the Lady Neela and the other belonged to Mr. Birla, and I do not believe that the two of them necessarily were meant to work in concert." She paused, as though searching for the right words to explain her feelings. "I think that Mr. Birla's reason for being there was purely political. He had not met either me or my father before, and I think he was there to look us over."
"Assessing the opposition," Hadji said.
Kefira nodded. "Yes. Exactly." She grinned somewhat ruefully. "And I am afraid that I was relatively easy to read. I made it clear that I would not go against your will simply because you were not in the palace. I "let him push my buttons" as Jonny would say."
Hadji chuckled. "Well, I do not allow Mr. Birla to push me, either. Not any longer."
Kefira frowned. "But what disturbed me about the incident was that he was not openly confrontational. He simply sat back and watched while the Lady Neela initiated the dispute."
Hadji looked grim. "So . . . my mother actively works against my direct orders. I had hoped that this was not the case, but I was beginning to suspect it. I just do not understand what it is she hopes to gain."
Kefira shook her head slowly. "No, Hadji, I do not believe that is it."
Hadji looked at her in surprise. "I do not understand."
She was silent, staring at the floor for a long time, and Hadji waited patiently, watching her try to assemble her thoughts. Finally, she raised her eyes to his and said, "I think she is being used."
"What?"
"Your mother is very unhappy, Hadji . . . but it is more than just discontent with having to be the political head of our country. The emotion I felt the most strongly was jealousy. She resents your attachment to your adopted father and brother." She saw anger flare in his face, and she held out a placating hand. "Hear me out, my love. You must try to see it from her perspective. How old were you when Pasha stole you from the palace?"
"Four," he replied shortly.
"And Vikram told your mother you were dead. Tormented her with it, if the stories heard in the countryside are to be believed. But she did not listen. She knew you were alive, and regardless of what he did, she continued to search. Finally, he locked her in the women's quarters and she was never allowed out. Why he did not kill her, I do not understand, but he did not. And then, three years after you supposedly died, rumors began to circulate that you were still alive and living in Calcutta. Hope was born again in the country. It is said that Vikram's rage was so deep that he ordered the slaughter of 100 peasants every day until you were found." She smiled at him with a flash of humor. "There is still a legend in our country that says that the day will come when you will rise from the ashes of destruction to take vengeance upon those that destroyed your family and bring freedom to the country once again."
He smiled back uncomfortably. "I am afraid I am not much of an avenging angel."
"Perhaps. Who is to say? The story isn't finished yet. When the Lady Neela heard these stories, she took heart again and one day she escaped from the palace and, after much hardship, she made her way to Calcutta and went searching for you in the streets. Did you know that the very day she sought you there was the day that you met Jonny Quest, and that Dr. Quest and Race became your defenders?"
He stared at her, stunned. "No, I did not know that. If she had found me that day . . . "
Kefira shook her head. "Fate intervened again, beloved. If she had found you, both of you would have died, because before the day ended, Vikram's men found her again and dragged her back to Bangalore. This time, Vikram took no chances. He threw her in the dungeons and left her there until you returned home nine years later. But the point of this story, Hadji, is that after all that time, and all of the hardships she endured, when you did return you were not the young man she expected. Oh, initially, I think you were. It was all so new and exciting, and you finally knew who you were and where you came from. But that did not last, did it?"
"No. I have never wanted power . . . the ability to have such wide-ranging impact on other people. It makes me extremely uncomfortable." He shook his head. "But at least at the beginning she did not push me in the way she does now."
"No, her means were more subtle then."
"I don't understand."
"She thought to marry you to Jessie Bannon at one point, did she not?"
Hadji straightened and laughed sourly. "Yes, she did make that attempt at one time. In fact, she finally became so obvious and insistent, Jessie simply stopped coming to visit me when I was in the palace."
"She thought that if you had one of the family who would live with you permanently in Bangalore, you would be content to stay. She did not plan for Jessie's independence . . . or yours, nor did she know of the emotional ties between Jonny and Jessie. It was when your family ceased to come to Bangalore that you began to drift away from her. You were content enough to be in Bangalore often when the members of your family could come with you. But when they ceased to come, you became discontent and began to stay away as well. And the more you stayed away, the more she tried to find ways to bring you back. It must have been a very bitter realization that all she worked for during those years . . . all the things she did to try and preserve the throne for you . . . were pointless endeavors. You had grown up in a much larger world and what she tried to preserve for you turned out to be something you had grown beyond."
Hadji looked momentarily stricken, but then his expression hardened again. "I understand what you are saying, but it does not excuse the things she has attempted to do since. The forced marriage was just the last in a long list . . . beginning all the way back when she tried so hard to force Jessie and I together."
Kefira sighed. "Yes, I know. And I believe she realizes now how much of a mistake that was. She does not know Dr. Quest very well, does she?"
"No," Hadji said with a shake of his head. "They have met face to face three times or so. No more than that."
"So she had no way of knowing the emotional environment you were raised in." Kefira smiled at him. "I am not even sure you realize the impact of this household, and you have grown up in it."
Hadji looked intrigued. "What kind of impact?"
"The love and sense of loyalty in this house are tangible. It is an incredibly nurturing environment. Your father loves you and your brother a great deal, and he is not afraid to openly show it. I have noticed he is more shielded in public. He is always friendly and easily approachable, but he is more reserved in his expressions. But here, he puts up no walls. He loves his sons and it is obvious. And his care and concern extend to Jessie, Race and Estella, as well. His fury over the attack on Race and Estella was truly frightening."
"Yes, and I think its strength and depth even startled Race."
Kefira cocked her head as she looked at him. "It is because they are family . . . in the truest sense of the word. It does not matter that they do not share his blood . . . they are family, all the same. And he has lost so much in the past, that what family he has now he does not take for granted. Even I feel it and I am new in this house."
"You are family," Hadji replied with a smile. "Being a scientist by training, my father doesn't wholly believe in karma, but he can recognize its influence when he sees it. But you said that you feel my mother is being used. In what way?"
"I think that Mr. Birla uses her to gauge situations. When they were at our home . . . " Kefira stopped, frowning, as she replayed that scene in her mind. Finally, she sighed and shook her head in frustration. "It is hard to say what it is about it . . . "
"Try," he urged her.
"Well . . . you must understand I was not there the entire time. My father had been arguing with them before I ever joined them, and the atmosphere was very tense when I entered. Everyone was trying very hard to be civil, but . . . " She sighed again. "The feeling I got was that the Lady Neela was agitated before she ever arrived . . . as though she had been goaded into being upset . . . so that when the confrontation occurred, she was predisposed to . . . to . . . "
"Pick a fight?" Hadji asked softly.
"Yes!" Kefira replied eagerly. "That is exactly it! And Mr. Birla . . . he sat back and simply watched as it all played out. To be honest, I had totally forgotten he was there until he stepped in and ended the dispute." She stared at Hadji. "And that is another thing. The Lady Neela was the ruling individual in that room, and yet, Mr. Birla seemed to govern the situation. Lady Neela was not disposed to let the matter drop, but when Mr. Birla told her to stop, she did. Immediately. It was extremely strange."
"You've told me about their visit and your impressions of it, but the one thing you have not told me is why they were there . . . what their goal was in traveling so far. There must have been one. And whatever it was, it upset your father . . . and you . . . a great deal. So what did they ask for?"
Kefira opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She had tried to avoid telling him about their purpose, knowing it would upset him. But he looked at her sternly, and said, "You were the one who was just chiding me about keeping things to myself. I do not want you to start the same habit. What did they want?"
She sighed and replied, "They had come to take me to the palace for a "short stay" . . . of four or five months . . . so they could get to know me better."
Hadji stiffened and this time his anger was quick and bright. "WHAT??? She knew you were coming here at my direction! How dare she try something like that?!" He rose swiftly and strode across the room, reaching for a telephone mounted on the wall. "I will NOT stand for this . . . "
Kefira jumped up and ran after him. Taking the phone from him she hung it up and faced him. "No! You must listen to me. We must be clear-headed about this. It will not do to alienate her or Mr. Birla. We do not know what prompted her to do this thing." She frowned, gazing off into space once more. Then, suddenly, her eyes snapped back to him as if things suddenly clicked in her mind. "That is what it was . . . what has been bothering me about it!"
"What?" he asked, catching her shoulders.
"That sense of being manipulated . . . of being used. Mr. Birla could have stepped in at any time, but he didn't. He sat behind us silently, just letting things happen . . . as though he was watching a play . . . until I told your mother that I would solve the entire dispute by calling you. Lady Neela was extremely upset at that idea . . . as though she did not want you to know anything about the visit. And the minute my father supported that decision, Mr. Birla halted the entire thing."
"So he wanted to see how far you could be pushed," Hadji said thoughtfully.
"Yes," Kefira agreed, nodding. "But also, I think, to see just exactly how closely tied to you I was. Would I turn to you when pushed? Did I know how to reach you if I needed to? And was I still talking with you on a regular basis since you left the country? Before he left, he all but ordered my father to bring me to the palace to stay as soon as I got back in the country." Kefira shifted uncomfortably. "I got the impression that once there, it might be difficult for me to leave again, although I will admit that may be an unfair judgment." She looked at Hadji and then admitted reluctantly. "I will say this much. I am fairly certain that the intent in trying to spirit me off to the palace was to use me as bait to draw you back there."
Hadji moved back to the computer console and sat down slowly, thinking hard. When he looked at her again, his expression was grave. "I have known for some time that there are a number of very strong factions in Bangalore that are in dispute over the country's future. One group, the older, more conservative ones, want a return to a full Sultancy and the old way of life. Then, there is a radical faction that wants to disband the Sultancy immediately, and go to governance by a ruling council of some kind. Our country's militia heavily supports this group. And finally, there is the group that wants to phase in a more democratic form of government, giving the country and its people the chance to get accustomed to the idea of self-rule." Hadji sighed. "Unfortunately, there is still a large portion of our population that is underfed and poorly educated. To be fair and equitable to the people, a democratic government really needs to have a relatively educated and well-informed populace. This is something that Bangalore is lacking right now. And it is one of the major things I am working to correct. I had thought that Mr. Birla supported my goals . . . or at least supported the Sultancy enough to follow my lead as ruler of the country."
"Perhaps, Beloved, he supports the Sultancy . . . but not necessarily the current Sultan. Remember, I told you that he used to work closely with Vikram. He has had the opportunity to learn the concept of rule by force from someone who excelled at the practice."
"I think," Hadji said slowly, "that it is not a good idea for you to return to Bangalore."
Kefira looked at him for a long time before replying quietly, "I do not believe it is a good idea for either one of us to return right now."
On that disquieting thought, they both returned to the task that Benton Quest had given them for the day.
The couple had been silent ever since leaving the lodge and the entire situation was beginning to unnerve Francesca. She thought about his comments at the lodge again. He had never shown any signs of jealousy before today . . . if anything, she had begun to think he simply wasn't capable of the emotion. But it was obvious now that he was. And if he really was jealous of Jonny, then it was unlikely that he would make any great effort to attend functions that put them together. But, it was more than that discovery that was bothering her. In all of her life, she had never had anyone who would follow her, no matter what . . . who would risk family, others he cared about, or even his own safety to try to ensure she was all right. Even her own father had told her often enough that he expected her to take care of herself, and if anything went wrong, she had better not expect him to come to her aid. And yet, here was Bobby, tired and hurting, and yet following her up onto a ski slope that might just be more than he could handle, simply because she wanted to go. That realization left her feeling seriously uncomfortable.
As they approached the head of the trail, they saw a man with a radio at the gates, regulating the pace of the skiers on the hill. There were a number of people there before them, so they had to wait for the opportunity to start the run. Bobby stood patiently, gazing out across the gorgeous vistas in silence. Francesca, in an effort to take her mind off of Bobby and her uneasy thoughts, watched the skiers in front of them carefully. She had learned long ago that what you knew beforehand could save you a nasty fall, and so she concentrated on those below her. She could see skiers flashing in and out of view as gaps in the trees afforded periodic glimpses of the trail further down the mountain.
It was slick . . . she saw that almost immediately. Like the slopes they had tried earlier that day, sections of the trail were icy. It was also clear that the natural terrain was uneven, and although the new snowfall during the prior week had helped even out some of it, she could see skiers dropping like stones as the ground fell away under them abruptly. Also, the snow itself appeared to be grooved by the large number of skiers who had been running the slopes. That, she knew, would make the hill even more treacherous. Francesca watched with increasing uneasiness, trying to keep a count of the number of skiers she saw start and the number she saw rocket through the finish far below. Somehow, there didn't seem to be as many down there as there were up here.
Francesca glanced sidewise at Bobby again. He was studiously avoiding looking at her, and she had the feeling he was still angry. Hesitantly, she put a hand out and laid it on his arm. "Bobby? Bobby, I'm sorry if I've made you angry. I-I really didn't mean to . . . "
"Forget it," he replied shortly. In front of them, the starter waved to the last person in line ahead of them. The man moved forward to set himself in the starting gate.
"I mean it, Bobby," she said insistently. "You don't have to . . . "
"I said forget it!" he snapped.
Catching her lower lip in her teeth, she turned away and began watching the other skiers again. She knew this run was classed for expert skiers. It would be taxing, but she didn't doubt that she could handle it. She had done any number of equally difficult ones with no trouble. Then she glanced over at her companion again. The question was, could Bobby Evans say the same? Getting him hurt so that she could play the devoted girlfriend would go a long way in getting her sympathy votes from his friends and family, but using this hill as a method of doing it might be too much. He was watching the last skier in front of them ready himself for the start. The monitor at the gate suddenly nodded and stepped back slightly. The skier rocked back and forth a couple of times and then launched himself out onto the head of the trail. As soon as he cleared the starting area, Bobby prepared to move up to take his place.
Francesca reached out and caught his arm. "Bobby, please . . . don't . . ."
He pulled his arm free with a quick jerk and said, "I'll see you at the bottom." He hadn't given his predecessor or any of the other skiers on the hill so much as a second look. He had no idea what he was getting into . . .
In that split second, Francesca's unease erupted into fear. This wasn't right! She'd watched Bobby ski that morning and she knew . . . he wasn't up to the demands of this run . . . particularly tired and sore from a fall. Hurting him was one thing . . . but this . . . this could kill him!
"Bobby, wait . . ." she started to say, but at that instant, the starter waved to him, and Bobby took off. "NO!" she screamed, but it was too late. She threw herself into the gate, ignoring the man's startled exclamation, and launched herself out onto the trail without waiting for his signal. She had no idea if there was anything she could do to stop what she was sure was coming, but she knew she had to try. She couldn't let him die . . .
He was barely into the first turn before he was in trouble. The snow was seriously icy and the surface uneven. She saw his skis skitter sideways, tossing him off balance and, for an instant, she thought he would go down right there. But somehow he saved it and managed to get set up for the next turn. She followed him as closely as she dared, cutting back and forth expertly. Her only chance was to stay close enough that if he went down, she could try to keep him out of the trees.
The first complex was a series of S curves, and after the first two turns, things got easier. They exited this and broke into the open running fairly fast but in control. But then the ground dropped away in a long, fast, straight run and they began picking up speed rapidly. Bobby hunkered down over his skis, tucking his arms and poles into his body tightly. The position helped him keep his balance, but it also reduced drag and his speed increased dramatically. She tried to scream at him . . . tried to tell him to slow down . . . but he couldn't hear her over the wind. Ahead of them, she saw the trees closing in again and the trail took a sharp right. She dropped into a crouch and made her body as streamlined as possible, willing herself to catch him. But it was no use. He had gotten too far out in front and he seemed to have no idea how to control his downhill speed. He shot into the righthander and barely managed to stay on the trail. Please, she prayed, let him stay up until we're in the clear again. She knew that if he fell now, his momentum would slam him into one of the trees lining this section of the course and there would be no hope.
He scrambled desperately, seriously in trouble now. Making a split second decision, she hugged the left side of the trail and rather than cutting into the turn, she caught the slight uphill grade and used all the force in her legs to launch herself up and over the apex of the corner. She sailed into the air, fighting to keep herself balanced, and prepared herself for the landing. Luckily, this was a sharp right/left/right combination and her speed gave her enough momentum that she actually cleared the left hander and came down into the middle of the right hand turn that finished the series. Using all the strength she had, she cut to the right and straightened into the middle of the trail. The move had trimmed some of her forward speed, and had also put her out in front of Bobby. She threw a frantic look over her shoulder just in time to see him come out of the second right hander.
He was still on his feet . . . barely. His speed was frightening and she saw, in that single quick look that it was almost over. He'd lost one pole already, and he almost lost the other one when he frantically put a hand down in the middle of the turn to try and regain his balance. He was still up, but it was only temporary. His exhaustion and near panic were clear. There was no doubt . . . the next turn would take him down. She looked ahead again and saw the trail straighten and the trees thin. She knew where they were, now. They would clear the trees and enter into a large bald. It was open for a good half mile and, initially, the ground would level a bit. She had seen several skiers enter this area on the edge of trouble and recover. On the far side, the ground would fall away again and the trail would enter the trees for the last time. Two sets of S'es and a jump would lead into the slope that they had taken right before lunch. They could not enter the trees again. If they did, it was over. Bobby wouldn't survive this hill.
Francesca tucked herself tightly again and fought for speed. She had to gain on him. She needed time to turn and set herself. There was no choice any longer. She had to take him down. He would fall hard and, with his speed, he was going to skid a long way, but if she didn't do it now he had no chance. She shot into the open, verifying at a glance that she was right in her guess on their location, and then heeled over hard. Even with her experience, she almost lost it. Her skis stuttered wildly over the snow and her already overtaxed legs screamed in protest as she made them absorb the full force of the sudden change in direction. As she struggled to stay upright and get ready, she saw him exit the trees. He had lost the other ski pole, although he had recovered enough to be upright and appear steadier. But he was moving like a rocket, with no hope of making the remainder of the course without the ski poles. Whispering a formless prayer, she hit him.
Her shoulder caught him in the stomach and they both went down, his momentum carrying them skidding across the icy surface. She kicked frantically, deliberately catching her skis in the snow. The drag slowed them slightly before the safety catches gave and snapped them free from her boots. They careened wildly across the snow. She tried clinging to him, but some shrubs protruded from the snow in places and he hit one of these patches and was ripped from her grasp. The contact sent him tumbling, head over heels, and the brief glimpse she got of him before they were separated warned her that he was no longer conscious.
She skated across the ice on her back, gradually losing momentum. She spread her arms and legs, trying to dig her heels and fingers into the snow to slow herself even more. Seconds stretched out toward infinity and it seemed like hours before she finally skittered to a stop. She lay motionless for a long moment, not quite sure she believed it was over. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the vivid blue sky above her, feeling vaguely grateful that she was able to do even that much. Then she tipped her head and looked back the way they had come. It took her a moment to realize that what she was seeing was the starters' gate . . . upside down and a long way away, but clearly visible nonetheless. And if she could see them, then they could see her . . . and that meant that they would have help eventually. Carefully, she sat up, trying to assess the damage. She hurt all over, but no one thing stood out over any other. Taxed, but whole, she knew she had survived.
That thought caused her to stiffen and look around frantically. Where was Bobby? She could see no sigh of him. Without thinking clearly, she tried to stand up, only to have one leg break through the icy crust of the snow and sink to her upper thigh. She extracted herself cautiously and, taking greater care to distribute her weight, she rose as high as she could, searching for signs of him. It was the trail of his fall that finally led her to him. He had tumbled a good 150 feet further before finally coming to a stop in another tangle of shrubs.
When she finally reached him, she didn't try to move him. He lay on his side, his body twisted at what seemed like an impossible angle. A quick glance told her that his right leg was definitely broken. It also looked like his left one might be, as well. His face had been lashed a couple of times by the shrubs, and he had a nasty welt across one cheek. She pulled off her gloves and felt frantically for the pulse point under his jaw. For a panicky moment, she couldn't find it. Then she felt it flutter against her fingers . . . weak, but seemingly steady.
"Bobby?" she called to him, but received no sign of a response. Moving carefully, she pulled his eyelids up and looked at his eyes. Both were dilated, one definitely more than the other. Taking great care, she grimly began examining his skull. It didn't take her long to encounter blood on the back of his head. She had no idea what he had hit, but he'd definitely smacked his head on something. With that discovery, she stopped her examination. He was hurt far worse than she could deal with, and she knew that anything she might do could easily worsen his condition.
Exhausted and in pain herself, she just sat, waiting for someone to send help. The one thought that occurred to her was that this was not the way she had planned for this day to go . . .
Rumford Community Hospital, Rumford, Maine
"Hello?" Her smile rapidly disappeared as she listened. "Yes, he's here. Just one moment and I'll get him for you." She hit the hold button and looked across the room at her father. "Dad, it's Mr. Evans . . . Matt and Bobby's dad. He's asking to talk with you, and he sounds pretty upset."
Race rose and crossed the room quickly, taking the phone from his daughter. "Jim, it's Race. What's up?"
"I'm sorry to call out of the blue like this, Race, but I'm desperately in need of a favor."
"Name it."
"I need to get to Rumford as soon as I can and driving is going to take too long. I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any chance you could fly me there?" Suddenly, he stopped and Race could almost see him trying to think. "God, I don't even know if they have an airfield. I don't know what to do . . . "
"Take it easy, Jim. I can get you there, that's not a problem. What's happened?"
Jim Evans inhaled a deep, ragged breath. "I just got a call from the hospital in Rumford. Bobby's been admitted there, hurt in a skiing accident."
Race looked grim. "How bad?"
"They don't know yet . . . broken bones for sure. He'd just arrived and the doctor called immediately to tell us that he wanted us there as soon as possible. Donna's just wild."
"What the hell was he doing there?" Race gestured frantically at Jonny. Covering the mouthpiece, he demanded urgently, "Is the chopper gassed and ready to go?"
Jonny nodded economically as Jim replied, "It seems he and the Hamilton girl decided they wanted to go skiing today. The two of them got it into their heads that they were bored with Camden, so they opted to go to Sugarloaf as an alternative."
The color drained from Race's face. "Where did he fall?"
"They were on the Olympic downhill," Jim replied bitterly. "What was he thinking, Race? Bobby doesn't have that kind of skill! It was suicide to try that slope!"
"Right now, it doesn't matter," Race replied decisively. "You and Donna get out here as quickly as you can. We'll take the chopper. It's fast and I know that Rumford Community Hospital has a helipad, so we can go directly there. We should have you there within the hour."
"Race, I . . . "
"Forget it, Jim. Just get out here. We need to get you to your boy."
Race disconnected and turned to look at his family. All of the laughter was gone.
"What's happened?" Benton asked quietly.
"It's Bobby," Race replied and told them briefly what little he knew.
"I'll go warm the chopper," Jonny said shortly and stalked out. The hall closet and front doors both slammed behind him with enough violence to make all of them wince.
"Maybe I better go after him . . ." Jessie said and took off at a run.
"It shouldn't take them more than ten minutes or so to get here," Benton said. "That will give us enough time to get the Compound secured so it can be left safely."
"Dr. Quest, I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to leave here right now," Bennett objected. "We have no idea if this is a set up, or . . . "
Benton turned on him in anger. "This is one of my son's best friends . . . our housekeeper's nephew, for God's sake! We can't just sit here . . . "
"But, it's not safe . . . " Both men's voices were steadily rising and a full-blown argument seemed about ready to erupt. But before it could get that far, Race stepped in.
"No, Benton, he's right. You need to stay here . . . all of you do. And safety isn't the only issue. We need to make time. Jim and Donna have got to get to that boy as quickly as possible. The more weight we put in the chopper, the longer it's going to take to make the trip. And I sure as hell don't want Jonny going along . . . not if Francesca Hamilton is there and had any kind of a hand in this."
"Well, I'm going!" Estella said firmly. "Donna is going to need the support. I know exactly what she's going through and I won't leave her to sit in the back of that bird all alone while the two of you take the front and ignore her. She must be half out of her mind. I'm going to get a sweater. I'll be right back."
"We'll call," Race promised. "The instant we know anything, we'll call. I promise you. The important thing right now is to get them there and see how badly Bobby is hurt."
"Will you come directly back?" Benton asked, accepting the logic of the situation, even if it didn't make him happy. They all followed Race as he crossed to the entryway closet and began pulling out coats.
"Depends. Rumford's a good hospital. I've worked search and rescue in that area a couple of times. And they're accustomed to dealing with skiing accidents since they're the closest hospital to Sugarloaf. But it's still a relatively small community and they generally do initial triage, stabilize the injuries, and then evac the patients to Rochester or Portsmouth. They have a helipad, but their air evac service comes out of Rochester. If they're planning to move him out to a bigger facility, I'll probably hang around and take care of it myself. But either way, I'll call."
"AN UNIDENTIFIED VEHICLE HAS JUST TURNED OFF THE MAIN HIGHWAY ONTO THE ROAD LEADING TO THIS FACILITY," IRIS warned.
Benton whirled and snapped, "Admiral! Your men outside of the perimeter fence. You need to warn them . . . " But Bennett was already on the phone.
Race and the others came out the front door just as Jim and Donna Evans came up the front drive. Race waved at them frantically, pointing them toward the landing strip and aircraft storage buildings on the edge of the plateau. In the distance, they could hear the distinct whine of the helicopter engine as it came to life and began to wind up. The members of the Quest family followed on foot and came up to the car just as Jim and Donna Evans climbed out.
"This way!" Race yelled and led the group around a large metal building. They were met by a blast of icy wind as they rounded the corner, and in front of them they could see a large white helicopter with a stylized Quest logo on one side, idling on the helipad. Jonny, who was standing on the ground next to the chopper, saw them and crossed the pad at a jog.
"She's warmed and ready to go," Jonny yelled to Race over the noise of the engine. "Jess is doing the preflight check and logging your flight itinerary with the local FAA office right now."
"Good!" Race turned back and saw that Estella already had Donna Evans in hand. The woman was extremely upset and Race was grateful to know that Estella would care for her. He turned back to Jim and yelled, "Where's Matt?"
Jim Evans shook his head. "He had a date tonight and we don't know where he was going. We have no idea of how reach him . . ."
Race turned to Jonny. "You've got to find Matt! Find him, tell him what's going on, and bring him back here."
"I want to go with you," Jonny yelled back.
"NO! No one but Estella is going with us. We need to keep the weight load down. YOU need to find Matt before he hears about this in some way he shouldn't. Got me?"
Jonny didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Jess, Hadji, Kefira and I will go," he yelled back. "There's safety in numbers."
Race nodded once and then turned to Jim and Donna. "On the chopper. Let's go!" As the two crossed the helipad, Race turned back to Benton. "We'll call."
Benton nodded and waved them on their way.
Sixty-five minutes later, Race set the Quest chopper down neatly on the helipad in the parking lot of Rumford Community Hospital. He shut it down rapidly and the four of them climbed out and ran for the building not far away. A middle-aged man in a white lab coat met them at the door.
"Which of you are Jim and Donna Evans?" he demanded without preliminaries.
"Here," Jim replied and he put an arm around his wife. "My son . . . how is he?"
"Holding his own right now. He's gotten no worse, which is a good sign."
They started down a long corridor en masse, the doctor talking with them as they moved. "He ended up with numerous broken bones, including the tibia and fibula in his right leg, the femur in his left, the radius and ulna in his right arm, his right collar bone, and three ribs. He also broke his pelvis in three separate places. All of that will mend, given time. Those aren't the injuries we're worried about."
"Then what . . . "Jim said hoarsely.
The doctor shook his head. "He has a relatively severe skull fracture. The girl with him says she's not sure what he hit . . . that he was on his feet until the very end . . . which means it must have happened right at the end of the accident. And help reached them very quickly because the rescue teams knew he was in trouble almost from the start."
Ahead of them, Race spotted four young men in ski outfits lingering in the corridor outside of a door into one of the patient rooms. The outfits were all identical and Race recognized them as the uniforms of the Sugarloaf safety and rescue team. As they approached, the doctor waved at them and said, "This is the team that got him down off the mountain and got him here."
Jim held out his hand to them and said, "I-I want to thank you."
"No thanks necessary," one of them replied. "It's what we do. He's actually very lucky. If it hadn't been for . . . " He broke off abruptly as the door opened and Francesca Hamilton stood there. She looked haggard and exhausted and it was immediately obvious that she had been crying. She also seemed to move with difficulty, as though she was in pain. As she stood there looking at them silently, the tears began sliding down her cheeks again. Then she stepped back and opened the door fully, allowing them to see into the room.
Bobby lay in the bed closest to the door. His eyes were closed, and he almost seemed to have stopped breathing. Race could hear the low beep of monitors and he was reminded sharply of standing in a hospital much like this one in Cairo two years before. Both of Bobby's legs were splinted and a complex traction apparatus elevated his legs and held him immobile from the waist down. They had the unbroken arm strapped down and a complex tangle of monitor wires and IV tubing snaked from it to the various machines nearby. His head was totally wrapped in bandages and it was difficult to tell where the bandages ended and the pallor of his face began. Donna Evans whimpered and, pulling loose from her husband, she ran to her son's side. With a swift look at Race, Estella followed her, catching her by the shoulders and speaking urgently to the distraught woman. Donna reached out and touched her son's face gently and then turned away, crying hard. Estella caught her and hugged her, offering what comfort she could.
Race stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of Francesca's coat, and hauled the girl out of the room. Moving a short way down the corridor, he thrust her down onto a bench along the wall with a sharp shove, and planted himself directly in front of her. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded furiously. "What have you done this time?"
All of the others had followed Race, and now, Jim Evans reached out to grab her by the shoulders and shake her violently. "What have you done to my son???" he yelled. "He wasn't even supposed to be out of the house! You knew that! He wasn't supposed to be any where near you . . . " The doctor grabbed the older man and pulled him back as his violent handling of the girl caused her to smack her head against the wall. The young men from Sugarloaf held him and a confusion of voices rose.
"Quiet!" Race snapped, stilling the tumult. He turned back to Francesca and demanded coldly. "What happened?"
"We . . . we wanted to go skiing," Francesca replied in a dull voice. "Bobby had had a fight with his dad and he was angry. When I found out, I-I tried to go home . . . I didn't want to get him in trouble, but he said he didn't care. He wanted to go. We . . . talked about going to Camden, but we'd been there so much . . . and . . . and I think he was afraid that if we went there, that his dad would come looking and find us. So we decided to go somewhere else. I suggested we go to one of the resorts up near Bangor, but he knew that I'd wanted to go to Sugarloaf, so he decided we'd go there. I-I tried to tell him it was too far, but . . . but he wouldn't listen . . ." She put her hand over her mouth and sobbed suddenly. "We only wanted to have some fun and spend the day together . . . "
"Had he fallen?" Race asked coldly, not the least bit phased by her apparent distress.
After a struggle to get herself in control again, she nodded and swallowed hard. "Once, but it wasn't a bad fall and he wasn't hurt. It was right before lunch and we were both tired. We went in and had something to eat and rested. We were going to do one more run and then head for home.
"But why that run?" Jim demanded. "He wasn't skilled enough for that. He had no business being there!"
Francesca looked at him with haunted eyes. "I-I told him that I wanted to make that run. I'm a good skier . . . I've done Olympic courses in other places, and I wanted to do this one. I-I asked him to stay . . . at the lodge. Said he could watch me from the porch, but he wouldn't. He insisted on coming along. We'd done the lower section of the run that morning and he'd done pretty well. And I didn't know the course . . . I'd never done it before, so I really didn't know what to expect. When we got to the top, I was watching the other skiers and I realized how hard it was. We argued about it, and I tried to stop him, but . . . but . . . he wouldn't listen! And then the starter gave him the green and he took off and . . . " She shuddered and stopped again.
"It's true, sir," one of the young men volunteered. "I was the starter. They were arguing, although I couldn't tell what about. She even tried to grab him and pull him out of the starting box, but he ducked her hands and took off. She went after him, screaming like a banshee. It was how we knew so quickly that there was a problem."
"You should be really grateful she was there," another one volunteered. "We were working as spotters along the course. The resort puts unobtrusive spotters on several of the really difficult trails in case we get a skier onto one of them that gets into trouble." The young man shook his head. "He didn't know how to control his speed and she took crazy risks to stay with him. I saw her make a jump that I don't think anyone else would ever have considered. But it was the one that saved him. He was going way too fast, and she managed to get out in front of him, so that when they came out into the bald about half way down, she was able to turn and knock him down."
"She deliberately caused him to fall?" Jim said, shaken. "She could have killed him!"
"Yes, but . . . "
"I couldn't let him get back in the trees," she said dully. "I couldn't . . ."
"She's right," the leader of the group said quietly. "By that time, the only chance to save him was to knock him down where there was enough open ground for him to slide without hitting anything. If he'd gotten back into the trees again, with his speed, he was sure to strike one and it would have killed him. The only reason he's alive now is because of her actions." He shook his head. "It's a miracle she came out of it hurt no worse than she is."
Race turned away, dissatisfied. He didn't believe a word of this, but there was nothing he could do to dispute it. Catching Jim Evans, he drew him back up the hallway. He was shaking so badly he could hardly stand. Race pressed him down to sit on a bench a little way down the hall and sat down beside him.
"Leave it, Jim," Race said to him quietly. "There's nothing we can do." The two men sat quietly for a long moment as Race thought about what Francesca and the others had told him. He glanced over at her again. She was still slumped where he had left her. As Race watched, she rose and turned to move back toward the hospital room where Bobby lay. She moved slowly, with one hand against the nearby wall for support. She wasn't acting . . . she was in pain, that was clear . . . and from all indications she had a right to be. Race had been on that course and knew just how difficult it actually was. It was a miracle she had been able to accomplish what she had, and that Bobby was still alive. Risking her life for someone else seemed totally out of character for the Francesca Hamilton he knew, and yet all the evidence seemed to say that was exactly what she had done. Was it possible she was telling the truth? Could it be that she had never intended to get the boy hurt at all, and that this was just what it appeared . . . a tragic accident? And could it be that she had changed . . . and was here for exactly the reasons that she claimed?
The doctor approached the two men again, and they looked up at him.
"So what happens now?" Jim asked.
"We wait," the doctor said quietly. "Only time will tell."
Jim took a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and then asked, "What could happen? What can we expect?"
"At this point there is no good way of knowing for certain. Unless something goes desperately wrong, I don't think his life is in danger. But there is a great deal of inflammation in the brain tissue and, like any other tissue had had been damaged, it is swollen. That's putting pressure on his skull. As the swelling goes down, we'll be able to tell more."
"I mean, when the swelling goes down and he wakes up . . . how much damage . . . "
"There's no way to know at this point, Mr. Evans. He could lay comatose for several days and then wake up and be just fine. It's likely that, even if that happened, he would suffer from some minor memory loss . . . for example, he may not remember the entire day of the accident. Those memories may come back in time or they may not. It's hard to say."
"That's best case scenario," Jim said harshly. "If the worst happens . . . what then?"
The doctor looked at the distraught father for a long moment before he said quietly, "He could wake up with brain damage. If that's the case, and considering where the blow on the head occurred, he could lose all motor control . . . not be able to walk or sit up or even control his body functions. The autonomic functions should be all right, as should his cognitive abilities. Neither of those areas of the brain was near the injury point." Then he sighed. "Or he may never wake up at all. He could lie just as you see him now for a very long time." The man knelt in front of Jim Evans. "The point to remember here, sir, is that it is simply too early to know. The most we can do right now is wait and see. But there is some hope. He hasn't been suffering seizures. That may still come, but the longer he goes without them the better the likelihood is that he won't. And that's a sign that the damage isn't as bad as it could be."
"Are you planning to move him to a larger facility?" Race asked quietly. The doctor shook his head.
"No. There is really very little a larger facility could do for him at this point, and I'd prefer not to move him. Maybe, in a few days, when the swelling has had the chance to go down, but not just yet."
A sudden, loud commotion from Bobby's room caused all three of them to rise and move quickly in that direction. Race arrived first, to find Estella desperately trying to hold Donna Evans. Donna, in turn, appeared furious, and was yelling and lunging at Francesca. The words were incoherent, but Race didn't need to hear them to know what was going on. Jim pushed past and went directly to his wife. He caught her in his arms and held her tightly, crooning to her in a soft voice. Then he turned and looked at Race.
"Get her out of here." The look he turned on the young woman was harsh and filled with fury. "You stay away from my son! I don't ever want you near him again."
Race moved quickly, catching Francesca's arm and pulling her out of the room. Estella followed them closely, pulling the door closed behind her. Francesca simply stood, head bowed and crying silently. Race guided her to the bench along the wall again, and ordered, "Stay there!" Then he moved several feet away, drawing Estella with him.
"Keep an eye on her, will you, Stel?" he said, nodding toward Francesca. "Don't let her go back into that room. Jim and Donna won't tolerate her being there. I'm going to call Benton."
Estella nodded and leaned against the wall, staring at the dark-haired girl in silence. Francesca didn't so much as look up. Race started to pull out the cell phone, but Estella stopped him with a shake of her head. "Not here," she warned. "You know you can't use one of those things in a hospital. You'll have to use the pay phone over there. Come on, I can keep an eye on her from there and I want to hear what you have to say to Benton."
The two moved to the phone and Race rummaged around in his pockets hunting for change. Estella shook her head in disgust and pulled her wallet out of her pocket. She searched briefly and then handed him her calling card. "And here you are, the one who is supposedly always prepared!"
A half-hearted grin flickered as he began the dialing process. The phone didn't even complete it's first ring before it was answered.
"Benton Quest."
"It's Race."
"How bad?" he demanded without preliminaries.
"Bad enough. Lots of broken bones and a closed head injury."
"What are the doctors saying?"
"Not much, at this point. We're in a holding pattern. They aren't going to move him . . . they feel he's better off staying where he is for now."
"Jim and Donna?"
"A mess, as you'd expect."
Benton sighed heavily. "Those poor people. They don't deserve this." Then his voice hardened. "And Francesca Hamilton? I assume she caused this."
Race was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he replied, "Oddly enough, it doesn't look like she did. It looks like Bobby got himself in over his head and he's alive now because of her."
"Hang on a minute . . . IRIS, put this on speaker . . . okay, now start again. What exactly happened?" Benton voice now seemed to echo a bit and Race knew that IRIS was broadcasting his voice to anyone in the room.
Race started over, relating everything that he had been told since arriving. "Everyone that was there insists . . . she tried to stop him and when she couldn't, she went after him and almost got herself killed trying to save him," he finally concluded.
"Bobby would never have tried that run if she hadn't goaded him into it!" a new voice said. After a moment, Race identified it as Matt Evans. "He knows his limits!"
"How badly was she hurt?" Benton asked.
"I don't know. I didn't ask the doctor about her injuries." Estella tapped him on shoulder and gestured for the phone imperatively. "Hang on. It looks like Stel knows something on that score." He passed the phone to her.
"I had a chance to talk with the duty nurse. She says that Francesca has no major injuries, but that she is pretty badly bruised . . . enough so that she's going to have to be under a doctor's care. Evidently, when they fell she slid at a relatively high rate of speed for several hundred yards before coming to a stop. It's left her with a tremendous amount of blood under the skin and there's some risk of pooling and blood clots. The nurse also says that she's strained some muscles in her legs pretty severely, and she doubts she's going to be moving well for quite a while." Estella glanced up the corridor at the girl again. "At the moment, it's all she can do to stand and move a few feet."
Race gestured for the phone again and, when he got it back, he commented, "I think the thing we need to do now is to get her back to the Conners residence. Having her here is grating on Jim and Donna pretty severely. I think the doctor will allow her to leave. Can you call Barbara and let her know we're coming?"
"You're going to bring her here, then?" Benton asked.
"No. I won't have her within the confines of the Compound. Something stinks about the whole thing. I just don't know what it is yet. There's an intersection just up from the Conners' place that's big enough to set the chopper down. Call them and let them know we're coming, and let Barbara know that's what we're doing. I don't know if she'll want to check her out or not, but at least she'll know she's inheriting a patient." He checked his watch. "We should be able to be there by 10:00 or so. We'll drop Francesca off and then come home. Tomorrow morning, Matt can pick up some stuff for his parents and I'll fly him back here to be with the rest of them." He looked up and frowned at Estella who was shaking her head sharply. "Hang on, Benton . . . what?"
"I'm not going back. I'm going to stay here with Jim and Donna. Neither one of them are up to dealing with things right now. I can ride back with you tomorrow when you bring Matt."
"That's not a good idea, Estella. I said this whole thing smells, and it does. It's not safe for you to be here alone."
"It's a hospital, for heaven's sake! I'll be fine."
"They have already tried to hurt you once. I can't leave you here!"
"Well, I'm not going back!" She sighed in exasperation. "Race, I don't care how much the set up smells, I'm safe here. There is a wealth of people around. And furthermore, they want you, not me. If there really is someone here watching us, they're going to follow you when you leave." Before he could say another word, she turned. "I'm going to get that girl out to the chopper. You finish with Benton, check in with Jim and Donna, and then get out there. I'll wait with her until you arrive."
"But . . ." he started to say, but by that time she was already gone. He swore in irritation. "ESTELLA!!! Look, Benton, I better go. I'll see you as soon as I can . . . "
Quest Compound
"Race will never let her stay," Jonny predicted.
"He won't have a choice," Jessie replied. "I know my mother . . . and I know that tone of voice . . . she's not leaving."
Benton frowned worriedly. "Admiral, is there anything you can do . . ."
Bennett shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Quest, but they are just too far away. If someone does intend to attack her, anyone I sent would arrive way too late."
Benton sighed in frustration. "Well, then, all we can hope is that Race can convince her to come home."
Jessie just snorted. "Fat chance!"
It was close to 11:00 that night when the Quests heard the sound of a chopper approaching the Compound. Just as the sound became audible, IRIS announced, "AN AIRBORNE VEHICLE IS APPROACHING THIS FACILITY. SIGNATURE TRANSMISSION IDENTIFIES IT AS QUEST COPTER ONE. IDENTITY HAS BEEN CONFIRMED. INSTRUCTIONS?"
"Allow them to land, IRIS, and then reinstitute security protocols," Benton instructed, moving rapidly toward the front door.
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
The entire family was waiting at the entrance when the lone figure emerged from the darkness.
"She wouldn't come, huh?" Jessie said, hugging her father.
"No," he replied shortly. Without another word, he strode across the entryway and into the family room. He picked up the phone and immediately dialed a number from memory. After a short wait, he said, "Jim? This is Race. Is Estella there? Can I talk with her? Yeah, thanks. I'll hold." They all watched as he fidgeted. Then he stiffened. "Stel? Are you okay? Nothing's happened?" He was silent for a moment, listening closely. "No, no problems. I turned her over to the Conners. You're sure you're okay? No sign of trouble?" Then he frowned. "I am not being over protective. I have the right to be concerned. A group of men almost killed you the day before yesterday. I think I can be forgiven for being jumpy!" A lengthy pause ensued and Jessie could see her father struggling with his temper. "I am NOT being overbearing! You shouldn't even be outside this Compound! It's not safe . . . "
Before things could go any further, Jessie jumped in. Smacking her father on the arm, she wrenched the phone out of his grasp and shoved him in Jonny's direction. Then she said into the phone, "Hi, Mom, it's me. Just calm down, okay? There's no need to fight. Yes, he's fine. No, I don't think anyone tried to attack him. He's perfectly safe and the security is back in place. No one's going to hurt him tonight. Yes, I'm sure. You're sure you're safe? He's really scared. Yes, I know . . . he's like that. No, he doesn't worry about himself . . . he never has . . . only about the rest of us. Yes, I'll look after him tonight. I promise. But you have to take care of yourself." Jessie eyed her father with a looked of thinly veiled humor as she continued to listen to her mother. "No, it's hasn't occurred to him yet, but it will. No, I won't let him." She grinned widely. "I'll have Jonny sit on him. Yes, I promise. Maybe you better talk to him again. He's going to burst a blood vessel if you don't. Yes, I will. You just be careful, okay? Alright, hold on a second." Jessie looked at her father. "She wants to talk to you again. Try not to fight, okay? It's pointless." Then she held out the phone to her father. Race glared at her as he took it.
"Stel? Yes. Yes, all right. All right! Look, you forced me into it and I did what you wanted me to do, but you can't expect me to like it!" Slowly the glare faded. After a moment, he sighed. "Yes, I know, and you're right. They don't need to be alone right now, and I know they appreciate your willingness to stay and help. You'll call if anything happens? All right. I'll get some sleep, I promise. You try to do the same. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Stel . . . I love you." A smile flickered briefly. "Goodnight, sweetheart." Slowly, he set the receiver in the cradle. Jessie laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"She'll be okay, Dad. And she'll be waiting for you in the morning."
"Maybe I should go back there tonight. Just to be safe."
Jessie grinned widely. "Jonny, come sit on him." Race did a double take, the significance of the one-sided conversation suddenly becoming clear.
"She knew I was going to suggest that."
"Of course she did," Jessie answered. "She knows you too well. We both do." Jess shook her head. "And, no, you can't go back tonight. You've been going too long today, and you've already done way too much night flying. What you need to do now is get some sleep so you'll be ready to fly again tomorrow."
"Yes . . . all right."
"And I think that's good advice for all of us," Benton added. "Let's call it a night."
Rockport, Maine
She listened to the silence that filled the house. Dr. Mason had been waiting when Francesca had arrived home. The older woman had checked her over, put her to bed and told the Conners to make sure she stayed there. Shortly after she left, everyone had gone to bed. Bannon's new wife had helped her to the chopper and gotten her strapped in so that she was ready to go when he arrived. She had watched them standing out on the helipad right before takeoff. They were arguing about something, although Francesca had no idea what. In the end, Bannon had climbed into the chopper and they had departed, leaving the woman behind. Francesca could tell that Bannon wasn't happy about that, but it seemed there was nothing he could do about it. The flight back had been an uncomfortable one. Bannon hadn't said a single word to her the entire trip. He had set the chopper down in the middle of the street not far from where she was staying, where the entire family had met them. Mr. Conners had thanked Race for bringing her home, Mrs. Conners had fussed over her, and the kids had tried to ask her all kinds of questions, but by and large they had simply packed her off to bed and left her alone. Bannon had left immediately, not even waiting to see they all got into the house.
She considered how she was going to get to the top of Mt. Battie. She knew the Conners well enough by this time to know that they would be sleeping very lightly, so there was no way she could come or go via the main doors of the house. That meant she had to go out the window. She sighed deeply. Second story work . . . in her condition . . . oh, yeah, this day was just getting better and better.